“It took some time... Both Alster and I are still relatively unfamiliar with the nature of the Night Garden’s energies. It is difficult to manifest and collect the essence of something you don’t fully understand…” Lilica ventured to explain as she and Alster reconvened with Chara and Isidor after their own long day of trying tasks. The Galeynian Queen thought they’d had the more difficult of jobs, but by Isidor’s wan and exhausted appearance, it was clear the Master Alchemist would’ve preferred to be in her shoes or Alster’s as opposed to confronting strangers that had already decided to despise him before meeting him. “I am sorry to come to find your task was not quite as fruitful, Isidor… Of course, this is no fault of yours.” Lilica took a long sip of the water in front of her. “Anyone summoned so hastily to the palace is bound to be on the defense before they even arrive, especially in the event of a crisis… it would be a lie to have told them they weren’t all suspect.”
“Be that as it may… I feel that Lady Chara is correct.” Isidor rubbed his tired eyes and shook his head. While Alster appeared exhausted and spent, the Master Alchemist appeared downright defeated. “I should have spent the day working on the construction of that talisman… the resident alchemists surely would have responded better had I not been present. I do not exactly make for a prime inquisitor.” He smiled a self-deprecating grin and shrugged his shoulders. “But what is done is done--and Lady Chara is right. We need to make haset for a number of reasons…” His worried gaze fell upon Alster’s bandaged hand. “Alster, if I had known that extracting the Night Garden’s magic would do that to you… well, it is neither here nor there, now. We must keep our promise to Vitali.”
The only silver lining to being so socially, mentally, and physically exhausted was that Chara’s vitriol slid off of Isidor’s back like oil on water. After what he had endured that day, even the caustic words of Lilica’s advisor couldn’t beat him down any lower than he had fallen, with the catalyst being the acidic tone of that old alchemist’s daughter. After all, you couldn’t fall any further when you’d already hit the cold, hard ground. “It’s fine, really,” he brushed off Alster’s apology, leading him with haste to his workshop in the dungeons where he conducted most of his crafting to avoid contaminants or influence of other various and sundry materials. “It has been a trying day for all of us, and interviewing dozens of alchemists who had absolutely no inclination to talk was trying. I don’t blame her for being short of temper. Fortunately… it should not take me long to complete the process of this talisman.”
Unlocking the heavy dungeon door, the Master Alchemist led Alster inside, and promptly lit the wall sconces with a fine powder he simply blew over their exposed tops. With Alster’s help, as well, the room was alight in seconds. Picking a key from his pocket, Isidor unlocked a drawer in one of the desks and withdrew something that looked akin to a coin with a dull ruby in the center. Just a simple circle of tarnished copper, and nothing that looked as though it needed to be locked up. “Ultimately, anything can be a talisman… so long as it is prepped to absorb whatever properties you require it to hold. Copper should work just fine.” From one of his pockets, he withdrew a swatch of fabric: a piece of the tunic Vitali had been wearing the other day, stained dark brown and burgundy with dried blood. It was all he would need to bind the talisman to the necromancer. “I’ll need your help in a little bit; for now, just sit and relax. I promise,” the very sight of Alster’s bleeding hand made him wince, “I will not dally.”
True to his word, the Master Alchemist worked quickly and efficiently at his desk, tampering with tins and tinctures, powders and soluble solutions, and fire, as he burned the swatch of Vitali’s tunic--and the blood--to ash, before adding the copper coin to the small, contained fire. It burned, and it melted around the durable crystal, and at last, Isidor extinguished the flames and doused the glowing-hot piece of metal with water. It hissed and spat, steam rising and filling the room. A moment later, when Isidor deemed it cool enough to touch, he picked up the coin between his palms and concentrated quietly for a brief moment. The end result, when he crossed the room to Alster, was a perfectly round, shiny coin-like pendant with a surface so smooth and clear, you could see your face in it. And, at the center, a brilliant gem as deep and vibrant as a drop of blood. “There,” he sighed, suddenly appearing very pale and off-kilter. “The rest is up to you, Alster. Take the magic, and imbue the pendant with it. It is already crafted and tailored to Vitali, alone; all that is left is the right kind of magic to activate the protective properties that we seek. Take it--with both hands. It should respond and activate.”
Alster did as he was instructed, and almost instantaneously, the gem at the center of the copper began to grow dark, until it resembled a ruby pregnant with a perfect piece of light-absorbing obsidian: the curse contained by the protective energies of the Night Garden. Isidor expelled a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Indeed… though I couldn’t have done this without you. Alchemy on its own is only able to produce talismans that ward against magic, but without a magic, foolproof magical protection is hardly possible. Even if these efforts are wasted on possibly the least-deserving individual I can think of…” The corners of his mouth curled upward in a tired smile, and he pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “At least, I would like to think that what we have done is a boon to this kingdom, if my brother does, in fact, keep his word and use his unique skillset for good, for once.”
Relieved to find Alster’s bandaged hand now looking distinctly unmarred, he lent an ear to the mage’s explanation and nodded. “Of course. You’ll have to apologize for my ignorance. Alchemy deals in matter, whereas magic deals in energy… and you are right. Everything is finite. I suppose it is simply easier to assume that what we cannot see is a source of its own that does not diminish.” Isidor helped Alster to his feet and led him out of the dank dungeon workshop, locking the door behind him. Ever since the alchemist stone had fallen into a pair of particularly untrustworthy hands, the Master Alchemist had been careful not to keep anything out in the open, or any drawer or door available to prying eyes and hands.
Supper had been arranged in the interim, and although it had literally been two days since Isidor had partaken in anything but water, he couldn’t find his appetite for the life of him. Perhaps it was nerves, or stress, or straight overexertion, between altering Alster’s prosthesis, his quarrel with Tivia, and the news that Vitali had abruptly dropped on his shoulders; whatever the case, he couldn’t eat. So he soon took his leave of the dining hall (which he never attended; he’d taken meals in his room exclusively since arriving in Galeyn) shortly after sitting down, without offering much explanation, and told Alster he would meet him at the stables. Somehow, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. That, despite Vitali’s plea and Tivia’s unshakable confidence in the necromancer, something felt off. Like he was going to regret his decision to help… although he could not for the life of him understand why.
When two carriages were prepped and ready to depart, the Master Alchemist and his mage comrade climbed in, talisman in hand, and set off for the farm house for the third time in two days. By now the Night Steeds must have been able to map that route with their eyes closed; it was to the point where Isidor could almost intuit every moment of the trip, from bumps under the wheels, to lulls over easier terrain, to the transition as the air became still upon reaching the farmlands. When they arrived, they found the trio in the farmhouse exactly as they’d expected to see them: armed and on guard.
“Alster. Brother. So happy to see you two, again!” Vitali certainly wasn’t looking any worse for the wear, either. It was hard to believe that just a day ago, several gashes had been torn into his torso. And he certainly did not emanate quite the same extent of urgency as the others, who had agreed to stay to protect him. “I never had a doubt in my mind that you’d come through for me.”
“It is as Alster said. This talisman is untested; no one has tampered with likes of the Night Garden or your father’s curse, before.” Isidor approached Vitali and handed over the small satchel, watching as the necromancer dumped the pendant into his hand with satisfaction. “Logistically, it should make you immune to any and all ill effects you might suffer as you draw near the Night Garden and the palace. It was specifically crafted with that intention, but… I suggest we tread lightly, and play it by ear. Pace ourselves on the way back.”
“Of course, I understand, Isidor. Should this fail, I hold neither you nor Alster responsible for negligence of any sort. Somehow I highly doubt that either of you would have the inclination to go to all the work simply to sabotage me.” Looping the cord from which the pendant hung around his neck, Vitali looked stood from his favourite chair and moved toward the door, followed closely by Tivia and Elespeth. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
“I’ll ride with Alster in case we are ambushed.” Elespeth insisted, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Though she no longer sported armor, and had donned a man’s tunic that was far too big for her stature, the former knight looked no less fierce. “Tivia, stay with Vitali in the other carriage. Isidor…”
“He will ride with me. After all, I will need someone to berate if I start to suffer as we near the palace.” The necromancer teased, and lightly swatted Isidor’s arm--a little too hard. The Master Alchemist rubbed the spot with a frown. “I don’t need eyes to know you’re scowling, Isidor. Take a joke! Didn’t I just finish telling you I won’t hold you responsible? On the contrary… this may very well be the first and the only time I show you gratitude. Blink, and you’ll miss it; so you should be there.”
Isidor frankly couldn’t think of any reason to deny Vitali the request, aside from confessing that a carriage ride with him and Tivia would be more than a mite awkward. It wasn’t as though he had anything to contribute in riding with Alster and Elespeth, and the couple deserved a little bit of time alone. “Whatever you say,” the Master Alchemist sighed, and one by one, the group of five left the farmhouse for what could very well likely be the last time.
The return trip to the heart of the kingdom was nowhere near as quick as the trip from the palace. They urged the Night Steeds to maintain a slow pace to accommodate monitoring Vitali’s transition from safety to what could very well be danger. However, a slow trot for a Night Steed after dark was still akin to the swift gallop of an ordinary horse; and thank goodness, because if they traveled at a walking pace, Isidor wasn’t sure he’d have been able to survive the tension in the cramped carriage with his brother and the Rigas woman.
“We’ve just left the farmlands, Vitali; we will be approaching residential villages soon. Near the encompassing energies of the Night Garden.” He informed his brother some time later, after keeping close watch of the change in terrain out the window. It was the first thing anyone had said in over an hour. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Neutral. Not at all discomforted.” The necromancer grinned and reclined in his seat, providing even less room for Isidor’s long legs. “This is promising, Isidor. I think you and Rigas really did it.”
From then on, the check-ins were more frequent; Isidor asking after his brother’s condition, and Vitali replying the same. All the way up past the Night Garden, and to the gates of the palace, where Chara, Lilica, and several Forbanne guards stood on the alert.
As soon as the carriage stopped, Vitali Kristeva stepped upon the land protected by the Night Garden for the first time--and was no worse for the wear.
“Unbelievable…” Lilica breathed as the others exited their carriages, equally as mystified by this success. “So you’re really here; and you’re not dead.”
“A pleasure to see you, too, sister.” Vitali bowed, before closing the distance between them. She flinched when he laid a hand upon her shoulder. “Consider me at your service, officially. I wish I could take a good look at the undoubtedly marvelous palace you must have, but… my eyes aren’t something I’d rather risk at this point in time. In case that damage is irrevocable.”
“That shouldn’t be the case, if it was Theomyr’s curse that damaged them.”
“Be that as it may, the fact that I am here at all is about the only risk I wish to take, today. I’ve rather gotten used to depending on my other senses, anyway.” He shrugged his shoulders and let his arm drop. “So, take me where you may. I’m not particularly high maintenance, though I do hope you had somewhere in mind other than your dungeons.”
Isidor, who stood near the carriages alongside Elespeth, Alster, and Tivia, exchanged a quick smile with the Rigas head. “Well… whatever we did, it seems we did it. For better or worse, the necromancer is alive and well.”
“Seems to me that nothing is impossible with the two of you working together--again, for better or worse.” Elespeth pulled Alster close to plant a quick kiss on his lips. “This isn’t because you helped Vitali; it’s because you are amazing. And I wish you realized this more often.”
Isidor watched his brother’s retreat as Lilica, Chara and the guards led him inside. Elespeth was right: for better or worse, they did it. For a moment in time… he and Alster really had been unstoppable. Pushing away from the carriage, the Master Alchemist took a step forward… and that was as far as he got before he met the earth rather quickly, barely breaking his fall with his arms.
“Isidor…!” The former Atvanian was at his side right away, taking him by the arm and helping him to his feet. “You’re shaking… are you alright? We’ll get you to the infirmary--”
“No--no, I’m fine, I promise. Sorry to worry you.” Turning red from the neck up, Isidor hastily tried to regain his composure before he became the center of attention. “It… it has been a long couple of days. If you’ll all excuse me, I think I’ll retire. Alster, Elespeth. Tivia.” He nodded, taking care now to bow too low in case he collapse again, and slowly made his way through the palace gates. From what he had managed to accomplish in a matter of two days, he should have been the height of pride… but Isidor just felt spent. And he wasn’t sure how long it would be before he opened his eyes again, when his head hit the pillow that night.
In spite of the stress-laden final days spent at the farmhouse, Tivia had the most trouble peeling away from the inviting wooden door. Outside, the squat chimney bellowed the remains of smoke from the doused hearth-fire, layering the snow-dusted fields in a light haze. Between the fumes and the darkness, Tivia was glad for the coverage, as it impacted her view of the vast garden, fallow and bare for the winter, but no less charming. If she squinted, she could make out the contours of the round-stone walls surrounding the orchard, within which she harvested plums, cherries, raspberries, strawberries, and apples, depending on the season. The kindly farmers next door taught her how to puree and boil the excess fruits into a pot for making jams and jellies. By harvests’ end, she had accrued an entire shelf of handsome specimens displayed proudly in the kitchen’s larder. The other half, she donated to the couple.
What would they think to discover they wordlessly absconded in the middle of the night, no farewells, gratitudes, or sincere well-wishes to offer as consolation? It was cruel, but necessary. Better not to involve a pair of farmers who wanted only to till their fields in peace, separate from the politics and drama brewing in Galeyn’s center. All things considered, they were smart to take a neutral stance; smart to choose survival.
Before the carriage rolled away for possibly the final time, she cried halt and scampered out of the door, half running to the now vacant farmhouse. She vanished inside but didn’t linger, understanding their hasty departure far outweighed her petty sentimentalities over a brief but bygone era in rustic serenity. Upon her return, she muttered apologies to Isidor and Vitali as she took her seat opposite the two men, hands full with a canvas bag overflowing, misshapen, and clattering noisily at the slightest provocation--a problem that soon became evident the moment the wheels glided against the snow-clad dirt roads and Tivia, in fear her precious baubles would shatter, cradled the glass-heavy bag close to her chest. Following suit with her taciturn company, she did not speak and no one asked after her wellbeing, assuming her exhaustion resulted from sustaining a high-alert vigilance for two sleepless nights. While their assumptions were accurate, physical weariness accounted for only half of her less-than-stellar state; the second half was split between homesickness...and thoughts of betrayal.
I would like to be transparent with you now. No more secrets...Isidor’s promise reverberated in her head, its sincerity so palatable, even in memory, that she believed him. Or...wanted to believe him. Despite his forthright-lacking approach to replacing the damaged tissues of her face, he did not willfully withhold information, nor did he intend his actions to be a betrayal of trust--much though they appeared as such, to her. In exchange for his pledged honesty in all manners, going forward, she did not offer the same in return. Nevermind the fact that they ‘separated’ and thus, she owed him no equivalency pact out of gratitude for his apology. Further, he did not expect her to act in accordance to his own stringent standards of behavior. In no way had he requested transparency from her; in relationships, trustworthiness was implied on both sides and he, rightfully, assumed she was being truthful. For this reason, she couldn’t, in good conscience, pursue her relationship with the kind, trusting Master Alchemist.
Because she always omitted the truth, and her omissions could contribute to shaping--or ending--one’s destiny. By existing as a star-seer, and by using her specialized foresight to influence the future she wanted to see, she, in a sense, was a betrayer of humanity. For she was aware of Vitali’s schemes...and said nothing. Nor would she--because she favored the projected outcome.
You’re only responsible for your actions. No one else’s. Alster said something of the like, as an attempt to redistribute the weight of her burdensome power with a bit of levity. She was only in control over what she said, what she revealed, and not how others reacted to the news. However...should she share or hint at a sliver of what she foresaw, regarding Vitali’s involvement in unsavory, underhanded dealings, the entire axis of possibility would tilt in a catastrophic direction. For the stability of the future, the best course of action...was to do nothing. And simply observe.
Now I understand why you isolated yourself, Lyra, she mused, in reference to the last living star-seer. Why you lived alone, and died alone. We can’t risk central involvement. I can’t risk fostering so many relationships, only to turn around and watch it happen. It’s too painful, knowing your circumstances, and unbeknownst to you, betraying your trust, over and over again…
Not realizing she had nodded off, her eye flashed open as the carriage squeaked to a full-stop. In confusion, she looked to Isidor and Vitali. “Why did we stop? Did we arrive at the palace?” At the brothers’ dual nods, Tivia wiped the gunk out of her eye and twitched a smile on the unmarred half of her face. “Ah, so the talisman worked? You are unaffected by the curse? I suppose it shouldn’t come as any surprise.” Her smile, against her wishes for impartiality, turned a little shy in Isidor’s direction. “Isidor and Alster are perfectionists. They wouldn’t dare do a half-assed job on something, no matter their client. Take heart, Vitali. You won’t find a better talisman to protect you from the Night Garden’s malicious energies.”
Stepping out of the carriage, the trio reunited with Alster, Elespeth, Lilica, and Chara, who congregated around Vitali, gauging his condition with curious, cautious glances.
“Isidor...Alster--what have you wrought?” Chara breathed, eyeing the necromancer as though he were the Serpent resummoned from Its home-world.
“Believe us, we’re not proud of the result, either. But before you go praising me,” Alster’s blood-drained cheeks somehow colored at his wife’s most flattering comment, “this was a collaborative effort. Lilica and Haraldur also contributed to its success. But thank you,” he returned Elespeth’s kiss.
“Oh-ho-ho,” Chara barked at Vitali’s comment on accommodations, “were it up to me, I’d gladly house you in the dungeons, but I reached a sound compromise with Lilica, and Haraldur was more than happy to set aside a few of his finest Forbanne guards to act as your personal escort. Come with us, and we’ll have you properly settled in the destroyed suite down the hall.”
Alster almost sputtered out a cough. “N-not there!”
“I jest, of course.” Chara clamped her cold, clawed hand upon Vitali’s shoulder. “You will have the room across from it. Now let’s hurry along--”
But the procession was interrupted by Isidor’s tumble and collapse. Luckily, Elespeth bolstered him, arm-in-arm, before he fully hit the ground. At his assurances that he’d suffered a spell of exhaustion and did not require medical attention, Alster, sharing a similar bout of extreme fatigue, nodded his sympathies.
“To be honest, if you hadn’t keeled over first, it would’ve been me in your place. Neither of us has slept in days. You deserve your rest, Isidor. Frankly, I’m envious; they’re expecting me at the D’Marian village tonight. No more excuses.” His previously damaged hand, also trembling from lack of sleep, found Elespeth’s wrist and clasped it for support. “Come with me, El?” He met her eyes with a sorrowed smile. “I can’t do this alone.”
Between Elespeth and Alster’s preoccupations with each other and Chara and Lilica’s preoccupations with Vitali’s containment, Isidor disengaged from the company and headed to his chambers, alone. Tivia, hefting her lumpy canvas bag over her shoulders, alighted to his side and extended her arm for him to take. “It would leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouths if they found you unconscious in the hallway. Let me see you to your chambers, Isidor.”
Too tired to protest, he allowed her company for the short walk’s duration. But for the clanking of the glasses inside of her bag, their trek elapsed in uneasy silence. Opening the door to Isidor’s suite, she accompanied him to the bed, sitting him down and pulling the boots off his feet. Why am I doing this? She berated herself. Impartiality. You must be impartial!
And I will, she countered, appealing to the hot, contesting voice in her head. After tonight, I will.
“Ah...well, I should try to sleep, as well,” she backed away a few steps, but froze when the ceaseless clanking of her bag’s contents disturbed the quietude the Master Alchemist no doubt valued above all else. She set down the bag, opened the flaps, and removed a few jars of preserves. Miraculously, none had suffered cracks or explosions during the long, grueling carriage ride to the palace. “I don’t know which you prefer. I have strawberry, raspberry, apple...here, I’ll give you one of each.” She carefully placed the jaws on his bedside table. “They’re to thank you for the lily.” She hefted the bag and returned to her feet, “And before I go, I just wanted to apologize. I’m sorry, Isidor. For everything.”
And I’m sorry that you’ll never know how truly sorry I am.
“Please rest well.” So as not to cause any further disturbance, she hugged her bag from behind, tiptoed over the marble floors, and carefully closed his chamber door with a soft clink.
If there were two wolf-related aspects Hadwin excelled in above all others, agility and stamina were chief among them. Chiefly-speaking, even the chief of clan Kavanagh, the surly and loveless father of his three disappointing children, could not dispute that his son, for all his countless flaws and faults, made for one hell of a runner. Few outpaced him. Nearly a decade later, he was pleased to find that heavy drinking and heavy smoking hadn’t affected his lungs to the extent where he needed to forgo his title as the fastest faoladh in Clan Kavanagh--even if exile rendered that title null and void. His sisters might outcompete him in hunting, but he could run circles around them four times over and cover twice the amount of land before they caught their breath.
What began as a chase ended in a reversal. Sure enough, he chased Rowen and Bronwyn all around the borderlands. To their credit (Bronwyn especially), they never allowed him close enough to subdue them with a tackle and a clamping of jaws. He, however, was not fool to believe his days’ long pursuit signaled any victory for him. The ease in which they diverted their attention from the “intended” target seemed, frankly, a little hackneyed in execution. And speaking of execution...if they’d really wanted him dead...well, he’d given them plenty of opportunities. Not out of any desire to die--no, he buried that hatchet after the events of Apelrade demonstrated why his death was not a good idea--but out of curiosity, he invited openings; they didn’t rise to the bait.
Hyper-aware of traps set to snare and indispose him, he did not bound with reckless abandon; it was not a suicide charge, after all. He planned his movements, mapped out the territories surrounding the farmhouse, and used the lulls throughout the day and night to recharge and re-energize. No traps.
What’re you planning, Ro? This ain’t like you. I didn’t actually catch you by surprise now, did I? Is Bron a bad influence on your brain? Or…
She wanted Vitali dead, and for some reason, she couldn’t finish the job. It was why she clawed the necromancer like a damn cat. It invoked suspicion--because she wanted everyone to suspect Vitali’s motives. And if she couldn’t end him, it meant he and Locque had some sort of arrangement. Judging by the wisps of fears that even the most self-assured asshole couldn’t hide, Vitali was playing a dangerous game. Rowen knew it. Hadwin knew it. Was she relying on him to blab out the truth to the leaders of Galeyn and its allies, and sow discord among their ranks--to do what she couldn’t, and see him hanged him as a traitor?
Ah, kid, he wanted to tell her, you know I’d take your side...if you hadn’t killed Cwenha.
No, that was a lie. She was right about one thing, in Braighdath. He’d chosen Teselin over her. For Teselin--and because the man resurrected people from the dead--he’d protect Vitali and his interests. Oh yeah, mate. You’re gonna owe me big time.
Knowing now that Rowen wasn’t intending to kill him, Hadwin officially retired from the chase. His diversion-making services were no longer required, besides. The farmhouse, divested of its occupants, lay vacant and alone in the snow-covered evening. With the carriages--and their high-profile passenger--long gone, Hadwin slunk out of the woods surrounding the quaint domicile and shook back into his human form. Naked (and unprotected from the cold,) he opened the side door (the front door seemed too obvious) and stalked inside. Sure enough, his clothes were where he’d left them; in a pile by the front living area. Before donning them, he strode to the water bucket in the kitchen and, between long, rehydrating gulps, rinsed the mud and dirt clean from his skin and hair. Patting himself dry, he slipped on his outfit, trousers and all, and proceeded to raid the larder for food. Fishing out a jar of smoked fish and an assortment pickled vegetables, he feasted on preserved goods until his burps tasted like vinegar. Sufficiently full, he sprawled on the bed in the backroom and slept till morning. As well-rested as he’d ever be, he slathered some jam on bread for breakfast and then departed from the farmhouse on foot. The Forbanne, ever thorough, repossessed the one Night steed the farm had stabled and took off with the goods in tow. For now, he’d have to contend with walking to the closest village to rent a horse (or a driver) to convey him to the palace.
After two hours of walking on clunky human feet, a modest village appeared on the horizon. Bigger than most, which by Galeyn standards, made it a bustling town, the village served as a resupplying waypoint for Forbanne and Dawn Guard en route to and from the borderlands. Ergo, a perfect destination for outfitting him a horse and transport.
But first, before he did anything else, he searched for a tavern.
He needed a drink.
Although he assured everyone at the gate that he was fine and well, Isidor was silently grateful for Tivia’s offer to help him back to his chamber. He didn’t trust the weakness in his knees or the mild tremor in his body, so even while he yearned to spare himself the awkwardness of Tivia’s company when she had made it clear she no longer desired his, he could not refute that he probably wouldn’t have made it all the way to his bed without taking another tumble. His entire body felt unsteady, unreliable, and he could no longer tell if the knots in his stomach were a result of going far too long without food, or from the residual stress he continued to experience as event after event unfolded.
“...it’s fine, Tivia. You needn’t…” He began, as the Rigas woman escorted him to his bed, and then stooped to pull off his boots. The attention brought a new flush to his face, but by the time he protested, she was already half-finished. He watched curiously, then, as the Rigas woman unpacked the sack that she had so eagerly halted the carriage to go and retrieve. It was filled with preserves of every imaginable kind; all ones that she has spent her time crafting during her stay at the farm house with his brother. And… she was giving them all to him?
“Tivia…” Why was she giving these to him? Because he had simply transformed a silly paper lily into a real one? He hadn’t anticipated that she would appreciate the gesture to such a magnitude; he hadn’t anticipated that she would feel so strongly about reciprocating. Why must everything in love and kindness be a transaction…? “Tivia, you’ve nothing to apologize for.” He reassured her quietly. “Please don’t feel as though it is necessary. Nor are the gifts; surely you worked hard on crafting those preserves. You should be the one to enjoy them…” After all, such a gesture was lost on a man who hardly remembered to eat.
But since he had ‘gifted’ her with a lily, he was not one to argue the gesture, and so he let it be, and allowed her to leave without further hesitation or interruptions. Isidor wasn’t a magic man of words; and any words he had attempted to use to bridge the gap that what she perceived to be a betrayal had opened up between them had only made things worse. This is why I belong in that tower, Tivia, he thought sadly to himself, not bothering to disrobe before collapsing on his pillows. I am not good for you. I am not good for anyone…
Unfortunately, regret never reared its head but in hindsight. Had he not left in the first place, he’d never have known this disappointment that he should have predicted all along. He wouldn’t close his eyes and still see the way that Tivia used to look at him… If only he had had the clarity to be truly mindful of that very, painfully brief period in his life, when he’d begun to think that there was more to living than just survival. But it was impossible to bask in any given moment when every time he blinked or let his mind wander, he remembered those faces, those people, the awful things that had happened be Zenech’s decree… and his cooperation. No, this might not have been the path that Isidor Kristeva would have chosen, had he been given the choice. But neither did he resist it. Not like Arisza… who had truly thought there might have been a way out.
Who might have made it out, and made it back to her family, had it not been for his cowardice. “...when will it be enough, Arisza?” He whispered to the dark. He still saw her, in his peripheral vision, all the time. Of course, she was not really there; were he truly haunted, his brother would have smugly pointed that out long ago. But part of her was still with him. She always had been… and he had just forgotten. “Will it ever be enough? I cannot take back what happened… but, if I stay, if I try… is there a chance that one day, I can make it right? Will I ever…” He clenched his hands into tight fists, the blunt, half-moons of his fingernails cutting into the soft flesh of his rune-inscribed palms. “...will the blood ever come off of my hands?”
Of course, she never answered him, because she wasn’t real. And even if she were… she didn’t have the answers he sought. Because only time and effort would tell if the Master Alchemist would one day find himself free of his self-imposed hauntings. Maybe, just maybe, if he did the right thing again and again… one day it might be enough.
If only he knew whether helping Vitali as he had, that night, was movement in the right direction… or if it had set him back, even further into the darkness that threatened to swallow him in his dreams.
As it turned out, it was far easier to hide in plain sight while an intricate plan unraveled than it was to hide behind a curtain. However, Nia appeared to take it further than what Locque was quite comfortable with--especially in light of recent events.
“She saw you. In the woods.” The summoner mused, her eyes fixed placidly on the countryside the morning after the necromancer had successfully found his way into the heart of Galeyn--into the palace, where she needed him.
The brunette behind her scoffed as she cleaned and rebandaged the superficial wound on her upper thigh. Certainly, she could hold her own with a knife (and one equipped to slice neatly through armor, at that!), but she was no goddamn knight--and as soon as there was suspicion that Hadwin Kavanagh was not searching for the necromancer’s supposed ‘assailant’ alone, she had a feeling they would need the back-up.
“Logistically, she saw a person in the woods--in the dark. Not like anyone is going to divine my identity like that.”
“Your blood is on her sword. You aren’t the only Master Alchemist in the kingdom. If they cared to really look into you, a drop of blood is all they would need.”
Nia rolled her eyes and pulled on a tight pair of leggings to cover the bandages. “Sure. Say that happens: and, surprise! They identify a total stranger, and are by no means any closer to knowing who I am, or that I have anything to do with you. Relax.” The smug Master Alchemist pulled her cloak over her shoulders and slipped her dainty feet into her boots. “We’re both survivors, yeah? I haven’t been caught yet. Ilandria had wanted my head for years, and I still managed to slip past its peripheral vision for the better part of a decade. Goddamn, I do miss the food, there… You can’t hold a candle to a place with herbs and spices that just don’t grow anywhere else. Speaking of…” In less than two paces, she was at the door. “I’m starving.”
“Did you not already eat once this morning?”
“Sure, but I spent all night reinforcing these weapons and working on ways for the wolf girls to not draw attention to themselves--which is not easy when the little one is hellbent on not trusting me because evidently all she can see is the terrible monster that I am. Oh, speaking of--keep those cloaks in direct sunlight. They’ll need it in order to deflect light later on and give the illusion of invisibility… Anyway, long story short,” she pulled a pair of leather gloves onto her hands--both for warmth, and to conceal the silvery runes scrawled across her palms. Evidently, Galeyn knew what to look for in order to spot a Master Alchemist--and the alchemical community did not take so kindly to them. Surprise, surprise. “Gotta starve to ensure you the best product, in the end. This brand of alchemy requires it--and that is by far the worst part. So I’m going to go make up for lost calories.”
She was one foot out the door before the eerily calm voice from behind her halted her steps. “Anetania.” Locque turned, and settled her cool, strangely omniscient gaze on the Master Alchemist. “Rein in your recklessness… I do not want to regret our allyship.”
“...you really think I’d do anything to compromise all that we’ve accomplished these past months? All of that work toward your vision unraveled? Not a chance.” Nia dropped the smug look from her face. “Let’s be real: you have the wolves’ cooperation, but not their loyalty. Not really. The necromancer will take you as far as the deal declared, but you know as well as I that the second all loose ends are tied up and he has what he wants, he will be on his merry way. The Dawn Warrior--I mean, if you do decide to keep her alive, it’s not like she’ll be singing your praises. But I’ve got nowhere better to go; and unlike them… I like your vision. I believe in it. It’s inspiring, that all these years later, you’re finally taking back what was taken from you. When they’re all gone, Locque? I’ll still be here. You can count on that.”
With a friendly wave, Nia stepped out into the cold before the summoner could continue to reprimand her as though she were a child. Perhaps she thought she was in the right, being… how old? A couple of centuries, somehow? Or, admittedly, it could have more to do with her own tendency toward a decidedly childish nature from time to time. But what was the point of living a life if you couldn’t have a little fun? Locque would understand, one day, when the dust had settled and she had her home back. The summoner was cautious; but Nia didn’t see reason to be. Not when they were all clearly on the winning side, had all of their ducks in a row, and now it was all a matter of time. Of waiting for everything to fall into place.
So what was wrong with a little bit of pre-victory optimism?
Moving toward the back of the little cottage (which was far too cramped when all parties were present; and Rowen was damned unpleasant to be around, nevermind the Dawn Warrior-turned-thrall), the Master Alchemist saddled up the single, ordinary horse. It was a sturdy beast that permitted quicker excursions, and although Nia’s destination was realistically within walking distance to a half hour, she was already far too hungry to want to spare any more unnecessary moments on her feet. So she took off on the steed, making for one of the more palatable villages in Galeyn’s outskirts. This one was a little bigger, a tad more bustling, and since she was not permitted (by Locque’s orders) to venture anywhere near the Night Garden or the capital proper, it was the only place she had been able to find a little bit of excitement. And excitement was important to a girl who always needed something to do. When she wasn’t engaged in alchemical pursuits, she was replenishing what was lost from the necessary fasting that her work required, and winding down from all the tension. Because if she had any single complaint about the sorceress that was hellbent on taking back this kingdom, it was that Locque and her company were by no means any fun.
And she’d be damned if she didn’t get her thrills elsewhere.
Reaching a public house that, after some careful and consistent sampling, proved to have the best cuisine and the best grog within her reach, Nia dismounted and tied her horse outside before a bale of hay, before throwing open the doors of the warm establishment with a relieved sigh. “Osric? Whatever smells so good in here, I hope you have enough of it for me!”
“And where’ve you been, Miss Nia?” The middle-aged owner looked up from wiping spills of ale from the wooden counter, and grinned a gap-toothed grin. “Haven’t seen you in a few sundowns.”
“Busy. Work. You know how it is.” The Master Alchemist slid onto a stool and threw back her hood, freeing her silky locks of brunette. “That man--over there. The one the size of an ox. How much do you think he can eat?”
Osric followed her gaze and frowned. “Is this a trick question?”
“How much do you think he can put away? Because that is precisely how much I want.”
The restaurant owner raised his eyebrows. “I believe you, but I still don’t know where the hell you put all of it. Never seen a woman out-eat a man before you came along.”
“What can I say? I live to amaze. So what’s new? Anything exciting happen in my absence? Please tell me there’s at least some gossip. I’m bored.”
“‘Fraid not. Fewer folks coming out since the attack in that D’Marian village… everyone wondering if they’ll be next.” Osric shook his balding head. “No one’s talking about anything but their own safety, and fear for it. Seems no one is really safe, anymore.”
Nia blew air form between her lips. “Well, damn. Fear really takes the fun out of everything. Oh well. Can I at least get one of my wishes fulfilled?” Rather shamelessly reaching down into her bodice, she plopped a handful of coins in front of her gracious host. “Fill a plate, my good man. Your food isn’t what I’m used to, but it doesn’t disappoint.”
“Certainly… hey, don’t you own a… you know, well, a bag? A pocket--anything? No offense, of course…”
“None taken. But--and no offense--only idiots use pockets when traveling with money. No way in hell am I going to get my money swiped from under my nose. Oh, and Osric?” She called to the man before he could disappear into the kitchens. Her hand was already fiddling impatiently with the steel starburst pendant that hung at her collarbone. “Could you fill me a glass while I’m waiting? Not like I can be a cheap drunk after my stomach is full.”
One upside to teaming up with a bunch of majority do-gooders was that Hadwin trusted them not to rifle through his discarded belongings when his absence required their disposal. Sure enough, on reuniting with his clothes, everything he left behind--sans the dagger he’d handed to Tivia--remained accounted for: pipe, tinderbox, a pouch full of potent-smelling herbs, a second dagger, and some spare coin. Due to his frequent need to disrobe (whether for shapeshifting or for leisure), the faoladh seldom traveled carrying all his worldly possessions on his back. Like a greedy magpie, he maintained his horde of treasures by caching them in designated hideyholes and taking only what was necessary on his person. Every town, he assigned a new base of operations for proper burial of his assets--mostly coin and other assorted valuables. And since he’d come upon a windfall of a fortune, compliments of the ever upstanding and morally righteous Lord Declan of Essleau--he transformed the Night Garden into a treasure hunt waiting to happen. Alas, he never drew out a map; his homing abilities were as sharp as his nose, so apart from some lucky sod stumbling upon the gold, no one would know where to look. Granted, in the Night Garden, sodding happened on the regular, so perhaps a weed-pulling Gardener might mistake his buried treasure for a money tree and hungrily collect its cold, ripened fruit.
Despite requiring very little on his trip to the farmhouse, Hadwin, always the opportunist, tucked away a tidy sum of coin. While any sensible person would consider it an emergency fund, he was not sensible. The money was almost exclusively a pleasure fund. Gambling and drinking, sex and carousing--however much he could afford. And damn, after days of marathon running in the woods, he deserved to waste every last drop of his allowance with some mindless self-indulgence. Sure, it wasn’t fair to Teselin; poor thing was probably worried sick over his disappearance, but a few more hours on the lam wouldn’t do her in...he hoped. Besides, daylight inhibited his travel speed. Better to bide his time until dusk. Same difference; he’d arrive at roughly the same hour no matter which option he chose. Might as well drain a few tankards. Not like Galeyn’s gloomy palace and its gloomy residents encouraged a drinking culture. A pity, really. The Night Garden boasted a vineyard in miniature, and the wines produced from its oversized, plump, and blue grapes were top-grade; more potent than Stella D’Mare’s most noteworthy export.
In the heart of Galeyn, tragedy prevailed, silencing the faintest squelch of lighthearted banter or playful activity. The place was stifling; funereal. A right downer. But what was worse, Rowen instigated the tragedies. By her hand, she inflicted the most damage, racking up an impressive kill count in the process. Yes, Locque reigned as the supreme threat to the kingdom, but she’d taken a back seat and enabled Rowen to run amok because it furthered her agenda. For the irresponsible and irrepressible Hadwin, even he couldn’t feign immunity to the heavy mood his sister had cast on the denizens of the sleepy, peace-loving kingdom. Not when she ripped out Cwenha’s throat, Naimah’s throat, and screwed him up seven ways til Sunday, forcing Teselin to feed him the world’s most expensive cure, brewed from the essence of several thousand lives. Like them, he was affected. Much too affected. Desperately-driven-to-drink affected.
Which brought him to the charming facade of a local pub, its unassailable smells of roasting meat and frothing ale causing his mouth to slaver in involuntary response. Days of chasing and being chased lathered him into one hell of an appetite, and no amount of pickled radishes or salted fish would supplement a hot meal. Turned out, he arrived with exemplary timing; the kitchens were preparing lunch, and the modest, one-room venue reflected the hour. Townsfolk, judging by their familiar interactions with the proprietor, a round-faced, jolly sort, populated the majority of the tables and chairs, leaving only a few stools open by the counter. Fine with him! He always preferred the counter. Strategic and hardly dull, it served as the best seat in the house.
“Haven’t seen your like, before,” the proprietor moved in to welcome his newest patron, who occupied one of the center stools.
“Ah, I run different circles, y’see.” He raised a hand and pointed in a westerly direction. “Central’s my usual haunt. But you could say I’m out here on business. Or was--nothing to it, now. I settled my affairs and I’m ready to kick back. Tell me,” he spun a few silver pieces on the table, “if I get a meal and get myself properly knackered on your fine brew, think you could cut me a deal on transport to the center, tonight?”
“Hm,” the proprietor transferred the payment to his palm, compiling the amount into a neat pile. “Son,” he raised a concerned eyebrow, “how much are you looking to get yourself sloshed? This is enough to buy you a half-barrel and then some.”
“Then we’ll be the best of friends by the end of this fool venture. Got a deal, then?” He extended his hand to shake. “Whatever’s left over I’ll share with all the good folks here--but no promises that’ll happen. I’m like a sieve; you’ll see. Bottomless hole for booze, that I am. But hells, I might be feeling generous, later, so--loose judgment, loose pockets. Win-win for you, mate. Take me for what I’m worth.”
“Son, if you loose out any more change, I’ll ride you into the Night Garden, myself. You got a deal,” he shook the faoladh’s hand, “though I don’t think you understand how deals work, if I’m honest.”
“Huh. Could be the generosity farting outta me early.” Grinning, he released his hand. “Get me a tankard of ale, to start. And I’ll take a heaping plate of whatever’s your special, but no rush; I’m gonna be here a while.”
About halfway into his first tankard, the bell above the door rang and a hooded woman strode inside like she owned the place. As she hunkered down in a stool a few places over and chummed it up with the proprietor, first name basis and all, he paid attention, but not with his eyes. With his nose.
He recognized the smells emanating from her cloak. That night, in the woods, a woman attacked Elespeth. He was nearby when the high-keening of twisted steel, the tang of blood, grunts of struggle, and tendrils of lightning revealed the obvious makings of a tussle. By the time he doubled back to investigate the site, the woman had fled, Elespeth had returned to the farmhouse, and all that remained of the incident was the dried-blood evidence intermixing with patches of snow, a contrast of colors unmistakable to the eye. Colorblind or not, blood was blood, and his nose was never fooled. It belonged to Elespeth’s would-be assassin, whose smell-profile matched the ravenous lady at the counter. From the hidden wound scored into her skin by a Rigas-wielded blade, he caught her distinct blood-essence, its fragrance as heady as wine. Even more curious, her cloak permeated scent-traces of Rowen and Bronwyn. And with that last piece of damning evidence pointing fingers at her business associations, he sketched out her identity. Nia. You’re Locque’s newest pet, hmm? What were the odds, to have her sharing a drink not several feet away from him, in the same damn pub?! True, they could have sent her after him...but there was one way to find out, for sure. Besides, enemy or not, she was too intriguing not to engage in conversation. Unabashedly digging coins from between her bosoms and ordering generous servings of food...she was his kind of woman. A kindred spirit. Fuck, he thought, quirking a secret smile, Rowen must despise you.
“Couldn’t help but overhear,” Hadwin grabbed his tankard and relocated to the empty stool beside her, “you’re in competition to out-ox the ox and I, well, I gotta see this for myself, front seat and all. Rest assured, my spectating doesn’t come empty-handed. Osric,” he hailed the proprietor, “you magnificent creature, tap her some ale from my half-barrel. It’s on me.” At the man’s compliant nod, Hadwin caught her gaze, his golden eyes winking with mischief. “How about a pre-game, you and me? I bet you’re bored. Sure as shit, I’m bored, too. While we wait for our goods, I’ve got a way we can pass the time. Now I’m not looking for you to try and outdrink me, ‘cuz, let’s be honest, you’ll never surpass me--my tolerance is legendary. You’d be committing suicide. But,” he drained his drink and ordered Osric to fill a second serving to the brim, “can you out-speed me? Let’s place a bet, yeah? If you can slug down your ale quicker than me, which,” he scoffed good-naturedly, “good fucking luck, I got your drinks covered for as long as I’m here. That sound like a plan?”
While Alster anticipated a worst-case scenario brewing at the D’Marian village, he hadn’t considered that a large percentage would band together for an immediate mass exodus.
Since losing their homeland, displaced D’Marians grew accustomed to a nomadic, scrappy lifestyle. Survival depended on their adaptability to hardship, turmoil, and changing weather conditions. As a result, they’d transformed from laidback and entitled to resilient...and entitled. But he couldn’t fault the citizens for the plague of injustices they’d suffered in a mere span of two years. Their trauma-led decisions were knee-jerk reactions, steeped in the terror of believing, not wrongly, that the world outside their defunct seaside haven wanted them dead. It only made sense that they’d abandon a refuge once the refuge broke its promise of protection and safety. Galeyn was compromised, as was Braighdath before it, and the D’Marians’ desperation mounted with each monumental loss of stability--and of a place to call their own.
So when he and Elespeth were awoken the morning after their arrival by a Rigas envoy, worry plying on his prematurely aging face, Alster rose to brave whatever insurgency awaited outside the replica villa that had been built to house him. “Elespeth,” he sucked in a courageous breath and squeezed her hand, “I don’t know what to expect out there, but whatever the people are organizing, whatever they plan on doing...I’ll need your support.” He fetched his winter cloak and wrapped it over his sinking shoulders. “Why I ever considered leaving for this village without you...it was a lapse in judgment. You’re a Rigas, too, and this plight concerns you as well as everyone else.” He transferred his hand to the door latch and pulled it open, squinting against the filtered light cast by the overcast morning, and flinching in preparation for the throngs of irate, fearful people they would soon encounter. “Be ready to quell any fires, if necessary. Let’s go.”
Accompanied by Rigas guards, Alster and Elespeth were escorted down the hill upon which the village rested. They wended their way to the town square, located in the settlement’s veritable center, its mark indicated by an empty water fountain, resplendent in multi-colored mosaic tiles. As predicted, the commotion numbered in the majority, and among that majority included mages of old, respected families, outraged Rigases, and powerless citizens who had the most to lose. Without taking stock of the situation in its entirety, Alster was able to identify the organizer behind the threat of D’Marian exodus. Aristide, of the Canaveris branch of earth mages, stepped out of the gathered assembly, arms imprisoned around his chest in an unyielding statement.
“Look who has deigned us with his presence,” the earth mage stopped just shy of Alster and Elespeth, his eyes the color of churned soil. “While I would extend a hearty welcome to the village you effectively abandoned, there is no need to appeal to your mercurial nature any longer.” He unlocked an arm and swept it towards the murmurs and spirited nods of the crowd. “I’ve rallied the good people of Stella D’Mare, and we all agree. Galeyn is no home to us. We are not to stand for this undeserved butchering of our dwindling people and culture. We are not to suffer whiplash after constant whiplash as our incompetent and ineffectual leader fails to uphold his oath to serve and protect. With or without you, Lord Alster Rigas, we will overcome--starting by divesting ourselves of this infernal hellhole you’ve done nothing to extinguish. We are leaving Galeyn, and to this I say--good riddance! And long live Stella D’Mare!” Thunderous applause reverberated through the square, followed by chants of ‘Long live Stella D’Mare!’ strung together like pearls without a string, liable to clatter apart and disperse.
“Not again,” Alster whispered his discontent in Elespeth’s ear. “They did this in Braighdath, too. Every death is my fault. Naturally. Dammit,” he ground his teeth. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of it all.” Casting an amplifying spell over his mouth, he shouted over the noise, scattering the din of voices like leaves on the breeze. “I understand your frustration. I do. But we must not hasten to a decision we’ll come to regret. During a time of awakening and confusion, Galeyn welcomed us as refugees and indiscriminately provided us food, shelter, and provisions, asking for nothing in return. Is this how we repay their generosity? A sorceress threatens this kingdom and instead of rallying to our allies in support and solidarity, you decide to flee? In the dead of winter, might I add? And pray, what are your reasons? Does spite drive you forward? You would risk exposure from the elements, depleted resources, starvation, and death, because you’re dissatisfied by my leadership?”
“A family was murdered, Lord Rigas!” Aristide countered, spittle forming on his overworked tongue. “On this soil. Under our noses, in our village, whilst we slept--and you expect us to lay down our lives as fodder for the next massacre. We cannot afford to fight a sorceress whose power undermines our collective abilities. If a city of mages stands no chance against her, how are we to proceed, then? You cannot ask us to die. Should we agree to aid our Galeynian comrades, whatever restraints she’s been holding will crumble, Lord Rigas, and she will rain the brunt of hellfire on our village. Do you advocate for genocide? Do you agree that we, your citizens, are of less import than your precious Galeynians, none of whom have been targeted by this sorceress and remain unaffected? If there is a chance of survival outside these borders, then I--no, we--will gladly march into unknown lands, in pursuit of freedom. Here, we exist as lambs to the slaughter: penned and helpless. There is no future for us in Galeyn! And you,” he regarded Alster cooly, his head tilted downward in condescension, “are not enough. Your power cannot save us--because it never did.”
With the anticipation of a heart meal on its way, Nia relaxed against the counter and took in the scent and smell of her favourite familiar public house--a welcome change from the dreary seriousness of Locque’s small hut. Not that what she had going was a terrible gig: the sorceress had vowed to permit her the freedom and flexibility to practice her craft once she’d assumed power, along with promising luxury and comfort (a huge step up from their currently modest living accommodations). But she taciturn summoner was a difficult woman to read, at best, and the wolves had not taken a liking to the resident Master Alchemist--particularly the young one. Locque had explained little Rowen was blind to everything but the evil and the vices one had committed throughout their life… and Anetania Ardane, direct of the talented and infamous Ardane alchemists of Ilandria, was certainly no exception, given the mere nature of her craft.
So while she was not beyond seeing the forest through the trees, and anticipated better, more favourable circumstances to come, it was rather difficult to endure the presence of those boring a hold through your soul with their violent gaze--hence the reprieve of her small retreats to this quaint little town. Locque didn’t like it, but that was a given; and if she was to function at her most optimal for her current leader, then the sorceress would have to know better to allow these harmless little excursions. After all, if she was to reside at her own personal Master Alchemist once the dust settled, then trust would be paramount: and trust might as well start now.
So enraptured with thoughts of the meal to come, Nia failed to take notice of new blood in the familiar establishment; a breath of fresh air from the usual, terrified brood that congregated to gripe about all of their insecurities in this threatened kingdom. The Master Alchemist tore her attention away from the barrels of ale in front of her to set her sights on the stranger engaging her. But… wait. Was he a stranger? Something about the man, from his golden eyes to his russet hair, seemed all too familiar… but goddamn, she was far too hungry and eager to eat to put her finger on it. Maybe he wasn’t a stranger; by her standards, this was a small town. It was entirely possible she’d once run into him in passing during one of her many excursions, and simply had yet to exchange words. She had to admit… he was a rather welcome distraction.
“What, never seen a lady eat like a man, before? I guarantee, my like are out there. The thing is, most women would put that food away in secret, but me? Nah.” She shook her head, tucking her brunette locks behind her ear. “When I’m hungry, I’m hungry, and if that happens to be a turn-off for spectators? Well, I suppose that’s their loss.” A quirky smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and flashed white teeth. Whiter than what was typical; just as her hair shone with a silken sheen not typical to anyone in the wintertime, especially. Those small details had been a lot of alchemical work, on her part, but hey, if you only lived once, then you might as well live your best life. “Though I must say, it is a little refreshing to find someone else eager to drown out the winter sorrows early in the day. Often I find myself being the only one… which, damn, it feels pretty awkward. But, if it’s a game you want…” She picked up her stein as soon as Osric handed her the cool beverage, “then I wouldn’t get so cocky, friend. Allow me to blow your mind.”
On the count of three, the two tilted their pewter to their lips, and began to drain the heady, sharp ale until both steins were empty.
Nia slammed hers onto the table just a second before Hadwin did the same. “See, this is why it is so fun betting with a man. They always underestimate a woman--and the look on their face when I beat them at their own game? Well… usually it’s more satisfying than the look on your face.” She wiped her lips with her sleeve and smirked. “You actually look impressed and not all shocked and defeated. But hey, I’ll take it… and the refills, like you promised.”
Hadwin was true to his word, at the very least, and didn’t hesitate to call for another refill for his new companion, who was growing steadily drunker with the presence of alcohol and the sad absence of food. “Haven’t seen you around here, before; not from what I can remember, and this is my favourite place.” Nia rolled back her shoulders, relishing in the way the ale warmed her from the inside out. “What brings you out in the cold for an ale and a meal? Unless it’s the cold you’re looking to escape. Every day I’m seeing fewer and fewer folks out and about--but lucky for this establishment, you’ve got my undying loyalty, eh, Osric?” She grinned at the proprietor who waved in acknowledgement. “No worries closing due to lack of coin; I’ll keep you gainfully employed if you keep food coming my way.”
The stranger didn’t have much to say in the ways of his reasoning; not that he really had to justify his presence, but anymore than she had to justify hers, but the Master Alchemist was curious and nosy by nature--and even moreso when she had alcohol fueling that unabashed curiosity. Whatever his reasons, Nia respected his privacy just as he seemed to respect hers, refraining from any questions too pressing--something she very much appreciated. Certainly, she could lie when she had to, and had already done so on numerous occasions… but it was much more difficult to keep your lies straight when your head was fuzzy from blissful inebriation.
“You know, I’d be tempted to take you up on the challenge of out-drinking you… if I wasn’t already so damned hungry.” She commented, eagerly eyeing up the two heaping plates that she finally saw Osric carrying in from the kitchen. “So why don’t we postpone that challenge for a later date, hm? For now… you’ll have to excuse the lull in conversation. I’m going to give this food a home in my stomach faster than I could drink you under the table.”
She wasn’t lying; the way the Master Alchemist ate, cleaning meat clean off the bone, stuffing herself full of vegetables and bread and cheese, it was as if she hadn’t eaten in a week! Which, of course, was far from accurate… she had partaken in a modest breakfast earlier that morning, but prior to that, she hadn’t had a bit since before finding herself mid-battle with a fucking warrior. She’d neglected to tell Locque that she was frankly surprised to have gotten away as unscathed as she had… the sorceress didn’t need to know that, while she could hold her own, going up against a trained and seasoned warrior was a little bit over her head, even with her fortified weapons. Nia had gotten lucky; Elespeth had lost enough blood to slow her reflexes and allow that small window of retreat. That, alone, had left her famished, and on top of working on cloaks of invisibility for Locque and the wolves, her energy stores were completely depleted.
She didn’t slow down until her plate was clean, practically nothing left but bone and residue--and Hadwin hadn’t yet finished the meal in front of him. “So I guess you now know better than to challenge me to a duel of drinking and eating,” she surmised smugly, a healthy flush of warmth and satiation settling on her cheeks. Her head was still fuzzy from the several drinks she had down prior to putting food in her belly, but she wasn’t completely without her senses and her sense of judgement. Being a seeker of all things and people who were fun was not an excuse to fully let her guard down, after all. “Well, then, I can’t well go on without knowing the name of my brazen challenger. What should I call you?” She stuck out her gloved hand to shake, palm covered, but fingers exposed. “And since you at least deserve to know the name of the woman who beat you at your game--you can call me Nia.”
He took her proffered hand, and as soon as her fingertips brushed the skin of his wrist… that was when her head cleared, and the familiarity made complete sense. Wolf… you’re one of them. Fuck--you’re they’re brother! The Master Alchemist silently cursed herself for her lack of previous observation. He looked like them… he felt like them. Not all human; and here she was, sharing a drink and a meal with the enemy. Well, fuck. Locque would have my head to know that this went down…
Then again… he didn’t know her, not from any other stranger. And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt either of them. Anyway, it wasn’t as though she were unarmed, or that he would risk shifting into a wolf and attacking her in broad daylight; that would only shift suspicion onto him. Besides… who knew what advantage she could glean if he opened up, just a little? Even if he didn’t, despite that the two of them were playing opposite sides… well, it wasn’t so unheard of for enemies to lay down arms on neutral ground and share a drink or two. And he didn’t look to be much in the mood for a fight, anymore than she was.
Besides… she was bored. And he was probably the most entertaining thing to cross her path in weeks. “Well. Pleasure to meet you.” There was nothing fake about her inviting smile. That was the thing about Nia Ardane; you either couldn’t help but love her for her approachable and generally friendly nature, or you couldn’t stand her because there was so little she would take seriously. Or, you were Rowen Kavanagh, and you hated her just because. “So, are you just passing through and stopping to fill your belly, or is this place a home to you? Honestly, this place doesn’t compare to the bustle of Braighdath… but after what went down with that councilman… well.” She whistled and shook her head. “I’ll take a little danger to the crazy decisions that council was making any day. I can protect myself from an assailant; unhinged leaders make me much more uncomfortable. Speaking of,” she traced the rim of her empty stein idly with a fingertip. Solid pewter, untarnished. Good ol’ Osric sure was a man with a fair establishment. “Have you had any dealings with her? This kingdom’s supposed Queen? Can’t say I’ve met her face to face, but I can’t help but wonder how seriously she’s taking all of this mayhem. Lots of people have died since last spring… Surely that hasn’t surpassed her attention?”
Elespeth didn’t think twice when Alster had asked her to accompany him to the D’Marian village that night; on the contrary, she was relieved. Not just because she’d circumvented loneliness, but because after the past several days, from Vitali’s injury, to her brief combat with the mystery woman, to Hadwin’s disappearance, the former knight was firmly on her guard, and reluctant to let her husband out of her sight. Who was to say he wouldn’t be another target? He was powerful; Rowen knew it, Bronwyn knew it, and Locque knew it. And it seemed as though the sorceress was currently interested in taking out those who posed the greatest threat to her. Hadwin, who could too easily track her through his sisters; Vitali, who knew more than he should, and eventually, Alster would cross her mind. It was only a matter of time… and the only way she could protect him was to remain near him.
But there wasn’t a single thing Elespeth could’ve done to protect her husband from what awaited him early the next morning. “What is this about?” She whispered to Alster, as they followed the clearly stressed-out envoy to the village center, where an irate crowd awaited the arrival of their leader. Although… for expecting him, none looked particularly happy to see either Alster, nor his wife.
And they were quick to state their case. On one hand, Elespeth could not blame nor fault the intense emotions that emanated throughout the crowd. The past couple of years had not been easy on the D’Marians, from the war with Andalari led by the mad prince, the summoning of the Serpent that had largely torn their proud city apart, Mollengard’s infiltration, the long journey to Braighdath, and then everything that had taken place since… But they had escalated to the point of near hysteria. They were breaking, and nothing could stop that; not even Alster, present or otherwise. There was no repairing the damage done, especially not of late, with the murder of an innocent family, but… they were rushing to irrational conclusions, and Alster was entirely right. Should they go through with this exodus and lead themselves independently of their Rigas Lord, surely only death would find them.
“So you think that you will find a future for D’Marians beyond this kingdom? In the dead of winter, with these threats looming? Alster is right.” Elespeth stood firm at her husband’s side, realizing that there was likely little she could say or do that would resonate with people who had yet to fully accept her--especially after what she had put Alster through, this past year. “We understand that you are upset, and frustrated, and frightened, but do you really think this sorceress doesn’t have eyes on every entry and exit, just as we do? Do you really think she will let you pass, unscathed? Because if she does not send her wolves or whatever other mercenaries at her fingertips after you, this is what she will do: the exact thing that she did to me, and that she has done… to Sigrid.” She swallowed a lump in her throat, biting back the sorrow of knowing their friend, hurting and vulnerable as she’d been, had been ideal prey for Locque. “She will get inside your heads--perhaps not all at once, but one at a time. You won’t know it when it happens, and when she has you, she won’t have to kill you--because she will make you kill one another. Husbands killing wives, parents killing their children… and if you’re lucky, then she’ll have you kill yourself. Or else, she’ll release you, and let you live the remainder of your long lives wondering how and why you ever did such devastating deeds.”
They weren’t convinced, but reminding them of exactly what Locque was capable of did seem to silent the humming in the crowd, enough for her to get another word in. “You are rightfully afraid--we all are. But Alster is not to blame. He has come here to stay, just as you requested, and the pinnacle of his focus will be your safety. Additionally… Queen Lilica, herself, has expressed a desire to come and meet with you in person. She recognizes you are not her people, but you are on her land, and therefore she assumed responsibility for your protection just as much as Alster. If you’ll let us…” She spread her hands in a plea, “just tell us what you need. Weapons, guards, soldiers… And any who do not feel safe here, Queen Lilica has offered space in the palace for the most vulnerable. Understand that it has always been Locque’s goal to turn us on one another… and we can only hope to make it through all of this by remaining united.”
She accepted his company, but without a hint of recognition or acknowledgment. A passing squint indicated some confusion about his identity, but she hadn’t enough concern to question him or dwell on it. Not when more important matters, such as food, dominated her mind. “It’s not that I haven’t seen a lady eat like a man. Believe you me, it ain’t that rare. At least, in my personal experience, it’s not. No,” he propped his knuckles against his cheek and leaned close, “I’m here to see if you--lady, man, whatever--eat like an animal. Some say there’s no difference; that man is an animal and his table manners reflect on it, but there’s a load of phooey. It’s all about technique, and people, well, they just don’t have the right parts to do their animal of choice justice. Unless their animal’s a fuckin’ monkey. But speaking of monkeys,” he raised his full tankard of ale in a salute to the competition, “let’s see who’s more likely to eat shit after losing.”
Not one to belittle his opponent as unworthy or inferior, he did not hold back or downplay his skill. Out of respect for the challenge and the challenger, he gave his all, lapping down the frothing ale with canine speed and a tongue to match the deed—but oh, she did not disappoint. Her empty tankard of ale hit the table first, a bold second before he finished. “Huh. Well whaddya know?” He wiped some residue off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Looks like I’m the one eating shit.” A graceful loser, Hadwin grinned his congratulations, a brief flash of canines exposed amid rows of straight, white—but not as white as the victor’s—teeth. “True to my word, all you can drink, on my tab.” Signaling Osric to refill their ales, he brought the contents of the third ale to his lips, unfazed by the amount he’d consumed so far.
“You should’ve met my mam.” In the flesh, not the resentful bitch you’ve become, he aimed his inner comment at the forever shadow mucking up the room, shards of glass teeth always on grinning display. “She ain’t doing much drinking nowadays, on account of being dead and all, but if it were between you and her in any competition--drinking, eating, you name it, ten times out of ten, all my money’s betting on her, and she’d come out on top every time. The second I underestimated her, I’d be head over feet and paying for it a lethal amount. So lesson learned; there’s no underestimating on my part. You gave my tongue a workout different than what it’s used to. I’ve been had, so I’m cutting my losses. Ain’t no way I’m gonna compete with you for the main course, so to speak.”
It wasn’t long before Osric swept through the kitchens, balancing two mouthwatering sets of dishes in each hand. Much as the palace served good grub, they seldom offered meat aside from fish. Osric’s fine establishment housed a chicken coop and a few cows on-site, guaranteeing fresh eggs, milk, cheese...and a prized hen or two. He’d been fortunate to patronize the pub on a day that coincided with the slaughter. A plump chicken leg, its crisp, brown skin drizzled with fat, butter, and spices, awaited consumption. Preferring to savor his food and not inhale it, he did not follow in his ravenous companion’s footsteps. Halfway into his meal, she was already soaking up the juices of her demolished plate using the lacerated remains of a dinner roll.
“Oh yeah, I am not disappointed.” He tore a hunk of leftover meat off his bone and chewed his food. In contrast, he deliberately deadened his pace, competing for the title of slowest eater. “Compared to you, I’m a ruminating cow, rolling cud around in my mouth. Psh, should’ve made this a true challenge for you and bet you to eat only one crumb at a time. But there’s no excitement in racing two snails, if you catch my meaning. This spectator’s satisfied. You might have what it takes to challenge a bear, but he can’t get you sloshed if you win.”
On the subject of names, he considered giving an alias. Nia was obviously a nickname and revealed nothing of her origins, aside from the obvious fact that she did not originally hail from Galeyn—or Stella D’Mare. He, on the other hand, enjoyed a fair amount of infamy in the peaceful hermit kingdom, such that his introductions did not require a surname. Hadwin, alone, carried a certain gravitas. Aside from being the brother of a murderer, he wasn’t the best-behaved guest in Galeyn’s palace. For his varied shenanigans, people remembered the name. If she didn’t know who he was by now, there was no use spoiling the surprise when she would inevitably discover his not-so-secret identity.
Too late.
Their hands made contact, and he saw it in her eyes; the jolt of fear upon realizing, as though delivered an instantaneous flood of information, that she shook hands with the enemy. Why such a quick turn-around, he wondered? What about an innocent handshake had tipped her off so immediately?
Ah...I see. So you’re a Master Alchemist, too. He remembered Isidor Kristeva’s parlor trick in the palace hallway; how grabbing Teselin’s hand revealed her composition as comprising mostly magic and chaos, a half-homunculus born of a mother’s womb and no father. He, too, received knowledge of the summoner’s origins in the moment it took for skin to touch skin. Nia was no different. Her knee-jerk surprise, translated as fear, disclosed to him her specialized skill-set, and changed his introduction plans.
“Probably shouldn’t go on sharing my name all willy-nilly. I’ve got a reputation and it’s already come back to bite me in the arse on multiple occasions. But,” he dropped his hand and rolled his shoulders into a casual shrug, “what the hell? Osric here knows I’m in a generous mood today. The name’s Hadwin Kavanagh. Yup, that one. Murderous sister on the loose and everything. Now you understand why I’m chugging drinks and challenging strangers to low-stakes competitions and all that rot. Distractions, am I right?” Finishing his leg of chicken, he reached for his tankard and washed down the flavor with a few liberal gulps of ale. “Naw, I’m not from around here. You can probably tell by my brogue, though it’s gotten diluted over the years, but I’m from Collcreagh, land of rolling hills and Mollengardian occupation. Wonder where they’ll strike next? Campaign season’s a few months away; hope they don’t go for your birthplace or wherever you once called home. You from Braighdath, then?” He traced a wet ring imprinted by his tankard, smearing it against the wood finish. “Ah man, do I miss it there. Rural life doesn’t suit me. The pubs there were pretty top-notch. Not that you don’t run a smashing business, dear Osric,” he paid his compliments to the jolly-faced proprietor as he made his rounds, table to table, asking patrons, including ox-man, himself, if they wanted more to eat.
Hadwin caught Nia’s not-so-crafty attempt to segue into specifics regarding Galeyn’s monarchy and pretended to swirl the question around as he swirled the dregs of his ale. Fishing for some juicy tidbits, I see. And I thought we had something here, oh hungry one.
“Can’t say I’ve had much to do with her.” It wasn’t a lie, though he could spin a falsehood as ironclad as any accomplished grifter, should the need arise. Lies came as naturally as truths, sometimes--but to the surprise of many, he preferred honesty. It cut straight through the bullshit and opened dialogue for some intriguing revelations of character, motivations, and truly messed-up emotional baggage. Of course, he liked to be honest for people, because sometimes, they needed a little reminder. A little fear to combat the denial. “She’s kinda boring to me. Too much responsibility’s bound to dull you up some, I wager. So if you were looking to hear some dirty gossip, sorry to disappoint. I mean, obviously she cares. My sister’s made a fine mess of things; kinda hard not to react to what she did, even if they’re not her Galeynian subjects. Frankly, I’m more interested in why no Galeynians are getting harmed. Sounds like our resident marionette sorceress has got some hard limits among her plans for conquest. S’why you should watch yourself, out there. Anyone who isn’t Galeynian is bound to have a target on their back. But,” his mouth expanded, letting loose a stream of staccatoed chuckles, “what do I know? Me and sober don’t get along. Ask the palace attendants. I keep swiping their wine--and, plucking some high-grade Night Garden herb to smoke in my pipe. Which is bloody fantastic, by the by. I’m here to drink and to drink hard. So let’s go at it till one of us bows out from the excess. Here, here!” He thumped the empty tankard on the table, alerting Osric to his request for a refill. “Another ale for me and the lady, my cherubic-faced savior. No...better yet,” he called out to the denizens of the pub, “this round’s on me!”
Alster pretended the last words uttered by Aristide did not strike him at his core. Not enough, not enough...They assailed his head like a reverse echo, the sentiment growing louder and louder as to overwhelm any counter-argument or diplomatic solution he could give to the small uprising in the square. Stella D’Mare...is this the attitude you’ve harbored for me all along? You still despise me? Still believe I’m unworthy to lead, unworthy to live? That I should’ve died to fend the city from the Serpent...from my mistake?
His mouth twitched, but no sound escaped. All eyes bore on him, dissecting, scrutinizing, waiting for him to fail. You’d rather I fail. You’d rather be correct in your suspicions about me than survive under my guidance. Do you not trust I will protect you?
Not enough…
They all seemed to think so. Four mage families banded around Aristide. Outside the Rigas family, they operated as the backbone of Old Town Stella D’Mare. If Rigas Heads of the past did not garner the support and loyalty of the old families, a loyalty sometimes won by bribery and compromises, casual threats of rebellion would trickle out of their dissatisfied mouths, allowing the germ of the idea to poison the aqueducts and wells, and enter the minds of the common people. But of the three thousand years of torrid D’Marian history and the complexities of mage dynamics, never had the Rigas relationship with the elite families devolved into actual, organized rebellion. And under his stellar leadership, it happened not once, but twice: first in Braighdath and now in Galeyn.
Logic dictated that the fault did not lie with him alone. Displaced, disgraced, disenfranchised, and far from home, D’Marians dealt with hard travel, poverty, starvation, and the unshakeable malice of a sorceress who drove them out of Braighdath and resolved to drive them out of Galeyn, as well. Too many external factors impacted his public image, souring his approval rating to an abysmal percentage where whatever step he took to improve conditions would only get misconstrued and twisted. No--the people needed a scapegoat. A visible one. Weak-minded. Ably defeated. Alster Rigas, for all his impressive power, would crumble and succumb to an angry mob--and he didn’t disagree with their assessment. If they wanted a scapegoat...so be it. He couldn’t control public opinion. Their low-regard for him, however, wasn’t unfounded--for Alster Rigas wasn’t so innocent. Not when he chose palace life over the interests of the D’Marian village. He may have developed the project and oversaw it from start to finish, but he didn’t express enough interest to stay and preside over the people in his rightful place. In his determination not to fail anyone...he failed everyone.
During the lapse of ever-stretching, progressively more uncomfortable silence wherein he could not speak or defend his point of view, Elespeth stepped forward to allay the high-fever tensions of the crowd. Thankful for her input, Alster breathed in his second wind, ready to piggyback off her entreaty, but Aristide trampled over his attempts for a considerate dialogue by aiming his attention on Elespeth. The soil in his eyes blackened.
“Lady Rigas, while I cannot deny you are a better suited for oration than your meek husband, on what authority are you qualified to discuss matters of D’Marian concern?” A sea of heads bobbled in agreement. “A fancy name does not negate your outsider status. We do not accept you, nor are we ready to forgive your most egregious behavior in Braighdath. You’ve besmirched the honor of your appropriated household by endangering our ties to Braighdath. While Locque may have been responsible for your misdeeds, you did not carry yourself with the dignity or grace as befitting a Rigas. Naturally, you were easy prey for Locque, but we,” he motioned to the crowd, “unlike you, have honor, and will not be deceived.”
“Lord Canaveris, need I remind you to keep a civil tongue about you.” Alster, incensed by the insults lobbed at Elespeth’s feet, unfurled like a red flower shivering in the wind. “I understand you have issues with my rulership and how we are handling the tragedies that have befallen this village. I’m receptive to changes. All of you--” he flashed his fierce-set eyes at the crowd, modulating his voice to a cutting timbre, “despite your grievances, despite your disappointment in me, I am here for you now. But I will not tolerate petty animosity. It does not strengthen your argument, nor is it an honorable way to conduct business. In fact, it tells me that the foundation of your unrest sits on stewing resentment, and not on a desire for a solution that will ensure our survival as a group. You will find my patience for childish squabbles is nonexistent, so forgive me if I sound harsh,” he nearly hissed the word, “but we are not bandying about trade agreements with the port authority, here. We are discussing actions to prevent a war. Let us please match the tone. That said,” he laid his prosthesis across his opposite shoulder, exposing the glittering steel in a display to remind the people of his sacrifices, “should you leave, neither I, nor Galeyn, nor the Forbanne under Prince Sorde’s command, can guarantee your safety. If you are operating on a hunch that Locque will not inflict harm if you hastily flee the kingdom, then you have no grounds to call me mercurial. Not when you’re the ones running. D’Marians,” he addressed the larger crowd, “to you, I offer an ultimatum. Take my protection, my magic--for is it not the reason you requested I relocate to this village? Take my protection...or don’t. If I am so weak and useless, deny my aid. I’ll return to Galeyn’s palace, and you’ll experience nightly murders all the same.” Whirling on his heels, he turned to go. “I leave the executive decisions to you, Lord Canaveris, Speaker of the People.”
“Murderous sister? Are you saying that you’re related to the one who has been attacking the people of Galeyn--or, rather, the residents that have come to live in Galeyn?” Nia, too, decided it was ultimately best to play dumb--since that was the very game that Hadwin Kavanagh chose to play. But she had to admit, as far as deceit went, he was damned good at hiding behind his identity as a frequent, careless drinker! It was one thing to spout a good string of lies and maintain the delicate details of that facade, but it took a certain amount of cleverness to play up the truth and hide behind it to conceal anything that one didn’t wish to be revealed. Of course… she was just as guilty of participating in the same game. If the faoladh wasn’t going to be forthcoming simply because she wasn’t, either, then… well, maybe she could throw him a bit of a line. Just about an inch or so. “Well… I guess I can’t blame you. Oh, the joys of family, am I right? Can’t say I’m particularly unhappy not to be in direct contact with mine anymore. Life is so much easier when you tackle it solo, without having to deal with other peoples’ bullshit.”
Licking whatever residue of her meal remained from the back of her fork, Nia straightened her posture, still seemingly more relaxed in this questionable company now that she had food in her belly. “Well, not gonna lie, I was hoping for a little drama or gossip, but I suppose you can’t provide what’s not there.” The Master Alchemist shrugged, but couldn’t help but wonder: was he on to her? He had been there, after all, in the general vicinity when she had attacked that warrior woman to try and give the other wolves either an opportunity to flee or to make chase (not that either of them would ever express gratitude on their behalf). Had he picked up her scent? She might have seen a flicker of recognition in his own golden eyes when he had come to sit next to her, but it was difficult to rely on her senses when she had been so damned hungry (and then, a little bit tipsy). But now, with a relatively more clear head and a knack for knowing when someone was withholding… It was entirely possible that the both of them were both wrapped up in a game of playing dumb, all the while fully aware of one another’s identity. That theory made perfect sense for the fact that such a seemingly open man wasn’t opening up all that much, and had been hesitant to reveal his name. Well… even if this had devolved into a mere game of knowing minds, Hadwin Kavanagh was still by far the most interesting thing in that pub.
“From Collcreagh, huh? Can’t say I’ve ever been.” As soon as Osric refilled her pewter stein, Nia lifted it to her lips and saturated her tongue with the heady ale. With a full stomach, she wasn’t likely to completely lose her good sense in conversation with the enemy--or, well, an affiliate of the enemy. To Nia, no one was actually an enemy until they meant her harm and acted on those intentions. “But yes, Braighdath was my most recent haunt, until people kept ending up dead, and the council about lost its mind… although I’m not sure that here will turn out any differently. Maybe bad luck just follows me.” She shrugged her shoulders and took another long swig of ale. Not the best she’d ever had, but Osric’s pleasant establishment was enough to satisfy. “I was born in Ilandria. That place has been fortified to the damn brim since before I even existed, so if Mollengard is looking to occupy, then they’re going to have one hell of a fight with its prince of blades on their hands. That is one monarchy you don’t want to fuck with; not when all of the royals themselves are trained soldiers, and hte king has come back from battle after battle coated in the blood of his enemies, without a drop of his own spilt. Gorgeous place, though. Best weaponry you’ll find anywhere, and once you have your hand on an Ilandrian blade, nothing else will ever suffice.”
Absently, she placed her free hand on her hip, where beneath her woolen winter cloak, the very dagger that had torn Elespeth Rigas’s armor was strapped tightly to her thigh, above the aching wound that had yet to fully close. Of course, those weapons were only renowned because my family had its hands in crafting and reinforcing them, she thought bitterly. Maybe Ilandria deserves to fall to Mollengard: to make it clear that the kingdom was nothing, and would be nothing more, without the talented Ardane family.
“Oh, and good food, too. Due to the patterns of quick frost in the winter and equally quick thaw in the spring, there are some herbs unique to the place that you can’t find anywhere else. And like the weapons… well, that is food that you’ll never forget. Most unique wines, too, from crushed, frosted grapes. Totally unparalleled: at least, I haven’t found anything that compares in my travels, since.” A reminiscent smile quirked at the corners of her mouth, but it faded just as soon as it was there. “Sadly, there also happens to be too much about that place that cramps my style. Figure I’ll just keep on traveling until I find a place that feels right. But for now… for the winter, at least, I’ll sate my cravings on Osric’s fine cuisine and hospitality. Speaking of--Osric, has the Missus been baking any of her pies, lately?”
“You’re still hungry? After all that?” The proprietor raised both bushy eyebrows. “You worry me, girl. The way you walk in here and eat enough to satisfy three men my size, makes me wonder if the last time you ate anything was when you were here some days ago.”
Oh, if only you knew, she thought dismally, recalling how Locque had been checking in on her progress on those cloaks far too often for comfort. She couldn’t have sneaked a small snack in even if she’d wanted to. The integrity of the work was too important for a human conduit of change. “I’ve always got an appetite for your fine establishment.” Nia smiled her red, winning smile. “Just a slice of walnut and winterberry would be divine--come on now, Osric, I’m not a glutton. I’m not going to eat the whole pie… in a single sitting.”
Osric shook his head in disbelief and disappeared into the kitchen to oblige, and the Master Alchemist turned back to her current company. “The man’s wife does make spectacular pies; highly recommend it if you’ve got any room for desert.” She nudged Hadwin’s arm playfully. “But on another topic: how are you handling it all? With your sister seemingly being the one responsible for these murders? Should I venture to guess that’s why you’ve become a connoisseur of Galeynian wine? I don’t blame you; it’s easier not to think about these things. Like safety and such. Maybe it’s just coincidence that no resident Galeynians have been harmed. I’ve seen my fair share of fellow Braighdathians in and out of this place with their heads still attached to their shoulders. And I’m one of them. Who knows? Maybe these incidents aren’t as random as they seem.” Though I imagine you know that already; after all, this is just a game, isn’t it?
Nia drained her pewter as soon as the long-anticipated slice of pie arrived, the mere sight of it making her feel hungry all over again. And she had absolutely no shame in indulging after more than two days fasting. “I’d say that this pie is about the best damn thing you’ll experience here in Galeyn, but what with your open access to the royal wine and select herbs from the Night Garden itself, I’m not sure anything could quite compare to that, lucky bastard.” She chuckled, before taking a huge bite of the decadent, sweet pastry. “Guess you have to know and be in league with the right people to experience the very best of a place. Evidently I don’t have all the right friends in the right places; but isn’t that just life. I’ll take what I can get.”
That slice of pie didn’t stand a chance of existing for more than a moment on the plate in front of her, before the hungry Master Alchemist put it away just like she had the rest of the food, to its final destination in her stomach. Just as she pushed the empty plate away from her, Osric looked about to refill her empty stein--but she stayed him with a hand on his arm. “Thanks for thinking of me, my friend, but I think I’m done--for now. Can’t promise you won’t see me again tomorrow.”
“So you’ll tuck away more food than you usually do, but you won’t drink ‘til you’re red in the face?” The older man chuckled, but lowered his arm as a sign of respect for her decision. “Last time you were here, two grown men were passed out drunk, and you were still going!”
“Yeah, well, I’ve unfortunately got other commitments today. And I can’t show up to them completely sloshed, much as I’d like to drink the day away, like our new friend, here.” Nia patted Hadwin’s shoulder and flicked Osric a few more coins as a generous tip. “I can trust you’ll take good care of him, Osric. He’ll liven up your stead in my absence.”
Adjusting her cloak and throwing her hair behind her shoulders, Locque’s own Master Alchemist turned one last time to her new acquaintance and flashed a knowing grin. “Well, Hadwin Kavanagh, it’s been a pleasure. Good luck to you and all with your sister issue. But if luck won’t find you--there’s always ale. Maybe I’ll see you here, again.”
Offering one last playful wink, Nia departed the pub with far less flare than she had entered it. The door jingled and clicked quietly after her.
“...Whatever you might be thinking, you leave that girl alone.” Osric had taken note of the way Hadwin’s eyes followed Nia’s departure, full of suspicion and deep thought. A frown curled at the edges of the proprietor’s mouth as he polished a handful of clean steins. “I can’t remember the last time this pub flourished so much in the dead of winter, before she came around. A right ray of sunshine, too; never a dull moment in this dull place when she’s around. No offense, young man, but I’ve got to look out for my best patron.”
“I am qualified to discuss these matters on my husband’s authority. Because, like it or not--like me or not--I am a Rigas, Lord Canaveris. Honourary, and not by blood, but through marriage. And your affairs are Alster’s affairs; and therefore, there are also my affairs.” Unlike her husband, who was positively bristling at the manner in which this man dared to speak to his wife, Elespeth let the venom drain from her voice. How could she fault these people, when her role as a Rigas, up until now… had been non-existent? They were afraid; and they were desperate. And if she knew anything about fear and desperation, it was that it corrupted your ability to make sound decisions. “I may be an outsider, but know that I have been present in Rigas affairs for the past handful of years. That Alster and I have been working as a team to the benefit of the Rigases and D’Marians. Of late, Alster has been doing far more than me… especially in light of what occurred this past year. I take full responsibility for my actions; I am forever indebted to Alster for saving my life. But I am able to help now, and I want to, alongside my husband. In your mind, it may be too late, but so long as D’Marians and Rigases are among… it isn’t too late. And I need you to believe that. However...”
The former knight took a step forward, directly challenging Aristide and his words, which she knew he had carefully chosen to hit home--and to hit hard. “Believe what you will about my honour, or lack thereof as you so eloquently put it, honour will not protect you from that witch. You know that the only people she had not targeted are the Galeynians themselves… but what do you think saves you? What makes you so different, that you do not see yourself, or any of these people, as a potential target? As people who will not be torn to shreds by Rowen Kavanagh? Or run through with Gaolithe? Sigrid Sorenson sure as hell had honour--more than me. More than you, and in fact, more than anyone I have ever known. And now she walks as Locque’s thrall. So for the sake of all of these people,” she gestured to the crowd with her hands and raised her voice, “do not rest on the laurels of your hubris and attest that you are safe because of it! We want to help you; as does the Galeynian monarchy. So take a breath… and let us.”
Alster wasn’t of the mind to continue this conversation, it seemed, with a man who appeared so self-assured that he would stoop as low as to try and make Elespeth look bad. But she wasn’t the person this affected; frankly, she had no qualms with the accusations lobbed at her, for their only reaffirmed everything that she silently, deep down, still believed. That she had lost her honour… and it was up in the air as to whether or not she could find it again. She knew this, but it wasn’t about her. It wasn’t even about Alster, anymore. It was about pride, and if Rigas pride was all that these people had left… They would fall before they realized what was happening.
“...I’m going to return to the palace tonight, Alster.” She said to her husband, who still seethed in his retreating steps, his blue eyes sharp and boring into the ground. “I shouldn’t… have come with you. To them, I will always be an outsider, but that side, we need to help them. I am going to speak with Lilica… and, more importantly, Chara. I cannot assume that they will take any more kindly to Lilica than they did me, but your cousin--well, if they know what is good for them, they will not dismiss Chara if she stands next to you.”
“Kavanagh’s not a common name around these parts, and no one’s been keeping secret about the family connection, least of all me, so yeah, it is what it is.” Hadwin stretched his arms skyward and poised them behind his head, his speech as languid and flippant as his movements. He took a casual glance at her from his periphery, intrigue tugging one corner of his mouth into a smirk. Ah, so she figured out that he was on to her. Why else would she feign ignorance in relation to his, well, relations, if not to contribute to his drunken no-nothing narrative by returning the favor, and acting the part in kind? Their deceitful game of shenanigans, which they carried out with wilful relish, breathed some new life into him. Though reduced to playing each other for the sheer thrill of it, he didn’t want the roulette wheel to cease spinning, not yet ready to see where the ball would land.
He gave the wheel another spin. “I take it you’re new in Galeyn. Unless I’m huffing out an inflated sense of self-worth, which is definitely possible, I don’t really have anonymity on my side. So you gotta be new--and if you are, you’ve got some connections, to make it through the closed border without a hitch.” Flopping his arms to the counter, he leaned into her ear in a mock-confessional whisper. “My sister--my other sister, who up and poofed one day cuz she prefers Ro’s company to mine--got roughhoused by the Forbanne and imprisoned just for crossing the border. Took a bit of convincing before she was exonerated. ‘Course, she’s got piss-poor associations, and I’m one of those associations, so I understand the caution. So,” he transferred his weight to the countertop, tilting his head in a gesture reserved for only the people who earned his full, unerring attention, ”what brings you out here, besides? I heard you’re here for business. Oh!” he perked up in his seat. “You a merchant operating out of Braighdath? Could operate a mean spice business if you’ve still got some Ilandrian connections. I dabbled in the merchant life, myself. Wasn’t that an adventure?” He presented Nia with a flirtatious wink and a winning smile. “I’ll tell you all about it...if we ever cross paths, again.” The implication was, of course, that they would...and he was looking forward to their next encounter.
When she proceeded to order a slice of pie for dessert, he guffawed into his tankard and shook his head, more amused than dismissive. “Haven’t seen anyone who could eat like you in many moons. ‘Cept maybe Prince Sorde, but he’s a growing boy, and it’s not as impressive seeing as he’s a mound of flesh and muscle and doesn’t have a suction feature built into his mouth like you do. The people I know don’t do that whole bothersome eating thing. A shame, too, cuz I can whip up a savage sweet loaf and cream pastries something fierce, if I do say so myself. All’s the better, when I’ve got access to Night Garden quality grains. But there’s no one to appreciate my baking artistry, as there’s been no reason to celebrate anything in Galeyn since, y’know, my sister and the joyless sorceress started shitting in the water for kicks. But to be fair,” a gossipy twang trickled from his mouth, “the lot at the palace are mad bleak, even at the best of times. If you think you’ve got bad luck…hah! I encourage you to go out there and compare sob stories for a lark. But speaking of luck,” he rattled his empty tankard of pewter, ready for a fourth refill, “I’ve got it in scads. Of the good kind. Don’t let my familial troubles and my drinking habits fool ya. I’ve been drinking and smoking since before I grew my first pubic hair. Sure, it ain’t a great situation, right now, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say my sis got her digs in and fucked me clean over, but you shake off the loss, if you can. That’s the key to winning and the key to good fortune; the right attitude. And you don’t slow down, either--so,” he clucked his tongue in approval, “you’ve got the right idea, sucking the daylights outta that pie!”
In conjunction with the delivered pie, Hadwin received his tankard of robust ale. Rearing his head back, he took a quick swig, ignoring components of the beverage such as flavor or mouth-feel--none of it ranked as more important than the promise of intoxication. When he set down the drink, the plate of pie had vanished into the pie-hole beside him. “Wow; blink and you miss it, huh? While I believe it was a spectacular specimen--though I didn’t get a good look before you devoured the damn thing--I make desserts, but I don’t eat ‘em. Sugar’s got no place in this savory vessel of mine,” he broke into an unapologetic grin, punting Nia playfully in the shoulder for good measure, “cuz I’m far from sweet.”
The roulette wheel had stopped spinning, but the ball never landed on a lucky number. No wins, no losses. Though it could be argued that he won the first round. During their covert knowledge exchange, he learned more relevant information about the once-mysterious woman, now revealed as a gluttonous--and fascinating--Master Alchemist, than she learned of him, or of his high-profile allies. Not that it really mattered, what he gleaned of her origins, specializations--or fears--when they’d wordlessly agreed upon and established that Osric’s pub operated as neutral territory. He’d either see her on the field as ‘enemy’ adjacent, or he’d catch her at the pub tossing drinks and gobs of food down her gullet, but she wouldn’t inhabit both conditions at once--because to do so would involve an establishment that brought her joy and a bit of succor. And what use was there in destroying a safe haven, when he, her enemy, also deemed it safe? Well, he backtracked, ‘safe’ did not belong in his fear-dominated parlance, but ‘haven’ wasn’t too far off the mark. It was a haven of good drinks, good company, and good food, a holy trinity of exemplary service that deserved reverence reserved for only the most devout church-goer. For the pleasurable experience, he’d sanctify the place as untouchable...because even he needed faith in a good outcome, sometimes.
“Give ‘em my best, yeah? Your commitments? ‘Specially the little one.” The stretch of a smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “See ya when I see ya, grizzly bear.” He saluted, his fingers to his forehead. “I’d say you’ve got a friend in the right place, but it could be the drinks talking. Not that I’m drunk at all, though. That’s the problem with crazy-good tolerance; takes a good deal of pocket change to get properly knackered, and the food didn’t help matters, either. Rest assured; I’ll be here a while--though I’m sure Osric doesn’t mind chewing on my coins as I throw ‘em.”
His eyes followed her exit, only snapping back to the counter upon Osric’s unnecessary warning. “Care if I become your second-best patron?” He slid a few more pieces towards the proprietor. “Got something harder than ale? I’m all for it. Between her and me, we’ll shower your establishment with enough coin to open up a branch business in central. Ain’t nothing I can do about who she decides to associate with, though--but don’t get your britches all in a twist. I like ‘er just fine.” But if she tries to kill anyone I give a shit about, I won’t hesitate to off her, myself. It was a statement better left unspoken.
While Nia was making her return to the tiny, glamour-hidden cottage in the woods, Rowen, fresh from a hunt, was poring over her work--dissecting a rabbit’s carcass. Given that she ate her fill of rabbits when she dug out a family from its burrow and crunched their bones into grist, the remaining animal, too sickly to consume, she carried home for a “project.” She called it a project, but really, it was a distraction to prevent her from darting off to the closest village and tearing throats to ribbons out of sheer boredom. Instead, she whiled away the hours inserting a dagger into the tender, warm meat of her kill and sloppily separating the entrails from its stomach. Next, she extracted the heart, no bigger than a raisin between her fingers. Ironically, what she was required to kill for sustenance did not deserve to die--unlike the rottenness of the world: Galeynians, D’Marians, and Eyraillians alike. And now, with Locque welcoming the putrefaction of humanity into their circle, the very people she wanted to rid the world of, it was like the sorceress was aiming to piss her right the hell off.
She beheld the innocent rabbit heart, turning the blood-slicked organ in the lantern light. Purity was slipping. She needed to kill all signs of it, preserve the heart, the brain, and hide its beauty from the exploitative forces that lobbied for its elimination. I’ve saved you from them. They can’t corrupt you with wickedness. You’re safe. You’re dead...and safe.
Rowen heard Nia’s approach far before she barged through the door, annoyance incarnate. Even if not blessed with an impeccable sense of hearing, the Master Alchemist possessed the sort of presence that would not be ignored. Yet, the faoladh accepted the challenge to try and snub the woman’s existence. It lasted for all of five seconds. A hauntingly familiar odor permeated from Nia’s clothes, prompting Rowen to grab her dagger from the rabbit’s corpse--and fling it at her. Missing its target by a hair, the blade plunged into the door behind Nia’s head.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand!” Rowen vaulted from her chair, her tiny form stalking to the door, where her quarry had frozen in place. “What were you doing with him?! Fraternizing in a--in a pub!?” Her nose wrinkled from the sour stench of ale. “Oh, that’s rich.” She barked. “Very apropos. I’m surprised you didn’t fuck each other on the damn table! And now he knows about you. Knows all your fears. Your worst vulnerabilities. He’ll exploit them--exploit you! He doesn’t give a shit. He’s a hedonist; he’ll fuck you over if it makes him feel good.” Too short in stature to intimidate by size, she swerved behind Nia and in a rush of footwork, reclaimed her dagger from the door. She pointed it towards the woman’s throat. “Stay the hell away from my brother. He’s my target. My kill. Interfere again...and you’re dead.”
Alster firmly walked away from the mess of people in the square, deafening their cries for his attention. With Elespeth in tow, they, led by the Rigas guards, journeyed to the summit of the village and retired to the replica villa perched on the side of the hill. From the view on the terrace, he watched as the crowds dispersed and returned to their homes, a small win, considering they did not immediately organize a march and filter out of the village, to their likely doom. Peeling away from the railing, Alster swept inside, hunkering his weary bones on the divan and sighing a huff of hot air into his hands, effectively evacuating the residual anger still humming in his ears. Elespeth was quick to join him.
“I’m sorry,” he rested his hand on her lap. “I should have expected, should have anticipated, that they’d try to drag you with me. D’Marians are known for delivering low-blows if it cripples their opponent. They know my weaknesses. Nothing is more glaringly noticeable than my love for you. But,” he tenderly cupped her knee, “it’s also my greatest strength. I wouldn’t have been able to deliver a retort to that smug Canaveris bastard if you weren’t beside me. I know I can’t do this alone, so please,” he raised his head to meet Elespeth, eyes pleading, “please, will you reconsider? I need you here. It’s a hostile environment, I realize, but...we can see this as an opportunity. A proving ground. The D’Marians are in their right to be angry for feeling abandoned. Rigas Head responsibilities have been transferred from Chara, to me, to Chara, and back to me. There lacks a structure, a presence, and I fully admit to choosing to work directly with Galeynian affairs, with D’Marian affairs playing second fiddle. I’ve neglected the people. They need to know I’m serious, now. And,” he shifted in his seat to regard his wife, head-on, “they need to know that you’re serious, too. That you won’t fall back or disappear. That you were worth defending at Braighdath’s trial.” A spark of encouragement livened the blue in his eyes. “They need to see that you are a Rigas. You’ve already demonstrated your mettle out there, El. Even a D’Marian Lord acknowledged your poise and grace--before trying to sabotage your accomplishments by focusing on your faults, that is.” He pressed his hands on her shoulders, rallying energy flooding ceaselessly from his mouth. “We can’t express defeat, El. These are our people. The moment we retreat to the palace, it sets the precedent that we choose Galeyn over them. It is exactly why they’re acting out and making ridiculous requests. They’re desperate to be heard and supported. I was too overwhelmed to see it, before, but...these attacks, they’re merely cries for help. They’re…”
“--Please excuse my interruption, Lord and Lady Rigas,” A Rigas guard entered the parlor, bowing his apologies from the waist. “But you have a guest waiting in the foyer. He wishes to speak to you both.”
“Guest? I did not approve any guests at this time.”
“Ah, well that is unfortunate--seeing as I am here, now.” Lord Canaveris waltzed into the parlor, long, glossy-back hair feathering the sides of his bronze face like a raven’s wings about to take flight.
Alster scrambled to his feet, prosthesis crossed over his chest like a shield. “If you have come to gloat and insult, I ask that you leave, posthaste.”
“No,” he rolled the word over his tongue. “No reason to perform before an audience of two. Or,” he snapped his fingers at the Rigas guard, “three. You’ll find I bear little hostility. Disagreements, oh yes, I heartily disagree, but the Canaveris legacy requires I play a polarizing role to you, our Rigas overlords--as is customary. Thrust as I am into the position of Canaveris Head, responsibilities include leading uprisings against you, if the people so demand it. And who am I but a mouthpiece to the people? But,” he adjusted the collar of his tunic, “as you see me, presently, I am not Lord Canaveris, or ‘Speaker of the People,’ as you so eloquently put it. I am simply Aristide--or Ari, to friends.”
Alster raised a flummoxed eyebrow. “Are we to believe that you’re on our side, Lord Canaveris?” he emphasized, ignoring the other man’s requested moniker.
“I’m nothing but a challenger of tradition.” He strode across the room, each footfall as deliberate as the next. “My family--and the people--demand I lead them out of Galeyn. It is for this reason they follow me. But I will gladly reason with them if you can convince me that you have a plan--and if you give me credit for the plan. Let’s be honest; they are more willing to listen to me at this juncture. Anything you say, they will want to defy, as petulant children are wont to do.”
Guarded and unconvinced, Alster glanced askance at Elespeth to gauge her opinion. “I can’t help but suspect that your offer is conditional. What are you looking to gain? A Canaveris and Rigas coalition sounds dubious at best.”
“For starters, I would like to survive. And if working with my ‘rival’ unsaddles me from the responsibility of organizing yet another pilgrimage to nonexistent greener pastures, then you will be doing me a boon. As well, I am willing to apologize to you--and to you, my Lady,” he bowed to Elespeth, “for my earlier remarks. More, please include me in discussions with the Galeynian Queen,” he grinned in fond remembrance. “I’d much like to pay Lady Chara a visit, as it were.”
Truth be told, Nia had intended to spend far more time at Osric’s cozy and satisfying pub that morning; it wouldn’t have been the first time that she’d spent the better part of the day at her favourite Galeynian establishment. But as her conversation with the enemy faoladh had progressed, that nagging voice of reason at the back of her mind began to encourage her that enough was enough--and she frankly didn’t trust herself enough not to spill too much under the influence of alcohol, even if she was only mildly tipsy. By the end of their conversation, it was glaringly obvious that whatever veil hiding the game that the two of them had been playing was discarded: he was on to her, he knew that she was on to him, as well. So as much as the Master Alchemist appreciated his company… well, it was time to find safer grounds. After all, she did not want to soil the neutral territory of Osric’s pub with any thinly-veiled animosity. And, to Hadwin’s credit, he at least seemed to respect those neutral grounds.
And anyway… Who said a couple of folks from opposing sides couldn’t share in a drink or two, in the safety of neutral territory? There was no real harm in it if she left now, and cut her losses. He wasn’t going to tell her anything pertinent, but… neither did she think him much of a danger. What could he say? That he’d met the stranger who had assaulted Elespeth with a knife? It wasn’t as though that would help his comrades at all, and any way, it was already too late for them. Everything was in place, and it was only a matter of time before Locque finally struck. Queen Lilica and the Galeynians didn’t know it yet, but their opposition had already won.
Sated and satisfied, no sooner did the Master Alchemist step into the well-concealed cottage that she was accosted by yet another faoladh--a decidedly less preferable and far less friendly one. It wouldn’t have been the first time the little bitch had pulled a knife or bared her teeth at her, but this time, Nia knew exactly why she was so riled up; and, in fact, she had been expecting it. “Stand down, little pup.” She put her hands up with a calm countenance, knowing better than to engage Rowen’s wrath. Even as a human, the little Kavanagh knew how to strike a killing blow, and fast. “Yes, I was filling my belly at a pub---not a crime of treachery, by the way--and lo and behold, I happened to encounter your brother. Thought he looked familiar, but to be honest, I wasn’t really sure as to who I was talking to until I touched him--oh, not like that, don’t get yourself riled up for nothing. Though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” When she was confident the girl wasn’t going to go off on a whim and stab her, she lowered her hands. “I talked to him a little--that’s all. Got a feel for who he was; tried to see if he would spill some pertinent information that could be to our advantage. He was drinking, and alcohol seems to loosen some peoples’ lips. But, entertaining as he was, he didn’t have much to say, so I left after I’d had my fill. True story. If you want confirmation, why don’t you go and ask him yourself?”
The Master Alchemist raised her eyebrows and folded her arms. “He might know who I am, Rowen; sadly, he’s not an idiot, and yeah, if he can see fears and all, then maybe something gave me away. But he doesn’t know me from any other woman in this kingdom, and it isn’t me he is hunting for: it’s you. So,” she shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands, “you can give me all the hell you want about sating my hunger out in public, but it isn’t as if you have been all that careful, either, going for the necromancer’s blood and all. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame you; the bastard is kind of an asshole, if you ask me.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Though conversations between her and the necromancer, Vitali Kristeva, had been few and far between, he never had any uplifting words for her… nor anything nice to say, for that matter. “But at the end of the day, the fact is, it doesn’t matter how reckless you are or I am, at this point. We have what we want: discord with Braighdath, a kingdom that doesn’t trust its Queen, a broken and segmented Dawn Guard, and a sub-population of Rigases and D’Marians that are ready to high-tail it out of here. Don’t you see, Rowen? We’ve practically already won!”
A wide smile drew up the corners of Nia’s mouth, and she clasped her gloved hands in front of her. “Trust me, interfering with your ‘target’ is very low on my priority list. Come on, Rowen; we are technically on the same side. Wouldn’t it be easier for you not to hate me? I get it, cabin fever is messing with all of us. Making us irritable; why do you think I had to get out? But… it’s almost time. We’ll be away from this place, soon. We can call the palace our home. And as soon as Locque has what she wants, then we will get what we want. But hey, if you want to dig your fangs into your brother sooner than later,” she swept her arms in a gesture that seemed to say by all means, “I won’t stand in your way.”
“Alster, I… I don’t know that they will ever take you seriously if I remain here with you.” Elespeth fretted, twisting a tress of chestnut-coloured hair around her finger nervously. “It’s true, the D’Marians have a reason to be afraid and leary after everything that has happened. Maybe they even have reason to be suspicious of you for the amount of times the role of Rigas Head has been passed around. But… Alster, they have absolutely no reason whatsoever to respect me.”
The former knight looked up to meet his eyes, and placed a steady, albeit defeated, hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter what I say, now. It doesn’t matter if my words make any sense, or if I have any of value to contribute. I lost my chance to be seen as a Rigas when I went off on my own, fully dependent on Mollengardian herbs. When I put you and Sigrid and Haraldur through such unnecessary stress and slowed progress toward Braighdath. When I rejected you and broke you so badly that you let the Serpent take over. When I was rendered useless because of a heart condition that was entirely my own fault, and you had to compromise your own health and livelihood just so that I would wake up again… Alster, they may be looking for excuses not to trust you, but I am one of those excuses. I have given your people no reason to trust or instill any faith in me… your people. Not ours. They would never deign to identify that way. I can’t blame them. But... “ Feigning a smile, she reached up and touched his face. “I won’t be your downfall again. Maybe if they see that you are making decisions for them independent of my input, you might have a chance of regaining their faith. Let’s be honest with ourselves: the only use I have is with my sword. Just like it has always been… my strength and virtues stem from being a warrior. That has always been my place, and I am alright with that. Once you have the D’Marians’ trust again…” She sighed and let her hand fall into her lap. “Maybe then we can revisit attempts to get them to accept me. What is more important is that they accept you, and listen to your reason. With or without me, Alster, I know you have it in you to help these people see clearly…”
Their conversation was interrupted by an envoy, who delivered the message that a completely unexpected guest had arrived to speak with the both of them. Elespeth furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “I thought guests needed clearance to speak with you…” She murmured to her husband, who confirmed this, just before their waiting “company” decided to have his audience with the couple, regardless of formalities.
“With all respect, Lord Canaveris, it very much came across that you were not speaking of the people of Stella D’Mare, but rather, were speaking for them.” Elespeth observed with a cool, objective countenance. “An uprising amidst a very serious crisis uses up time, energy, and resources that could be put to better use. You have most certainly already said your peace,” she arched an eyebrow, recalling all of the direct insults he’d lobbed at her and her husband, “and my husband as said his. He will make himself available to the people as they so wish and see fit; that is his promise, and there is nothing else left to say. So unless you have come to offer an apology for your behaviour,” she gestured to the open door, “you can kindly see yourself out.”
What he had to ‘offer’ was worse than insults--at least, in Elespteh’s mind. Alster might have a mind to listen to Aristide’s demands, but she was onto the Canaveris lord in moments. “So, after all of the time you’ve taken to carefully turn Alster’s people against him and convince them they are better off venturing out on their own amidst this crisis… you are now offering to convince them otherwise, provided that you come across as the one true ‘saviour’ with the brilliant mind and ideas? It seems to me that you couldn’t care less for the well-being of these people, so much as you endeavour to convince them that Alster is an incompetent leader. They defy him because you encourage it.”
It wasn’t often that Elespeth was wont to lost her temper, but just as verbal assaults lodged at her had lit the fire inside Alster, so too did she take it to heart when anyone meant ill will toward her husband. But that wasn’t an excuse to let that fire lose; if she lost her cool, then she would only be proving Aristide’s point. He would go back to the masses and recount what a villain she was, alongside her oh-so-’useless’ husband, in his eyes… This is why you are the diplomat, Alster, she thought dismally, and not me. “...given the dire circumstances, and the fact that we are surely running out of time before Galeyn’s hidden sorceress makes her move, we will take your proposition into consideration.” She said at last, when Alster glanced in her direction, not quite knowing how to respond. “Ultimately, we cannot control whom Queen Lilica chooses to speak with. But I am returning to the palace tonight, and I will mention your name, and your desire to be involved, Lord Canaveris. In the meantime,” she gestured to the door again, “we expect you to uphold your own promises. In the meantime, kindly take your leave. You will be summoned in the event that Queen Lilica and Lady Chara agree to speak with you.”
With the conversation drawn to a close at Elespeth’s strong suggestion, the former knight closed the door as soon as Aristide took his leave, and let a sigh rush out of her lungs. “I’m sorry if I didn’t conduct myself well… that man puts me in a position of fight or flight. And I’m ready to fight.” She flashed Alster an apologetic look and took a seat next to him again. “I do need to return to the palace, tonight. I don’t have to stay, but if only to deliver that man’s absurd proposition to Lilica…” The ex-Atvanian shook her head, still at a loss as to how they had essentially been bullied into accepting that man’s terms. “And speaking of… what are his ties to Chara?”
Teselin should have been elated to have both of her brothers now within the safety of the palace walls, Isidor locked away in his study (he hadn’t come out for a few days…) and now Vitali, in the company of a couple of Forbanne guards, at Haraldur’s request. But the truth was, the young summoner had been growing all the more restless and worried as it had been days since she had last seen Hadwin.There had been no update as to the faoladh’s well-being, not since Vitali confirm that he had gone off running after his sisters as a wolf, and and had not returned by the time Alster and Isidor were ready to take him to the palace. And in spite of all of his reassurances, she couldn’t be placated.
“He should have been back by now. He knows better than to take such a risk, to be out that long without contacting anyone… He promised…” She swallowed hard, as she paced the hallways of the palace, her eldest brother and his ‘escorts’ close in tow, “He promised he wouldn’t chase death anymore. He said he was done with that… he promised me…”
“If I am being honest, Teselin, I think your mind and your fear are running away with you.” Vitali placed a hand on his younger sister’s shoulder, which was as tense as a rock. “It’s only been a few days. For all we know, the wolf could be laying low until it is safe to return. Your canine friend might be erratic, his decisions questionable, but you have to give him credit for some sense of survival.”
No sooner had he suggested as much that who should turn the corner but Hadwin himself, certainly looking no worse for the wear; not even a scratch, thanks to his heightened faoladh ability to heal. Vitali raised his eyebrows. “Speak of the devil…”
“Hadwin!” Teselin didn’t miss a beat, rushing to his side before he could blink, and took his hands. “You were gone… No one knew where you were, or if you were okay...:”
“I kept trying to tell her, if anyone were to know if you were dead, it would be me.” Vitali piped up with a smug grin. “I imagine your type of ghost would be exactly the type that wouldn’t leave me the hell alone. All for my lack of haunting, it was easy to surmise you were alive.”
“Okay… maybe I overreacted.” Teselin confessed, letting her hands drop as she looked down at her feet, colour tinting her pale cheeks. “But… can you blame me? After what happened at the D’Marian village? After Elespeth was attacked by an unknown adversary?”
“Well, if anything good has come of this, at least it got you out of your room. Word has it that you’ve been holing away for a little while.” The necromancer commented off-handedly. “Now, Teselin, please tell me you aren’t turning into Isidor. I don’t know what will become of the Kristeva legacy if two of the three of us turn out to be recluses.” He shook his head and scratched the side of his blindfold. “In any case, my wolfish friend, if you unearthed anything in your absence, my sister will be holding a meeting sometime soon with the Rigases and another D’Marian representative to discuss further strategy. Elespeth Rigas was just here not long ago requesting it. I’m sure any knowledge of the actions or whereabouts of your sisters will be pertinent to know.”
“Get what we want?” Rowen’s voice rumbled low in her throat, the grip on her knife handle tightening into a shivering white-knuckled fist. “You think this is what I want? Moving to the palace? Having a home? Loafing around at the end of the day isn’t my goal--and if you’ve been paying attention, you would know that. This world needs cleansing. Nobody gets a pass, ally or not. Not you--and especially not that treacherous necromancer. He’s deceiving us, so come off it. At least I’m trying to preserve our cursed alliance by going after him, but no one will fucking hear it! And now he’s at the damn palace, and it’s too late, and no one is taking this seriously because you’re all so confident you’ve emerged victorious that reason is escaping your smug, arrogant fat heads!” She lowered her dagger arm, but her stance hadn’t shifted from its offensive position. “We haven’t won ‘till it’s done, you blithe idiot. So watch yourself.” Shoving the Master Alchemist aside by the shoulder, she reached for the door latch with a hand slick and congealed with rabbit’s blood. Wrenching it open, she escaped through the threshold. Before disappearing into the woods, one last string of words escaped her clenched jaw. “Infantalize me again. I dare you, and I’ll feed your miserable carcass to the pigs--after I’m done ripping out your bones.”
“Mmm--you would think that, wouldn’t you, Lady Rigas?” Aristide spread out his heads in an allaying gesture. “Relax--my observation is not an indictment on your character. In fact, I applaud you for being leery. I don’t come off as trustworthy. As a newly-minted Rigas, you’ve no doubt inherited your historical dislike of the Canaveris family of earth mages. Lord Rigas, I take it my late brother wasn’t kind to you in Prince Messino’s camp?”
“No.” Alster’s hand twitched reflexively, a muscle-memory reaction to a most unpleasant encounter. “I nearly ripped off his wrist with chthonic magic.”
“Hah! Very good. I say the prat had what was coming to him. Now,” he cleared his throat of his laughter, “listen up; this next part is important.” Plucking a marble paperweight off the table, he tossed it from palm to palm. “Upon my brother’s death, all duties and responsibilities of the Canaveris family passed to me, including but not limited to inciting the people against Rigas rule. Oh, I resisted this proviso for months. I’ve been quiet, unobtrusive, positively compliant--granted,” a certain fondness twitched his lips into a smile, “Lady Chara is quite accomplished in knowing how to silence me with her withering stares. But in light of recent events, it was impossible for me to remain neutral and silenced. The people rioted. Canaveris elders rioted. You see, Lady Rigas,” he ceased bouncing the paperweight and addressed his gaze to Elespeth, “I am very much the Speaker of the People because everything I spouted in the town square originated from their lips--not mine. A small history lesson for you.” He returned the paperweight to its rightful place on the table. “The Canaveris family is often referred to as the ‘People’s Amphitheatre.’ We’re performers. Actors--and the plays we stage are penned by their hand. We’re but slaves to mob rule. So rest assured, I did not turn anyone against you or Lord Rigas. In fact, one can argue that my ‘words’ are endorsed by the will of the loud Rigas minority. Ironic, that they should turn to the Canaveris family for assistance, but you know what they say about enemies of my enemies. They want to defame you--as always.”
Alster could not help but concur with a nod. Rigases, and by extension, D’Marians, were relentless in their quest to punish him for past mistakes. Acceptance did not come easily for the once-proud city, despite their recognition of him as a hero.
Aristide continued. “All I am doing, by humbly presenting myself in your villa, is suggesting you use me as the people use me: as your mouthpiece. They don’t respect you, your decisions, or your ideas. Neither will they respect Queen Lilica’s. But,” he punctuated, pointing his finger skyward, “if you leak your plans to my ears, it is not I who will take credit for your ingenious methods of Locque prevention. No, I’ll whisper the germ of this plan into the ears of the citizens and make them believe it was their idea all along.” He disengaged from the table and sauntered towards the couple. “Our goal is to empower the people, to have them believe they’re in control, even if the control is illusory. You wrest control from them, and they won’t acquiesce. But neither will they come forward and work in harmony with you, Lord Rigas, because D’Marians are by and large prideful traditionalists--and you, as a proclaimed diplomat,” he frowned and furrowed his brow, “do not fit with their preconceived notions of a hard-boiled leader. It will take some time to garner their acceptance, resistant to change as they are.”
In contrast to Elespeth, who’d come to her own conclusions regarding the nobleman’s questionable motivations, Alster listened and carefully considered each point. “This all sounds fine and good, Lord Canaveris, but how can we trust you won’t spread misinformation about us to the crowd? If you’re able to convince the people to comply with ideas they’ve never possessed, then you could easily implant salacious lies to turn the crowd in your favor. How can we know you are not doing this as we speak?”
“Well,” he stroked his goatee in rumination, “couldn’t we use that to our advantage?”
“...What?”
“Oh, nothing so false and incriminating,” he waved a dismissive hand as though dispelling a foul odor. “But--you’ve made your intentions clear, Lord Rigas. Locque is the enemy, and your goal is to thwart her, a sentiment the D’Marians do not appreciate, because they fear you’re plunging their lives into further danger. It would not be spreading falsehoods to inform D’Marians of your political platform. Why,” he clucked his tongue, “you’ve already said as much this morning. While we as a people are prideful of our abilities, it’s also too soon for us to engage in yet another losing battle. No one wants to follow you if doing so will lead to their demise. Short of fleeing Galeyn in a mass diaspora, wouldn’t conditional surrender be a far more palatable option? Isn’t it in our nature, to be so subjugated by different ruling factions? First, Andalari, next, Mollengard...and now, Locque. Sad as it may sound, it is our poetic destiny to succumb.”
“Wait,” Alster froze. “Are you suggesting you rally the people against me and encourage them to surrender to Locque?”
“Unless you have a better plan--then let me hear it. This will ensure the safety of the citizens.”
“No, it doesn’t!” Alster argued. “This assumes Locque honors the terms for surrender at all! How are we to trust her word?”
“Well,” he responded to the Rigas Head’s outrage in calm, unperturbed candor, “ it’s better than full-on opposing her, which is what you plan to do. A leader cannot volunteer his people to fight a war of attrition if the majority reject his rule. You simply do not have the support or the resources to simultaneously thwart Locque and protect the D’Marians of this village. You would have to choose, and if you choose the people, you choose not to act against Locque, and you will forfeit your magic--and your ties to the current Galeynian monarchy. You will render your greatest defense against the sorceress null and void. But, if you should allow the people to overthrow you and decide for themselves to surrender…”
“...Then I am not constrained and can act independently of the D’Marians, knowing they are safe,” Alster, filling in the blanks, pursed his lips, contemplating the pros and cons of Aristide’s ludicrous proposal. “Again...this is if Locque respects a deal and if the majority agree to surrender. Should this strategy of yours fail, I’ll be deposed, and you will, what, lead a hill of corpses in my stead? You understand what I am risking should I agree with your plan--a plan which is hardly foolproof.”
“As are many plans.” Aristide mused aloud. “Again, if you are able to convince me of a better plan, I’m all ears. If you cannot--well,” his fingers rotated in a circular motion, “the wheels are spinning, Lord Rigas, and they do not spin to your advantage. Besides, I wasn’t asking for permission. Everything is already in motion, with or without your cooperation.” Striding over to the front door, Aristide waved his farewell. “Lady Rigas. Lord Rigas. Send Lady Chara my regards.”
After the earth mage took his leave, Alster, still processing the exchange alongside the ethics of allowing the D’Marians to broker a deal with Locque, shrank back into his seat on the divan, the conflicted contortions on his face both palpable and painful to watch. “This is...certainly a lot to consider. I am not entirely sure he is trustworthy; then again, why would he share his scheme with us if he was going to do it without my consent? As a courtesy? This matter will require a meeting with Lilica and Chara--and I will have to attend. Please postpone your decision to relocate until further notice, Elespeth. I will need you with me. I don’t make many requests of you, but as Rigas Head, I am asking you to stay put. Your warrior spirit is necessary to help combat what’s to come. As for whatever relationship that man has to Chara,” he huffed out a confused and exasperated sigh, “honestly, I haven’t the foggiest idea. For all the years I’ve known her, she’s never spoken his name to me.”
At dusk, and only after he drank his fill, Hadwin arranged for his transport to the heart of Galeyn. Upholding his promise to Osric, he spent his last coin on swill, food, and rounds for people at the pub, assuring the establishment’s success in Nia’s absence. Besides, he took it as a point of pride to outdo her--at least, monetarily. While he couldn’t supplant her role as loyal returning patron, he could binge his way to second-best. And binge, he did, slinging tankards and killing time in style until his scheduled horse and carriage conveyed him to the palace. No hitches in the road, no harrowing encounters, Hadwin arrived early in the evening, a little scruffy and tired from a full day of carousing, but overall, placid in demeanor and (mostly) sober.
Stepping out of the carriage, he first made a beeline for Teselin, whose lingering scent he caught in the hallway. He wasn’t surprised to discern notes of high-stress emanating from her skin, like a prey animal riled into a lather, rendering it unpalatable for the wolf to consume and digest.
“Hey, squirt!” He brightened into a broad grin as the summoner sprinted to his side, trapping him in place with perspiring hands. “You’re in a right state, kid. I mean, it’s on me for gadding off like that, but I wasn’t gonna croak. Your bro’s spot-on; I’d make a huge stink about it if I were dead. And you bet I’d haunt the daylights outta you, ghost-charmer. And would flat-out refuse to pass on or however the hell it works. So--how’s palace life treating you?” he said, a knowing lilt to his voice. “Got your own Forbanne entourage and everything.” He let loose an impressed whistle. “Living large, farm-boy. Take it from Papa Sorde; he ain’t fucking around.”
Freeing one hand from Teselin’s slippery hold, he placed it on her shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Oh, believe me, I’ve got tales to spare. Chance encounters and everything. And while you bet I relish the opportunity to attend Queen Lilica’s famous meetings, I’ve got a commitment to Briery, first. How’s she holding up? Probably cross at me for vanishing, I wager. Well,” he tutted, tossing his head in the direction of the sanctuary, “let’s remedy that, shall we? C’mon, Tes. You, too, mate. Since you’re here and all, let’s initiate stage one of our plan.”
The trio (plus the Forbanne) traveled the distance to the sanctuary where the ringleader convalesced. By the day, she improved, spending less time unconscious and more time likely wondering where her flighty companion ran off to. A tuneful series of knocks on the door announced his arrival, one that she welcomed with a verbal go-ahead to enter. Inside, Briery sat upright in her bed. Judging by the warm hue coating her skin and the meat filling in her previously emaciated frame, she was exhibiting signs of a quick recovery, such that she did not require constant monitoring from Daphni, Elias, or the Gardeners in charge of her care. The other members of the Missing Links, not present, had stepped out to fetch her super, leaving her alone to saddle Hadwin with the brunt of her aggravation.
“Ah, Brie, I was just being a team player, is all. My darling sis was looking to do this fine necromancer in before he could enjoy the palace high-life for himself. Poor neglected sod; slumming it in the farmlands for so long’s bound to make you batty. But he’s safe, and I’m safe, and it’s a good thing, too, cuz we were talking a little while back, and, though nothing’s finite or set in stone…” he rounded on Briery’s bed, crouching so that they were level with each other, “we think we’ve got a strong case for bringing Cwenha back to life--and getting her a body.” Before she could rebuke him for an inconsiderate remark or delicately ask if he’d lost his mind, he bore into her eyes, his expression dead serious. “No joke, I swear. We just need a necromancer and a certain Master Alchemist’s cooperation.”
“Mmm. It seems the Eyraillian prince knows no gratitude for saving his life--or securing it, as it were. Making sure he wasn’t beyond saving when he tried to kill himself.” The necromancer would’ve rolled his eyes at the Forbanne entourage if he weren’t blindfolded. “Makes having to heed the call of nature rather interesting, since I don’t get half a moment to myself. But if this is what it takes to have a comfy bed and readily available meals… I suppose I can’t complain too much.”
“You have threatened his family on more than one occasion, Vitali.” Teselin reminded her brother rather flatly. “And while I am too biased to be as furious about it as he is, I’d say you are lucky that he agreed to have that talisman crafted at all. The same goes for Alster, Lilica, and Isidor. They owed you nothing, but they still agreed to help. So I hope,” she nudged his arm to ensure she had his full attention, “that you do intend to return the kindness. Even if kindness is not your strong suit.”
“Dear Teselin, kindness will never be my strong suit.” Vitali chuckled and patted her shoulder. “The fact is, your friends--the ones who crafted this talisman--have yet to realize just how much of an asset I am. But they will know, and when the time comes that I must come through for them, I will. At the very least, one of your friends has already seen my worth.” He nodded in Hadwin’s direction and shrugged his shoulders. “Remember, I agreed to this on the very rare off chance that you happened to be able to convince my brother to partake in this, as well. I can’t do it without him--quite literally. But if you want to get your grieving ringleader’s hopes up prematurely, well, then I’m afraid that is on you.”
Feeling there was obviously a disconnect in something her brother and Hadwin knew that she clearly didn’t, the young summoner furrowed her brows and dropped her hands to her side. “What do you mean, you need Isidor? What exactly do you plan on talking to Briery about?”
“Ah--your wolf hasn’t told you? He wants to resurrect the dead acrobat; you know, the one his sister killed. Problem is, you not only need a necromancer to capture and redirect the poor girl’s soul, but she needs a new body, now that hers is little more than ash on the wind and, allegedly, a rose bush in the Night Garden. And that, I’m afraid, is not within my realm of skills.”
Teselin paused for a beat to digest what her brother had told her. Judging by the looks on his face and Hadwin’s, neither of them were kidding. “...Vitali, I’m sorry, but I have to ask this.” Pressing her lips into a firm line, the slight girl exhaled through her nose, and then confronted her brother. “What is your price? What do you plan to ask of Briery, or Hadwin, or… whomever you are seeking to collect your debt from?”
“Now, I know this is hard to believe, Teselin--and I don’t blame you one bit for calling me a liar. But,” the necromancer turned his empty palms upward. “The answer is, nothing. Frankly, I didn’t think he could convince Isidor to create a body for the dead girl, simply because the man would rather cut off both of his arms and legs and slowly bleed out before agreeing to work with me. It is still up in the air, honestly; something tells me Isidor has not yet been approached on this matter. But if he, for some miracle, does agree--then that is what I want. Because if I am being honest,” a smile curled at the corner of his mouth, “hate me as he might, I would rather enjoy the opportunity to work with family, for once. I’ve always said that Isidor and I would make one hell of a good team, if he could let bygones be bygones. But of course, I am getting ahead of myself. He hasn’t yet agreed; he doesn’t even have a clue that we are going to ask him, and he could still refuse. But, if I am catching the wolf’s drift correctly…” He shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? It may not be so impossible a feat. Let us go and pay a visit to your flexible friend, then. I trust you boys won’t protest?” He posed the question to the two Forbanne guards behind him, who, as always, said absolutely nothing. “Perfect. Then let us be on our way.”
Briery had long since lost track of the time she had taken for her recovery, but given the drastically invasive nature of her surgery, and that she had been gravely ill just prior to undergoing the risky procedure, neither Daphni, nor Elias, nor the Gardeners wished for her to return to her general routines until she was able to stand and move for long periods of time without any pain. At this point, the pain was minimal, though the acrobat did find herself getting more tired than she was used to being just by performing the menial tasks of running short errands to the caravan and back, convening with Lautim and Rycen, and getting up to move around the sanctuary. Senyiah had projected that after another week, she would probably be fine to return to sleeping elsewhere if she so chose, once the window of opportunity for complications arising from her surgery had passed. The monotony was, in fact, quite maddening for a woman who had built her own business with her own two hands from the ground up, and to make matters worse, her reliable wolfish companion hadn’t come around quite as much of late--which, of course, caused her to worry. Hadwin was a risk-taker, at best, and reckless, at the worst. And when word had it that he had disappeared in the farmlands, chasing after his sisters… Teselin was not the only one who worried.
To keep her mind off of greater concerns, the ring leader kept herself busy with repairing some of her troup’s costumes, as a handful of them were in need of some tender loving care. Lautim frequently required repairs, for the way his bulk and muscles always seemed to tear through clothes, and Rycen was never careful enough with his knives and fire play, resulting in scorch marks and holes all over his costumes. But it was neither of these people whose clothes she was tending, today; in fact, she had already run out of clothes to mend for the two men and herself, so on this evening, she found herself carefully repairing a hem in one of Cwenha’s exquisite silver costumes. The Silver Fairy had never been particularly careful with her attire, much to Briery’s chagrin, but when it came to their brand of performing, any given costume never held up for very long. And even though there was no longer a Silver Fairy to don this sleek, silver gown… she couldn’t find it in her to part with it.
Following Cwenhas death, and subsequently, the temporary disbanding of the Missing Links when Briery had been arrested, there wasn’t much left of the infamous troupe’s belongings, including props, structures, and costumes. All that was left was what had remained tucked away in the crevices when Alster had borrowed a caravan in hopes of bringing Isidor back to Galeyn with him, which was namely old costumes that they hadn’t donned in quite a while, some scraps of fabric, and some glittering paint and kohl to make up their faces. The costume that Briery mended now had been one of the first she had ever crafted for Cwenha. The silver was faded and worn, the sheen dulled to a pale shade of grey, but the Silver Fairy had never let go of the costume because it had been a reminder of the beginning of the rest of her life… short as it had been. Briery never thought she would be so relieved that this small piece of Missing Links history had endured as long as it had, in the condition it was in: worn, listless, full of holes… and yet, she took the time to repair it as delicately and with as much care as if she expected Cwenha would come back and don it as early as tomorrow.
I know you miss her, Boss, but this is no way to grieve. Rycen had gently told her earlier that day, when he had caught her mending the old costume that would surely fit no other body than that of its original owner. You can’t keep hanging on; the Links don’t survive, clinging to the past like that. You’ve gotta let go. We can help you let go.
He was right--of course he was right, and Briery knew it, but she just wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure she would ever be ready, because though she loved and cared for the entire troupe, there had been something about Cwenha that had drawn her to the girl from the beginning. A sisterhood, but more than that. Cwenha was delicate but strong; a force that just kept going, and swept everyone else up in her gale, and now… now…
The door of the sanctuary creaked open, and the ringleader looked up to five unexpected visitors; well, three unexpected, one familiar, and one she was glad to still see alive and well. “Hadwin--Teselin.” She smiled warmly, tucking the silver costume into her lap so as not to draw attention to it, but it was far too late; Hadwin had already seen it. A flush crept into her cheeks, embarrassment and shame colouring her recovering body, but instead of offering an excuse, she addressed the less familiar man in the room. “And… you are Teselin’s brother. Her other brother--Vitali, I assume?”
“A pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Frealy.” The necromancer offered a shallow bow. “I apologize for congesting this small space with Forbanne presence, but they are on the orders of Prince Sorde to be my shadow--probably for as long as I am in Galeyn.”
“It isn’t a problem.” Briery reassured him, and averted her brown eyes to Hadwin. “And… to what do I owe the honour of this visit, exactly? Is there something amidst, Hadwin?”
There most certainly was: and nothing could have prepared Briery for what the faoladh had to propose. “Hadwin, I…” Briery turned her gaze to her lap and clutched the worn, silver fabric close to her chest. “I don’t… whatever you’re trying to do…”
“This is not in jest, Miss Frealy. I happen to be half of the recipe. Resurrection, after all, is my jurisdiction.” Vitali commented when the ringleader began to show doubt. “The other half I believe you’ve already met--my brother, Isidor. If I am not mistaken, he assisted during your surgery, recently. He also happens to be a Master Alchemist. And in case you don’t understand the connection… he can craft a new body for your fallen comrade. With the body and the soul combined, your Cwenha can dwell on this earthly plane once again. However… there is but one slight obstacle.”
Crossing the room, Vitali moved to stand opposite Hadwin on the other side of the bed. The Forbanne soldiers didn’t take their eyes off of him for a moment. “We haven’t asked for Isidor’s cooperation as of yet… and I don’t believe either me nor your wolf friend will be able to convince him. He doesn’t care much for either of us. But, if he were to hear it from you… well. When he heard from Alster the plight that Elespeth was in, he was swayed to drop everything he knew to venture to a strange place and help a complete stranger. So, I believe he merely needs to hear your plight from your heart… and that will be all it takes to acquire all of the players we need to get started--and soon, I might add. If the situation with the sorceress escalates any more than it already has…” He turned his head, as if to glance out the window, into the dusk. “We may lose our opportunity. Of course, Miss Frealy, the decision is entirely yours. The dead cannot speak for themselves.”
For a moment, Briery was speechless, processing what Hadwin and Vitali had said. It felt surreal--but she knew Hadwin well enough that he would not dare to joke on such a heavy topic. Nor would he get her hopes up if he wasn’t absolutely certain that this was not only possible, but probable. To get Cwenha back… “...with all due respect, necromancer, I’ve been warned that your costs are very steep.” When she spoke at last, she couldn’t look anywhere near Vitali’s direction.
“Ah--been talking to Prince Sorde, I assume?” Vitali couldn’t help but chuckle. “Or perhaps, his wife? Well, they are not wrong. But--and I have never done this, and may never do it again--this one time, Miss Frealy, and for this task alone… I will not ask a price. Of you or yours, on my word. Still, it is up to you.”
Another moment of silence passed. Finally, although hesitant and uncertain, the ringleader looked up, and put the worn, silver costume aside. “...how soon can I speak to the Master Alchemist?”
Weapons were likely not going to defend against Locque; not when she had weapons of her own, in the form of wolves, and the ability to turn comrades on one another through some form of mind control. But presently, they were all that Galeyn had, aside from some volatile magic on the part of Alster and Teselin, so Isidor had spent the past couple of days coming good on his promise to Queen Lilica, and reinforcing what they had. The Galeynian Queen had urged him to take a small break, after all he had done to craft Vitali’s talisman, but the Master Alchemist insisted that he get on the task sooner than later, because there simply wasn’t any time left.
And, well… because it kept him busy. And when Isidor Kristeva was busy, his mind was not drifting, and the ghosts in his peripheral vision were not as prominent. Arisza was not as prominent. He’d slept little, only a couple of hours at a time, but he was so beyond feeling fatigue at this point that nothing felt real anymore. He engrossed himself in his work, reinforcing swords that could cut through diamond and arrows that would almost ensure perfect aim with their aerodynamics. It was simple work; busywork, that didn’t require much thought, and it was exactly what he needed to get his mind off of the fact he’d helped his brother find a way into the palace, or that he had lost whatever he’d thought he’d had with Tivia. It staved off homesickness for the solitude of his tower. To think, that once, he’d considered not returning at all… and all because of a woman.
Isidor was not too engrossed not to hear the knock on his door late that night. He ignored it; he’d ignored any and all knocks for days, now, because he simply couldn’t be bothered to be pulled out of his focus for even a moment. But it persisted, and he was about to raise his voice and send the intruder away, until he hear the faint, familiar lilt of a young girl. “Isidor… are you awake?”
Teselin. Teselin, of all people, had come to see him? No… not now. I’m sorry, Teselin, but I am not of the right mind to have this discussion with you now…
Well, if he was going to turn her away, break her heart and confess he didn’t have the time nor patience for her at this given moment, then he might as well do it in person. But as it turned out, when he swung the door open, his younger sister was not alone…
...and he nearly slammed the door in the necromancer and faoladh’s faces.
“Wait.” Someone’s hand caught the door. But it was neither his sister’s, nor his brother’s, nor Hadwin’s. It belonged to a familiar face who, the last he had seen her, had been far more pale and sickly. “Isidor, we’re here… they are here because of me. I’m sorry--I am truly sorry to bother you at this hour, but can…” Desperation glimmered in the form of unshed tears in her brown eyes. “Can we talk? Please?”
It did not escape Hadwin’s attention to see the beat-up costume once favored by Cwenha, ready for darning in Briery’s lap. Any memorabilia belonging to the cygnet took up occupancy in the ringleader’s sanctuary-turned-home, and excuses for their prevalence ranged from temporary relocation during the caravan’s clean-up and renovation, to the possibility of salvaging the fabric for other projects. Even without fearsight, Hadwin knew the truth. Briery didn’t want her memory to fade; she was afraid to let go. Framing a future without the feisty fae-like creature in the picture was akin to hanging a blank canvas on the wall. And while processing grief was by no means a speedy venture, why bother floating on the stagnant rivers of recovery in the first place when they had access to a necromancer and a Master Alchemist capable of building a body--with the price at a steal? Why rassle the nightmares, sling drinks two at a time, break bones and spill blood, or revisit the scene of the murder and reconstruct the incident by doing the one right thing, the one right move? Why perpetuate tragedy by dredging up the past? Opportunities and solutions operated in the present. As long as you didn’t cling to the stubborn twin pests called morality and ethics, then death didn’t have to be final. It worked for Vega and Haraldur Sorde. Granted, their bodies were preserved, their spirits flitting from their vessels for no longer than a day--but what was a gamble without a little uncertainty? Hadwin fared better in a game of stakes than in a humdrum and predictable battle strategy, anyway. But humdrum and predictable were hardly prominent descriptors in manners of death and resurrection, so there needn’t be cause for concern.
“I could stand to be more delicate, I know,” Hadwin looked away and raked a hand through his hair, not immune to the loss of luster in Briery’s pained eyes. “Truth is, I wanted to tell you sooner, but you were recovering and a little delirious and...yeah, I might be ace when it comes to bad timing, but I figured it’d be better to wait ‘till you were more receptive to the news. There’s never going to be a perfect moment to spring this on you, but, well, the forbidden arts brothers are here twiddling their thumbs, and who knows when Locque’s gonna do her kingdom-domination thing--so while the opportunity is ripe, it’s worth a whirl, yeah?” He scooped up her hand, binding their fingers together as though to enact a blood oath. “According to Vitali, the cygnet’s flapping around in a state of in-between. Her spirit’s active and not at all interested in tuckering in for the night. She at least deserves a release of some sort--and something tells me she won’t settle for the peaceful route. Life is rowdy and so is she. Given the chance, she’ll tumble back here and squawk her anger and dissatisfaction about everything in our faces cuz that’s just what she does. If you think she complained about life,” he snorted, “then oh hell, wait’ll we hear her complain about death, too. So--why not give her the option? If bringing her back doesn’t work, well,” he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, “we tried. We’d be kicking ourselves if we let a necromancer and a Master Alchemist roam free without first exploring the menu of their specialty services.”
Hadwin withdrew his hand and stood, to give her some space to decide. Everyone in the room, including the stone-faced Forbanne, carved out a moment in consideration for the bereft ringleader, but the two guards hadn’t uttered a single word to start, so their silent solidarity was rendered a moot point. When at last she’d spoken her affirmative, the faoladh spared her a soft grin, removed of hard edges and sharp teeth, and nothing but supportive. “Looks like we’ve got a Master Alchemist to convince.” Cricking his neck from side to side, he offered an arm-up for Briery, his entire mien radiating battle-readiness. “Let’s do this.”
Isidor’s response to his door summons went about as expected. Nothing short of a familiar cry from his sister--or Tivia--would get him to budge from his work station (for the alchemist was puttering away inside, very much awake). Indeed, Teselin’s voice prompted him to answer, an admittedly manipulative technique on their part, but whatever snagged his attention didn’t matter, as long as they secured an audience with him. Anticipating a reactive slam in their faces, Briery wrangled the door and Hadwin wedged his foot against the threshold. “Aw, c’mon, Isidor.” He presented a smile meant to deescalate the tension. Not accustomed to deescalation, it translated more into a disingenuous smirk. “Is that the way to greet the man who kept you--and Tivia, might I add--from the clenches of my insatiable sisters? Even the star-seer admitted my helpfulness and she hates my guts. ‘Sides, it’s not me and Vitali come to terrorize you. Tes is here, and Briery, too. You know Briery.” He wound an arm around her shoulder and brought her forward. “Grateful to you, both of us, for monitoring her condition during her surgery. She wanted to see you; talk to you about something personal. Something only you can do. And before you think I’m putting her up to this...all I did was tell her where to go. Hear her out.” This time, a genuine shift did cross over his golden eyes. “If you please.”
Somehow, they’d cinched Isidor’s compliance, and before he changed his mind, ushered themselves inside. The Forbanne were next to follow. What ensued was a heartfelt plea from Briery’s lips, complete with tears over her (and Hadwin’s) fallen comrade. She didn’t fabricate or exaggerate her distress. While hailing from a performer background, the ringleader was not keen on begging, feigned or otherwise. Her style of entertainment spun the illusion of invulnerability, of painted faces and spectacle, smiles and glamour. In her line of work, she simply could not afford to eternalize tales of tragedy, but they were what she offered to trade. No amount of kohl and flashy costumes could conceal the raw emotion carried by Briery Frealy who, in her too-large plainclothes, resembled an aimless waif wandering the streets for coin.
“I let her die, Isidor.” Hadwin, figuring he had nothing to lose, spilled a hearty dose of vulnerability into the eggy mixture dripping around the room. “That’s what Brie won’t say. I kicked back and watched my sister rip her throat open. Ro might’ve done the deed, but I didn’t stop it from happening. That girl’s already been fucked over by people who didn’t have her best interest. And to think, you’ve got the ability to correct my negligence; to save--or in this case, recover--a life from the likes of me and my rotten family. It’s a hella tall order, I know.” In lieu of smoking a pipe, he wedged his finger into the corner of his mouth and gnawed on the tip. “Creating a body out of scratch sure isn’t comparable to throwing some ingredients into a pan and cooking it on an open flame for twenty to thirty minutes. Technical work aside, I’m sure getting torched alive and gobbled up by cannibals is preferable to teaming up with your bro. And hey, it’s fine.” He removed his finger, which came back bloody. “You’re not the only Master Alchemist around anymore, so if you don’t wanna do it, I’ll just ask the other one. No pressure on you at all. Might have to make a pact with Locque or some shit to acquire her blessing and do some other unsavory shit, but it doesn’t sound much different from my stint with Mollengard Ah,” he tilted his head at the two Forbanne in the room. “No offense, guards.” He made a face and squinted, engaging in a brief staring contest with the duo. Hah!” he let forth a victorious burst when their eyes trailed to the side. “You can’t hide it from me. I saw your faces twitch. You know me; don’t deny it!” Despite his brief interaction with the less-than-receptive guards, he leaned against the wall and readdressed Isidor as if no interruption had occurred. “Don’t get me wrong, it’d be so much easier if you said yes, Isidor. It’s touching, really, to see everyone gather ‘round in your bedchambers, basking in your illuminating company. It shows that people have got a beautiful amount of faith in you. Hm, speaking of,” he gestured to the door, “incoming visitor.”
On cue, a soft knock sounded from the hallway. “Isidor,” the muffled voice of Alster Rigas percolated through the wooden barrier, “I know it’s late, but Lilica’s about to have a meeting, soon, and you’re welcome to join. I realize I may be interrupting your work, so it’s not imperative. I’ll--I’ll come back la--”
Hadwin pulled open the latch and answered the door. “Hiya, A!” He greeted the Rigas Head with an exuberant wave.
Alster’s brow immediately drew down in suspicion. “Hadwin. I heard you returned. Why are you here? I thought we agreed you wouldn’t bother Isidor anymore.”
Wordlessly, Hadwin opened the door wide, revealing Vitali, Teselin, Briery, and two Forbanne guards gathered in the foyer. Alster’s suspicion quickly evaporated, replaced, instead, by confusion. “What’s going on?”
“Glad you asked. Come on in, Al! Impeccable timing. Here, we’ll catch you up!”
Before he could squeak out a word of protest, Alster was secured by the shoulder and thrown inside. The door closed shut behind him. Hadwin, wasting no time, launched into the details surrounding their late-night call to Isidor’s chambers.
“What?” While his confusion hadn’t cleared, the context helped him to conceive of a broader response. “This is true?” His eyes sought Briery, then Isidor. Their expressions revealed the affirmative. “W-with all due respect, Briery,” he cleared his throat, too uncomfortable to face the ringleader after nearly botching her operation by fleeing the scene. Her tears and obvious distress further impacted his malaise. “It’s been several months. Even if her spirit is...accessible, it would, I imagine, take a few months more to create a fully functioning organic vessel for her, as it were. What if her spirit departed, by then? Is there even the faintest guarantee that we could tether a long-expired soul to her body’s likeness? I’ll be first to admit,” he dipped his head, “that I’m not as well-versed in the studies of alchemy and necromancy, but Vitali,” he turned to the man in the blindfold, “is it possible that a soul can degenerate as it converts to spirit energy, making it incompatible for a body transference? While time exists differently in the spiritual realm, it’s inarguable that she’s been wandering without a body for a detrimental length of time. And if you are able to succeed in reuniting Cwenha as a whole, what of the preservation of her thought and memory? I’ll use Vega as a prime example. She’d been deceased for only a day, but I had to peel away literal vestiges of death from her soul--twice--and help her recover lost memories. I understand she was in midst of crossing over to a higher state of consciousness when you stepped in and interrupted the process. But even if Cwenha’s soul was still vibrating at lower frequencies conducive to a soul reintroduction, couldn’t the same complications apply? And the question of her soul is only one half of the puzzle. To undergo such a momentous feat as creating a body presents its own--”
“--Lemme stop you there, library-mouth.” Hadwin stretched out his hand, threatening to clasp it over Alster’s rambling pie-hole. “Let’s just take the science, speculation, and guesswork out of it for a minute and answer me this question, Al. If it could be done, and everyone who could do it was miraculously on board with the idea--and each other--what would you say?”
“I,” Alster hesitated. “I mean, if everyone was in agreement, then who am I to disagree with a majority--”
“--Goddammit, Al, stop trying to politic your way out of an opinion and tell me if you would want to have Cwenha back.”
“Of course I would!” he exclaimed with a loudness and fury that took even him aback. He shivered from the recoil. “You think I would’ve have done it myself if I could? For weeks, I traveled in that caravan to and from Nairit, only to discover I’d been sleeping in a dead girl’s bed. Of course I’m affected! She was my friend!” Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “And I could do nothing for her in the end.”
Though nigh difficult to do, Hadwin expertly hid away the shit-eating grin that threatened to spill its triumph all over the place. Oh Al, I could kiss you right now. I think you just sold it. “So then what’s stopping that reality from happening? A reality where we all get what we want?”
“For one,” Alster, desperate to reel in his emotion to resummon reason and logic, took in a long, mollifying breath and cast an apologetic glance to Isidor, “it’s asking too much of you, Isidor. I imagine the acquisition of resources alone would be a logistical nightmare.”
“Hey, if you need dead body parts n’shit, I know some people,” Hadwin offered with a flippant shrug. “And I’m good at playing fetch.”
“Ignoring that disturbing fact for a moment,” Alster hurried, choosing not to dwell on the implications, “is this really a good time? Locque is at large. We’re all on the defensive, scrambling to prevent a war or a complete takeover. Can anyone involved with this hypothetical project afford to remove their focus from the threat she represents?”
“Eh, the timing is never perfect, but you do it anyway; otherwise, it never gets done,” Hadwin said. “Better now that we’re all here than later when we’re all scrambled, or worse, dead.”
“That may be, but it’s not up to you or me to decide.” Squeezing out the residual moisture from his eyes, he appealed to the Master Alchemist a second time. “Isidor, don’t feel subjected to pressure. Cwenha meant a lot to us, true, and this wouldn’t be the first revival that I’ve seen Vitali do, but Vega, Haraldur--they had bodies to return to. Your role in this would be imperative, and I can’t imagine what it will take to accomplish. So please--consider carefully. Don’t feel obligated to say ‘yes.’”
“Says the man who always feels obligated to say ‘yes,’” Hadwin muttered in retort.
“And that’s why I speak from experience,” Alster countered. “Magic may be instantaneous, but an alchemical project of this heft requires long stretches of effort, discipline, and dogged persistence. By far, you have the most strenuous task, and no one should expect what you’re giving out to be nothing short of consumptive. It’s an ask far exceeding what you’ve done for us already, Isidor.”
“Then it looks like it’s the perfect distraction for you,” Hadwin aimed a knowing grin at Isidor. “Good way to flush out those demons you no doubt still blame me for.”
Confusion coloured the Master Alchemist’s expression as he took each member of this mob that sought to disturb him into consideration. It came as no surprise to have his brother and the faoladh banging down his door, but… what of Teselin? And… the ringleader, of all people. What could she possibly want from him? He had neither seen nor spoken to Briery Frealy since her surgery some time ago, and he could think of no reason for her to seek him out, unless perhaps to express her gratitude now that she was able to move around and perform that task. But, if that were indeed the case… what could she possibly mean to have his brother, his sister, and Hadwin tag along?
“I realize this visit is unprecedented… I haven’t even thanked you for helping me through my surgery, yet. So let me preface this visit with my gratitude.” Briery clasped her hands in front of her. Her knuckles were white with the pressure, indicating that whatever she had to say was already making her uncomfortable. “I realize this may not mean anything to you, as it occurred in your absence, but some months ago… Just prior to your arrival in Galeyn, the Missing Links--my traveling troupe of performers--lost one of our own. Her name was Cwenha; she took to the trapeze with me, and she sang song that would haunt you forever. She was killed by one of the wolves… there was no hope in saving her.”
Isidor, immediately finding himself feeling trapped in this completely awkward situation, was at a loss as to what to say. Why was she telling him this? Why did she need an entourage to do it? “I am deeply sorry for your loss, Miss Frealy,” he said after breaking out of his own paralyzing silence. He feared the words fell flat, as much as she had taken him off guard, but they were all he had to offer. “I can only imagine how difficult a time you have had, of late…”
“Rest assured, Isidor, I’m not seeking your sympathy--although it is appreciated.” Briery smiled, but for someone so well practiced in emoting exactly what she wanted the audience to see, today her careful countenance seemed dangerously unstable. The cracks in her mask were so apparent that even the emotionally-confused Isidor could see through the facade. “I thought… I was told that there is a chance you might be able to help me. That you… you might be able to help Cwenha, in fact…” The ringleader released her hands and turned her brown-eyed gaze to her feet to hide the tears gathering in them. She was falling apart at a moment when it was imperative that she hold herself together! She had been warned that the Master Alchemist became uncomfortable around particularly strong emotions… “Hadwin, and your brother… they informed me that it may not be so impossible to bring Cwenha back. To this plane of existence. Your brother, since he is a necromancer, and he said… well, your skills as a Master Alchemist, they allow you the ability to craft a new body…”
The acrobat seemed to suddenly lose her wind, perturbed by the Master Alchemist’s stunned silence. Tears she had been trying to choke back finally fought their way to the surface and trickled down her cheeks, which were flushed red in what was obviously embarrassment. “I can’t believe I am asking this of you--of anyone. I have never been so desperate to seek help from a stranger, and I hate it--I hate feeling desperate. But Isidor, I… I need her back. I need to have Cwenha back. It wasn’t her time; the world was never kind to her, and she was finally learning to live… this end was not intended for her. It was not time for her to go, or the way for her to go, and I just… I can’t leave it like this.” Peeling her gaze away from the floor, she sought Isidor’s startled eyes. “I need your help, Isidor. I would give anything to bring her back… and whatever you price, I will pay it. And if I can’t, then I will find a way…”
“Look at you, getting offers that I would love to collect.” Vitali teased his brother with a half-smile. “But it seems I am supposed to be one of the good guys, now. So my involvement in this matter will actually come without cost, believe it or not.”
Isidor’s eyes trailed from Briery to his brother, and immediately narrowed. “In fact, I don’t believe that, necromancer.”
“Well, there are four witnessess here that you are welcome to confirm with--although I doubt the two hulking ones have much to say.”
For further clarification (and perhaps to give Briery a break; it was obvious that making this request was causing her to come apart at the seams), Hadwin provided a few more details pertaining to the incident for which he obviously felt guilty. Funny, how he advocated that the Master Alchemist was by no means under ‘any pressure’ to oblige this insanely enormous request… nevermind that he had mobbed him with friends and family alike (and a couple of Forbanne guards for good measure). Except, something that faoladh mentioned in passing caught his attention immediately, and raised hackles. “Wait--what do you mean there is another--”
His train of thought was interrupted as he was joined by yet another familiar face in his chamber, which was piled high with weapons at every corner that he had been working on, and many yet to be worked on. It was a surprise that the lot of them could find room to stand, let alone get inside. Hadwin saved Isidor the trouble of explaining what was going on, and immediately, the Rigas mage, who was understandably startled, offered his own opinion on the matter.
“Of course we all respect your opinion and point of view, Alster, but please refrain from talking out of your ass.” Came Vitali’s response to the caster’s prognosis on the condition of a soul so long departed from its body, and the viability of it ever functioning as a living, breathing human being, again. “You do raise a good point: that there is no guarantee any given resurrection will be successful. The more experienced the necromancer, the more likely we are to see success, but I will be fully transparent in that there are always factors beyond my control. Can souls deteriorate? Can they transform into something they never were, and were never intended to be? It is possible; but do you really think I would have made this offer if I did not deem the dead acrobat’s soul as viable?” He wrinkled his nose and folded his arms. “I’ve heard her; I’ve felt her. She drifts through the atmosphere on a current of anger and pain, and yes, given time, she could very well become ‘other’. A poltergeist, something with no means of relieving or expressing their pain than to inflict pain on others. But typically, that sort of development would take many years to occur, and it has only been months since her death
“Additionally,” the necromancer unfolded his arms to scratch his temple beneath his blindfold, “every resurrection is different. Rebirth is as complicated and as unpredictable as birth. Our dear Eyraillian Princess was one hell of a time; in fact, hers was what I would consider an emergency. Because the difference, you see, between her soul and dear Cwenha’s? The princess’s soul was preparing for transition. It was ready to move on, and fast, and had we waited moments longer, it would not have been possible to recover it. You cannot truly resurrect a soul that has passed on to the other realm; you can animate a body, as I did with your exalted Rigel, but… well.” His lips quirked into a guilty grin. “I am sure you can agree that what was walking around was not Rigel Rigas, merely a corpse with power it should not have. But I digress. If a spirit is ready to move on, then it begins transition immediately. Those that linger either are not ready to move on, or do not know how--as is the case with the subject in question. As for memory loss and anything related,” he finally turned to address Briery. “Understand, Miss Frealy, that recollection and recognition is something that can never be guaranteed. It is possible she might awaken with everything in tact--like waking up from a nap. Or, it might take some time for those memories to trickle in. But it is also entirely possible that her memories will not return, and her life will not pick up where it left off, but rather, start anew. Before anyone agrees to anything, you must make it clear that you understand that regardless of how she returns to us, you and your troupe will be responsible for her rehabilitation.”
“Of course. Of course I understand.” Briery did not even hesitate. She wiped stubborn tears away with the back of her sleeve. “And I will take full responsibility for her care.”
“If I might get a word in.” Isidor raised his voice at last and spread his arms, among all of the opinions and the speculations fluttering through the room. When his outburst was met with the silence he sought, he sighed and dropped his arms to his side. “Thank you. While all of your speculating and debate has merit, there are two things that concern me more than whether or not this girl returns with her memories or how long it takes for a homunculus body to develop. What none of you have bothered to consider is that I have never once laid eyes upon this Cwenha--and I haven’t a bloody idea as to what she looks like.” The Master Alchemist shook his head and raked a hand through his hair. “I can create a body--but I cannot make it resemble the body that was lost if I don’t know what she looks like. And I can only imagine the trauma she will experience if she does return with her memories, and looks nothing like her old self. That is a recipe for everything to go very wrong, and for time and effort to be wasted.”
“Well, then, you are in luck, considering you’ve got an entire kingdom at your disposal who has seen her. Some of them magically inclined, as well,” Vitali mentioned, and nodded in Alster’s direction. “I don’t see why Lord Rigas cannot project her image into your mind.”
“Following her death… admirers also gifted us with portraits,” Briery added quietly, hands clasped demurely in front of her. “There isn’t a single depiction of Cwenha that you won’t find in her admirers art, in fact. I… I had Rycen tuck them away.” She pressed her lips into a line and turned her gaze to the floor. “...they’ve been too difficult for me to look at.”
Isidor was silent for a moment, then, his gaze fixed intently on his brother. At last, he said, “You already know my other dilemma.”
“In fact, Isidor, I don’t happen to be a mind-reader.” The necromancer shrugged his shoulders. “Why don’t you inform us?”
“The years, Vitali. I can make the body, but where will the years come from?” The anger that Isidor was suppressing was thinly veiled. He took a step back as an attempt to regain some space, but didn’t make it far before his heel hit a sheathed sword. “For those unaware, a body can become a vessel for a living soul, but unless that body once belonged to the soul, there is nothing to guarantee longevity--that it will continue to function as a living being for years to come. I assume, that in Vega Sorde’s case, she was not dead long--just a day, you mentioned. So you tethered her remaining years to her body while there was still time. Am I right in thinking that, Vitali?”
The necromancer nodded. “For someone who has never taken part in resurrection, you seem to know your details. Looks like we did come to the right person.”
“And Haraldur Sorde, I understand, was not entirely dead--physically, but not spiritually. You tethered his years and his soul. Both the prince and princess will bear those runes on their chests until the day they die, for good.” Isidor went on, picking up steam. “But this body and this soul will not know one another. The heart will beat, and the lungs will draw in air, but how many steps will the new body take before it collapses? I can’t make something from nothing; I cannot make time for someone where there is none. You know those years will have to come from somewhere.”
“Well,” Vitali lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Then it is certainly fortunate that you happen to have an alchemist stone at your fingertips.”
That was when Isidor went white; but not with terror. With deep-seated rage. “...this is what this is about. This is what it was about all along.” He hissed, and his long legs took two strides and closed the distance between himself and his brother. “You want to force me into a position to use that damned thing--but why? What the hell does it even matter to you if I ever touch that piece of evil?!”
“Truly, brother, I don’t care. But if there was ever a time or a reason to use it,” Vitali arched an eyebrow, “then now would be that time.”
“Take my years. Take whatever is left.” Briery spoke up, inserting herself between the two brothers. “I had a fair chance at life--I took it, and I did well. Cwenha… she never recognized her chance. She didn’t know how to find her way. I… I couldn’t help her. I failed her.” Tears gathered in the acrobat’s brown eyes again. “But if the last thing I do is to give her a new chance at life--a chance she deserves… then I’ll have no regrets, Isidor. I promise you this.”
“No--no, don’t even go there. Don’t anyone think of going there.” Visibly agitated, the Master Alchemist stepped away again to take a breath and collect himself. “You think you wouldn’t be missed, Miss Frealy? You think one of your troupe won’t then be begging the necromancer for another resurrection when you take your last breath? I am not about to allow for the beginning of some horrid, vicious cycle--and Alster, before you say anything, I am already going to tell you that the answer is a firm no.” He was quick to speak before the Rigas mage could interrupt. “First, your wife would kill me if she knew I allowed you to skim off a fraction of your longevity, and secondly, it doesn’t work that way. You cannot select how many years you choose to transfer. It is all or nothing, and it would require that someone become a sacrifice in their entirety. You’d be lucky if you were spared a mere week to say your goodbyes. I’m sorry, but I… I don’t see...”
“Isidor… it’s alright.” For the first time since knocking on his door, Teselin spoke up, and placed a hand on her brother’s arm. “You’ve made a good point; just because something is possible, doesn’t mean it is feasible. You are not at fault for saying no.”
Teselin’s words rung genuine, but… but was she right? How could he not be at fault when everyone in the room who had an opinion wanted Cwenha to return from the dead? They were for the decision, the risks, the potential sacrifice; and he stood alone, against it. He was the outlier.
“...your sister is right. We--I… was in over my head.” Briefly touching his shoulder, Briery somehow managed to summon her strength and compose herself. “I’m still grieving… and it is up to me to overcome that grief. You’ve already done so much for me, when I was nothing more than a stranger… thank you.” Mustering a smile, she dropped her arm and took Hadwin’s hand instead. “Please, let’s go now. We;ve invaded this man’s space and taken up his time for too long.”
To their credit, everyone obliged, and after a brief pause, turned toward the door. And that was when he saw her--in his peripheral vision, once again. She had always been there; he just hadn’t been paying attention. But now that he remembered, it was impossible not to see Arisza…
...and to wonder if his answer would have been different if it were her life he was restoring.
“...wait. Just… everyone. Stop.” Alster and the Forbanne were out the door. Briery, Hadwin, and Vitali were only steps away, when they turned back. He had their attention, but still, Isidor hesitated. There is no going back on this, if I say the words… “...it will take months for the new body to develop. I will need to see the place where she died, and gather soil where her blood was spilled. Her new image may not be an exact twin to what she has lost, but with enough information… I can come close. But… all of you. You must all understand…” He swallowed when his voice threatened to crack. “You must all understand that in bringing this girl new life, someone else on this plane will lose their future. It is not likely to be anyone we know; nor is it likely it will be anyone in Galeyn. But the moment she awakens, one death, somewhere in this world, will be attributed to her second chance. And I… I am willing to shoulder that, if you are.”
His answer was, understandably, met with surprise. Teselin and Alster’s jaws dropped; Briery’s eyes filled with tears anew. “It is no secret that my mere existence has resulted in countless deaths. I am who I am because of those sacrifices, whether or not I chose this path for myself. It isn’t as though I don’t already have blood on my hands, so…” Drawing in a steady breath, he turned his palms upward, and his gaze traced the fine, silver runes. “What is a little more, from using an alchemist stone? Surely those things have been put to use for more nefarious purposes. Who knows--maybe it will take from someone who deserves it. Locque, or one of her minions, or one of the Mollengardians who took Stella D’Mare as their own. Who’s to say?”
“Isidor…” Once again, young Teselin sought to advocate for her brother’s heart, which she knew was still firmly against this act. But he wouldn’t have it.
“No, Teselin. I can’t go back on that kind of word. Like I said, I will need to see the spot where Cwenha fell dead. The soil might still be enriched with her blood. Other than that…” He met everyone’s gaze in turn. “No one outside of this room is to know. If Locque catches wind of this, then I see no reason for her to sabotage it. And there is a lot of preparation to do. So… allow me the time and space to gather what I need.”
As if afraid he might get cold at the wrong question or wrong word, everyone filed out quietly without further comment--except for Hadwin. Isidor grabbed him by the wrist before he could make a getaway. “About what you said, earlier… Galeyn has no other known Master Alchemist. That status is rare, and only about ten percent of people who initiate actually survive to see those runes on their hands. It isn’t likely that you’ll find one in your travels. So…” He maintained a low whisper, so as not to alarm anyone within hearing range. “If there is something that you know, then for everyone’s sake, you had better come forward to queen Lilica.”
On the subject of collecting years to function alongside Cwenha’s homunculus body, everyone had their opinions to share: a round table of offers ranging from activating the alchemist stone, to sacrificing Briery’s years--a move on par with Alster’s whole martyr-happy aesthetic.
“Brie,” Hadwin elbowed her in the ribs, a harsh gesture to reflect the harshness clinging like barbs in his throat. “You’re not giving up shit. Not part of the deal. You can’t rehabilitate her and be dead, so don’t start, or I’ll shut this whole thing down. Damn, Al,” he rearranged his face into one of pure snark, repurposing his anger and fear, and flinging it at the nearest person, “being in the same room with you’s making people lose their minds with the idea of happily cutting parts off of themselves for others.”
“I haven’t even said anything,” Alster said in defense. “But if I may--”
Anticipating what the Rigas Head planned to contribute, Isidor trampled over his unspoken suggestion. Cheeks heating, he drew his brow down and frowned. “That’s not what I--”
But his soft voice was drowned by discussions of the alchemist stone as posing the only viable solution. Under its mixed blessings, the sacrifice would be outsourced randomly to an unlucky and unwilling participant somewhere in the world, addressing their problem, but racking the user--in this case, Isidor--with the guilt of stripping away an innocent life by his hands. And it was something he was unable to reconcile. I’ll give it five seconds, Hadwin thought as he and the crowd made to exit Isidor’s chambers. One, two, three, four…
Wait.
“That’s the spirit!” The faoladh twisted away from the threshold and slapped a supportive hand on the Master Alchemist’s shoulder. “You’re one for the ages--integrity and all. And don’t sweat it about the rock. Even if it’s you who’s activating it, we’re guilty by association. The burden’s shared by all. Hells, reviving the cygnet is my idea, and it’s me who’s facilitating this project, so just put the random death on my tab. I owe a monumental debt to society, anyway, and I wear debt better than you, so I’ve got you, mate.”
“If I may,” Alster finally snapped through the din; a clap of thunder to silence the premature celebration. “No one needs to sacrifice their years and no one needs to use the stone to sacrifice someone else’s years. There is another way. Now if people will give me the benefit of the doubt for a minute and hear me out--”
“Sure thing, Al, but,” Hadwin removed his hand from Isidor’s shoulder and regarded the Rigas caster with curiosity, “to be fair, you get hard-ons for this stuff--so do you blame us for thinking the worst of you?”
Expelling a long, frustrated sigh in response, Alster shook his head and turned to Isidor. “The Rigases are historically an exclusive and xenophobic family, hostile to outsiders, but over the centuries, there have been a handful of exceptions. If an outsider has proved themselves through loyalty and valor, they are awarded the title of ‘Honorary Rigas,” are adopted into the family through ceremony, and are given the option to marry a Rigas. As you may have gathered, Elespeth has been awarded this honor.” He absently fiddled with the wedding band on his finger. “In order to live among a Rigas, who bears centuries of longevity over their non-Rigas counterpart, an additional ceremony is enacted, an optional one, in which we draw from the pool of vitality that is overseen by the Rigas Blood Seal. In other words--we’re able to extract the concept of years. Rigel Rigas,” he gave Vitali the side-eye, sorely reminded of his ‘diversion’ of parading the founder’s desiccated corpse around the grounds of the Rigas estate, “sacrificed his immortality so that his descendants may benefit from an elongated lifespan. Elespeth, who was born mortal, received longevity as a secondary gift for her service. As I now carry the Blood Seal within me,” he placed a steel hand over his chest, “I’m able to dispense these extra years as I see fit. I can confer them unto you, Isidor. As it is given and bonded to you through blood ritual, the years become yours. A homunculus, one not created by magic, would, if I’m not mistaken, only take what it needs to survive. If you offered yourself as a sacrifice, Isidor, it’s unlikely the homunculus would strip centuries of life from you so soon after you acquired them. It would favor your mortal years above magically-obtained longevity because it is natural to seek out what is most natural. Like attracts like. An artificially-created plant would still seek the sun for energy if it was made in the original’s image. As such, an organic body would crave and be most receptive to human vitality.” He clasped his hands, contrite. “My apologies; am I understanding the process correctly? My readings on alchemy are purely theoretical and not applied.”
“That’s an impressive trick, Al,” Hadwin hummed a favorable tune. “So what’s the catch, then?”
“Catch? There is no catch. Isidor,” he appealed to the alchemist, hands outstretched, “You don’t have to view this as payment or recompense for all you’ve done and continue to do. If this is to prevent using the alchemist stone to toll an unwilling life, then you know I’ll gladly perform this ritual for you. You don’t have to accept the title of ‘Honorary Rigas’ if you so choose--though there is no question that I would welcome you as a brother. We need not inform any Rigases. We’ll do it in secret.”
“In secret, huh?” Hadwin waggled his bushy eyebrows suggestively.
Alster ignored the faoladh’s off-color comments. “Again, I must preface this by saying that you’d gain centuries of life. I can’t control what the Blood Seal dispenses to Rigases and their chosen, but it’s usually a set amount in the realm of three to four centuries, factoring in your current age, your health, and your body’s maturity level.”
“Damn,” Hadwin whistled impressively. “Can I get that shit for myself? Faoladh don’t live long. All that shapeshifting and healing wreaks havoc on the body after a handful of decades.”
“I don’t think it’d do you much good, then. Gaining extra vitality would slow the deterioration of your body over time, but if faoladh already have a shortened life expectancy, you wouldn’t be receiving much. A few extra decades, if that.” Alster returned his attention to the intended recipient of his gift. “I have to go and attend Lilica’s meeting, but before you make any lasting decisions, please consider my offer. We’ll talk more about it later.” Bowing his leave, Alster, followed by the small party, filed out the door, with Hadwin trailing behind...on purpose, predicting the Master Alchemist wasn’t yet willing to release the wolf into the wild after catching wind of his earlier--and most juicy--information.
“Mmm--how’d you know I like it rough?” He about purred, referring to Isidor’s forceful grip on his wrist. “You want a row? Cuz I’m always on board. ‘Course, that ain’t your style, and you despise me, to boot, so what can I do for ya? Gonna request I shut my trap when we inevitably have to go visit Cwenha’s death site together--seeing as I’m the only one who knows where it is? Or--is it about something else entirely?” Nodding at mention of the ‘other’ Master Alchemist, the faoladh’s wrist, which, out of disgust, had been released, flailed upwards to rest beneath his chin in exaggerated thought.
“Ah, yeah, the lady who shredded Elly’s armor to bits. She’s a Master Alchemist, all right. I met her in passing; we shook hands,” he pantomimed the gesture, “and she reacted the same way you reacted when you clasped hold of Tes in greeting. Saw her fears in the moment; knew she figured out exactly who and what I was in that tiny instant, and she worried I’d catch-on that she was a Master, too. She was wearing gloves with the fingertips exposed, but once I knew what to look for, I saw a sliver of silver runes jutting out of the fabric. If it helps any, she’s from Ilandria--but things didn’t go too hot for her, there. That’s about all the relevant shit I know--so calm yourself, boyo.” He patted Isidor’s back in reassurance. “I plan to spill at the meeting what I spilled to you. Y’think I wouldn’t be on Tes’ side, or Brie’s side, or your side, ‘specially after you so nobly agreed to build a body for Cwenha? I’ve never been against you, just in opposition; there’s a subtle difference, but it’s there.” Standing back a few steps, the faoladh quietly observed Isidor, golden eyes flickering up and down.
“She’s sweet--your ghost. I wouldn’t mind being haunted by her. A lotta sisterly love in that one. But seeing as she’s the manifestation of your fear and guilt...I guess you don’t like her hanging around too much.” He rested his hand on the open door. “Hate me for it all you want, but what I showed you ain’t a curse; only a reminder. And it’s not a bad one to have. Shows you meant something to someone, and vice versa. Nevermind how it all played out. The sentiment’s not dead just ‘cuz she is. But,” he leaned his weight on the door; it creaked in protest, “it is what it is, eh? Pick your poison; I smoke and drink to oblivion and I can wager a guess on what you chose to keep the ghosts at bay. So this should go without saying, but--don’t let your fear decide how it unmakes you, yeah? I’m rooting for ya. For selfish reasons, but I’ve been rooting for ya since day one.” With a two-fingered salute to his forehead, he bid Isidor farewell. A signature slamming of the door later, he was jaunting down the hallway en route to the councilroom.
Promptly after all the major players gathered in attendance, the late-night meeting commenced in a cluster of voices reacting to Alster’s opening statement. “The D’Marians wish to overthrow me and I’m in agreement. I should be overthrown.” He raised his hand for silence. “My active involvement in stopping Locque is costing lives. The majority of our victims have been D’Marian. Under my rule, more D’Marian lives will be lost. This is a fact. Either I lead or I oppose Locque. I can’t occupy dual roles without compromising them both. The D’Marians will never be safe in my hands. If they call to depose me, I will step down.”
“Alster--what!?” Chara predictably bellowed her protest the loudest. “Are you daft!? What will your resignation accomplish? In fear of losing D’Marians lives, you would withhold your protection and pose a greater risk to Locque’s influential hand?”
Haraldur, conversely, offered a different perspective. “If there’s a problem in the village, I’ll dispatch enough Forbanne to snuff out any rebellion before it has the chance to grow.”
The Rigas Head, seated and calm, simply steepled his flesh and steel fingers and shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, Haraldur. Chara,” he raised his head to Lilica’s advisor, “the D’Marians won’t be without a ruler. They appeared to have chosen a suitable replacement.”
“Oh?” Chara dripped sarcasm. “Do tell, Alster. Who would have the audacity to overthrow a formidable opponent such as you?”
“Please rein in your vitriol and let me finish, Chara,” he sighed into his hands. “Lord Aristide Canaveris--”
His speech was interrupted by sound laughter. “Aristide!?” She cackled, slapping the back of her chair in hardly-contained amusement. “Little Ari? What a riot. Next, you will be telling me you’ve defected to Mollengard and they’re coming to invade Galeyn in the morning.”
“It’s indisputable; the people are listening to him. He understands what they need and he’ll work those needs to his favor. As we speak, I’m sure he’s rallying D’Marians and even Rigases for his cause. And yet, you paint him as a joke. Chara,” he straightened in his seat, “if there is something we should know about this man, by all means, please share. What exactly is your relationship with him?”
“Nothing worth broaching at this meeting,” Chara snapped defensively. “Canaveris is our rival. By willingly creating a vacuum of power, you have bred the perfect opportunity for Canaveris to rise. Again, I ask: what does this accomplish?”
“My fate won’t be tied to the people,” came his succinct response. “Canaveris becomes the scapegoat in my stead and I am liberated from all responsibility. He plans to surrender to Locque--and if it will spare D’Marian lives, then I can’t disagree with this course of action. Better he surrenders than I do. That way, I won’t be included in his ceasefire agreement.”
Chara, pausing her outrage, seemed finally to digest and understand the implications of Alster’s bold political maneuver. “Let us say--hypothetically--Locque is as good as her word and surrendering will ensure D’Marian lives are spared, granted no D’Marian rises against her or disputes her claim for Galeynian rulership. Even if you are deposed, Alster, you are D’Marian. I am D’Marian. The rules apply to us. We cannot oppose her if we are bound to the sovereignty rule of Stella D’Mare.”
“Chara--you chose your side.” He referenced the seat at the head of the table; to Lilica’s right, Chara always presided. “Above any role you assume, you are Queen Lilica’s advisor, working primarily for Galeyn and its interests. You may view yourself as a liaison, but if Canaveris succeeds in turning the majority to him, you will be forced to decide where you sit: with Galeyn, or with Stella D’Mare. Choose Galeyn. I’ll be choosing Galeyn.” He nodded to Elespeth, sitting beside him. “We will be choosing Galeyn. D’Marians already believe I’m a treacherous leader who is a Galeyn sympathizer. So I’ll defect. At least this time, I control the narrative.” A dry smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Better I defect before D’Marians find yet another reason to exile me.”
“This is ludicrous.” She swerved in Lilica’s direction, hands flailing her discontent. “Do you support this fool plan? There are too many variables that can work against us. Not to mention--” her mouth twisted in a rictus of pain, “you’re asking me to renounce my citizenship to Stella D’Mare.”
“There is nothing to renounce.” Alster leaned forward on the table, edging closer to Chara’s proximity without needing to rise or move. “As of now, we don’t have a homeland. Our people are scattered: in Andalari, in Braighdath, in Eyraille. Galeyn’s population of refugees may house the D’Marian seat of power, but it’s inactive because we have no power, and our decisions hinge on the territory we inhabit. So I say give leadership rites to Canaveris. We lose little. If we all survive in the end, then I’m sure we can reclaim our lost ties, but only if the ties still remain. Therefore, it is imperative we not lose another D’Marian life. If it preserves and protects our people, then I say: let them surrender to Locque.”
“Even now, you so relish in making sacrifices, Alster,” Chara, muttering under her breath, shook her head, trying and failing to smooth the defeat that bunched wrinkles over her brow. “And what says everyone in this room? Are you in agreement?”
“Don’t look at me; I don’t have an opinion.” Hadwin, who hadn’t spoken a word since arriving, milled in the back of the room, resting his hand against his cheek. “I’m only here to tell you about Locque’s Master Alchemist.”
“But that’s impossible. We rounded up all of the Alchemists in Galeyn, D’Marian and Galeynian alike. I interviewed them myself. Only a handful among them were women, and none were Master Alchemists…” It was only after speaking the words aloud that Isidor realized his folly. They had only interviewed the alchemists that had decided to come forward, or those immediately recognizable by their individual communities. If the alchemist that had crafted the knife that had cut through Elespeth’s armor was not part of any community… then of course they wouldn’t be identified, and certainly would not have stepped forward of their own volition. A subdued wave of anger heated Isidor’s cheeks at the realization that they day spent interviewing people who were ultimately innocent had been such a gross waste of time…!
“Unbelievable… so Locque has had a Master Alchemist at her disposal all this time?” He huffed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “How she managed to find one… I cannot even fathom. Our numbers throughout this entire world are likely only in the hundreds since most do not survive the initiation. But… assuming that she was being truthful with you… you said she mentioned coming from Ilandria?” The Master Alchemist did not seem particularly surprised, but rather, intrigued. “I am not sure how familiar you are with the politics of Ilandria, but their weapon crafting is unparalleled--at least, it was, because the monarchy kept Master Alchemists in their employ for centuries. Anyone seeking to earn that title would come to Ilandria to apprentice, and hope that they would survive the process to see their dreams to fruition. But it is only within the last decade or so that the monarchy suddenly seemed to flip on where they stood regarding the practice of Master Alchemy and the sacrifices it requires to become one… I have never been to the kingdom, myself, but word has it that every Master Alchemist in Ilandria who did not manage to flee was imprisoned. Perhaps she was among one of the lucky few who managed to escape with her life and her freedom…”
The gears in Isidor’s head turned. If this woman had, in fact, hailed from the slighted sect of Master Alchemists from Ilandria, and had found herself in a desperate situation, it was not so farfetched to think that Locque could easily have promised her the security she was looking for. “She spoke openly with you… that would make me think that if she is working alongside Locque, the sorceress must not have enthralled her. Which is worse, because that suggests that she is willingly lending her services and talents as a Master Alchemist. I fear it may be easier to circumvent mind control than to convince her that she is playing on the wrong side, if she has Locque’s protection…”
Another one. Someone else like him, that had been through what he had been through, experienced what he has experienced, was in Galeyn… and Isidor suddenly felt very torn. Truth be told, aside from his own Master Zenech, he had never met another of his discipline, which was owing to more than just the fact he had holed up in a tower all his life. A small part of him couldn’t help but feel a twinge of camaraderie with the woman who was responsible for attacking one of his allies, but… while he and this stranger may have been alike in many ways, there was one crucial thing (beyond the fact she was working for Locque) that prevented empathy. He had not chosen this path for himself: certainly, he was guilty of following it, and making use of skills that he had learned at the expense of countless lives, but had he been given the option not to become what he was, as a child, he’d have taken it.
The same could not be said for the Master Alchemists of Ilandria. Whether by tradition or genuine desire, those people had continued to train and create their like for centuries, disregarding the fact that the vast majority of initiates would die. Disregarding all of the innocent blood they would spill in the name of their coveted and unique discipline, when basic alchemy just wasn’t enough. They knew the risks, they knew the consequences--and to them, it was all a means to an end. Necessary evils to achieve their desired results, and Isidor… he just could not fathom that mentality, not even for a moment.
Whomever this woman was, she had suffered, but suffered willingly. Which made her an even greater fiend than her relations with the sorceress threatening this kingdom. “We must be wary. Whoever she is, another Master Alchemist is all around bad news.” He said at last, as he mentally added this new fact to the list of things he had to worry about. “If you run into her again…”
But Hadwin had left the topic of the dangerous new stranger, and instead transitioned to something that Isidor was not willing to talk about. But that didn’t stop the faoladh for rubbing salt into the wound he had knowingly re-opened. “She wanted to help me. She was going to get me out of there… and I let her down. She died because I was a coward.” He told the wolf plainly, making it clear that it was by no means acceptable to make light of the fact that Arisza’s shadow haunted him from the sidelines, day after day. “If anyone deserved to make it out of that place, it was her. She shouldn’t have waited for me. Should’ve gotten out when she has a hair of a chance, and left me to my own defeat. She should be alive, now, and safe with the family that surely misses her, to this day… but I was the one who survived. And I forgot about this for a reason. I don’t care what your intentions were; there was no excuse, nothing that makes what you did acceptable. The oness is one me for letting her down and forgetting that fact… but did it not occur to you that maybe that amnesia was necessary?”
Perhaps others would disagree. Recalling the events of his past in more detail had ultimately made Isidor Kristeva a more useful ally all around: bold enough to take initiative. To have assisted in Briery’s surgery. To have enhanced and ameliorated Alster’s prosthetic arm. To have not only spoken to, but to have held actual conversations with Tivia. Certainly, it had brought forth a spine that he had never realized he’d had, but… was it worth it? The cost? He’d have surely returned to Nairit by now, to the somber comfort of his isolated tower--the only life that someone of his sort deserved, devoid of love and friendship, two notions that to this day were alien to him. Would that not have been punishment enough?
“...I was pleasant and impartial to you when Teselin introduced us. I even reached out because I wanted to help.” He reminded Hadwin, as he moved to replace the lids on liquid and powder filled jars. “I gave you a chance, Hadwin. And you chose to blow it. So you can put your insincere concern and words away. I’ll tolerate you for as long as it takes me to craft this homunculus body; I’ll be civil for Teselin’s sake, but rest assured I have nothing left to say to you, aside from expletives. Go ahead and keep telling yourself you did me a favour, if that’s what it takes to keep you happy and guilt-free. You opened wounds that are never going to heal… but I guess that is as much as I deserve, right?”
Hadwin had said his part; and he was already out the door before the Master Alchemist could finish. Typical; why should I have expected anything different… But he wasn’t going to take the wolf’s word for it that he planned to divulge all he knew about this supposed other Master Alchemist. After all, if for some reason, his promise fell through, or he was unable to create a homunculus in Cwenha’s likeness to Briery’s satisfaction… he had already mentioned the possibility of enlisting help elsewhere. So why would he reveal his ace when this mystery woman might become integral to his plan?
The meeting had only just commenced when Isidor joined the room full of familiar faces (with the unfortunate addition of his brother). No one, save for Elespeth, appeared in any way prepared for what the Rigas lord had to propose; even he was dumbstruck by the idea that Alster would step down.
“Alster… what if this is a ploy? What if this is what Locque is counting on?” Teselin asked from her faraway seat at the other end of the long table, following Alster and Chara’s back and forth of the logistics of is decision. “To get you to step down so that she can extend her control?”
“Then--if I may--she will be getting exactly what she wants. Which means Rigas will be getting exactly what he wants: the guaranteed protection of his people.” From the corner of the room (while everyone had reluctantly agreed that he be present, the necromancer was no less denied a seat at the table), Vitali offered his opinion on the matter, whether or not anyone cared--or wanted it. “From my perspective, it seems like a win-win.”
Lilica, who had remained silent and patient at the head of the table, looked from Alster to Vitali and back again. She did not appear at all pleased with what she had to say. “If I am being honest… and at this late hour, this room deserves my honesty--I feel that I am in agreement with Alster. Because, if we do not eliminate this threat before she acts… then I fear kingdomwide surrender may be our only option. At least, at face value… temporarily.”
“Lilica…” Elespeth breathed. Suddenly, the entire room was on edge all over again. “You can’t be… How can that possibly…”
“It is liked we talked about before, Chara.” The Galeynian Queen turned to the blonde woman at her side, who looked as though she was in a room filled with people who would’ve lost their minds. “Above all else, the utmost priority is not maintaining a power struggle. It is ensuring that we do not lose any more innocent lives. Just like you evacuated Stella D’Mare before Mollengard could enslave its people: you have not given up, bur you have done what is necessary to ensure a future for the D’Marians. Locque has not specifically targeted Galeynians yet; this makes me think she does not want to destroy this kingdom, but to carve her out place in it, however it might benefit her. But who is to say that our resistance won’t force her hand, one death at a time? I have no intention of backing down at this stage in the game, but if we find ourselves cornered, then surrendering long enough to gather our bearings and form a new strategy will be necessary. These people… D’Marians included,” she sighed and laid her palms flat upon the table. “I don’t know much about ruling. Or about being a leader; that is why I need you, Chara. But I do know that every living soul in this kingdom is either directly or indirectly looking to me to save their lives from this monster of a sorceress… and I will do what it takes to ensure they see another day. As it stands, morale is low, and it appears that it is Locque’s intention to cause unrest and dissidence in the people. If we can’t beat her, then as a last resort, I say we give her what she wants to buy time…” She curled her hands into fists on the table. “And then wait for her to get comfortable. Strike when she thinks she has us in check. No amount of magic or muscle is going to nullify this threat: Ultimately, we are going to have to outthink and out-strategize her.”
“It… it sounds risky. We still don’t know what it is she wants. Or what she actually intends for this kingdom.” Isidor said, as a gentle reminder, hoping he did not come across as critiquing the Queen’s plan. “But… I am in agreement that our priority must be to mitigate any further casualties. So if that means that Alster steps down now, and her Majesty steps down later to ensure the safety of people who are defenseless against Locque, then I would like to lend my support wherever it may be needed. Although…” He cast a sidelong glance in Hadwin’s direction, the rim of his spectacles catching the light of the wall sconces. “It seems that I am not the only Master Alchemist currently residing in Galeyn. And Hadwin would be happy to tell you more about that.”
To the wolf’s credit, he was as good as his word, and put forth all of the details he had divulged to Isidor--which, admittedly, wasn’t much. He still didn’t know exactly who that woman was, or her relations with Locque, but it was illuminating, no less. “It would explain, Lady Chara, why our interviews with every alchemist in this kingdom appeared fruitless.” Isidor added when it appeared Hadwin had no more to say on the topic. “This woman is concealing the runes on her hands with gloves--which makes perfect sense. It became clear to me as soon as I arrived that this kingdom… does not take kindly to Master Alchemists. If anyone knew of her existence, what and who she was, they would have spoken up.”
“So, now she has two wolves, a Dawn Warrior, and a Master Alchemist under her control.” At last, Lilica huffed an exasperated sigh. Was there no end to misfortune?! “Pardon my ignorance, but what exactly does this mean? Aside from the fact she is clearly enhancing weapons, such as that which tore right into Elespeth’s armor.”
“I cannot venture to guess what else she has in the works on Locque’s behalf. But the array of skills she surely possesses… we must be prepared for anything.” Isidor sighed. “Which doesn’t tell you much, I realize. I wish I could be of more help… but now that we know what--or whom--to look out for, we have more of an advantage.”
When all topics were exhausted, ending with the plan for this Lord Canaveris to have an audience with the Queen, everyone began to file out to retire for the evening. As soon as Lilica found herself alone with Chara, who was still reeling from the previous topics of discussion, she laid a hand on her arm. “This Aristide Canaveris… what do you know of him? I’d appreciate any insight you’d care to provide; I’d rather like to know what I am getting into before meeting this man.”
“Alster…!” In the corridor, as Alster and Elespeth were on their way to their carriage (they’d prepared to return to the D’Marian village that evening, so as not to stir further dissent with Alster’s people), but paused at Isidor’s beckoning.
“I’m sorry… I don’t mean to keep you. The both of you must be exhausted,” Isidor apologized immediately and bowed his head. “But, might… I have a moment?”
“I’ll meet you at the carriage,” Elespeth reassured her husband, catching on that the Master Alchemist sought a moment alone with him. When she was out of sight, Isidor lowered his voice to a whisper.
“About… what you said. Before. As generous an offer as it is, Alster… I cannot accept it. For numerous reasons. For one…” He looked to and fro, and only went on when he was sure the corridor was vacant from corner to corner. “There is no guarantee a homunculus body would only take the equivalent of a normal mortal lifespan. I cannot limit a transfer of years: it is a kin to offering a pitcher of water. You cannot expect that only a single glass full will be taken if you are offering the whole thing to begin with. But… it is more than just that.”
The Master Alchemist’s gaze dropped to the tips of his boots. While it wasn’t uncommon for guilt to line his face, the emotion seemed particularly strong in that moment. “Zenech sought eternity; life without death. But I don’t even want a faction of that. Not only to spite him, but… what I have is enough. More than enough. Alster, I… I don’t want to live longer than what the world intends. I don’t think I could bear it.” Isidor wrung his hands in front of him, too ashamed to meet Alster’s eyes. “That’s right; I’m selfish. I’d rather use the alchemist stone than to risk giving up the entirety of my own years, or… or to be stuck with more years than I can handle. I’m hardly cut out to live as a functional human for a modest period of time; can you imagine if it weren’t decades, but centuries of slugging through existence?”
The words sounded as pathetic as he felt, and it showed. If Alster had any respect for him before, he had surely lost it, now. “I’m… I miss the tower, Alster. Coming here was more than I bargained for. Don’t take it the wrong way, I am happy to have met you and Elespeth--and my sister, as well. But I am not accustomed to a life of building and maintaining relationships. I thought, for a brief moment, that maybe I am not such a hopeless fool, but…” He trailed off, deciding not to dwell on what was lost. He had ventured into unknown territory, and had not emerged unscathed. “It’s exhausting and I’m… so tired. Of all of it. One lifetime--one mortal lifetime--is more than enough for me.
“So…” Isidor sighed and removed his spectacles, busying his hands with polishing the lenses with the corner of his shirt. “There you have it. I am too cowardly to desire a longer life. My decision is a selfish one, and while I take no pleasure in using an alchemist stone for any purpose… you’ll have to forgive me. It will be the one and only time I use the thing, and I will find a way to safely dispose of it after the fact. I do wish I were a stronger person, and more of a risk taker but that… that just isn’t who I am. And it seems that the vitality of this kingdom requires shameless risk-takers like that damned faoladh or my brother. There’s… there is no real place here for people like me who choke up over taking initiative, be it talking to my sister or helping in resurrecting the dead.”
Replacing his spectacles, Isidor smiled nervously, and met Alster’s gaze at last. “I won’t leave Galeyn at such a trying time. I do intend to come good on all of my promises--all of them. But I… do miss the solitude of Nairit’s forests. I suppose I’ll always be cursed to function better in an environment where there is no one around to have expectations of me. I am sorry to unload all of this on you, but I felt you deserved an explanation, and… I thought maybe, in a way, you might understand.”
So as not to keep the exhausted Rigas caster from returning to the D’Marian village any longer, the Master Alchemist offered a brief parting nod and disappeared in the opposite direction down the corridor.
Aside from Haraldur, who flat-out refused to acknowledge him and remained largely close-lipped to prevent the slippage of desirable information to suspicious ears, everyone in the council chambers more or less accepted Vitali’s attendance on the grounds that he provide helpful suggestions and not heckle the audience, as they only had room for one heckler, a role which Hadwin usually fulfilled. For all his shadiness, the necromancer behaved, but his innocuous contributions to the conversation did not warm the Eyraillian prince into speaking an opinion. While he said nothing, the possibility of surrender had not escaped him, either. The Forbanne operated under his command, and though he cooperated with Galeyn and Stella D’Mare, his cooperation flew under the Eyraillian banner. Would they follow suit and lay down their arms in accordance with the wishes of the triple alliance (quadruple alliance, if they counted the Dawn Guard), or would they continue to resist? Ultimately, his decisions aligned with Vega, and beyond her, King Caris, but they couldn’t withdraw their troops, either. Neither could they go anywhere, not with the little ones too small and vulnerable to evacuate on roc or Night steed. What if Locque threatened them next? Would he follow in Alster’s--and Lilica’s--stead, and submit to the sorceress’ unchallenged rule? Even if doing so meant abandoning Sigrid...the worrying answer was ‘yes.’
Meanwhile, Chara, stilled to silence, scratched frenetically at the ragged tips of her ruined ears, her unfocused gaze trained on the table. “All we ever do is lose.” For a woman so assured in her opinionated rhetoric, this opinion floated like flotsam and jetsam; waterlogged wreckage, drowning in defeat. It jarred. It did not sit right on the shoulders of the proud Rigas. “Wherever we go. We lost the city to the Serpent. We lost the city to Mollengard. We lose to Locque--and what then? How much more can we stand to lose before the remnants of our civilization and our legacy die for good? If it’s to preserve what precious little we have, then,” she blinked away from the table and met Alster’s gaze, “then we will fall to yet another oppressor. Forgive me this unreasonable aside, but perhaps we would have fared better under Mollengard. If we had remained in Stella D’Mare and faced our new occupiers, rising to the challenge, rather than fleeing, severely compromising our numbers, resources, and walking right into an arguably worse foe, we’d stand a greater chance at survival. ...What a mistake I’ve made.”
“No.” Haraldur, emerging from his favored corner, strode to the table, breaking the seal on his reticence. “Don’t you ever entertain the idea. Mollengard destroys absolutely and indiscriminately. Cultures, livelihoods, spirits---there would be nothing left of you. Do you think you and Teselin would have avoided imprisonment and torture if you bowed your heads agreeably and allowed a peaceable takeover?” He curled one hand into a fist and slammed it on the wood surface. “There is no peace. You are a conquest. Never, never lament your misfortune for having avoided that terrible fate. If you want to talk gains and losses, you may not have gained anything, but you evaded an unspeakable loss. In comparison, our scenario is far from hopeless.”
“Of-of course.” Taken-aback by Haraldur’s sudden burst of berserker energy, Chara, feeling uncharacteristically small, hid the flushes of shame coloring her cheeks by wrapping her arm around her mouth and pretending to sneeze. “You speak sense, Prince Sorde. Please ignore my remarks. They have no place at this meeting.” Thankful for the subject change, she invited Hadwin to detail his encounter with Locque’s newest acquisition, a Master Alchemist, and Isidor’s current person of interest. “Can someone please calculate the odds of two supposedly rare professionals of forbidden alchemical arts residing in the same backwoods kingdom and tell me this is not a statistical anomaly?” Regaining her second wind, Galeyn’s advisor inflated to her normal size, a mix of hot air and sulfurous gas—her usual cocktail of volatile substances, comprised in a person. “Please dispel this bad luck. I would much like to hear good news, even if it is unlikely news.”
“I’d love to help; I’m great at math—but it could just be she took note of the fun toy you acquired and wanted one for herself,” Hadwin grinned over at Isidor. “No offense there, mate. And if you do want my opinion on surrendering to the sorceress, I say—why not?” He propped his feet on the table. “You’re also binding them into a pact of non-aggression. It’ll drive Ro absolutely mad. Probably the Master Alchemist, too. Something tells me she’s the type to bore easily. Give em nothing to do and they’ll sweat out of their burrows. Then, they’ll either run off or expose themselves for the picking. Slowly strip Locque of her allies without violating terms. Get in good with her; sniff out her weaknesses.” He balanced on the back two legs of his chair, rocking rhythmically. “To give it a name, play the long-con, if you’ve got the patience for it. Then you strike her down. That’s my two pence, for whatever it’s worth.”
After the natural progression of the meeting began to stagnate, all parties decided to adjourn for the evening and reconvene at a later date. Alster and Elespeth were to return to the D’Marian village and allow the natural progression of events to call for his deposition as leader of Stella D’Mare. Chara withheld her opinion on Lord Canaveris, but did not oppose him outright, and even condoned the transfer of power across the two prominent mage families. “Please have Canaveris pay a visit to the palace. At his leisure, of course,” Chara informed Alster and Elespeth before they exited the council chambers. “I would not wish to inconvenience him amidst his plans for D’Marian conquest.”
“I hate to ask this again,” Alster milled near the doorway, “but only because he spoke so fondly of you. What is your history with Lord Canaveris? If you’re in agreement that he should rule in my stead, even if he claims his rule is only a placeholder to placate the crowd and calm them into order, then you must have a certain regard for him. That, or, you don’t view him as a threat. Are we able to trust him?”
The tiniest flicker of something passed over her blue eyes, but she shook her head and presented an answer. A vague one, but none could dispute its honesty. “There’s a reason the Canaveris family hasn’t staunchly opposed the Rigases since his ascension to Head Speaker. His opinion has changed some, when I transferred leadership rites to you...but not by much. Simply put, he owes me a debt he can never repay. And I will hold him to it--should he misstep. Or conveniently forget where we stand.”
Satisfied by the response, the couple departed, leaving Chara and Lilica alone in the now-empty room. “There’s not much else I can say about Aristide that wouldn’t void the promise I made to him as a youth. What I can reveal is that I saved his life--and his reputation. And, well--” she hesitated, “he was sweet on me. So I used it to my advantage. Not my proudest moment, but this occurred recently after Alster awakened the Serpent and was sentenced to exile.” With her hands on the door, she pushed it closed, locking them inside for privacy. “When he left the city, I had no other friends...for quite a while. Oh yes, I had surface-level acquaintances. Colleagues. But no friends. So,” she moved away from the wall, “I manufactured one. He was smitten with me, and I enjoyed the attention. Then, I simply grew bored of him. He was never who I wanted. Just a convenient distraction to pass the time. He could never replace my loss.” She nervously swiped at her hair, ascertaining its fall correlated with concealing the nubbed-off tips of her ears. More than the compulsion to rearrange her hair, it offered her an excuse not to engage Lilica. She didn’t like reminders of her past misdeeds, nor enjoyed how her default treatment of others...hadn’t changed much. It seemed that by regaining any position of power, she’d reverted to her old ways. Did authority bring out the worst in her? Dominion over people was an itch too tempting not to scratch. And perhaps that was why she was not best suited for the privilege--why she still resisted the call to reclaim the position of Rigas Head from Alster. He didn’t want to lead...but he was arguably better at it. How poetic, then, that the coveted position would transfer hands yet again and land at Aristide’s feet, to a mage she treated no better than a manservant.
Forgetting her place in the narrative, she opted to cut the rest short. “As a result, I don’t believe he has ever fancied Alster. He must relish wresting control from him, regardless of how he chooses to spin his reasons for D’Marian takeover. It’s possible he may not like you, either. But,” she closed the space between her and Lilica, curling hands over her arms, “let us hope he exercises professionalism above petty acts of jealousy or revenge.”
Alster, who hadn’t made it far down the corridor from the council chambers, turned in response to Isidor’s call. “Of course, Isidor. What do you need?” Predicting the conversation was only between the two men, Elespeth excused herself to the carriage, freeing the Master Alchemist to revisit Alster’s offer. He’d expected Isidor to decline. Judging from his attitudes concerning immortality and longevity, he made it no secret that he rejected the values his late Master assigned to the subject. His tertiary explanation, however, was one to which Alster could relate...all too well.
“You’re right. Life is too long as it is. I’ve lived a century and I’m still in my prime. Regardless of my lifespan, I’ve spent the majority of it preparing to die for my part in disturbing the Serpent’s hibernation. Instead, I was saved...and it took me a while to accept my right to live.” On his arm, he rubbed the line of demarcation where flesh met steel, a line much more difficult to discern after Isidor’s seamless modifications to the prosthesis. “Even so, it’s overwhelming to imagine I’ve about three centuries more ahead of me. I’ve been so tired. For the past year. I’d love to rest, to shut my eyes and never awaken. If it weren’t for Elespeth, surely I would’ve found my exit strategy by now. It’s pathetic, but,” he gave a weary nod, “what people say about me is true. I’d gladly sacrifice myself for a cause. And so, I can’t fault you for refusing my offer. Besides, there are too many variables preventing a clean transfer from vessel to vessel. The last thing I want is for you to risk your life.” He lowered his steel arm, reveling in the bounce of its lightweight construction--a far departure from the heft yanking at his shoulder and weakening his spine.
“But--you alone are not guilty for utilizing the alchemist stone. This is a joint effort. We’re all complicit in weighing one soul as more important than that of a stranger. So if you must use it...we are in support of you. And once our affairs with Galeyn reach a conceivable end, one in where we’re all alive and well, I’ll make good on my promise to you.” He clasped his steel arm upon Isidor’s shoulder. “I’ll escort you to Nairit myself, if that is your wish. While I’ll be sad to see you go and hope you’ll reconsider, I can’t force you to mingle in a society that, as a whole, hasn’t been so kind to you. You haven’t been given a break since you arrived.” He quirked a small, guilty smile. “My apologies for being such a horrid host. Nonetheless, may you have at least some fond memories from your extended holiday here. But, if I may be so bold as to say this of you,” he tilted his head, observing Isidor favorably, “you’re stronger than you think, Isidor. Don’t let anyone say you lack initiative. You’re methodical. You calculate the risks before you act, but in the end, you do come through for people. If it’s feasible and in your power, you lend a hand. I admire that. You may disagree with my assessment, citing Teselin as an example of someone you believe you’ve failed...but to be honest, I think everyone has failed her, so please do not take the brunt of the responsibility regarding her case. Though I realize that may be a tall order--if you are anything like me.”
Removing his hand, he edged out of Isidor’s way, clearing the corridor. “Depending on how long it takes to overthrow me,” he lobbed the word with a casual air to hide the sting, “it’s possible Elespeth and I will return to live at the palace. If so, please don’t hesitate to call on me if there’s anything you need. Resources, assistance...an ear--I meant it when I said I’d welcome you into my family as a brother. If you ever change your mind about what you want to do, I’m never far.” Reciprocating Isidor’s bow of farewell, Alster headed down the corridor in the opposite direction, girding himself for whatever verbal assaults and hate awaited him at the D’Marian village.
After her fateful run-in with Hadwin (it wasn’t as though she could have kept that a secret from Locque, even if she’d wanted to), Nia was put in a position to keep out of sight for the next handful of days, at the very least--which she obliged, of course, but not without complaint. Certainly, she could have passed the time busying herself with work on Locque’s behest--which she did, for the most part--but that very work was what made her so hungry and, ultimately, bored. There were only so many menial feats she could perform before feeling that her talents were being wasted--and they were! Invisibility cloaks, reinforced weapons, these were all things that any ordinary alchemist could do. And as a Master Alchemist, she was being used so far below her prestige. And on top of already being desperately hungry from the starvation that her more detailed work entailed, Anetania Ardane was downright cranky.
“I know you disagree, but believe it or not, having me roam about has its uses.” She said to Locque one evening, a few days after running into Rowen and Bronwyn’s brother. “You might have ears everywhere, but you can’t be listening to several accounts from several people in several different places all at once. Lucky you for… I am something of a sponge for gossip and drama. I attract it; in fact, I welcome it.”
“If you have a point to make, Anetania, then I am listening.” The sorceress, who today sported long red hair and fair skin (it changed on a day to day basis, depending on her mood, and how frequently she roamed the kingdom in broad daylight), did not sound particularly interested in whatever it was the Master Alchemist had to say. But she had come to learn very quickly that lending an ear to the woman’s chatter when she had something to say was far less annoying than facing the consequences of ignoring her. One way or another, if she wanted to have your ear, she would.
Luckily for her, Nia was far too hungry and stir-crazy to offer the long-winded version of what was on her mind. “Your little stunt you pulled with the Dawn Warrior--you know, massacring that innocent family in the D’Marian settlement? Well, in case you haven’t already heard, it had the intended effect.”
“I thought you had come to tell me something I didn’t already know.” Came Locque’s calm, albeit disinterested reply. Crossing the room, she stood before the very subject in question, who sat still and silent upon a chair, her eyes closed as if in slumber. In a gesture that could almost be considered… caring, she brushed a stray tress of blonde hair from Sigrid’s forehead. “It wasn’t enough to send Rowen to cause strife and dissent. But from the blade of their very own comrade… that sends a message that they cannot ignore.”
“Oh, no, they got the message, all right. But it’s more than just fear and dissent or loss of faith in the Queen. In case you’re not already aware…” Nia closed the distance between them and lowered her voice, as if telling a secret that she didn’t want the enthralled Dawn warrior to hear. Not that Sigrid could do a damn thing, even if she was cognizant of what was going on. “The D’Marian village is losing faith in the Rigas Lord; and there is talk of overthrowing him in favour of another family.”
That seemed to get Locque’s attention. The summoner paused, and slowly drew away from Sigrid until she faced Nia head-on, her gaze probing as if to ascertain the Master Alchemist was not blowing anything grossly out of proportion. “They’ve lost faith in Alster Rigas to keep them safe.”
“Mmmhmm. So while the Galeynians aren’t convinced for a minute that their Queen Lilica is capable or willing to save their sorry asses, now the D’Marians are giving up on following whatever advice their esteemed leader has given them.” Nia twirled a tress of her brunette hair on her finger. “If you want my advice--well, I know you don’t, but I’m going to say this anyway, just in case. It’s about time: they are realizing that you are a force they cannot reckon with, and it may be high time for you to show your face--er, faces… whichever one you feel like,” she shrugged her shoulders, “and tell them what you want. At this point, I think they have realized that responding with hostility is not in their best interests. And--so this is where I come in--it will be far easier to insert yourself into that pretty little palace if you already have the cooperation of a number of people.”
Whether or not she believed in whatever it was Nia thought she had to offer, Locque was finally intrigued by the reckless alchemist. “I’m listening.”
“Well, why not edge in a little transparency in the right places? For example: the D’Marian village would be an ideal place to start. Send the message loud and clear. A message that if they accept you and promise not to retaliate, but to transition gracefully as leadership of this kingdom changes, that you will not only spare them future tragedy, but will offer your future protection. I mean, really, they already know not to fuck with you, and you are a far more valuable ally to them than you are an enemy. Instead of posing another threat with more senseless death and murder… why not make them an offer that they literally cannot refuse?” Nia grinned ear to ear. “Have them force Alster Rigas to step down, promise their cooperation, and the people of Stella D’Mare are as good as safe. It would set an example for other small villages as well. One by one, they are going to realize that you are not worth the battle, because they will all lose. So… how about I go and put that plan into motion?”
“Are you suggesting I send you to the D’Marian village with an ultimatum?”
“I’m suggesting you send me to the D’Marian village for a… discussion. Ultimately, it will be up to them, whatever they decide--at least, that is what it will seem like. But…” Nia raked a hand through her hair and tucked it behind her shoulders. “Let’s be honest: they aren’t stupid enough to say no. Let me do this; let me get the ball rolling. Come on, as much as I know I am way too outgoing for you lot of introverts, you have to admit, I am damn good with people. Certainly better than the wolves and your warrior tool, there.”
The sorceress was silent a moment as she considered Nia’s words, but the Master Alchemist already knew the answer. If Locque was ever sure of anything (or directly opposed, for that matter), she would speak up right away. That she was pausing before dismissing her was a sure sign that Nia was on to something… and that the sorceress was intrigued enough to give her a chance.
“Every time I fear you are going to let me down, quite the opposite happens.” Locque said at last, and offered the faintest of nods. “Do see that you do not break the pattern, now.”
“Excellent.” There was more relief in Nia’s voice than she had intended. The thought of getting out to breathe some fresh air, and eat something other than porridge, dehydrated vegetables and salted fish, was more than a little appealing. “When I come back, you’ll have the loyalty of the D’Marian village--or damn close to it. I promise you that.”
In a flourish, the Master Alchemist swept up her winter cloak, grabbed a large satchel, and stuffed it with a thin fabric that glimmered and flickered strangely, depending on how the angle of the light hit it; one moment it was there, and the next, it looked as if it had disappeared completely. Last she’d heard, security--Forbanne and otherwise--had stepped up on entrances surrounding the D’Marian village since Sigrid’s little rampage, and no one entered or left unchecked. A little bit of invisibility was necessary.
Unlike Osric’s cozy pub in a nearby village, the D’Marian settlement was a little further away, a bit of a drag by day on an ordinary horse. And, she was quick to discover, the place as of yet lacked any antiquated charm. Eateries were few and far-between, and the most promising one she found was rather conspicuously located near the heart of town. Locque had warned her not to draw too much attention to herself, but… well. This visit wouldn’t end with her being an enigma, anyway. She had come to make a point; so why hide in the shadows (or beneath the safe folds of her invisibility cloak?)
Given the limited choices when it came to dining, this somewhat promising pub was quite full upon her entering. It was a moment or two before she managed to find a seat tucked away in one of the more neglected corners; not her ideal choice of seats, but she was hungry, and she had a purpose to fulfill. There was no chance of being picky.
Sauntering up to the bar, which was at once cleaner than Osric’s and yet somehow far more underwhelming in terms of atmosphere, the Master Alchemist flagged down a man stacking barrels of ale. “You there. I’ll have a heaping plate of whatever it is you’re cooking today. I’m not fussy. Oh, and I’m looking for a…” Nia wrinkled her nose thoughtfully, the foreign name just on the tip of her tongue. “...Can-a-ver-is… did I say that right? An Aristide Canaveris. Sources tell me he’s the man to talk to about inciting a little bit of reform in these parts.”
“Canaveris? Well you won’t find him here.” The man at the counter said, with his back still turned to her. “We’ve yet to establish a ‘dining experience’ that really appeals to these upper class types. But, wouldn’t you already know…”
Upon turning around, recognition--or rather, lack thereof--filled the man’s eyes. It was a small village full of a very closely-knit group of people. Outsiders stood out like sore thumbs; and this was her first time visiting this fine town. And given that the place was practically on lockdown for anyone who was not D’Marian or who presented identification as hailing from the palace, seeing an unfamiliar face such as hers was reason to suspect… “...you aren’t from here. Not a D’Marian, but... no one is supposed to... Are you from the palace?”
“Not exactly; well, not yet. Let me put it this way.” Nia leaned in, all seriousness, despite the suggestive way her bosom brushed against the counter. “I have some information about the safety of this fine dwelling that I think he would be interested in learning, is all. I highly suggest someone either send for him immediately, or tell me where I can find him, and I'll do it myself; I'm not a girl who's afraid of doing the footwork, herself. But, before any of that... could you get that plate going?” Though her stomach wasn’t growling audibly, it had been twisting itself into painful knots for days, now. It was a miracle she’d been able to hold onto that single thread of patience for as long as she had. “‘Cause the sooner I get some food in me, the faster I’ll be out of your hair... And the world will like me a lot more with a full belly.”
Despite both her and Alster’s previous inquiries as to the nature of this Aristide Canaveris, and why Chara appeared so familiar with the man, Lilica’s advisor had remained considerably sparse in her details with regards to the Canaveris lord who was to meet with them shortly later that evening. And while she was sure that Chara had he reasons for maintaining an air of secrecy, it did make a meeting with this man difficult to prepare for when she didn't know a thing about the man who was to waltz into the councilroom any moment now. Both Alster and Elespeth were present, along with Haraldur, Roen of the Dawn Guard, and Isidor. Like the previous meeting they’d held a few days ago, Vitali also joined the others with his Forbanne entourage, much to the chagrin of Haraldur, who’d have sooner left the necromancer out of all important affairs. But, as before, the point was made that they had allowed Vitali a means into the palace for a reason--more than the fact they simply didn’t want him harmed (because some of them really couldn’t care less). Like it or not, he was a source of information to which no one else was privy: the voices of the dead. And even Locque could not silence the dead. Hadwin had managed to secure a place for himself, too, but only because he paled in comparison to Vitali when it came to communal dislike of his character, and was more or less able to sneak in under the shadow of the man's own perpetual air of suspicious activity.
“I cannot help but feel I am going into this blind…” Lilica confided in Alster, who sat to her left, while Chara, as always, sat to her right. “I don’t know this Lord Canaveris and am not sure what to expect. Chara already mentioned that he is not likely to take kindly to me… which is of no real surprise. I was never more than a liability or a danger in the D’Marians’ eyes, before. I cannot see why that would change now, even with my new status.”
“Unless the man has an audience to perform for, I suspect he will be on his best behaviour; at least, he should be.” Elespeth commented, sitting to Alster’s opposite side with her arms folded. “Not that it makes any difference, but he doesn’t much like me, either. An outsider is an outsider. But, he needs Alster’s cooperation, and by virtue, he needs yours. I think he has the sense to know that if he stirs up and trouble, the Forbanne will escort his ass right back to the D’Marian settlement so fast he won’t know what hit him.”
“Sounds like… precisely the kind of person for whom none of us have patience.” The Galeynian Queen sighed and rested her fingers on Chara’s arm. “Whatever debt he owes you, I hope it is enough to keep him in line. No one in this room, I’ll wager, has had more than a few hours’ sleep for nights. He is free to dislike me and Alster and anyone else as he pleases, but if he thinks he can get away with showing anyone here an ounce of disrespect…” She pressed her lips together. Lilica was drawn too thin, at this point; she had nothing left to tolerate another asinine fool. “I may have to throw pacifism to the wind, and make him wish he didn’t.”
The next few days at the D’Marian village unfolded exactly to Aristide’s machinations. Under his encouragement and guidance, the influenceable crowd staged demonstrations in the streets, recruiting others to their side and swaying those who stood firmly on the fence. Salacious rumors spread like an epidemic, infecting even the most level-headed D’Marian with the rhythms of enticing rhetoric: Lord Rigas did not fell the Serpent. He became the Serpent, the rumors advertised. Forked-tongue leads us not to safety. Serpent Bane prods the mongoose. He’ll sacrifice us to revenge his wife. Follow his dread campaign and you’re fodder! The mongoose will champion over Lord Cold-heart, Lord Steel. His benevolence is a front. If you are a D’Marian, he’ll sentence you to die! By the witch, the wolves, the warrior, and the weaver--your head will end up on a cleaver!
The onslaught of smears and protests had their intended effect. The majority of citizens, a few Rigases included, turned on their Lord, lambasting him on the streets, throwing refuse at him, and plotting to ransack his villa. Hostilities were so high that Aristide gently reminded the people that while under his supervision, savagery would not be tolerated as a form of resistance. D’Marians were a civilized lot, and unless the Rigases retaliated with violence, the Canaveris Lord would not pardon death threats or petty vandalism when their entire platform served to unite against unnecessary bloodshed. They were invited to lob dirty words at the opposition, but never to forget the definition of a peaceful protest.
“This is a gentleman’s revolution,” he announced to his followers that morning. “Are we not gentlemen--and gentlewomen? Nobility does not dictate who can or cannot adhere to the tenets of decency and proper discourse. Lord Rigas is unfit to rule, but he does not deserve to die. Please cease this troublesome speech lest we are disavowed by Rigas loyalists as weaponizing hate and employing it as a tactic to usurp the D’Marian seat of power. We must not invoke a civil war. We all want the same thing, besides: immunity from persecution. Let us all band together and ensure the safety of every citizen of Stella D’Mare--by first toppling our so-called ‘pacifistic’ overlord. Figuratively, mind.” He gripped the sides of the hastily-constructed podium set-up in the town square, sweeping his gaze over the gathered to confirm they understood his call for non-aggression. “We shall topple him and secure our destinies--not as an oligarchy run by the privileged few--but as a democracy, for the people.” He raised his hands to silence the uproarious cheers and applause. “Remember--surrender is not surrender. We placate the sorceress Locque and live to fight another day, as a nation where every person matters, be they noble, or commoner. In the end, it is who we are that matters--and who are we, foremost?”
“We are D’Marian!” The audience shouted in unison.
“Precisely! We are D’Marian. And we are not survivors. We are thrivers. Never forget the sands of our homeland. Though we are far, we are never adrift. The sea is in our blood and our bodies are a compass. Generations of seafarers and mariners live in us. With the guidance of our ancestors, our ships will, once again, find safe harbor.”
At the conclusion of his speech, Aristide retired to his quarters, a replica villa tucked within the lee side of the hill. It pointed away from the lake and thus, did not benefit from a striking vista of lapping waters and surrounding forest, but what he lacked in view, he made up for with style. The home boasted white marble colonnades lining the outside perimeter in evenly-spaced arches, resembling a temple in miniature. Inside, a courtyard hosted a stone animal menagerie, statues that looked almost alive and ‘fluffy’ ‘feathery,’ or ‘scaly’ to the touch. The villa proper housed several bedrooms--for his servants, his mother, and other members of the Canaveris main family--and, as befitting any image-conscious nobleman’s home, was furnished and decorated with the best renderings that old money could supply. Of course, renderings did not, nor would not supplement the gallery of gold filigree-framed paintings of highly renowned artists, or the old-growth oak panellings lining the walls of their original estate, but the family created the illusion of opulence using dashes of local and geographic flavor for decoration. Instead of seaside art pieces, depictions of the Night Garden and its famed sentinel tree colored each room, and the furniture, largely wood, evoked images of intertwined branches, intricately-weaved birds’ nests, and twisted roots protruding from the ground. Flowers proliferated in vases, prominent showpieces present on each table, side table, and corner. Of the areas not populated by sprigs of seasonal horticultural cuts, sculptures depicting long-dead Canaveris ancestors presided over a doorway, or a window, their varied faces carved in either immortalized serenity, or eternalized scrutiny.
Later that day, an envoy knocked on the door of Aristide’s workshop. Setting aside his hammer and chisel, he hopped off his work-bench and brushed away the pulverized bits of marble powder from his smock. The vaguely human-shaped block of stone, reprieved from the chipping away of its bulk, seemed to breathe its relief.
“Ah, Ari,” the envoy dipped his head, apologetic, “I know you don’t normally like to be disturbed at this hour, but you have a visitor. She hails from outside and she’s not Galeynian, nor affiliated with the palace.”
“Hm, curious.” Removing his smock and canvas gloves, he exchanged them for a floor-length coat and silken gloves. “I think we’ve successfully lured out one of Locque’s emissaries. Where did you put her, Laz?”
The envoy called Laz gestured down the hallway outside. “At the menagerie. Better to be safe, in case she’s here to assassinate you.”
“Very good--but worry not. If she’s affiliated with the sorceress, then it’s a message she bears, not arms.”
Sure enough, the woman who awaited him in the courtyard, sporting a somewhat revealing outfit, introduced herself as Nia, a representative speaking on Locque’s behalf. “Nia--nice to meet you. I am Lord Aristide Canaveris--but in keeping with the spirit of shortened monikers, and for the purposes of future correspondence, you may call me Ari. It’s far easier to remember.” He clasped his hands behind his back and offered a bow. “If you’ll forgive me, I do not greet or broker deals on a handshake due to a peculiarity I have with establishing human contact. It is not rudeness; I hope you understand. But now that we are on a first-name basis,” he beckoned her towards the nearest door, “do come inside from the cold. We shall conduct business over food and wine.”
He ushered Nia into a small antechamber, a dining area reserved for a small number of guests. On the shelf, he reached for a bottle of wine and two pewter goblets, pouring a generous amount in each cup. “Please sit.” He hailed a nearby servant. “Bring out our finest breads and cheeses and Mahra’s famous honey cake. I know she made a batch fresh this morning.” As the servant bowed and rushed away to carry out his task, Aristide sat and motioned Nia to do the same. “So, if I am not mistaken, you are of Locque’s brood. The alchemist, I am assuming--judging by how you scored Lady Rigas’ armor to shreds, using only a modified blade?” He lifted his goblet and sampled a sip. “So, what brings you to the D’Marian village? Surely, you’ve caught wind of the fires of revolution. When we’re impassioned, D’Marians are far from subdued or quiet. Are you here, then, on Locque’s orders, to investigate, or have you come to negotiate the terms of our surrender?”
As she confirmed the latter, he waggled his head, considering her proposal--as if he hadn’t lobbied for this very result several days ago. “While wholesale protection sounds wonderfully enticing, I’m afraid I must play devil’s advocate for a moment. D’Marians are no strangers to tyrants. We’ve been subjugated by Andalarian rule--before that, Mendasarian rule, most recently, Mollengardian rule, and always, Rigas rule. Pardon my skepticism, but should we swear our cooperation and fealty to Locque, I want a blood-rite guarantee that she and her affiliates will not terrorize our people in any way that violates the code of Just Rule, including but not limited to,” he ticked the reasons on his fingers, “torture without cause, wrongful imprisonment or murder, unlawful seizure of one’s property or assets, imposed limitations on free speech, prohibited public assembly, and restricted travel to previously public locations. I will draft out this manifesto prior to your departure. But most importantly,” he lowered both hands in a slow, but intense deliberateness, “when it is time to reclaim our homeland, she will give us her blessing to leave Galeyn in peace. If she agrees to our terms, then I will see to it that Lord Alster Rigas does not hold power or dominion over the D’Marian people. Neither will we interfere with her claims to the Galeynian throne. If you will also allow me a short venture to Galeyn’s palace, I must appeal to the current monarch, and ensure she--or a slighted Alster Rigas--does not overflow our village with Forbanne in retaliation. If this agreement is amenable to you and your lady, then let us break bread.” As if on cue, the servant swept through the room carrying oven-fresh breads, soft cheeses, hard cheeses, nutty cheeses, and sharp cheeses--and the coveted honey cake, which dripped on the plate in pools of golden ichor. “If it is not...break bread with me, regardless.”
A Canaveris envoy arrived at Alster’s villa to inform him, in vague terms, to gather the bigwigs of the palace for a discussion that evening. Aristide would be attending, to deliver the news everyone had been expecting. All too happy to have an excuse to leave the brewing, Canaveris-sanctioned vitriol of the village behind him, Alster--and Elespeth--immediately departed for the palace to prepare for their guest.
The usual faces arrived for the meeting, with the addition of Vitali, who half the audience spurned, and the absence of Tivia, who Isidor either longed to see or feared to see. As if conflicted by her prescient knowledge, the star-seer lent aid and withdrew aid in equal measure. Considering the unpredictable nature of her latent abilities, it was best to give her space, and the benefit of the doubt.
Alster, settling in a chair to Lilica’s left, attempted to school his expression into an undisturbed calm, but there was no hiding the anxiety present in his twisted brow, and in his sleepless eyes. “I can’t give you an unbiased account of Canaveris,” he said, more harshly than he intended. “He’s been whipping the crowd into a furor and painting a target on my head and it feels like I haven’t slept all week. I’ve already consented to my cooperation. I would have stepped down without a fuss and let him take advantage of the power vacuum, but he seems to enjoy discrediting me...and Elespeth, too. If this is all part of his strategy to run unopposed, I’m in no condition to see it.” He huffed out a long, tired sigh. “I just want this to be over.”
“My information on him is outdated. I’ve told you what was relevant,” Chara said, winding her finger around the chain of the necklace Lilica had gifted her. “Which is not much. After I ceased correspondence with him, he largely kept to his estate. I saw him in passing, following his brother’s death, but we haven’t sat down for a private conversation, if that’s what you’re wondering. Canaveris is a family of iconoclasts. It is in their legacy to question the status quo--to question everything, for that matter. As far as noble families go, they are the least traditional in their viewpoints and policies. Expect a little discordance.”
“Sounds like my kind of man,” Hadwin, seated next to Vitali (the only person to tolerate sitting near him), grinned in approval. “I’ll take him over a stuffy aristocrat any day.”
“Hilarious--considering his first name shares the root for aristocrat,” Alster said dryly. “Aristide roughly translates to ‘best person.’ His family must have a high opinion of him. A shame that I can’t share in their love.”
“Keep in mind, Alster, you were named after the brightest star in the sky,” Chara countered, her smile wry.
Alster merely grunted in reply.
“Damn, you two.” Hadwin let out a delighted chuckle. “If this is a preview of what’s to come, I’m looking forward to a meeting for once!”
The faoladh didn’t have to wait in anticipation for long. Moments later, the council-room doors opened, revealing the aristocrat in the flesh, accompanied on either side by two Forbanne guards. Sporting a lime-green long coat embroidered in blue thread, he, compared to the flock in their seats, stood out like a peacock among peahens.
“Thank you for organizing a caucus at my request. Queen Lilica. Lady Chara.” He linked his hands behind his back and bowed. “Lord and Lady Rigas. I do hope you’ve found some respite since we’ve last spoken.”
“No.” Alster stared at Aristide, unblinking, and did not elaborate.
“Ah, I thought that might be the case.” The Canaveris Lord straightened his cravat, ruffling his ‘feathers’. “And who else might I be addressing in this room?”
Chara waved toward the imposing figure in the corner. “Prince Haraldur Sorde of Eyraille, commander of the Forbanne.” The man in question dipped his head in muted greeting. “Vitali Kristeva--necromancer. Master Alchemist Isidor Kristeva. Half-brothers. And,” she scrunched her face at the faoladh, “Hadwin Kavanagh.”
“My illustrious name speaks for itself,” the wolf proudly rested his hands behind his head and reclined on the chair.
“Indeed it does, but,” Aristide cocked his head, “not quite for the reasons you desire, I expect?”
“Ah, you’re referring to my sisters? Yeah, they’ve been the infamous ones around here. Trying to upstage me at every turn. But,” he rolled his shoulders into a shrug, “what can ya do? Murder speaks louder than mischief. Makes quite a mess--and a statement.”
“That it does. Well,” he returned his attention to the greater audience, “ it is a pleasure to meet you all. As you are aware, I am Lord Aristide Canaveris. I imagine you are not in the mood for some light, pleasant repartee--except for this one, right here,” he nodded his appreciation to Hadwin, “so I will head straight to the point. Today, I was visited by a woman who refers to herself as Nia--”
“--I knew the Master Alchemist would show up, again! Probably bored out of her skull, right?” Hadwin mused knowingly.
“Mmm--the poor thing possessed quite the appetite, and I find that eating does, for those who can afford to indulge, alleviate boredom, but I digress. Yes,” he confirmed, “the Master Alchemist. She delivered a message on behalf of Locque, calling for--no surprise--D’Marian surrender. If you would care to know the details of our civil exchange,” he placed a magnanimous hand on his chest, “allow me to sate your biting curiosities.”
While Nia had expected it would be far easier to gain a friendly audience with the Canaveris opposition as opposed to the current Rigas rule (because like hell would Alster Rigas tolerate an audience with the person who had torn his wife’s armor to shreds), she hadn’t realized just how readily this opposition was prepared to meet with her, seemingly with a ghost of an understanding as to why she was there in the first place. There were only two types of people the D’Marians deemed safe to cavort with, at this point in the hostile dead of winter: those within their own village proper, and envoys and associates of the palace itself. Since the most recent murder, anyone who did not identify as either the former or the latter was highly suspect, and she was rather shocked that upon revealing her rather suspicious origins, no one had seen fit to take up arms and kick her out as fast as possible. Perhaps it was out of fear that she would retaliate, or bring that message back to Locque who would surely incite more tragedy. Or, maybe--hopefully--the village was as desperate to find a peaceful understanding between themselves and the sorceress as Nia was to offer it.
Whatever the reason, the Master Alchemist, after partaking in a decidedly more modest meal than she had been hoping for at the eatery (given the nature of her visit, she didn’t feel it appropriate to complain or to ask for more), was led to a courtyard outside a rather upstanding estate: not quite as affluent as those belonging to Rigases, but the Canaveris family clearly had the money to support their opposition of the current ruling family. The presence of an abundance of small statues and sculptures suggested that certain members of this family seemed to have taken to the arts, as well. Which made perfect sense: after all, from what little she gathered of this sect of D’Marians through the gossip to which she was always open, the Canaverises were earth mages. So who better to model works of art from the clay of the earth?
Curiosity getting the best of her, Nia brushed her fingertips over the spitting image of a dragon, sculpted in so realistic a pose that it looked as though it might attack at the drop of a hat. As expected, her all-knowing touch picked up the undercurrent of magic stirring within the hardened clay. A half-grin played on her lips. “Why do I get the feeling you might come to life, someday?” She murmured to the exquisite sculpture, no sooner than she was joined in the courtyard once again by the envoy who had led her there--and the person she assumed she sought.
“Shall I assume you are Aristide Canaveris? A pleasure to meet you.” Nia crossed her legs in a quick, shallow curtsey. “You can call me Nia. As you have probably already deduced, yes, I am here on behalf of the reason this entire kingdom lives in fear. But I suspect that you lot are growing just as tired of the senseless bloodshed as I am, yeah? So, if you’ll give me a few minutes of your time…” She extended her gloved hands, palms up, almost as a gesture to reveal she bore no weapons, and had no desire to. “I’d love to discuss a means to ensure that your lovely little village no longer needs to live in fear.”
He did not offer his hand in greeting, but then again, neither did she. Peculiar, that his fingers, too, were concealed behind gloves. “Totally understandable. Since I’m sure you’ve already divined my relationship to one Locque, and my skillset--then it shouldn’t come as any surprise that believe it or not, I’m not big on handshakes, either.” Nia grinned and dropped her arms to her side. “It can be annoying as hell, you know, learning so much about a person when there are times you’d rather not have learned anything at all from a handshake. So whatever your secrets, Ari, I can respect them. I’m grateful for your willingness to have a nice, civilized chat.” Not to mention, the suggestion of food definitely made this errand far more appealing.
With Ari leading the way, Nia followed closely, her eyes still flitting from sculpture to sculpture, with some of smaller stature decorated the inside of this antechamber. “Do all of these happen to be your works of art?” She asked, out of pure curiosity. “They’re quite exquisite! Given the nature of my skillset, I’ve dabbled in metalsmithing, myself. Created a few pretty little trinkets in my time, but unfortunately, crafting jewelry was never meant to be my intended calling. Still quite a fun hobby, though; but with nowhere near as much heart as yours, it seems, Lord Canaveris.”
Taking a seat at the other end of a long dining table, the Master Alchemist shrugged off her winter cloak and accepted the goblet of wine. Her stomach, while still craving a good deal more food, was not empty; she was not at risk of getting drunk and spilling far more than she’d been willing to for some lapse in sober judgment. “You would be correct. I am an ally to the one called Locque--and a Master Alchemist. Believe what you will, but it really hadn’t been my intention to attack Elespeth Rigas, that evening. I was merely looking out for the wolves; Lady Rigas was never intended to have been involved, so… well, we had to adapt. I will say, she certainly put up one hell of a good fight. I was just trying to get her out of the way, but she got me good in the thigh.” She patted the side of her leg that was still bandaged and in the process of healing. “Lost a bit of blood, and still healing. I’m no stranger to going on the offensive, but going up against a warrior unprepared? I was bound to get nicked. But I digress.”
Nia swirled the wine in her goblet and crossed her injured leg over her uninjured one. “You could say I am here on behalf of Locque, but if I’m being honest, coming here at all was my idea. You see, as difficult as it might be to believe, Locque doesn’t want to raze this kingdom. She wants to senseless violence to end sooner than later, and she really has no interest in inflicting harm on those who simply promise not to oppose her. You could call it surrender, but really, there is nothing you are obliged to surrender. A promise not to pick up arms: that is all that I am here to discuss. Simply put, if you can convince the D’Marians not to oppose Locque when she makes her move on the palace, then we can not only promise protection from her, but from anyone and anything else, as well. And since, word has it, you are already riling up the masses to oppose the Rigas ruling… I figured it made more sense to come to you than to try to appeal to Alster Rigas. After all,” she took a steady sip of wine, “something tells me he has no intention of having a friendly conversation with the person who destroyed his wife’s armor, working for the person that had once enthralled her mind.”
The Master Alchemist finished talking to allow Aristide to explain his response--which wasn’t a far cry from what she had expected. The man was a real politician, and it appeared that his desire to dethrone the Rigases was almost secondary to ensuring the safety and prosperity of the people. In short, he was not opposed to being a new figurehead, but it was not his main gameplan. He wanted to pick up where the Rigases fell short; and Nia could respect that. “Given the events that have taken place over the last year, from Braighdath to Galeyn, I can understand why you may peg Locque in the same category as Andalari or Mollengard.” Nia put down her wine as a gesture to make it apparent she was taking this conversation seriously. “There has been a lot of unnecessary death. Had it been avoidable, I am sure that Locque would have taken an alternate route to reclaiming her home, but… given her relationship with Galeyn in the past, there was no hope that anyone would peacefully listen to her or welcome her back. It is unfortunate, but these examples she has been setting have been necessary. But that is all that they are--examples. A show of her power so that none will be so foolish as to oppose her. But a tyrant… no, that is not how I would describe her. How can I put this…”
The Master Alchemist leaned back in her chair and turned her gaze thoughtfully to the ceiling. “I do not feel as though Locque’s story is mine to tell, but I can brief the details. She approaches now with violence because it was violence that Galeyn showed her in the past, many, many years ago. Why, then, would she expect them to peacefully let bygones be bygones? But beyond all of the spilled blood, what our sorceress wants is to have her home back: nothing more, and nothing less than a peaceful existence in the one kingdom she still loves. I will admit… I’m a little bit biased to her history, I suppose.” Taking her eyes off of the ceiling, she cupped her hand around the bowl of her goblet and focused on it, instead. “I am no stranger to being run out of one’s own home. Nomadic life is not all that great when it is not the life you chose.” Absently, she toyed with the starburst pendant that hung between her collarbones. “Certainly, it takes you places and can be a great remedy for boredom, but there is also a price to be paid in not re-growing your roots in a place that feels right. So her story resonates with me a little. That said, I can tell you right now that Locque has no desire to oppress you and yours, to alter the way of life that you are used to. And when the time comes, if you want to leave, then she is not going to stop you. You have my word.
“But, if some written contract will make you feel more at ease with this arrangement,” Her mouth curled into a half grin, “then I’m happy to sign my word as much as I am to say it. We can all get what we want, and if you are to have the current Galeynian Queen’s ear, then all the more power to you.” The smell of fresh bread and honey quickly captivated Nia’s attention when a couple of servants filled the tablet with a wide array of plates. Well, she certainly had not intended to make a glutton of herself, especially considering the nature of her visit, but there was no way a hungry Nia could deny the offer of food when she needed it. “You know, I think I like you, Aristide Canaveris.” She told him with a wide grin, as she reached for a piece of dripping honey cake. “But you’ll have to excuse that the nature of my work tends to make me exceedingly hungry, and I’m afraid I’ll probably end up throwing a lady’s etiquette to the wind when I put away twice as much of this delicious-looking food as you.” It seemed reasonable to give him fair warning, since the Master Alchemist’s appetite was often enough to draw a few stares. “I suppose you’ll have to take my word for it when I say I, too, came from a fairly affluent family, once upon a time. Otherwise I'm sure you'd never have guessed!”
“Frankly, it is not upholding tradition that concerns me.” Lilica explained, in response to Chara’s vague account of what she knew of this Lord Canaveris. “I think we can all agree that none of us live what could be considered traditional lives. Haraldur’s wife and Alster’s wife assume iconically male roles in their skills as warriors. And I am far from the type of leader to which Galeyn is accustomed… for a number of reasons. This Aristide Canaveris is welcome to say what he has to say, but it is my hope that he at least conducts himself with a modicum of respect to those he is speaking to.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Elespeth muttered, just as perturbed as her husband was to see this man again. “He seems to relish in making a scene when it suits him.”
It came as no surprise when the doors to the council room opened, and Aristide Canaveris introduced himself with a self-righteous flourish. While no one in the room appeared particularly amused or swayed by his charisma, he was, at the very least, conducting himself as Lilica had hoped--for now. Self-important, but he had the good sense to realize he was surrounded by people who did hold more power than him, currently. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Aristide Canaveris.” Lilica nodded her greeting from the head of the table. “We have taken your request for this audience very seriously, and we all await what it is of importance that you wish to relay.” In other words--they eagerly awaited him to get right to the point.
Once again, the Master Alchemist--who now could be identified by name--came up. And, just as Lilica had feared, it appeared as though she was not merely a pawn in the sorceress’s game, but an active player that believed in Locque’s vision, and was doing her part to make it a reality. None of this caught anyone in the room off guard, but it did incite a good deal of unease.
“So Locque is slowly seeking surrender from smaller communities, now. It is probably her plan to slowly acquire loyalty from everyone until it is only those of us at the palace who stand in opposition to her.” Lilica surmised, her mouth turned downward in a frown. “But that she seeks some ‘peaceful surrender’ on our part… so many people have already died. You cannot commit murder and subsequently demand peace.”
“But... so, you said that this Master Alchemist--Nia--came to you of her own volition. She did not appear enthralled in any way?” Isidor rested his elbows on the table and his chin upon his hands. “Then that is even more dangerous. That someone with all of their faculties is readily backing Locque and her ideals… and someone with a great deal of power, themselves. You mentioned that she said something about being run out of her home?” He pressed his lips into a thin, thoughtful line. “...she must be from Ilandria, then. As I suspected. But this just makes her all the more dangerous, that she appears to be sympathizing with Locque. I suggest that any further encounters with this Master Alchemist be taken very seriously. I do not know precisely what she specializes in, but do not let your guard down--that goes for you as well, Lord Canaveris.” He turned to Ari specifically. “Even if you agree to her terms, do not assume she won’t come to find out that you are playing two sides of the coin.”
“If part of these very terms you discussed happened to also coincide with overthrowing Alster and Rigas rule, then what do you propose will convince her of this?” Elespeth butt in, the warrior still clearly on the defensive on behalf of her husband. “Should we plan some spectacles within the D’Marian village? Write up a script so that Alster knows precisely what to say? Even if you are in the know of what is really happening, the D’Marians cannot. The fewer people who are on to the fact that defeating Locque is not off the table, the better. It’ll have to be convincing.”
“Sounds like all you and your husband need to do is swallow your pride long enough to convince a crowd you think it’s best to step down.” Vitali chimed in from the other end of the table, whether or not anyone cared to hear it. “That, and it seems to me like we have something of a safe liaison with this Master Alchemist. She’s obviously got Locque’s ear; and the both of you,” he motioned to Hadwin and Aristide, “have had somewhat less than unpleasant run-ins with her? Seems to me if we can convince her that we’re as good as ready to cooperate, then that will give us the security we need to plan to take out the sorceress for good when we have our opportunity. And if that means keeping up the act--what with Canaveris overthrowing Rigas, and the compliance that follows--then that is what we do. What do you think, Alster? ‘Brightest star’?” The necromancer arched an eyebrow. “Everyone has pride. Can you convincingly swallow yours to ensure the safety of your people, and Queen Lilica’s?”
Aristide sat, a captive audience to Nia’s brief and vague explanations of Locque’s motivations and why they resonated with her so much. “Perfectly understandable, Miss Nia--and I echo your sentiment. I do not fare well as a nomad. You know what they say about a rolling stone. There is nothing I wish for more than to return to Stella D’Mare and regrow my ‘roots.’” He swished his wine and sipped. “What would we sacrifice to reclaim our homeland, or our place in it? It goes double for forcible eviction. If there are squatters on my property, it is within my rights to throw them out. However, this is where I draw my line of agreeableness--and so I find I must disagree with your Lady’s stratagem, as it were.” His gloved hands traced the edges of the table. “Her qualms are with her people--not us. She is misdirecting her violence. D’Marians occupy a tiny swath of Galeyn, by invitation of the ruling monarch. We are here by legal ordinance. She who wears the crown enacts the laws. Case in point,” he gestured to a clay bust on the shelf depicting a fae woman with moss for hair, wearing a sculpted crown of antlered branches, flashing in golden flecks of pyrite. The Queen of the Forest, the plaque read.
“Locque may dispute the law, but she never vested interest in the paperwork. Failure to file a statement opposing the Asylum Agreement has rendered her opinion nonexistent in a civilized court. We have no record of dissent or approval. No record of an attempt for a peaceful accord among possible allies. Allies, might I add, who have never laid a hand on her.” His voice rumbled, coloring his otherwise pleasant, conversational timbre in undertones of anger. “So for her to retaliate by expressly targeting outsiders with no relation to Galeyn or her history paints her as a bigot who justifies her stance through violence. In other words, I am sorry to say--a tyrant. Therefore,” the internal earthquake lessened its intensity, returning to a surface-level candor, no emotion intended, “you cannot blame me for taking precautions, as she has actively shown us D’Marians nothing but hostility since attacking one of our own in Braighdath. Some may argue that Lady Rigas is not D’Marian, but no one can deny she was used as a pawn to incite Lord Rigas, who is a natal D’Marian and a professed pacifist more likely to charm a serpent into its hole than to kill one. If your Lady truly desired a harmonious solution, one not fraught with ‘necessary’ violence, she would have not have antagonized him--but I digress. Active disrespect does not win over loyal followers. The fact that you are representing Locque in her stead gives me cause to believe that our ‘surrender’--and yes, I will call a spade a spade, here--was your idea.” He curled his fingers under his chin and captured Nia’s eyes with his coal-dark ones. “Am I wrong?”
He was not wrong, and Nia was refreshingly transparent in admitting, without the necessitation of prompting, her suggestion to facilitate a dialogue between the two factions. “Mmm--so I have you to attribute to this pronouncement of mercy. Not Locque. Tell me honestly--were it not for your well-meaning--and most wise--interference, would the sorceress have considered this peace-offering of her own volition? I think not--and I’ll tell you why.” He firmly planted his feet on the stone floor, comforted by its solidity, its immovability, and its fortitude. One could learn many lessons by watching stone behave in nature. I am stone. I am still. I am unaffected. ...I am a landslide. “Because she views us as examples. A means to an end. We D’Marians are not examples. We are people. The family she ordered Sigrid Sorensen to kill were people. Marco Brassa, thirty-two. Cecilia Brassa, twenty-nine. Little Bernard—nine. These ‘examples’—I knew them. Our community knew them. A revolution that exclusively targets civilians is not something to be lauded. It is a massacre of innocents. Your lady is dishonorable, her vendetta—unclear. Who is she trying to punish? D’Marians are not Galeynian. We are not responsible for what happened. Please understand, I surrender for peace, Miss Nia. I surrender so that a future is assured for us. I surrender so that your Lady tyrant, who lords power like a Mollengardian war-general, does not murder us all.” The landslide descended, thundering its emphasis in the most effective places.
“I do not hold you accountable for your associations with our Lady tyrant. We all have our reasons, after all,” he continued, swishing his wine with a mellow finesse that questioned his selective fervor from a moment ago. “On the contrary, I admire your initiative to foster peace and avoid senseless death.” When the trays of food arrived, Aristide encouraged his guest to partake with an enthusiastic waggle of his hand and a charitable smile. “Oh, you flatter me. By all means, do not hold back on my account. When you are my guest, creed, status, or table manners are of no concern. In fact, I am feeling a bit peckish, myself.” After piling his plate with a half-loaf of flaky bread and a wedge of hard cheese, he pulled off his white silk gloves and set them aside. His hands, all ten fingers accounted for, exposed no secret, nothing out of the ordinary. They were hands, flesh-toned, pliant, and far from grotesque in appearance. Neither did he make a big deal out of exposing them, as though his gloves were merely a cosmetic choice. “After we dine and draft out our agreements, what say I give you a tour of our humble Canaveris estate? Since you enjoyed the menagerie in the courtyard, then you might harbor some interest in my collection of human-figures. Each one is imbued with a little magic--but I’m sure you’ve gleaned that already, being a Master Alchemist and all. Besides,” he cut a piece of cheese and balanced it on a slice of bread, “I’m of the camp that every artisan, magically adept or not, has the ability to transfer their energy into a piece. Who are we to determine what is or what is not magical? Blood is our most essential essence, our most primal form of magic transference--and many people literally bleed for their work.”
Later that day, during the meeting, the Canaveris lord proceeded to detail his interactions with the Master Alchemist named Nia, as well as their negotiations for a tenable surrender. Both parties agreed that their terms were contingent upon Alster Rigas stepping down as leader, something which Ari would have no trouble bringing about.
“I agree, your Majesty,” he turned to Lilica and spread out his gloved hands, palms upright. “Locque has long expired her opportunity to present as a kind benefactor; I’ve expressed such misgivings to Miss Nia. If she is looking to modify her image as much as she modifies her physical appearance, then she’ll find little success in winning the peoples’ favor. As it is, Miss Nia is to credit for devising the outline for a peaceful surrender. Locque’s only say was in approving the plan. I sent our hungry alchemist off with some documents for the sorceress to sign. It is her signature that matters, above all. Not that I don’t trust Miss Nia’s word on the matter, but words are clumsy and words fail to bind a contract. I require a more substantial promise of ceasefire.”
His mere mention of the Master Alchemist sparked the other Master Alchemist in the room to besmirch her character and integrity based not only on her mindful support of Locque’s crusade, but on the fact that she was accredited in the forbidden arts. “I take it Master Alchemists do not fancy other Master Alchemists?” Ari tilted his head, genuinely curious. “Nevermind her questionable loyalties. She alone seems privy to the reasoning behind Locque’s quest for the Galeynian throne. Stories are powerful; they sway the heart--Miss Nia’s heart, in particular. From what I gathered, Locque was mistreated by her Galeynian contemporaries, and violence ensued, though I could not tell you from where--but she was ultimately ejected from her home. There is an obvious parallel between Miss Nia’s ‘exile’ and Locque’s exile.”
Reacting first to something Isidor said from earlier, Hadwin scoffed from across the table. “As you suspected? Mate, I flat-out told you she’s from Ilandria. I didn’t tell you her name because why bother? It’s three letters. What’s that gonna do? A place of origin can tell you scads more about a person. Taking credit for my expert sleuthing,” he tsked and shook his head from side to side, “you sly devil, you.” For all the vim in his words, the faoladh delivered them with a good-natured lilt. “Ah, just a good ribbing, ‘Doro. Nah, I agree with fancy-pants, here.” He redirected his speech to the peacock in the room. “I think she just heard a riveting sob story and was so moved by it that she felt compelled to lend a hand. So in a sense, she’s under thrall--of a very influential story-teller. Not to say it ain’t truthful, what Locque says. Just that it’s got pathos. Really hits home for folks who’ve been ousted from their homes for one reason or another. Bonus points if it happened due to some fault of the people in charge. Sure, I’ll give you that this Master Alchemist is dangerous, but as far as threats are concerned, pretty sure my baby sister ranks number one among Locque’s most deadly lackeys. Or,” he amended, “now there’s an enthralled Siggy on the loose and fuck no to that. Now, I don’t spook easily but if I see her I’m turning tail and running in the other direction.”
“It’s not this Nia’s ability to fight that’s the problem; it’s in her ability to enhance weapons far beyond their normal grade.” Alster, who’d been largely silent, was quick to weigh-in, preferring the current topic over the meeting’s inevitable conclusion. “Look at what one of her daggers did to Elespeth’s armor. Who’s to say she can’t tamper with other materials and equip them to the people who do fight?”
Hadwin pointed to Isidor. “Not like we can’t do the same exact thing in return. See who’s the better Master Alchemist in the end, eh? It’s an arms race. And there’s a lot more of us than there are of them.”
“Yet somehow, we’re the ones to surrender.” Aristide gently reminded the faoladh. “If her aim is to immobilize all threats against her, at this rate, you’ll have a merry band of misfits marching into battle against her. May your subsequent suicide be worthwhile.”
“We’ll survive this battle--as we’ve survived the destruction of Stella D’Mare.” Alster bit down on the bitterness that threatened to overflow his next words. “Yet it seems D’Marians conveniently forget the merry band of misfits who stopped the Serpent and spared further destruction.”
Aristide, passively watching Alster’s behavior, clapped his hands together in delight. “Yes, Lord Rigas. Use that!”
Alster blinked, confused. “Use what?”
“That energy! Lean into your strengths as an insufferable martyr. It is certain to lose you favor with your remaining loyal followers.”
Everyone else seemed to voice their agreement. In order for his dethronement to appear convincing, Alster needed to fall from grace. To fail...and to fail spectacularly. His brow, once tense, softened. “I…”
“Oh, and for the record,” Aristide interrupted Alster’s existential processing session, “let me make my intentions clear. I’m not playing both sides. There is no ploy on my end. I’m only here as a courtesy. I am well and truly surrendering to Locque. No ‘convincing’ is necessary. I’ll say,” he mused aloud, “It is serendipitous that Miss Nia’s condition for surrender calls for your usurpation, Lord Rigas. You will be free to do what you fancy, for a time, and I will be free to put out the fires of Rigas rule, in your absence. Whether you cooperate with your downfall or not, your downfall is assured--because I will ensure it happens. There is no need for any of you to manufacture incidents to discredit him.”
“I am being perfectly transparent with you,” he spread his arms wide, beseeching his audience. “I am trying to save D’Marian lives and I know the majority of you desire the same result. That is why I’ve requested this assemblage. Not to beseech your aid or to call for party tricks to pull the wool over Locque’s eyes. There is no wool to pull, because I am not acting in deceit. To do so would risk violating the truce--and D’Marian lives--with common trickery. So no--I do not ask for your aid. I only present an ultimatum, based on our mutual belief in ceasing the flow of needless death.” He pinched the end of his gloves, bunching the silken fabric at the fingertips. For dramatic effect, he paused, pretending to prioritize their readjustment over conversing with the ‘crowd’. “Either I will have Lord Rigas’s cooperation, or I will do without it.” He reaffixed his gloves and lowered his arms in a caesura, the statement emphasized with his deescalating body language. “If he cooperates, then I implore he makes an appearance at my rally tomorrow. I’m hosting it in the village square. Show yourself, Lord Rigas. Demonstrate why you are unfit to rule...and the rest will fall into place. Simple as that. If you will not cooperate,” he rolled his shoulders into a shrug, “it will be a longer process, but the same conclusion will befall you. And it will be messier. Much messier. I cannot guarantee it won’t be a bloodless revolution. I speak no threat,” he dispelled with the shake of his head. “Only a prediction. From my experience, Rigases aren’t fond of being backed into a corner. They’ll use and weaponize you against the people, Lord Rigas--unless you sabotage yourself before that happens. It is your choice--but I will uphold my end of the bargain to win our Lady tyrant’s trust, regardless of what you or anyone else decides to do.”
A wash of silence swept over the room. Before anyone could regain their footing from the aftermath of Aristide’s lengthy monologue, he continued.
“I am grateful for the succor you’ve provided us, your Majesty,” he bowed to Lilica. “But we D’Marians in a tumultuous position and we must preserve our numbers at all costs. I leave to your merry crew the future of Galeyn. Lord Rigas is far more equipped for this role than as a figurehead, as I am sure you realize. But seeing as I’ve exhausted my stay,” he took several elegant steps backwards, toward the doors, “I will allow my Forbanne entourage to guide me to my carriage. Good evening--your Majesty, Lord and Lady Rigas, Master Kristeva, Vitali Kristeva, Mister Kristeva, Mister Kavanagh, Prince Sorde...Lady Chara.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment. “I would love to stay and chat, but you wish me gone, and I respect your unspoken request.” He raised his eyebrow at Alster. “I will see you on the morrow, Lord Rigas?” Spinning on his heels, he marched to the doors and made his egress, two Forbanne guards flanking him.
Alster Rigas, dazed and pale, slowly wobbled upright, catching the edge of the table for support. “...I...need to prepare for tomorrow.” He tightly gripped both hands into fists to still his trembling. “If...you’ll excuse me.” Without another word, he rushed out of the chambers, disappearing down the hallway.
