Chapter Text

Prologue

Muffled cries and the thundering steps of rushing sailors failed to rouse Justinia from her nap. Instead, it was the cold dampness creeping over her bedding that jolted her awake, the icy water already pooling knee-high in her cabin. Panic gripped her throat as she jumped out of her cot, disoriented and trembling. More water gushed through the crack under the door, rapidly overflowing the compartment.

"May the Enlightened protect me..." she whispered, her heart drumming in her chest. She knew she should never have set foot on this cursed boat, even if the land passage would take thrice as long.

She stood there, petrified for a moment before a semblance of clear thought returned to her. She jumped to the bedstand, where she left her pouch and a ring within. Justinia’s fingers fumbled with the wet leather strings before she slipped the ring onto her middle finger. She looked around bewildered, then ran to the door, forcing it open with effort. The corridor was dark and empty, the level must have been already evacuated and she had been forgotten. She reached out to the Source, and a thrill of it vibrated through her despite the impending doom. She gasped, touching Light, feeling its sour taste on her tongue, and a scent of lemon skin in the air, pulling it forth from the Chaos, and creating a glowing orb in her palm. Breathing heavily, she waded deeper into the dark water, feeling it rise to her waist as her legs grew numb. Squinting against the blinding light, she searched frantically for the ladder leading out of this icy tomb, but it was nowhere to be found.

"Help!" she called out into the darkness. "Is anyone still here?" The only response was the echo of her own voice, the sound of boots on the level above already growing faint.

The growing roar of the rushing water deafened her, and the groaning of the boards trying to hold it back ripened.

She managed a quick gulp of air before a wave of cold crashed into her, churning her over the walls of the corridor like a sack of gravel. She flailed around dazed, trying to fight the current and struggling to keep her breath in. She forced her eyes open despite the sharp sting, her ears popped with the building pressure. The oppressive silence screamed with a high-pitched whistle. The icy water bit on Justinia’s skin, a stark contrast to the scorching pain in her chest. She hit her head and involuntarily released the last of her air. With the nauseating taste of salt in her mouth as a reminder, she fought the urge to inhale for a few horrific moments before her body gave up and her airways filled with water and excruciating pain. Reflexively, she started coughing and swallowing more deadly water. Despite the orb of light, she called forth earlier, her vision was blurring as she suffocated. The Enlightened had forsaken her, she was going to die. She could not tell up from down but with a desperate gasp, she managed to catch hold of a doorknob and clung to it until the current calmed down.

Her struggle calmed down with it. She yielded, inhaling, feeling almost like she breathed air again. The tension in her chest gave way and her body grew limb. Pretty bright colours flickered around her, as if she were looking through a kaleidoscope. She shut her eyes, just drifting into a peaceful sleep. She wasn’t afraid to meet the Enlightened. She could feel him now, on the other side. Euphoria filled her heart, and with her last conscious effort, she reached out to him eagerly.

Something was wrong. She frowned with disinterested inquisitiveness. The Enlightened, omnipotent and eternal, was dying too. There was no Eden, just oblivion.

Justinia grasped the Power with a greedy gulp, channelling Force alone, more than she ever did before. A metallic taste resonated on her tongue, as she pushed from within in all directions, expelling the water from her lungs with an agonizing heave. The wood cracked around her, submitting to her command as she drew more Power still, yanking herself toward the breach she had Forced. The Enlightened squirmed in pain as Chaos coursed through them both. Through the fog that engulfed her, she sensed a faint hint of bitterness on her tongue, despite her nose being submerged she could smell the scent of overripe fruit. She was overchanneling, overflowing with Chaos. The freezing grip of the depths subsided as the burning sensation grew once more. She continued to draw Force forth, convulsing, her spasms mirrored by the Power on the other side.

She was in the Riverlands, her home. The sun’s rays shot through the thick green foliage, caressing her skin with a pleasant tingle. The shallow stream gleamed over the sharp rocks, and the gentle wind rippled through the lush grass. She breathed in with a hundred breaths and out with a thousand more. The connections, the faint bonds of land and the deep bonds of souls, spread from her like tendrils, sapping away her essence. On the periphery of her vision, a shadow crept. Corruption crawled its way into her body and through it, away into the land, embracing the birds in the trees, the does sipping the crystalline water, the fish charging through the brisk stream.

She was in the Academy, surrounded by a dozen Ombrégeurs, all chanting their praise to the Enlightened in an inspired choir, channeling Light in his honour an image. She felt the sweet Power coursing through her veins, a divine gift of His.

His blood. She was in the Riverlands, burning. She was nearly spent, little remained of her soul as it became unbound, dissolving into the Chaos. She screamed, crazed with despair, as the black tendrils tightened around a doe’s neck. The animal fell limply to the ground. Tens of soothing voices whispered in her ear, but no bond came to save her. They would have been taken too, she knew, as another doe fell.

She was in the deep, burning, Forcing her way to the surface. She had drawn too much but she could not stop anymore. The Chaos surged through her body in wild bursts corrupting everything it touched. The sinking ship beside her imploded. A whirl she created dragged her back down into the ocean.

She was on duty, interrogating a pagan blasphemer. The stubborn fool refused to confess his sins and she backhanded him with Force, her bejewelled hand sparkling with light and shadow.

She was an acolyte, practicing quietly in her chamber. The taste of overripe fruit filled her mouth, and she disappeared taking the ring off.

She was a young woman, a wizened old man, a mother, a son. She sought love, absolution of the Enlightened, Power, to protect, to harm. In this short moment, she was all of those who drank from the Source, and the Source itself.

The Source turned to poison as she burned away in the Riverlands, spreading through the rivers and the roots of plants which wilted and died with her.

As she connected with a new untainted Source, she could finally see the surface. A storm raged above her in unison with the maelstrom inside. She reached out, drawing greater, fresh Power, desperate to catch her first breath. Before she was blessed with one last breeze, her body turned to metallic ash in her God’s image, as she evaporated into the void.

Chapter Text

Part one: the cure

Chapter 1

The Malichor, a dread affliction upon the corpus, as posited, doth arise from a taint in the blood, an insidious scourge wrought by unseen malevolence. The rot doth assail the robust humors within, transmuting the redness of our lifeblood into blackness, sapping the vigour of our vital forces, and besmirching the essences that sustain our life’s breath.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

The morning sunlight danced around Arline’s bedchamber, igniting the large standing mirror and the polished golden surfaces with a warm glow. Arline brushed the smooth silk of her shirt with trembling hands, feeling breathless. She shifted her weight as the chambermaid fastened the buttons, her eyes darting to the ornate clock. Pulling the crumpled preparation checklist from her pocket, she smoothed it against her leg, her palm leaving damp streaks on the fabric of her breeches.

Months of meticulous planning had led to this day, and the responsibility of the expedition's technical details lay not on her shoulders. Still, this was a great opportunity she had been given and she wanted to make sure all affairs were in order. The ship's Captain, the guard's Captain, and the clerks tasked with myriad preparations had likely already delivered their reports to Sir De Corcillon, the Master of Records. Her role demanded nothing but expediency and, perhaps, the unwritten expectance of her ensuring Constantin’s expediency, too.

Another unwritten point on the list was saying goodbye to her mother. Arline let out a quivering breath and reached for a glass of water. The day her position as a Legate of the Marchant Congregation on Teer Fradee was announced had been the most joyous of her life, at least until the day her mother was diagnosed with Malichor.

Fiddling with the bow neatly tied at her neck, she inspected her reflection. Today, she donned attire typically reserved for men: dark woolen breeches, a blue vest, and a doublet adorned with gold, over which draped a cloak bearing the Congregation's emblem – five golden coins arranged in a chevron. A wide-brimmed hat, feathered and bold, sat atop her intricately braided red hair. The grey, swirling mark on her jaw was particularly discernible contrasting with her pallor.

She thanked the maid and looked around the room, looking for a distraction to occupy her before she had to see her mother for the last time. Not finding any, she exercised a few rapid breaths to gain control, and with clutched hands, she directed her steps to Princess Livie’s rooms.

She tapped on the door lightly, though she harbored no expectation of a reply. In her terminal stage, her mother was nearly deaf, the illness already having ribbed her of sight.

“What is this?” A weak voice demanded as Arline cracked the door open. “Have you not been taught to knock? I have asked a thousand times...”

Mother sat in an armchair by the lit fire, even though it was still summer. She was a shadow of the dignified figure she once was. The elegant day dress did little to disguise the ravages of the disease – grey, lesion-marred skin, hair thinned to wisps, and eyes clouded by a milky veil. Arline's heart ached at the sight; the rapid progression of the illness had rendered her once formidable mother dependent and frail. The realization of departing on a quest that might discover a cure, yet too late for her loved one, filled her with an overwhelming sense of helplessness.

Feeling fatigued, she gently placed a hand in her mother’s palm, seeking the warmth and strength that once defined her.

“Oh, it’s you, my dear child.” Mother said, soothed. She had not yet mentally declined, though it was a matter of a few weeks now. Arline’s throat tightened.

“Mother, I am sorry.” She said, trying not to sound strained. She placed her hat on the table. “I am having trouble getting accustomed to your condition.”

“Come now,” Mother responded with a forced smile. “Let us speak of more pleasant matters. I am so very happy to hear your voice.”

Arline retrieved her hand and paced towards the window, hoping her mother would not hear her quaking breaths.

“You remind me so much of your father. I do miss him so.” The princess continued, sounding melancholy. Arline's gaze drifted to the two portraits adorning the wall. The first captured her parents on their wedding day, twenty-nine years prior. Her mother, radiant and youthful, her golden hair cascading in vibrant waves. Beside her stood her father, a figure of dignity and pride, his warm brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, complemented by a neatly trimmed red mustache and beard. His attire, a military coat adorned with the insignia of a general, spoke of his valor. Arline had never known him; he had perished on an expedition just before her birth.

Adjacent hung a more recent portrait of her and Constantin, commemorating their new appointments. Initially, Constantin had perceived his role as governor more as a banishment – a punitive measure from his father, rather than an honour. But this interpretation couldn't be further from the truth. Prince Claude d’Orsay's decision to entrust them with such significant responsibilities was a testament to his faith in them: Constantin, despite his habitual reluctance for responsibility, and Arline, awarded a role typically reserved for men or married women. At twenty-five, unmarried and fiercely independent, Arline had long battled for recognition beyond the societal expectations of marriage – the struggle for her calling cards, a symbol of her autonomy, now in her pocket, had been a three-year battle. She acutely felt the weight of her achievements, a significant personal victory for Arline – and a direct contradiction to Constantin's complaints of exile.

Constantin came to view the expedition across the world not as exile, but as an opportunity to step out from under his father's shadow and assert his independence. Arline, on the other hand, regarded her assignment with a bitter sense of irony. What was meant to be an opportunity felt more like a twist of fate's cruel humor. Staring blankly ahead, she grappled with the idea of embarking on this journey, at a time like this. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she sought to gather the strength.

“Today is the big day, is it not?” Mother had anticipated her. “Ready to set sail for that island everyone is talking about?”

Arline sighed, shaking her head. “Yes. But the idea of leaving you behind…” She trailed off, the weight of her decision pressing down. “Alone and ill– ”

“Dying, my child.” Her mother interjected calmly, her voice a bittersweet blend of resignation and comfort. Arline winced at the word, a sharp pang of reality piercing through her. “Alas, there is nothing you can do by staying that could ease my suffering.” She reminded. Arline understood, yet the acknowledgment did nothing to lighten the burden of her departure.

“One thing brings me cheer. They say the island is full of miracles, and we might find a cure.” Her mother continued, a glimmer of hope coloring her words.

Moving back towards her mother, Arline rubbed her forehead, weighed down by the impossibility of it all. “Even if I were to find it, I would never be able to return in time to–”

“I know.” Her mother interjected gently, stopping Arline mid-sentence. “But it gives me comfort to know my daughter has left on a mission to heal her people.”

Arline knelt beside her, laying her head in her mother's lap, seeking comfort in the closeness. Her mother's hand, though weakened, tenderly stroked her hair.

“Come now. It is time for you to take leave.” She whispered, her voice soft but firm, prompting Arline to face the inevitable.

"I'm not ready," Arline murmured, her voice barely a whisper, clinging to the moment.

 “Here, take this with you.” Her mother said, shifting slightly to retrieve a wooden pendant from her pocket. Its simple design, marked with symbols unknown to Arline, seemed out of place among the grandeur of their family's treasures. Arline frowned, her curiosity piqued a little.

“What is it?”

“A family heirloom. Something that…” Her voice faded as she placed the pendant in Arline's hand and closed her fingers around it. “Take it and keep it with you. May it bring you good luck.”

Arline examined the pendant more closely. The unfamiliar symbols etched into the wood were accentuated by a glossy resin, giving it a warm, amber glow. It was an anomaly among the opulent heirlooms she’d received, yet its simplicity struck a chord within her. She tied the leather string around her neck and directed her mother’s hand to show her. She smiled.

“All my blessings go with you, my child. Now be off!” Her mother said, her voice imbued with a mix of sorrow and pride.

Arline placed a tender kiss on her mother’s forehead, whispering, “The love you've given me is a hearth that lights my path. Though I depart, I carry your warmth within me, always.”

Arline wiped her tears and with one last touch of hands, she left, shutting everything she cared for left on this continent behind the door. Everything – and everyone else – she would take with her.

She dried her tears with a handkerchief, pinned her hat back, and straightened her back with effort. Her final trunk with the most personal belongings has already been taken to the ship, now, she had to ensure Constantin’s readiness, his propensity for mischief notwithstanding. He was going to celebrate his departure in a most imprudent way in a tavern, a celebration she would not have joined even if her heart wasn’t breaking.

Upon arriving at the opulent doors of Constantin's apartment within the palace, Arline rapped lightly. The steward who greeted her wore an expression of palpable relief, igniting a surge of anxiety within her.

"Your Excellency, what a relief to see you. I was at a loss for whom to approach." The steward confessed, his panic barely concealed.

“What is the matter?” She asked, her voice steady despite the growing unease.

"It's Prince Constantin, my lady. He has not been seen since last evening." The steward reported, his voice laced with worry.

A familiar apprehension gripped Arline; her cousin's penchant for finding himself in precarious situations was well-known. Yet, she reminded herself, it was not uncommon for him to end his nights in less familiar quarters.

"Is my uncle aware of this?" She pressed, her mind racing through potential repercussions.

The steward's discomfort was palpable as he replied, "No, Your Excellency. We've managed to keep this from him so far."

"Let us keep it that way for now. I will handle this." Arline assured.

The man bowed and Arline marched away from the family wing towards the courtyard with a purposeful haste, her mind a whirlwind of departure tasks. She was almost past the guard barracks when a familiar voice halted her in her tracks.

“Hey! Green Blood!” She spun on her heel, her eyes catching the glint of sunlight on steel as Captain Kurt, the master of arms, tossed a sheathed sabre her way. His strong frame and the pattern of scars tracing a sunray pattern across his left eye betrayed his military discipline, perhaps more so than the simple soldier’s quilted doublet of silver and blue, a designation of his regiment in service of Sérène.

She caught the sabre with an expert's grip, her usual smile replaced by a weary sigh. He was who she was looking for, but not to banter. “Kurt…”

“And so the day has finally come! My royal fledglings are leaving the nest.” He said, his dark brows arched in mock surprise as he circled her, zweihander at the ready, the dance of a duel about to begin. His wide-brimmed leather hat cocked jauntily to one side. He was a man in his thirties, though perhaps years of war and service were not as kind to him as they usually were for men of superior birth. Despite the roughness etched into his skin, the scars intersecting over his prominent nose and lips, there was a gentleness in the creases around his grey eyes. His face, framed by brown hair cut short and practical, was rugged yet strangely handsome, the undershaven shadow accentuating the strong jawline eased by the soft contour of his cheeks.

“Accompanied by their most loyal and tenacious master of arms.”  She said with a heavy voice, despite appreciating the diversion. The weight of departure hung over her, but she allowed Kurt this moment to lift the gloom. Her hand adjusted to the familiar balance of the sabre, a comforting heft.

“As loyal as your gold!” he retorted with a grin.

Arline let out a playful scoff. “Enough with the cold mercenary. I know you like us!” Her smirk broadened, a light flicker in her tired eyes. “Still hiding your men in the unsuspecting shadow of the greats of this world, I see?” She taunted him, pointing to the group of Coin Guards on duty.

“Hey, our blades are the only thing keeping you dainties alive.” he shot back pointing his sword at her with one hand, his eyes narrowing. Perhaps that bit more than she intended.

She mustered a wider smile, her arms opened in a theatrical gesture. “Ha! Kurt! I do not need your protection. I am not a child anymore, you know?”

A chuckle rumbled from Kurt's throat, the sound rich with poorly concealed fondness. “Is that so? Let’s see.” He challenged, his stance shifting, ready and waiting. “Fight with honour!”

With a sudden clang, Kurt lunged, zweihander slicing the air, a test of Arline's reflexes. She parried with the sabre, the lighter blade singing as it deflected the weightier onslaught. She allowed him his test, holding back her magic. They were motion and counter-motion, Kurt's strength met by Arline's agility, her sabre darting in swift arcs to meet the slow dance of his zweihander.

Feints and thrusts blurred into a metallic symphony, Kurt pressing forward, a smile hidden in the stern lines of his face as he watched Arline's progress. She ducked beneath a wide swing, her counter a whisper away from his side. With a final flourish, their blades met in a resounding clash, Kurt's zweihander locked by Arline's sabre.

He stepped back, nodding approval, their swords' song fading into the stillness. “You defend yourself well, Green Blood. One might think you had a proper master of arms.” He grinned again.

“The very best.” Arline conceded with a smile, securing the sabre at her side.

“You already training for your new post as Legate? “Kurt's mock sternness couldn't hide the twinkle in his eye. “Don't tire yourself. Flattery’ll get you nowhere.” He smirked. “But for the fight, you have remembered your basics. Your performance just got you out of a final lesson. Unless you want to go through the paces again before we depart?”

“I have quite a few tasks to check off my list before we depart.” She replied, the lightness in her voice fading as reality beckoned.

“And here you are already assuming your political functions.” He shook his head, his voice softening. “And in a hurry, always too busy. Very well, if you ever wanna go over your basics later, I’m sure I’ll be dying of boredom on the trip.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Arline assured, her purposeful stride slowing as she approached him. "Actually, I came looking for you. Constantin has not returned for the night.”

Kurt's expression tightened and a soft curse escaped his lips. "Slipped the leash again," he muttered, concern edging his words. “His guards reported escorting him to the palace! Do you have any idea where our future Governor is hiding?”

“I have no idea.” She exhaled heavily, the worry evident in her voice. “You know Constantin! He had plans to celebrate his departure last night. I should have gone with him but my heart was not in the mood for celebration. The thought of bidding my mother farewell…”

“It is never easy to say goodbye.” He said, his voice gentle, acknowledging the struggles that lay behind her countenance.

Arline clutched the amulet hidden beneath her shirt. “It is done.” She murmured, then shook off the growing gloom before it overtook her again. “Will you come with me to the Coin Tavern? That is often where he surfaces.”

“Of course,” Kurt replied without hesitation. “I’m right behind you.”

Together, they moved toward the main gate, a silent accord between them as they set out to find their wayward companion, the burdens of leadership and the poignancy of farewell momentarily set aside in their shared purpose.

 “Are your bags packed for the great departure?” she inquired, straining for a touch of lightness she felt a moment before.

Kurt shrugged. “Yes, you know I get by with very little.” His scrutinizing gaze caught hers. “You're not angry that I'm coming with you, I hope?”

Arline's insistence had swayed her uncle to release Kurt for the expedition. Her current sombre mood, she feared, might have sent unintended signals. “On the contrary, I am heartened. Sir de Courcillon's wisdom and your strength at our side? Fortunes could be far worse."

“Don’t tell me that the old school teacher is competing against me.” He smirked.

“Is there a contest I was not aware of?” Arline's playful retort wasn’t strained.

Kurt's chuckle in response was low and warm. “Oh yes. And I’m pretty sure I’m losing in His Excellency’s eyes. I can only hope for your favour.”

The light teasing brought a rush of warmth to Arline's cheeks, a bloom she tried to hide in the shadow of her hat. She felt a pang of shame at the flutter in her heart. For a lady of her station, there can be no favouring of Coin Guards, even the handsome ones.

“Have your men managed to get that merchandise into the loading warehouse?” She changed the subject, alluding to a mission she helped him with a few days ago. She had convinced a vendor whose employer withheld some merchandise, demanding increased payment after the contract was already signed, then convinced a pair of Nauts to look the other way once the Captain of the ship refused to add the extra crates to the cargo manifest on such short notice.

“Yes, thank you. The Commander won’t have my hide after all.”

“You should not have worried; I would have protected you.” She winked at him, forgetting she was not supposed to flirt with the man. Kurt raised an eyebrow.

The sombre realities awaiting them beyond the palace gates, put a quick end to their light-hearted comraderies. The atmosphere around them shifted perceptibly. The narrow streets of Sérène, once brimming with the vibrant life, now lay shrouded in a heavy cloak of despair. The once bustling markets and lively canals bore the silence of a city besieged by an invisible foe. Arline and Kurt tread softly on the cobblestone paths, their steps echoing in the unnerving quiet. The grandeur of the city's architecture, with its ornate facades and towering spires, stood in stark contrast to the scene that unfolded at every corner — mass pyres, their flames reaching towards the heavens in a grim dance, consuming the bodies of Malichor's victims. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the underlying tang of decay, a constant reminder of the plague's relentless grip on the city.

The Malichor and the neighbouring wars have dampened commerce. When the sickness began to spread a wave of panic followed in its wake. People stopped going out of their homes an many shops had to close. The epidemic still raged, but the possibility of finding a cure on the island has given people something to hope for. They say man-trees live there, dragons and gigantic creatures. Treasure abounds under every rock, and the source of eternal life is hidden somewhere there.

Few souls ventured outside still, and those who did moved with a haste born of fear, their faces masked or wrapped in cloths in a futile attempt to ward off the disease. The sick, mostly peasants unable to afford the luxuries of hygiene that kept the nobility safe, wandered the streets with hollow eyes and despairing gaits, their coughs a macabre soundtrack to the city's suffering.

Despite the bond of love and duty that held her fast to a city on the brink of collapse, the thought of leaving Sérène was a relief, an escape from the pervasive doom that clung to the city's very stones. When she was appointed Legate, she thought only of her independence but now, looking over the dying city, she could only think of her quest for the cure. She must find it, not for her mother, but for all of Sérène, trapped in the grip of Malichor's shadow.

The Coin Tavern loomed ahead, a rare beacon of noise and light in the desolate city, promising common people – and often Prince Constantin – a brief respite from the overwhelming gloom. Inside, even in the early hours of the morning, though not bustling, the tavern hummed with a subdued energy. A handful of patrons, all commoners with the look of hard lives etched into their faces, sat with their drinks, conversing in low, warm tones. The dimly lit interior, with scant rays of sunlight struggling through the small, grimy windows, offered little in the way of cheer for Arline. She stepped cautiously into the tavern, following Kurt, her nose wrinkling slightly at the scent and her eyes scanning the room with a mixture of disdain and urgency. The thought of descending into the brothel below in search of Constantin filled her with a silent dread, a task she fervently hoped would not become necessary. To her left, a few broken tables were stacked haphazardly, a testament to some forgotten brawl or the simple decay that seemed to mirror the city's own decline.

Arline felt out of place among the tavern's patrons, her own attire and bearing marking her as a stranger to their world. Yet, necessity drove her forward, pushing her through the discomfort in the hope of finding her wayward cousin. The tavern was a vital nexus in Sérène, a place where information flowed as freely as the ale, and Arline knew that if Constantin had been here, someone would know.

Making her way towards the bar, Arline's gaze fell upon the barkeep. He was a middle-aged man with blonde hair, his attire notably cleaner and more refined than that of his clientele. It was clear from his appearance that he was the proprietor of this establishment, a man who, despite the despair that clung to the city, managed to maintain a semblance of prosperity. His business thrived, no doubt, because of its strategic agreement with the adjacent Coin Guard's main barracks, ensuring a steady stream of patrons regardless of the city's woes.

“Good day, tavern keeper.” Arline greeted, her tone carrying the unmistakable timbre of authority.

“Good day to you! What’s your pleasure?” The man replied, his slight bow acknowledging her status with a blend of respect and curiosity.

“I am looking for my cousin. His name is Constantin. I believe he was intent on celebrating here last night.”

The barkeep’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of suspicion passing through them. “There was indeed a party here last night. But it ended badly.”

Arline felt a surge of panic. “Whatever do you mean?”

“A brawl broke out. My tavern was shattered, and no one paid for the damage!” He lamented, gesturing towards the remnants of the melee.

“I am sorry. Among the rebel rousers, did there happen to be a young man? Twenty years of age? Hair down to his neck, light brown, blue eyes, quite the talker?”

“I don’t believe it!” The barkeep burst out. “Of course he was there! He was the one that started the fight!” He appraised her, his expression hardening. “I hope you’ve come to reimburse me. Don’t count on me to help you if that’s not the case.”

With a resigned sigh, Arline queried. “What kind of damage are we talking about exactly?”

“A good half of my furniture was broken into firewood. I piled up the lot over there.” He indicated, pointing to the tables she had noted upon entry.

They were of simple construction, polished with oil and sweat of human hands and glass of heavy mugs sliding over it. Arline doubted the tables could have cost more than 10 Tal in their prime, but she was prepared to maintain goodwill. She presented 25 gold coins, observing the barkeep's eyes widen in astonishment. Kurt's discreet cough signalled her generosity might have been excessive, but she knew. It was a yearly salary for a maid in most noble houses, though of course not including her food and accommodation. The gesture was deliberate, a strategic overture to ensure cooperation.

“Here you are, to cover your expenses.” She offered graciously.

“Excellent! Honest books makes for honest friendships.” The man chuckled, pocketing the gold. “Your cousin is either a very bad joker or a right good fool! He went and insulted a band of ruffians from the lower boroughs. Dangerous fellows! They’ve a storehouse they operate out of a few streets from here.”

Arline’s concern deepened. “What kind of business do they run?”

“Several, actually, and they’re all illegal and profitable, but you didn’t hear that from me.” he confided with a conspiratorial lean. “In any case, if you were set on recovering your cousin, I would hurry if I were you. They’re not the tender sorts.”

“Thank you for your information.” Arline acknowledged, her gratitude sincere despite the circumstances.

“Any time, Your Excellency! Get him out of whatever mess he’s got himself into. Seemed like a courageous fellow. Who could down a pint!” the barkeep called after them as they departed.

Just as they set foot outside Kurt gave her a look. “You gave him three times what the damage was worth.” She overestimated then, but that was not an issue.

“I know I aimed to ensure his honesty. Besides, settling Constantin’s tabs seems my only contribution to the city's taverns.”

Kurt shook his head, chuckling. Navigating the shadowed streets of Sérène, Arline and Kurt moved with a silent urgency. The city's cacophony faded into a tense silence as they neared their destination – a nondescript warehouse that stood as a testament to the city's darker dealings.

As they approached, a voice pierced the quiet, unmistakable in its frustration and defiance. “If you had any idea who I am… Open up, imbeciles! I have a ship to catch!”

Kurt paused, tilting his head to catch the sounds more clearly. “That vulture of a tavern master was right; it's Constantin’s voice. It’s coming from the floor above.”

Arline's heart clenched at the confirmation. “Sounds as if he is locked up.”

Kurt's eyes narrowed, scanning the surroundings with a soldier's caution. “And I have a feeling they’re expecting company. Be careful – the slightest itchy word to these brutes will have them drawing blades to scratch it.”

Arline weighed their options. “Negotiation may be the solution. This breed of brutes will not spit on ransom money.”

“What a waste,” Kurt muttered, his distaste for the idea clear. “I’d rather sneak around them than give a half o’ coin to these seedy fellows.”

Arline considered. The culprits, apparently entangled in numerous unlawful activities, now added kidnapping of a prince to their crimes. The punishment would be hanging. The coin guard will have to be dispatched to apprehend the villains anyway, but they might relocate. She nodded resolutely, retrieving a magic ring from her pocket. While her unique ability allowed her to channel magic without aid, the ring served as a focal point, simplifying the concentration of her powers.

“I will provide cover.” She declared.

Kurt’s response was a grin, a spark of anticipation lighting his eyes. “To our health, and death to the others!”

Arline grimaced at his enthusiasm, but fell behind him.

Gliding around the building's perimeter, Kurt moved with an agility that belied the zweihander's heft, a shadow among shadows. The main entrance of the warehouse was loosely guarded by six ruffians. Their equipment was rudimentary at best – mismatched pieces of armor and dull blades hanging at their sides. They lounged with a casual disregard for discipline, their posture betraying a lack of formal training. There was still an unpredictable danger to their presence, like that of cornered animals capable of desperate violence.

Arline, with a subtle touch on Kurt’s shoulder, halted their advance. She closed her eyes and reached through the Chaos in two directions. With a tender coaxing, she allowed Shadow to envelop her, a dark cascade pooling at her feet, while she stretched her awareness into the Space the bandits occupied, making it an extension of her own senses. She wove the shadow into Space, shrouding them in an impenetrable darkness.

As the bandits stirred, Kurt charged, his blade a silent promise of swift justice. The sounds of combat erupted – a gasp, a thud, the unmistakable clang of metal. Then, the air split with the crack of a pistol. Arline's heart raced; she did not consider the cursed weapons, deadly against skilled soldiers and magic casters alike. Another shot hissed past, striking a barrel near her, its contents sighing into the air. A revolver! Damn it!

The melee intensified, a cacophony of steel and shouts. Arline drew her sabre and the shadows lifted at her command. She saw Kurt, a lone warrior amidst three foes encircling him while two others lay defeated. The gunman, detached from the fray, aimed once more.

Ignoring Kurt's command to seek cover, Arline summoned Light and Force, melding them into a radiant missile that struck the gunman with disorienting precision. She flanked the dazed enemy, unleashing Shadow Missiles, each strike a controlled burst of fury. Kurt, undeterred, dispatched another assailant, his movements a dance of deadly precision. Arline continued her strikes until the bitter taste of overripe fruit flooded her senses. Her skin prickling, she took the ring off with her teeth, staving off the throes of overchanneling. She charged the gunman, her sabre a silver flash of finality. His body twitched on her blade. Shocked, she retracted it, watching as the man's life ebbed away, dropping to his knees with a disbelieving glare. His eyes fogged and he fell face-first into the dirt.

“Green Blood!” Kurt’s voice echoed from a distance that seemed greater than. He ran into her, his hands tugging on her doublet, looking her over for signs of injury. “How do you fare?”

“I am fine.” She murmured, her gaze locked on the fallen foe, a heavy realization settling in her heart. Kurt stepped forward, shielding her from the grim scene.

“I said hide. When I say hide, you hide.” He said in an authoritative tone he would not have dared assume with any other member of the royal family. “I pay with my life for yours, you know.”

She focused on him with effort. “Aww. I always knew you cared for me.” She retorted with bitterness she did not really feel.

He chuckled, clapping her on the shoulder. “Good job, Green Blood, and quick thinking. I likely wouldn’t stand a chance against five blades and a revolver alone.”

Arline shuddered. “Take it. And let us go free Constantin.”

He nodded and searched the body. He showed her a keychain he found. As they wound through the warehouse's hushed corridors, the absence of further foes granted them a brief reprieve.

The sound of Constantin's voice, a blend of irritation and grandeur, guided them upwards. “Well this has been monumental gentlemen,” They heard from the second floor. “But I have more important things to attend to. An Island to govern, treaties to sign, tiches to expedite…” The voice continued as Arline fiddled with the lock. “And a demanding father to impress.”

The door swung open, and a bottle hurtled towards Arline, an unexpected welcome. Instinctively, she channelled Ether and Spark, her unique ability, freezing the assailant in stasis an inch away from her throat. Kurt’s blade caught the dim light as he presented its strong edge.

“Constantin, it is me!” She called. A thin line of blood traced her cheek. His pupils enlarged as he saw her, but he could not move under her Power. She freed him, the scent of wood and honey and the tingling sensation on her tongue vanished as she freed him. He enveloped her in a relieved embrace, laughter bubbling from him as if the peril had been a mere trifle.

“My dear cousin! Ah, my lucky star!” He wiped the blood off her face. “Always there to pull me out of my fires.”

Her irritation dissolved into shared amusement, his infectious spirit a balm to her worries. “I do what I can.” She said, nonchalant. “We are departing soon. Your father won’t be pleased by your absence this morning.”

Constantin's expression soured momentarily. “Have you ever seen him happy about anything when it comes to me? You know what he thinks of me.”

Arline knew. Of course, it was partially Constantin’s own fault, defying his father at every turn, but she knew the Prince was difficult to please. She also knew how desperately Constantin wished to do it, just once.

“He cares about you, I know that. He appointed you Governor, did he not?”

He shrugged off the notion, repeating a well-worn argument. “He’s ridding himself of a source of constant disappointment. Enough said!” His cheer returned. “Today we set sail for adventure! Kurt, thank you for keeping my dear cousin safe!”

“Somebody must, Excellency.” Kurt grumbled, unapologetically taking Arline’s hat off and inspecting her wound.

“It is nothing.” She assured him quietly, fishing out her handkerchief. He ignored her, pointing to a crate to sit on. She sighed, allowing him to fuss, waiting patiently as he washed his hands with his waterskin. Constantin, ever dramatic, recounted his ill treatment with exaggerated flair

“If you only knew how this riverscum treated me! Do me a courtesy, dear cousin. Now that we stand boldly alongside the brave Kurt, let us give them their money’s worth!”

“There’s no one left to pay, Your Highness.” Kurt said, amusement mixing with annoyance, carefully removing shards from her hair, his hands steady and gentle. “The brave Kurt and your cousin have already settled the books.”

“Really now? What a shame! I would love to have seen that! Have you found my doublet by chance?” He added looking around. Kurt took a measured breath.

Arline interjected. "We can search for it together," Arline proposed, ready to sift through the aftermath for Constantin's belongings.

“What is in there?” His attention diverted as he wandered off to investigate another cluttered room.

“We should follow him before he finds trouble again.” Arline remarked, a note of affectionate exasperation in her voice.

“Ah yes, now that we already have found our trouble.” Kurt grunted and Arline giggled in response.

"It is commendable he attempted to fend for himself, Kurt." She pointed out, defending Constantin's spirited, albeit reckless, nature.

"Fortunate, too, that your hat bore the brunt of the glass. Still, a doctor’s assessment would be wise, though the wound seems superficial." Kurt conceded.

In the storage room, they found Constantin buttoning his elaborately embroidered doublet, his tall, slender frame moving with an effortless grace. His light brown hair, usually tied back to reveal the sharp, angular contours of his face – high cheekbones, a pronounced chin, and a visage lit by an inherent good humour – now hung loosely, framing his features in disarray. The stark difference in appearance between Arline and Constantin was notable; where he bore the elongated elegance typical of their family, Arline's visage was softer, her rounded face dotted with freckles and crowned with rare red hair inherited from her father. The mark on her jaw, a unique pattern of grey-green vines, a remnant of childhood taunts now worn with indifference.

"Are you alright, dear cousin?" Constantin's concern was genuine, if a little delayed. She reassured him.

“You should see your father before we depart.” She said, and he balked at the idea of another encounter with the Prince.

"I saw him at last night's banquet." He protested, eager to bypass any further familial scrutiny in favour of the adventure that lay ahead. Arline relented, as was her wont when it came to her cousin, and they agreed to go directly to the docks.

Their walk to the docks was animated by Constantin's unbridled enthusiasm, his voice a constant stream of plans and dreams for their new venture. The morning air was brisk, the streets of Sérène slowly waking to the rhythm of daily commerce not entirely stopped by the plague as they made their way through the city.

The docks themselves were a hive of activity, the wooden planks echoing under the feet of merchants, sailors, and travelers. Ships of varying sizes bobbed gently in the water, their masts reaching skyward like forest pines, the sails furled in anticipation. The scent of salt and tar mingled with the cries of seabirds and the shouts of dockworkers, creating a bustling, vibrant atmosphere that stood in stark contrast to the quiet despair of the city's interior.

As they approached their designated berth, Arline spotted their party amidst the throng. Sir de Courcillon, their former tutor and now Constantin's advisor, stood out with his dignified posture and kind demeanor. His dark hair, brushed back to reveal thoughtful features, and the spectacles perched on his nose lent him an air of scholarly distinction. His presence was a comforting constant, a beacon of wisdom and guidance for the journey ahead.

Lord Felix Lefroy, a figure of contentious ambition, was hard to miss. Tall and impeccably groomed, his handsome features were marred by a perpetual scowl of dissatisfaction. His stance, rigid with disapproval, spoke volumes of his disdain for Arline's leadership, a sentiment born of prejudice and envy rather than any fault of hers. She was a young, unmarried woman with no business in politics. He was convinced Arline was only appointed Legate for being the Prince's niece. The truth was, she was inexperienced with ambassadorial duties, but her diplomatic skills were up to par. His dark eyes, scanning her as she approached, seemed to seek out flaws, eager to validate his scepticism.

Lady Eloise Dupont, a beacon of quiet strength and resilience, offered a smile of encouragement as they approached. Her tall frame, golden hair, and striking green eyes, which mirrored Arline's own, were softened by the warmth of her expression. She was a young widow to her recently deceased elderly husband, the simplest and traditional way for a woman to gain a position of authority and independence.

The notion of a marriage of convenience found no place in Arline’s convictions. Her spirit yearned for a connection deeper than the mere alignment of titles or the consolidation of power. To her, marriage demanded a foundation of genuine affection, if not the bloom of romantic love, then at least the solid ground of mutual respect and friendship. This conviction was tested two years prior, when she found herself betrothed to a man who seemed to promise just that – a partner in purpose. He was someone she genuinely liked, a rare occurrence in the circles she navigated, where alliances often overshadowed personal desires. However, fate, with its indifferent hand, intervened. The malady that had taken so many, Malichor, claimed him before they made vows. In the wake of his passing, a complex relief unfurled within her. It was a sentiment tangled with sorrow for what might have been and gratitude for the freedom retained. Despite Lady Eloise’s different choices, Arline believed they shared understanding with and mutual respect.

The clerics, guards, and servants, a flutter of activity around the more stationary figures, seemed to orbit the aristocrats like satellites, their preparations meticulous and focused. The group's anticipation was palpable, a mixture of excitement and the underlying tension of the unknown.

Captain Vasco, the Naut who would guide them across the treacherous seas, stood in conversation with Sir de Courcillon. His long brown hair, light hazel eyes, and angular features could have fooled bystanders of his belonging to the group if it were not for the distinctive Naut tattoos marking his jaw which gave him an air of mystery, a visual testament to his life on the waves. Arline wasn’t fond of the things, but she liked to think that if you squinted, you could imagine the tattoos to be facial hair, and with that, the Captain was not too ill-looking.

Together, this eclectic assembly of individuals represented a microcosm of the world they were leaving behind – a world of contrasting beliefs, backgrounds, and ambitions, now united by a common purpose.

"Finally!" Sir de Courcillon's voice carried a mix of relief and exasperation as they approached. "We were beginning to worry."

Constantin, ever the embodiment of zeal, grasped Captain Vasco's hand with infectious eagerness. "Are we set? Can we weigh anchor?"

Arline nodded toward their seasoned advisor. “If all is in order, we are ready to embark on the boat.”

Captain Vasco pierced her with a sharp gaze. “It’s a ship. Not a boat.”

“Apologies.” Arline conceded with a slight flush of embarrassment. “Is everything ready?

“We should be able to set sail with the tide, as agreed upon.”

Eager to step onto the deck, Constantin leaped aboard with an exuberant laugh and a bellow that seemed to declare his readiness for the adventure ahead. His excitement was palpable, infecting the crew with a sense of shared anticipation.

"Your cousin's enthusiasm is most impressive." Remarked Captain Vasco, a hint of amusement threading through his usually stoic demeanour as he observed Constantin's antics.

Arline glanced at Constantin's retreating form, a fond smile touching her lips. "This journey is his long-awaited chance to prove himself. He has a demanding father..." She explained, her words carrying a mix of empathy and understanding for the prince's eagerness to escape the shadow of familial expectations.

From behind them, Kurt's voice, low and laced with his characteristic blunt honesty, added, "More likely he's just happy to be free of this hornet’s nest."

Feeling a resonant sense of liberation herself, Arline, let out a snort of agreement. "I definitely know I am!" With that, she stepped onto the ship, leaving behind the complexities of the old world and stepping into the promise of the new.

The docks of Sérène felt like the edge of the known world, beyond which lay the promise of new beginnings. Arline found herself at the stern, gazing back at the receding shoreline, and long after the harbour and the city disappeared behind the horizon. Her thoughts were tethered to what she had left behind – a mother in the twilight of her life, facing the final solitude without her daughter's comforting presence.  Alone with the vast expanse of the sea and the sky, Arline allowed herself the vulnerability she had steadfastly denied. Tears, long held at bay by duty and determination, now flowed freely. In this solitary moment, with nothing but the endless waters as witness, she found a cathartic release, a purification of soul amidst the salt of her tears and the sea's embrace. The pain of leaving her mother to face her final moments alone would linger in Arline's heart, a poignant reminder of the sacrifices demanded by duty. Yet, with the horizon wide before her, she was ready to meet herself anew on the other side of the world, where adventure and perhaps, healing, awaited.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

The onset of this foul malady dost provoke a sequence of ailments: hindrances of breath, weariness of the flesh, lethargy and softening of the brain, darkening of sight, loss of tactile sensation in limbs, and, in dire instances, the commencement of corpus decay. The earliest signs, in truth, do manifest as sombre discolorations and skin lesions.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

“Teer Fradee, ahoy!” a sailor's voice boomed from the crow's nest atop the main mast, his shout cascading down to the deck where it was caught and amplified by the crew. Arline felt a tingling of excitement as she shut her book with a loud clasp and, tucking it into her skirt's generous pocket, dashed towards the ship's bow. Her grin was broad, reflecting the light of adventure, and it found its mirror in Constantin's equally jubilant expression as he peered through a lorgnette borrowed from Captain Vasco, his exclamations punctuating the air.

It has been five long months on the Sea Horse. Arline has read all her books twice – her favourite, Rogue in Rouge, had gotten special attention four time over. She had sketched every member of the expedition and numerous sailors, she even practiced her harp. On their way, they were fortunate to meet at sea with a passing ship bound for Gacane, exchanging the latest information, and she went through all relevant reports. In her silent vigil, she suspected her mother's passing came well before they had even crossed the journey's midpoint.

Five weeks ago, she quietly presented her offerings of food and cloth, and released a lantern to the sky on the Twilight Passage evening, a festival honouring the dead. Despite not being particularly religious – her great-grandfather has converted to the Church of Enlightened for political reasons, but the religion was not widely practiced in the Congregation – she prayed for her mother’s soul during the following two weeks of Promes Rite. On Tavàlon, the first day of the new year, she did not set a blue envelope with a coin for good wishes aside for her mother, though she planned on sending two to her uncle and aunt with the next vessel to the continent. The thought of clinging to hope was too painful.

While she struggled to close the door to her past life, Constantin seemed to flourish with each day, his evenings spent in boisterous camaraderie with the crew, unfettered by the constraints of decorum. Lord Lefroy remained distant, sparing her only the briefest of polite exchanges, despite them both dining with the Captain most evenings. Kurt has been keeping to himself, too. Back in the palace, Arline never noticed he didn’t spend time with other guards, his isolation was now apparent on the tedious journey. She had found him reading books, too, and she reprimanded herself for being surprised. He might have been a simple man, but he was not unintelligent or uneducated. Their daily training sessions became a comfortable echo of the life they Arline left behind, a routine that Constantin, predictably, seldom joined.

Constantin shared the spyglass with her and she eagerly looked to the horizon. The sight was nothing short of breathtaking The azure sea shimmered in the sunlight, merging with the white water of the waterfalls cascading down cliff faces on the coast. The shoreline was a dramatic contrast of rugged cliffs and lush, green slopes. Further inland, a volcano rose majestically against the sky, its peaks shrouded in wisps of clouds. As the ship drew closer, Arline could see that the landscape was dotted with the first plantations. Small fishing villages clung to these shores, their boulder-like houses spotted with the green of the grass and moss. White, black, red, and even green sand beaches, bathed in the inviting sunlight, met the gentle lap of the sea. To the east, there was the awe-inspiring sight of bright lava flows meeting ocean waters, sending up clouds of steam. Arline caught sight of geothermal vents and hot springs, a sign of the volcanic activity that simmers just beneath the surface. The air was filled with the scent of salt and the faint hint of moss and flowers carried by the trade winds. A flock of colourful birds raced past the ship, singing their foreign songs. Arline took it all in in a silent wonderment

“My isle!” Constantin's voice rang out with proprietary joy. “My new city!”

They have just emerged from behind a large cliff, revealing the sight of New Sérène. As it rose from a blue lagoon, its foundations were laid on thousands of wooden piles driven deep into the ground to support the weight of the emerging buildings above. Though new and modest, constructed from local materials like brick and wood, Arline recognized the architecture – a mixture of Congregation, Bridge, and Thélème styles, reflecting its position as a cultural crossroads.

“No dragons yet?” Kurt's voice, laced with amusement, drifted to her from behind.

“Who needs dragons?” Arline quipped, passing him the spyglass with a playful nudge. Kurt's examination was met with an impressed whistle.

“It is quite a sight!”

“Do you always have such a way with words, Captain?” She teased, her tone light. Constantin, ever eager, reclaimed the spyglass, his gaze not leaving the horizon that promised so much. The ship's approach to the docks of New Sérène was marked by a flurry of activity, the crew bustling to secure sails and rigging as the land grew ever closer. The air was electric with anticipation, the culmination of a five-month voyage finally at hand. As the Sea Horse docked, the harbour came alive with the presence of a blue-silver honour guard, standing at attention in a display of formality and respect. At the forefront of the welcoming party was Lady Morange, the current governor, her demeanor exuding authority and grace. Her rich, deep skin was lined with wisdom and resilience, an intelligent glint in her dark eyes hinting at a mind always engaged. Her elegant curls were meticulously pinned, showcasing sophistication and practicality. Dressed in vivid colors, her attire reflected the fashion of the continent from the previous year.

As the gangplank lowered, the first to disembark was Constantin, with Arline right behind him, stepping onto the soil of Teer Fradee with a mix of reverence and eagerness. They were immediately warmly greeted by Lady Morange. Her voice carried a perpetually amused tone, as if she were privy to endless private jokes. Flanking her were two doctors clad in the black garb, complete with beaked masks. They bore with them a tray holding bowls of an inoculating elixir, a precaution against the endemic illnesses of the new land. With a ceremonial air, the doctors administered the elixir to Arline and Constantin first, a symbolic gesture underscoring the importance of their arrival and the hopes pinned on their mission. The concoction tasted vile, sweet and bitter like rotting fruit. Arline grimaced briefly, but nothing could dampen her excitement to explore this strange new world.

The exchange of greetings was brief, the formalities punctuated by Lady Morange. Waiting nearby were two elegant carriages, designated to convey the six nobles to the heart of New Sérène, the d'Orsay Square, where the broader welcome awaited. The rest of their entourage, a diverse group of clerics, guards, and servants, prepared to make the walk.

The procession from the docks to the square was a blend of ceremony and spectacle, the inhabitants of New Sérène lining the streets to catch a glimpse of their new leaders. The carriages rolled steadily, their occupants acutely aware of the eyes upon them, the weight of expectations, and the promise of a fresh start on the horizon.

The d'Orsay Square was a hub of commerce, encircled by merchant shops whose windows display an array of goods, beckoning to locals and visitors alike with the promise of treasures and everyday wares. The heart of the square was dominated by a statue of Prince Claude, its bronze form gleaming in the sun, a symbol of the ruling presence on the island. A shudder passed through Constantin as if the likeness of his father cast a shadow over his newfound autonomy. The Governor's Palace, a stately edifice, commanded attention at the crest of a flight of broad stone stairs leading up from the bustling d'Orsay Square. Constructed with an eye for grandeur, the palace was an architectural marvel of red brick, its facade punctuated by white-framed windows and a grand central door beneath Sérène’s crest.

The promise of the evening's feast hung in the air as they parted ways, with Arline, Lord Lefroy, and Lady Eloise heading to the embassy, their new residence just a few paces from d'Orsay Square. The urban mansion boasted a back garden sharing its greenery with the palace grounds. Upon arrival, they were introduced to their new staff and took the opportunity to freshen up, preparing for the festivities that awaited as evening approached.

○●○

The ballroom within the Governor's Palace was a grand chamber, bathed in the warm glow of countless candles that flickered in ornate chandeliers. Tall, arched windows lined the walls, open to the evening breeze, which whispered through the sheer curtains and carried the scent of the sea and blooming gardens. Polished wooden floors reflected the myriad of lights, offering a perfect surface for the guests' elegant dance steps. Long tables adorned the perimeter of the room, groaning under the weight of exotic fruits, an abundance of local seafood, and an array of delicacies that combined the culinary traditions of the old and new worlds.

At the far end of the ballroom, a group of musicians played a lively tune. In the centre, the nobles and officers mingled, laughter and conversation rising and falling like a melodic backdrop to the evening. Captain Vasco cut an uncharacteristically dashing figure in his naval dress uniform, its crisp lines and brass buttons accentuating his stature as he navigated the throngs of dancers. Approaching Arline with a genteel poise, he extended a hand.

“May I have the next dance, Excellency?”

Arline smiled in surprise, taking his hand. “You surprise me, Captain. Do the decks of your ships transform into ballrooms often?”

As he led her to the dancefloor, Vasco’s lips curved into a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “An officer must be prepared for all manner of duties," he replied, his tone a mixture of resignation and formality, his demeanour anchored by a subtle tension. He sighed. "Admiral Cabral has seen fit to ground me," he confided, leading Arline with a slightly unpractised step.

"Grounded?" Arline echoed, her brow arching in surprise as they moved to the slow, measured rhythm of the dance. “My cousin was most delighted with your services. I hope that there was no misunderstanding.”

“None, I'm sure of it.” Vasco replied, his voice carrying over the music with a hint of irritation hidden beneath the surface. “Our disagreement is of a personal nature. She just ordered me to 'give you any assistance you might need'.”

Arline's expression shifted to one of intrigue, her steps never faltering. “Assistance? I kindly thank you. And might I ask why does the Admiral of the Nauts require a spy in my party?” Arline's tone was one of genuine curiosity, not accusation.

Vasco's gaze held hers, steady and unyielding. “She wasn’t so kind as to share her reasons with me, Excellency.”

Arline, while outwardly unfazed by Captain Vasco's inclusion in her entourage, harboured a well of suspicion toward the Nauts for his unexpected assignment. The Nauts were known for their far-reaching influence and secretive endeavors. Could they be seeking influence within her mission, or was there knowledge on the island they wished to glean through Vasco's eyes?

The question of his presence seemed to hang between them like a silent note, unresolved. “This request does not seem to please you.” Arline observed.

“Don't take offence, but it's not pleasant for a captain to abandon his ship. In any case, here I am, at your service. For a while.” He conceded, his tone sour.

"You seem to be mad at me for some reason. Do you still resent the fact that I called your ship, a boat?"

Vasco's lips quirked into a half-smile, his previous formality ebbing away. “No, it has nothing to do with that. Nobility makes me uncomfortable, I’m sorry if I was rude.”

Arline's laughter was light, a warm sound that eased the tension between them. “I cannot blame you. Most nobles are tiresome. I hope that I have managed to change this poor first impression of me.”

“You have.” He admitted, his eyes remaining cautious. “I hope you can forgive my manners, it was foolish of me.”

With the dance nearing its end, Arline was determined to fill the silence with conversation. “How did you become a Naut?” She asked, genuinely curious. There were two common ways to become one of them – being sea-born on board their ship, as per contracts the Nauts had with all their clients, or being given up by their parents for one reason or another, becoming sea-given. Both groups of children were raised as sailor family members.

Captain Vasco's expression shifted, a shadow passing over his features. “I am sea-given. I was given to the Nauts when I was a little child, for a reason I ignore. I think I was originally from the Congregation, but I have no memory of my family. I took my first steps on the deck of a ship. That’s all I can remember.”

Their dance ended not with the final note of the melody but with a mutual understanding. Arline offered a gracious nod and an invitation to join her on her journeys as they parted, and turned to mingle with other guests. She spotted Kurt. Despite being adorned in his own dress uniform, he maintained the stance of a guard rather than a guest. Arline’s sense of fairness bristled at the sight; he was a Captain, too, and a previous royal master of arms, he deserved to partake in the festivities, not be relegated to the sidelines. Knowing he was also taught a few basic dances, she approached him with resolve.

“Captain, I insist you join me in a dance.” It was not a request, but an amiable command, one that spoke of her regard for him and her desire to see him honoured as he deserved.

Kurt, taken aback by her forthrightness, hesitated only for a moment before accepting. Together they stepped onto the dance floor, a pair of warriors in a different kind of arena, asserting their presence amidst the swirling gowns and regimented uniforms. This dance was not just a dance, but a statement, one that Arline was proud to make.

Kurt's usual stoicism faltered as he swayed to the music, his movements stiffer than usual, not from the lack of skill, but rather from a simmering turmoil beneath his calm exterior. His silence hung heavily between them, a stark contrast to the lively strings and the light laughter that filled the ballroom.

Arline, attuned to the nuances of her old friend, leaned in slightly. “You seem distant, Kurt. Forgive my prying, but is there something amiss?” She asked, her voice barely above the music, a whisper meant only for his ears.

Kurt's jaw tightened, and after a moment's hesitation, he let out a heavy sigh. “My apologies, Excellency. I'm not much for conversation tonight.” He confessed, his eyes not meeting hers. There was a tension in his voice that spoke of something unresolved, a matter of grave concern.

Arline's gaze softened, concern etching her features. “Kurt, whatever it is, you can tell me. We've faced far worse than awkward silences together.” She encouraged.

He glanced around, ensuring their conversation remained private, before he divulged the troubling news. “It's about a recruit, one I brought into the guard myself. He's... he's dead, Green Blood. Under suspicious circumstances, and the barracks doctor is denying me access to the body. Something's not right. I'm considering more... direct action to get to the truth.” He admitted, the last words tinged with a dark, vengeful undertone.

Arline's eyes narrowed, her diplomatic instincts kicking in. “Direct action is rarely the first course we should take, Kurt. But you have my support. I will accompany you to the barracks and assert my authority as Legate. They cannot deny us answers.” She offered, her gloved hand squeezing his arm in solidarity.

Kurt's expression softened with gratitude, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Thank you, Green Blood. I didn't want to involve you in barracks affairs, but I can't let this go. He was a good soldier, and if there's foul play, I need to know.” He said, a fierce loyalty simmering in his voice.

As the dance came to an end, they shared a nod of unspoken agreement. The evening's festivities would have to wait; duty called, and they would answer it together, as they had so many times before. With the music fading into applause, they excused themselves from the ballroom, their steps now purposeful as they made their way to uncover the truth behind the tragedy.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Subsequently, the blood vessels, once pulsating with vibrant vitality, turn dark as the putrid condition doth bring forth veins awash in inky hue. The contagion, transmitting through mingled blood essence or perchance through the venturing of foul agents within the digestive passages, doth sow its malevolent seeds.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

Arline and Kurt's passage through the nascent streets of New Sérène was bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon, casting silvery light onto the cobblestones that lay unevenly beneath their feet. Far in the distance, a red streak of lava oozed from the volcano, a fiery scar against the night, its crimson flow a stark contrast to the tranquil luminescence overhead. The city, a skeleton of its future self, was quiet, save for the distant rumble of the earth's blood and the occasional nocturnal call of an unseen bird.

Arline moved with an elegance that belied the roughness of their surroundings, her ball gown a cascade of white silk that whispered against the night. The light dress clung to her form, its bodice adorned with delicate lace and a modest neckline, the sleeves billowing gently to her elbows. The skirt, gathered and voluminous, was flowing over her hips like liquid moonlight through the darkened streets of a city, despite being made for the dance floor’s candlelight.

Beside her, Kurt's presence was a juxtaposition to the refined air she carried. His dress uniform, impeccably tailored in deep navy blue with silver trimmings that caught the moon's gleam, was a far cry from the utilitarian armor he was accustomed to. He walked with his usual determination, yet there was an oddity in his demeanor, a stiffness that suggested he was out of his element in such finery. He shared his suspicions with Arline.

"Manfred, the quartermaster, claims he was found drowned in the port harbour day before yesterday. Said he had too much to drink and fell in. That's bollocks! That lad isn't the sort to sully himself with drink." Kurt's voice carried a mix of frustration and disbelief. "The doctor parrots the same tale, but I can't swallow it. He's stonewalling me, won't even let me into the morgue."

Arline's frown deepened in thought as Kurt outlined his suspicions. While she considered the possibility that the boy might have indulged in an uncharacteristic night of drinking, she chose not to voice this objection. Observing Kurt's agitation, a rare sight for the usually composed captain, she trusted his intuition. His instincts, sharpened by years of military service and command, seldom led astray.

They approached the Coin Barracks, its structure solid and imposing amidst the less permanent fixtures of the city. The building was a beacon of order, the torches flanking its entrance casting shadows that danced in rhythm with the flames. The guards posted outside snapped to attention upon recognizing their superiors, though their gazes lingered curiously on the incongruous image of the elegantly dressed pair.

The barracks, normally abuzz with the sounds of discipline and camaraderie, now held a solemn hush, as Kurt’s narrowed eyes cast accusatory glances. As they descended the stairs to the barracks' morgue, the atmosphere grew noticeably cooler, the lively sounds of the city night receding into a hushed silence. The stark, dimly lit corridor led them to a desk, behind which an older man was engrossed in his notebook despite the late hour, the scratch of his quill a solitary sound in the sombre quiet.

The man's turban, a rich tapestry of vibrant colors and intricate patterns, marked him as likely hailing from the Bridge Alliance, a stark contrast to the muted tones and utilitarian purpose of his surroundings. His focus on the task at hand was unwavering, his pen moving with methodical precision across the pages. The man, sensing their approach, looked up, his gaze sharp and questioning beneath the shadow of his turban. His demeanor suggested a blend of academic curiosity and the resigned fatigue that often accompanies those who keep company with the dead. He scrutinized their attire with surprise. His gaze fell on Kurt, and he recognized him, grimacing slightly.

“Captain,” the doctor began with a hint of exasperation, “You’re back to bother me? I told you, I cannot allow unauthorized personnel entrance to the morgue.”

Kurt, on the verge of retorting, was promptly interrupted by Arline, who stepped forward with a polite smile. “Captain, will you be so kind as to introduce me?” she interjected, her voice a calm counterpoint to the tension that hung in the air.

Kurt took the hint. “May I present Lady Arline De Sardet, Legate of the Merchant Congragation.”

The chair grated against the wooden floor as the man jumped to his feet, his movements a flurry of nervous energy as he bowed deeply. “A thousand pardons, Excellency. I should have recognized you and shown more respect.”

Having arrived a few hours before, it was unlikely anybody would recognize her. She nodded in acknowledgment, addressing the doctor with her diplomatic tone. “No offense was taken, doctor. However, as my title infers, I have the authority to inspect this barracks and everything it contains. Therefore, I must insist you allow us to see the recruit my companion has inquired about.”

The man fiddled with his sash. “My lady, please, to see your friend in such a state…”

“I’m a soldier, doc. I’ve seen a number of men in pieces.” Kurt stated, the sorrow in his voice belying his harsh words. “Let me see the young lad.”

The man caved under her expectant stare, unlocking the door to the morgue with a resigned sigh. “It’s the body in the middle. Examine him if you must, but please be so kind as to not touch anything!”

Kurt, pausing with his hand on the doorknob, turned to Arline. “You don’t have to come with me.” He offered, concerned.

“I have seen death before, too, Kurt.”

Together, they stepped into the chilled silence of the morgue. The cold air carried the heavy scent of death, a stark contrast to the ballroom's warmth they had left behind. Arline, maintaining her composure, moved closer to the body laid out before them. He was fifteen, perhaps sixteen, his face was still locked in an expression of pain. “Is this your recruit?” she inquired, her voice steady despite the scene before her.

“Yes, that’s my Reiner.” Kurt's voice broke slightly. “Poor kid. I should’ve left him with his family where he was.” The regret in his tone tugged at Arline’s heartstrings.

“We’ll need to examine the body to learn more. Is that alright?” Arline asked, her gaze meeting Kurt's, seeking his consent for what would undoubtedly be a difficult task.

Kurt nodded, his expression grim. “He’s not the first young man I've seen with the lights gone from his eyes. Go on.”

Arline's heart sank as she gently pulled back the sheet, revealing the grim reality that lay beneath. The boy's body was a stark canvas of violence, marred by purple and yellow bruises that painted a harrowing picture of the brutality he had endured. These were not the passive marks of post-mortem lividity that pooled in the lowest points of a resting body, but rather, they were spread across his chest and extremities, each one a silent testimony to the aggression he faced. The skin, where it was not discolored by the deep bruising, bore the evidence of trauma—multiple cuts and tears, some edges ragged, others clean, as if inflicted by different instruments. Dried blood, dark and almost black in the dim light, clung to these wounds, a chilling reminder of the boy's final moments. Arline was no doctor, but what she saw painted a picture far removed from the simple tale of an accidental drowning. She looked to Kurt, his dark expression, a tempest of grief and fury, as he reached the same conclusion.

“He was assaulted.” He said, baring his teeth, his knuckles white as he held onto the edge of the table. His cold stare and flat tone of voice scared Arline with their intensity.

“It looks like it,” she agreed, her mind racing through the implications. “But if we want to prove it, we will need to find more evidence.” Arline extended a hand towards Kurt's clenched fist, her touch light, meant to offer solace in the face of cold, harsh reality. Kurt recoiled from her touch in a sharp jolt, his eyes wide and darting.

“Forgive me she whispered, taken aback by his reaction. He blinked a few times, taking a moment to steady his breathing and relax his jaw, visibly struggling to compose himself.

“No, forgive me.” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. “This is…” His voice trailed off, unable to articulate the turmoil roiling within him.

Arline thought she understood the depth of his pain without need for words. She nodded, setting aside her own shock. “Let us go speak with the doctor.” she proposed.

Emerging from the morgue, the chill of its interior still clinging to them, Arline and Kurt found the doctor waiting, his posture rigid with anticipation. The air outside seemed oppressively thick, the night's silence amplifying their approaching footsteps. Arline, taking the lead with a stern expression, addressed the doctor.

“Excuse me, Doctor, but you owe us a few explanations. This boy did not die by drowning.” She began, her voice steady, betraying no hint of the turmoil that raged within.

The doctor, taken aback, straightened his turban as if the gesture could ward off the accusation. “It is absolutely the cause of death, I assure you. The science of death is a complex art, and you are certainly not a doctor.” He retorted, glancing into the empty corridor.

“I am not.” Arline conceded. “Would you mind then explaining to us what are the typical signs of assault?” She pressed, her gaze unwavering.

The doctor, reluctantly, began to outline the indicators of physical violence, his voice faltering as he did so. Each symptom he described only served to reinforce their suspicions about the nature of Rainer's death.

“And are these signs similar to signs of drowning?” Arline interjected, her question pointed, designed to corner the doctor into admitting the truth.

The doctor's nervousness became palpable; his eyes darted about, sweat beading on his brow, his hands trembling slightly. The doctor wiped sweat from his brow with a shaky hand, avoiding Arline’s steady gaze. The certainty in his voice had evaporated. “In cases of drowning, certain... bruising might be explained by the body's interaction with the water. However, the severity and pattern of these injuries...” he trailed off, swallowing, clearly conflicted.

“It is in my power to appoint an independent expert during a trial you are facing. Are you ready to testify, doctor?” Arline's ultimatum was clear, her authority undeniable.

The doctor broke, his composure crumbling under the pressure of her scrutiny. "I am truly sorry, I—I swear I have never ever falsified a report before. But I was given no choice in the matter." He confessed, at last, his voice breaking with the strain of his admission.

Kurt, who had been silently fuming, finally spoke. „How’s that? What are you talking about?” He demanded, his patience worn thin.

“Two men, lieutenants I believe, brought the body to me telling me the boy had drowned in an accident.” The doctor said. “I saw immediately this was a lie, but I did not push the matter. I began my examination, planning to submit my report to the quartermaster as per usual. But the men returned. I was told to forget what I’d discovered and say that he had indeed drowned, or else.”

“Who were they?” Kurt's voice was a low growl, barely contained.

The doctor shook his head. “I have no idea. I had never seen them before at the barracks. I—I guessed their rank by their uniforms.”

“What colours were they sporting?” Kurt continued his sharp line of questioning.

“None. They must’ve removed the emblems of their regiment.” The doctor said, fear not leaving his eyes. “Listen, it’s obvious that this boy was beaten repeatedly and that was the cause of death. I have no intention of suffering the same fate!”

“Have no fear, Doctor,” Arline assured him. “we will make no mention of your name." Kurt’s grunt indicated his differing opinion. Arline gave him a warning look. “Thank you for telling us the truth.”

They left the doctor standing there, a solitary figure consumed by the shadows of the night, as they set out to untangle the web of deceit that had ensnared an innocent life. They ascended the steps to the barracks, and found Manfred, the quartermaster, pouring over ledgers in his office, a small oil lamp casting long shadows across the room. His eyes widened at the sight of Arline’s attire, but recognition flashed as he noticed Kurt beside her.

“Hello, Your Excellency. What can I do for you?” Manfred rose and greeted, his tone a mix of respect and surprise.

Kurt wasted no time. “We have a situation, Manfred. Reiner didn’t drown. The doctor falsified his report. He was threatened and feared for his own life.”

Manfred’s face contorted in disbelief. “You have to be pulling me leg! Who bullied the crow face?”

“Lieutenants that he did not recognize, alas, and who wore no regiment emblems.” Arline interjected with a sigh.

“Which regiment was Reiner assigned to? I would like to have a word with his commanding officer.” Kurt he drawled between his teeth.

Manfred shuffled through his papers, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Let me have a look at the register. My memory isn’t what it once was.” After a moment, his exasperation turned to anger. “Stab my heart with a rusty blade. His name’s been crossed out! If I catch the bastard that did that!”

“What mess was the boy into, Manfred? What could this be about?” Kurt’s voice was thick with worry.

“Your lad was in the 6th or maybe the 11th, before being reassigned to who knows where.” Manfred confessed, his helplessness evident.

“Just like that? You out of everyone have to know where the recruits are assigned.” Kurt pressed, his patience thinning.

Manfred sighed. “Not of late. This isn’t the first lad who’s been reassigned all of a sudden at the drop of a hat. Each time I start complaining about it, I'm told they’ve changed regiments and it’s not my concern.”

Kurt’s hand clenched into a fist, the veins on his neck standing out. “Something truly bizarre is going on here. I don’t like this at all.”

Arline stepped forward, her hand stopping an inch before touching his hand again. “Let’s try and discover which company he was stationed at before this mystery reassignment.”

Kurt looked at her with surprise, as if he had forgotten she was there.

“Green Blood, you’ve helped me enough already. Let me escort you back to the embassy.” He offered.

She drew her lips into a thin line. She did not appreciate being dismissed. “You can escort me once we finish here.” She countered, her stance unwavering.

He hesitated a moment before nodding. “We can question the lieutenants, or fellow recruits; there should be plenty in the tavern.” His eyes briefly swept over her ball gown, an apologetic look crossing his features. "I’m sorry, Green Blood. Had I known how this night would unfold, I would not have whisked you away from the ballroom."

Arline offered him a gentle smile, her earlier frustration dissipating. “Dancing is not my priority.” She assured him with a soft voice. “But you can buy me a drink in the tavern if you are concerned about my evening's entertainment.”

A hint of amusement lightened Kurt's expression as he let out a snort of laughter, the tension momentarily breaking. “After you.” He gestured towards the door.

As they made their way to the tavern's side entrance, the bustling activity of the adjacent kitchen momentarily paused. The cooks shot curious glances their way, the white silk catching their attention. Upon entering the tavern, the grandeur of Arline's gown and Kurt's elegant dress uniform immediately drew the curious gazes of the tavern's patrons. The stark contrast between their formal attire and the casual atmosphere of the tavern made Arline feel conspicuously out of place. She shifted uncomfortably as Kurt returned with two mugs of ale, the situation felt almost comical to her, further heightening her sense of not belonging. In a corner of the tavern, they spotted a lonely recruit finishing a drink. A perfect target.

“Good day, soldier.” she greeted, her voice friendly.

The recruit looked up, surprise etching his features. “Uh, good day, my lady…?”

"De Sardet, legate of the Congregation on Teer Fradee," she introduced herself, sitting on the bench opposite him, trying not to think of the grease and dirt clinging to the expensive fabrics.

“Captain Kurt.” Kurt added, lowering himself next to her.

The recruit's eyes widened in realization. “Oh! I - excuse me, Excellency, I - I didn't know… Captain, I - I truly am sorry. At your service, milady…Excellency!”

Arline smiled, amused by the outburst. “Since you know who we are, present yourself, soldier.” She commanded gently.

“Ah, yes, milady. Recruit 2nd class Alric, Blue-Silver Regiment, 11th company, at your service.” the recruit replied, his nervous voice accompanied by the tick of his hands.

“You do not quite look like you have got the hang of all this. How long have you been in?” Arline inquired politely.

“I… Is it that obvious?” Alric shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s quite normal for a new recruit.” Kurt reassured.

Alric seemed to relax slightly. “I joined up five months ago. But at the beginning we were on board ship, you see… I don't know if that really counts. I started exercises when we got to New Sérène. But I'm making progress, they say!”

“Here, you seem tired and a little on edge. A drink would do you some good.” Arline offered, pushing the mug towards him.

“It’s just that…I don’t know if I'm allowed.” Alric hesitated.

“You’re on leave, or you wouldn’t be at the tavern. And why not?” Kurt encouraged.

“Yes, but this is her Excellency’s own mug. I don’t know if I can.” Alric protested weakly.

“Drink, I tell ya!” Kurt insisted with a forced laugh only Arline noticed.

“Do you know a recruit going by the name of Reiner?” Arline shifted the conversation towards their main interest.

“Reiner? I… It’s just…” The recruit stumbled over his words, uneasy. “I didn’t…I didn’t serve with him!” He burst out. “Well, not really, we just crossed paths. He was leaving the 11th when I joined. Everyone said he was good, strong, and, uh…followed orders. And then, poof! Lieutenant got this order and he wasn’t happy. And I mean really quite unhappy. And then Reiner, he was gone. We never saw him again. We’d asked where he’d been sent, but the lieutenant didn’t want to tell us. Said that it was none of our business. But you, he won’t be able to say no to you! You should go and offer him a drink too." Alric suggested earnestly.

“Where can we find your lieutenant?” Arline pressed.

“At the barracks.” Alric informed. “He often stays late in the training grounds.”

“Thank you, and watch yourself when leaving. We would not want you to fall into the bay.” Arline concluded with a concerned smile. Kurt, without a second thought, abandoned his ale to the grateful recruit, offering Arline a hand to navigate from behind the tavern table. She accepted, smoothing the creases of her gown. Together, they retraced their steps to the barracks, moving with a purpose that seemed to cut through the chill of the night.

The training hall was a vast room swallowed by darkness save for a single oil lamp casting an eerie glow at the far end. Straw dummies and wooden swords lay scattered, silent witnesses to countless hours of rigorous training. The rhythmic thuds of a practicing soldier filled the space, playing in concerto with his quickened breaths. Arline, unprepared for the sight of the shirtless officer absorbed in his training, felt a blush warm her cheeks, thankful for the veil of shadows that hid her reaction.

“Good evening, Lieutenant.” Arline greeted, her voice cutting through the din of exertion.

The officer, pausing in his routine, turned towards them, the flicker of the lamp reflecting off his sweat-glistened torso. “Excellency. Captain. What can I do for you?” He asked, a note of caution threading his words.

“We are concerned about the death of a young recruit named Reiner. Have you heard anyone talking?” Arline inquired conversationally.

“Sorry, your Excellency, I'm not in a position to answer that.” The officer evaded without thinking.

“Why’s that?” Kurt pressed, his patience thinning.

“It’s just that, uh…I don't remember that name, that’s all. Sorry, Captain.” the officer stammered, his discomfort growing.

“Let’s be perfectly straight: we know that Reiner belonged to your company. And as the acting lieutenant instructor, you certainly had him under your command. So just stop with the lies. We’ve lost enough time here.” Kurt challenged, his frustration barely contained.

The officer's resolve faltered under Kurt's scrutiny. "you know what they say: Guard business is well-guarded.” he murmured, a weak attempt at deflection.

“And concerns only the Guard. Now unless you’ve lost your eyesight, you’ve a captain in front of you!” Kurt retorted, his authority unmistakable.

“I - I know, but this story is dangerous, Captain.” the officer admitted looking around.

“If you have so much as an ounce of respect for the boy, speak to us. Do you not believe he deserves justice?” Arline implored, trying to maintain a gentle tone of voice.

“Yes, of course, but you have no idea what’s been going on here. If word got ‘round that I've been talking…” the officer began, his voice trailing off.

“Reiner was indeed a member of my company, and an excellent recruit, but you already know that.” He continued, resigned.

“Continue.” Kurt urged, his intensity a match for the officer's reluctance.

“One morning, I got a note telling me he’d been transferred from my company. He’d received a new assignment. I was so furious that I did my own little investigation, to see where he’d been sent. It wasn’t easy. No one wanted to give me answers. No one seemed to know anything. But one thing's for certain. Reiner wasn’t the only man to have…disappeared. I learned that a good many recruits, all the cream of the crop, had been reassigned. And finally, I learned about the existence of a phantom regiment," the officer revealed under his breath. “A sort of…secret, elite company that were following a special training program.” He explained. Kurt’s body stiffened at his words, and the notion of such a shadowy force sending a shiver down Arline's spine.

“Where can we find them?” She asked, the urgency of their quest pressing against the silence of the hall.

“I’ve no idea. I had to put my investigation to rest. Things were getting dangerous. I began to sense I was being watched. This regiment protects its secret at all costs with few scruples. If you wanna know more, the training officer of the 6th might know something. It’s been said he took part in one of their missions…alongside them.” the officer offered, his voice a mix of warning and resignation.

“Are you certain you have nothing more to tell me about this infamous secret regiment?” Arline pressed, searching for any thread that might unravel the mystery further.

“I’ve told you everything I know, at the risk of ending up like Reiner, Excellency. Go and see the officer of the 6th if you want to learn more. And leave me alone now.” He concluded, a final plea for respite from the questions that haunted him. Arline thanked him and tugged on Kurt’s coat. He followed her out of the training hall in heavy silence.

“Where should we look for this other lieutenant?” Arline asked softly.

Kurt cleared his throat. “The living quarters will be a start. Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” His question was flat, betraying the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Despite the exhaustion tugging at her, Arline was resolute, unwilling to leave Kurt to face his turmoil alone. “I am. We’re close now.” She affirmed.

They made their way upstairs to the living quarters, tension in the air crackling. Upon finding the lieutenant, Arline wasted no time.

“Tell me about the phantom regiment.” She demanded, her presence commanding despite the late hour.

The officer, caught off guard, stammered. “About what? I…I have no idea what you're talking about, your Excellency.”

Kurt stepped forward impatiently, his voice hard with emotion. “Reiner was one of my recruits, Lieutenant. A young man that I admired. He was killed. His death was disguised. We’ve been lied to time and time again. Thanks to my friend, we finally learned that the boy had rejoined the phantom regiment.” Kurt stepped even closer, his face inches away from the other man’s. His voice became venomously silent. “And so now, you’re gonna tell me all you know without being a weasel about it. Trust me, you don’t want me to lose my nerve.”

The officer faltered under pressure. “But… Captain…I—"

“Now!” Kurt's command left no room for evasion.

Arline interjected, her tone firm yet diplomatic. “Come now, Lieutenant, you do realize that the activities of this regiment are particularly suspicious. Secrets, threats, fabrications. And maybe even an assassination! This resembles more the pursuits of a criminal organization than the honourable Coin Guard. Am I to conclude that you are involved?”

“No!” The officer protested. “No. I assure you that isn't the case!" He pleaded fervently. Kurt stepped back, giving him some breathing space.

“So then tell me what you know about the regiment.” Arline pressed.

The officer relented, his voice low. “I've seen the regiment, even fought beside them on an operation. On that occasion, our marching orders were kept secret till the last minute. We were asked to remove our regiment emblems, and our pay wasn't even recorded. And of course, we were ordered to speak to no one about it under any circumstances. I hope you realize the risk I'm taking, talking to you about all this.”

Kurt acknowledged the officer's concern. “Have no fear, we understand. What was this operation?”

“An attack. A lightning strike. On a caravan from the Bridge Alliance.” The officer revealed, Arline clenched her jaw. What kind of a political mess was this?

“Marvellous, a company that behaves like back alley bandits.” Kurt remarked dryly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

The officer continued. “I know, it really shakes up the honour code.” He shook his head, ashamed.  “The regiment is made up of young recruits carefully chosen, only the best make it through. The training is extremely arduous, and my guess is that Reiner isn't the only one who’s died from it. I know that they set up camp just outside the city, where the men live and train, but I'd be at a loss to tell you precisely where it’s found.” He defensively raised his hands. “Sorry, Captain.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Arline said, acknowledging the officer's bravery in sharing what he knew. With a new lead to follow and a deeper understanding of the phantom regiment's operations, they descended the stairs back into the main hall.

“This story is making me sick. Poor Reiner, if I’d known I'd never have recruited him.” Kurt muttered, a mix of anger and remorse in his voice.

Arline offered her condolences. “I am sorry, Kurt.”

“This isn’t your doing. But these filthy phantoms or whatever they are, are gonna have to settle the debt, believe me.” Kurt responded, his voice harsh and full of contempt.

Arline, ever pragmatic, tried to gently point out the obvious. “You do realize that your own commander is certainly involved in this on some level? Outright clandestine operations could not have taken place without his approval.”

Kurt paused, considering her words with a frown. “That he’s aware of the existence of the regiment, there is no doubt. That he approves of what they're doing…. It wouldn't be the first head that didn't know what his hands were up to.”

“And what do you wish to do now?” Arline inquired carefully.

“I'm gonna find the location of this camp. I have a few friends in the other cities who can certainly help us. And when I know where to smoke out these bastards,” He set his jaw, clenching his fists. “I'll go and have a few fiery words.” Their eyes met, and his tartness melted a little. “If you are of a mind to accompany me, two of us would not be too many to make sure they settle their debts.”

He had never outright asked for help. When he had trouble retrieving his merchandise, he grumbled, but it was Arline who offered help, just as it happened earlier this evening. She sensed a shift she approved. “Let me know when you discover where they are to be found.” She said.

“You can count on me” Kurt assured her as he offered to escort her home, stepping back into the cold night air. Arline wrapped her shawls tighter around her, the chill of the evening biting through the silk of her gown.

Kurt, momentarily shaking off his gloom, offered his coat with an apology for dragging her into the night's grim affairs. The coat, though elegant, was still utilitarian, made from sturdy cotton broadcloth. The edges of the coat were lined with thin piping, a detail that caught the eye without overwhelming, and the bronze buttons were intricately designed, each bearing the emblem of the Coin Guard, two crossed keys, detailed with ornate patterns and swirls, gleaming in the moonlight like small jewels. It’s military nature sill contrasted sharply with her delicate gown, enveloping her in its oversized embrace. Its scent was neither the perfume of a gentleman nor the sweat of a soldier, but instead carrying a clean, comforting smell of blackberry soap and leather, leaving Arline unexpectedly flushed with a mix of emotions. Kurt, with the storm cloud back over his head, did not notice her abashment.

“You should stay the night in the embassy. I will have a guest room prepared.” Arline suggested, her concern for Kurt's well-being outweighing the awkwardness of the offer.

Kurt, taken aback, hesitated before responding. “Don't trouble yourself, Green Blood. I will be alright.”

Arline sighed. “Kurt, I have known you for thirteen years and I have never seen you so... agitated. Let me worry about you a little.”

Kurt's unreadable glance carried the weight of years, the complex dance of proximity and distance that defined their relationship. Since she was twelve and he twenty-three, he had served as the master of arms, a constant presence in her life, shaping her skills and resilience with each training session. Despite the time spent together, Kurt had always carefully maintained the boundaries between them, emphasizing the professional nature of their relationship. He was a mercenary, not a friend, a mantra he reiterated whenever Arline sought to breach the invisible walls he erected around himself. He also remained ever mindful of their age difference and his role as her guardian, his concern for her well-being a constant undercurrent to their interactions.

As the years passed, the daily rigors of training and shared experiences subtly eroded the stark lines of their roles. The distinction between mentor and mentee, protector and protected, began to blur, creating a space where mutual respect and unspoken understandings flourished. Now, with his new role as the head of the Governor's guard, the dynamics of their relationship faced yet another evolution. No longer her master of arms but still not quite her equal, the change presented an opportunity for a redefinition of their bond, notwithstanding the disparities in their social stations. Her words were a subtle but significant shift – Kurt's protective instincts, so long directed towards her, now were returned.

“I'm not about to go on a rampage” Kurt assured her softly.

“All the same, you are welcome to stay.” Arline smiled.

Kurt politely declined the offer. At the door of the embassy, Arline returned his coat, with a strange pang of regret. They said good night, each retreating into their own thoughts and uncertainties about the days ahead.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Verily, to safeguard oneself against the vile grip of the Malichor, one must endeavour to fortify the bodily humours and nurture a robust constitution. Consuming nourishment that enlivens the inner defences, such as the feasting upon citric fruits, and the fermented and other pickled repasts, tonics for the spirits; indulging in regular provisions of meat, fortifying the inner humours; and imbibing extracts of the elderberry, shall bolster the corpus resistance against this relentless scourge.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

The breakfast room was awash with the soft morning light, the air filled with the scent of fresh coffee and baked goods. Lady Eloise was engaged in a lively conversation with Arline about the day's plans, while Lord Lefroy buried himself behind a newspaper, only the occasional rustle of paper breaking his quietude.

Their morning routine was abruptly interrupted by the announcement of Captain Kurt's arrival. Arline, for reasons she couldn't quite articulate, found her breath catching at the mention of his name. He appeared at the doorway, a stark contrast from the previous night's elegant figure, now clad in his usual guard garb that seemed to meld seamlessly with his bearing, embodying his straightforward and practical nature. Apologizing for the intrusion, he specifically sought out Arline, something that didn't go unnoticed by the other nobles at the table. Their grimaces at the nickname "Green Blood" were all too familiar, bringing a flicker of amusement to Arline's eyes. It was a pun about a blue-blooded greenhorn, and Arline used to pretend it was her warrior moniker as a child. It had stuck over the years—a private joke turned badge of honour.

Excusing herself with a polite nod, Arline followed Kurt to the seclusion of the study. He explained the predicament: cargo they had secured prior to departure was now detained in the harbour, suspected contraband.

“I wouldn't ask if it weren't important, Green Blood.” Kurt admitted, a hint of reluctance in his voice. “But I was given an order and your position as Legate might just give us the leverage we need to resolve this.”

Arline responded with a decisive nod. “Consider it of no consequence, Kurt. Perhaps we could enlist Captain Vasco's aid.” She said with a sly sile. “It appears Admiral Cabral requested to place him in my retinue as a clandestine observer, you see.” She shared, not without a hint of amusement at the situation's irony.

Kurt's expression soured, his brows knitting together in a display of frustration. “The boldness of the Nauts never ceases to amaze me.” He muttered, clearly annoyed.

A light laugh escaped Arline. “Perhaps this situation presents an opportunity rather than a setback. Let me change into something more comfortable, this time, before we go.” She added, tugging at her casual lounge gown with a wink. Kurt’s brief chuckle cut through his tension.

As she ascended the stairs, Lady Eloise caught up with her, intrigue etched in her features. “Lady Arline! A word, please.” Arline paused at the door to her chamber.

“If I may be so audacious, my lady, your last night’s unchaperoned escapades with the Captain have not gone unnoticed.” She warned, her tone laced with concern rather than censure, apparently wishing only to hint at the potential scandal in such a conservative society.

“Unchaperoned? Kurt serves as the very epitome of propriety and protection.” Arline countered, her expression knitting in confusion at the suggestion.

“Of course, my lady, but surely you understand the precariousness of your position as an unwed woman in authority.” Lady Eloise continued in a conspiratorial whisper. “I have concocted an alibi of a headache for last night, but do tread cautiously moving forward.”

With a grateful nod, Arline acknowledged Lady Eloise's counsel, feeling slightly unnerved. She tried to shake off the sensation as she changed into a more practical men's outfit, pondering if her penchant for bending norms would stir the same ripples in this new environment  – on the Continent her unconventional choices had long since ceased to make headlines.

Lady Arline De Sardet was a study in contrasts, effortlessly embodying the virtues lauded by high society—grace, obedience, and diplomacy—while simultaneously defying the very same expectations that sought to define her. Whispered nicknames followed her, "Arlo" being one borne initially from the mockery of a birthmark that resembled a shadow on her face. Later, to the court's unending delight, her martial training and preference for trousers elevated her to a subject of fascination and, at times, scandal. The glee reached its zenith when she was rumoured to court a woman. The court indulged in this spectacle with a veneer of jest, her status allowed for her unconventional nature to become a subject of endearing gossip rather than scorn.

Her mother and uncle were not that amused, however, and they would not stand for her most persistent attempts at remaining a spinster, arranging a betrothal to her lover’s brother. She liked Edward de L'Étier, but she wanted to run away with Eleonora. She proposed going to Al Saad, the capital of the Bridge Alliance, where Ellie could pursue a university career like she always said she wanted. It turned out she wanted the comfort of a noble life more, and she declined the offer, breaking Arline’s heart. Almost three years passed before her heart beat faster again.

Arline blinked with a sudden realization. Had her heart started to beat faster again? It was doing so now, with a blush creeping over her collared neck. Kurt, with his rugged charm and reliable presence, had always been a figure of admiration and friendly jest, but never the object of deeper affections. Yet now she could only indicate one person she cared about more than him – and Constantin barely counted, being kin. With a heavy sigh, she buried her face in her hands, lamenting her knack for misplacing her feelings on the least appropriate subjects.

Descending the stairs to meet Kurt, Arline felt an unmistakable flutter of warmth that confirmed her suspicions about her evolving feelings. She tried to compose herself, focusing on the task ahead. Together, they made their way through the bustling streets toward the port, where the salty sea air mingled with the cries of seagulls and the distant sound of waves crashing against the docks. The port was alive with activity; sailors hauled cargo, merchants negotiated deals, and ships of various sizes bobbed gently in the harbour, their masts painting a chaotic web against the morning sky.

Upon finding Captain Vasco, Arline assumed a diplomatic air and a practiced smile. “Captain, I have a request of a… unofficial nature.” She began, her voice steady.

Vasco regarded her with suspicion, his eyes narrowing as if trying to peer into her very intentions. “What is it?” he probed. Arline braced herself with a deep breath.

“We would like to retrieve cargo which has been detained.”

“You can make an official request.” He countered with an immediate scepticism.

Arline let out a soft sigh, knowing the path of honesty was the only one she could take. “Regrettably, I cannot. The cargo in question was something I attempted to have you transport shortly before we set sail. Unfortunately, you deemed it too late for inclusion in the ship's manifest.” Arline confessed.

Vasco’s irritation became evident as he processed her words. “You managed to load contraband on my ship?” He accused, his voice sharp, a reflection of his brewing anger.

Arline held his gaze, despite feeling abashed. “I have bribed two members of your crew to alter the ship’s manifest and slip it in on board.”

 “Who?” Vasco demanded, his frustration now fully ignited.

 “Please, I take full responsibility.” Arline insisted, silencing Kurt's protest with a firm hand.

 “You nobles always think you can just do whatever you please.” He accused, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “If the Admiral learns about this, I’m liable to be given permanent shore leave. Fantastic.”

Arline seized upon the moment of his discontent. “Given her decision to place you at my disposal, I wonder whether that grants you some latitude in how you interpret this particular request.” She posited, hoping to find a sliver of opportunity in their mutual predicament.

 “What do you want from me?” He snapped, his patience frayed. “My ship’s being used to move your contraband and now you want to sneak into one of our warehouses?”

“I suppose a more important question is: what can I do for you, Captain?” She offered, a slight edge of challenge in her voice as she locked eyes with him, not flinching under his scrutinizing gaze. In the corner of her eye, Arline saw Kurt’s uncomfortable shift.

Vasco’s eyes narrowed further. “I don’t like this. But since I’ve been sacked… I’ll help you into the warehouse, if you can retrieve something for me.” He finally conceded, if a bit bitterly.

 “I am listening.” Arline responded, a polite smile masking her inner triumph.

 “Recall my mention of a personal dispute with the Admiral?” Vasco initiated, his tone carrying a mixture of frustration and resignation.

“Indeed, I remember,” Arline acknowledged.

“I also told you that I was a donation to the sea.” He sighed, shaking his head in resignation. “I don’t know anything about my real family, except that they are probably affluent and from the Congregation. When I was born, the Nauts and the merchant princes had a…complex relationship. I must’ve been used to settle a debt or forge a truce, but that doesn’t matter.” He said with a wave of his hand.

“But the mystery of my origins has now become an…obsession.” He continued. “I need to know where I come from. If I were patient enough, I'd wait to become a fleet commander and then I would be told. But I’ve been asking, and since being laid off, such a promotion seems somewhat improbable.”

“And you want me to help you find this information?” Arline clarified.

“You understand correctly. The records of all seamen stationed on the island are in their respective ports. Mine must be in the harbour office in New Sérène, and it must contain my family name. But if I go there, I'd be spotted right away. I help you get your contraband, you bring the file to me.”

“You have my word, Captain.” Arline asserted, sealing their agreement with a firm nod from Vasco. Kurt exhaled, a silent observer of their pact.  

 “I'd rather avoid hurting any Nauts.” Vasco warned. “The harbor office has an arrangement with Dieter, from the brothel. Girls come every night, with wine.”

“I see.” Arline concealed her aversion to the plan. “You want us to spike the wine so that they sleep during our search.”

 “It's a proven technique.” Vasco shrugged. “And I can assure you they do not sniff the wine before drinking it.”

 “Right,” Arline conceded with a resigned exhale, the prospect of visiting the brothel looming ahead. “let us get a sleeping potion. Then, we will go see Dieter.”

Kurt, his brow creased in concern, turned to Arline. “Allow me and the sailor to handle this next part, Green Blood. The establishment below is no place for you.” A faint blush tinged Arline's cheeks, not just from embarrassment—there was also a flare of indignation at the thought of Coin Guard-run brothels. She failed to see honour in souteneuring.

With a nod of gratitude, she replied, “I appreciate that, Kurt. Signal if there is any resistance from Dieter.”

“Trust me.” He assured her. “I can pull rank on Dieter if necessary.”

“Very well. Escort me to the palace and I will purchase the sleep potion on the way.”

Alchemy was an area of magic – or as people of the Bridge alliance insisted, of science – Arline had no experience in. Flanked by the two Captains, he navigated through the bustling market—a task already on her agenda, though she had intended for Lord Lefroy's company, not her current escorts. The market thrummed with life, the air rich with the scents of spices and the din of haggling voices. Upon obtaining a vial of the needed sleeping potion, their path took them to the steps leading up to the palace rising before them. As they approached, a voice called out, resonating with the timbre of an unfamiliar tongue, pulling Arline's attention.

“A to, oi! Sients rádidaw cwint da dégewd me en?”

Arline turned to the source—a woman barred entry by the two Coin Guards on watch, dressed in an ensemble of leather and furs, rich in color and adorned with an array of beads, feathers, and tassels. Her soft, pale face was dotted with freckles, a familiar tale of days spent under an unfamiliar sun. Her hair, cropped short, was the rich shade of auburn, a colour so rare on the continent, and twigs were woven into her locks.

But it was the mark that held Arline transfixed. On the woman’s right cheek, a green, vine-like brand curled gracefully—a mirror image to the one Arline bore. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. A swirl of emotions—confusion at the forefront—rushed through her, as the mark she had always considered a solitary quirk was now shared, a silent language spoken on the skin of another. The eerie sense of familiarity was so profound that Arline's hands moved involuntarily to touch her own mark, as if to reassure herself of its presence. Eyes wide and lips parted, she instinctively retraced her steps down the stairs, stopping on the other side of the guards’ crossed halberds. Her gaze locked onto the woman’s, searching for answers in the green depths of her eyes. The realization that she was not alone, that there was someone else who bore the same mysterious sigil, was overwhelming.

The guard's eyes flitted between the two, his expression a mix of curiosity and bemusement.

“Attention, soldier!” before Arline sharply reprimanded him, jolting him back to his duty.

The native woman's gaze lingered on Arline, her head tilting inquisitively before she spoke again with a thick accent. “Let me pass, I must see the chief of your village.”

Kurt's discipline was swift as he corrected the guard's inappropriate mirth with a sharp rap to the head.

The woman's eyes narrowed. “Whatever could be so funny?”

“Now who would you be to seek an audience with the Governor?” Arline asked, her own curiosity consuming her.

 “I am Síora, daughter of Bládnid. My mother is the mál, the chief of our clan. I am here as an emissary of my people, and I must see your chief… governor.” She corrected herself.

“A princess then?” Arline smiled.

“A what?” Síora asked, confused.

“Let her pass! Your Majesty, I shall present you to the governor. Come.” Arline offered with ceremony, bowing her head, like she would for any princess on the continent. Kurt and Vasco followed her gesture.

“Princess? Majesty? You are most confusing, but thank you for your help.” The woman muttered running up the stairs to meet her. Arline studied the woman's features once more. Her high cheekbones, and sharp nose ended the resemblance between them, mark they both bore was a source of mystery that Arline couldn't shake off. Síora spoke to her in her language, she must have assumed Arline was one of her people. Were these marks common here on the island?

“Excuse my curiosity, princess, did you think I was a native?” She asked, stopping in the great hall of the palace.

Síora cocked her head. “Aside from the way you dress, you resemble a native. I have never seen an on ol menawí amongst the renaígse before. Is it so surprising that I made this mistake?”

“On ol menawí?” Arline repeated the term, fumbling slightly over the pronunciation.

“On ol menawí, those whose flesh is bonded to Tír Fradí.” Síora explained, her tone nonchalant as if discussing a common trait. “What do you call people with the mark?”

Arline’s mind raced. Bonded to Teer Fradee? The concept of destiny was foreign to her; how could she be tied to a land she had only just come to know?

“We do not. I have never met someone with such a mark before.” She said, dazed. “On the Continent, everyone looked at me as if I was this strange beast. These marks are... common here?” Arline asked, her voice a mix of wonder and disbelief.

Síora nodded once more. “Among my people, it is a great honour to be bonded.”

 Arline exhaled, her mind grappling with a newfound perspective. What she had long accepted as a disfigurement, a flaw, was suddenly cast in an entirely different light on this island. The revelation was as disorienting as it was enlightening, challenging her understanding of the world around her.

“You are bonded by birth?” Síora asked, frowning.

“I was born with the mark, if that is what you mean?” Arline said. She continued as the woman nodded. “Forgive my forwardness, but this bond... what does it entail?” Arline pressed, her duty as a legate momentarily forgotten in her personal quest for understanding.

“It is the role of a doneigad to teach her voglendaig about such matters.” Síora said decisively. “And you are not my voglendaig. Please, on ol menawí, I need to meet your chief.”

With a heavy sigh, led Síora towards the opulent audience chamber where Governor Constantin d'Orsay held court. Constantin, seated in his ornate chair, was engaged in a quiet discussion with Lady Morange. At the sight of Arline, his face lit up with a beaming smile, which swiftly transformed into an expression of awe upon noticing Síora.

“What is this? Who is this amazing person in your company?” He asked, transfixed. Síora, unburdened by protocol, promptly repeated her introduction.

“I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Síora.” Constantin said with a respectful nod. His glance flickered to Arline, a playful smirk emerging. “This is incredible! You look so much alike you could be related!”

Arline shifted her weight, slightly unsettled.

“Forgive me, mál,” Síora cut in, urgency in her voice. “but I have a request for you. My people needs your help.

Constantin blinked, unaccustomed to such bluntness. “I thought we might discuss matters together at leisure,” He said with a smile. “but please, speak your peace.”

“The Lions… the Bridge Alliance and my people are at war.” Síora wasted no time explaining. “My mother has sent me to you in search of allies. I fear that without your help, our clan will suffer great horrors, we have already lost so many souls.”

“Hmm, this seems a sensible request,” He made a show of considering her words, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “you know though we cannot go to war with our neighbors.”

“Perhaps there is a way to negotiate a ceasefire, the time to see things more clearly?” Arline proposed, partially because she did not want to turn this woman away.

“Excellent idea, I would be completely lost without you.” Constantin grinned. “Go and parley with, um…the queen, fair cousin. Try and put an end to confrontations for the time being.”

Síora sighed, poorly concealing her annoyance. “I will come with you. It will take more than one person to convince my mother to lay down our weapons.”

“If you would allow me, Princess, I would like a word with my cousin.”

“Of course.” Arline said. “Kurt, would you be so kind as to ensure Princess Síora's comfort at the embassy as our esteemed guest?”

With a nod from Kurt, Arline followed Constantin to his study, a space yet devoid of a personal touch. He sat behind the large empty desk, a position in which Arline saw his father so many times before. She smiled.

 “You need to visit the governors of the Bridge and Thélème, to give them my formal regards, that sort of thing.” Constantin began, waving a hand dismissively. “But, they have waited for you many months, they can wait a few more days. This matter with the natives might be more pressing.”

“Indeed.” Arline agreed. “Your father wants us to maintain favourable relationships with the natives. Brokering peace would certainly warm some of the tribes, and our neutrality puts us in a unique position to do so.”

He nodded. “Do that, then pay your visits to Hikmet and San Matheus. But when you are there, I have another mission for you. Discover what they’ve managed to learn. They’ve been here much longer than we have, perhaps they’ve made some inroads to finding a cure for the Malichor and are willing to trade. Take anyone you feel useful, I have been told that the roads are not safe.”

Arline contemplated her companions for the journey. Kurt's duty to Constantin made him indispensable here, a realization that brought an unexpected twinge of regret mixed with relief. Parting from him might be the respite she needed from her burgeoning, albeit silly infatuation with a commoner.

Escorted to the embassy by another guard, she found Síora adjusting to her new surroundings. She tasked Lord Lefroy with organizing the expedition, and despite his displeasure with her, his efficiency was a comfort in the whirlwind of preparation. A note in Kurt's handwriting awaited her, its mere presence stirring a warmth within her.

“Assuming D— will do his part, I'll be back for you after sundown.”

His penmanship, while lacking the flourish of formal calligraphy training, possessed a neat, disciplined quality. He had a habit of underscoring his "t" with a slightly longer crossbar than usual, a small quirk that lent an extra bit of assertiveness to his words on paper. Lingering over the note momentarily, Arline tucked it away. She was never quite so excited about espionage.

○●○

Before dusk, Arline received another missive, this one encased with a peculiar parcel, the script on the note twirling with flourishes she didn't recognize.

“Please wear this to make sure you avoid drawing attention or confrontation.
– Vasco”

Within the parcel lay a simple sailor's coat, wrought from sturdy dark blue linen. Adhering to the request, she donned the garment just as Kurt arrived, his attire mirroring hers. Just as they were leaving, their departure caught the eye of Lord Lefroy.

“Lady De Sardet.” He began, his gaze sharpening. “Sneaking out again?”

Exhaling in mild frustration, Arline replied, “We are on a covert mission to the harbour, Lord Lefroy.”

“Indeed, so covert that even your closest aides have never heard of it.” He retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm, a disdainful twist to his mouth.

“This task is a personal request from Captain Vasco, unrelated to embassy duties.” She countered, trying to maintain her composure.

“Ah, personal use of your position already.” He observed coolly, amusement tainting his critique. “An intriguing start to your tenure, indeed.”

A spark of anger ignited within Arline, her temper flaring for the first time in years. She felt a tingle on her mark as her magic responded to her mood, air crackling with Power around her. “I was unaware my personal engagements required your oversight, Lord Lefroy.” She managed, the edge of her Power simmering down.

“Oh, the pursuits of a young, unmarried woman are of vast interest to all.” He quipped, a malicious grin spreading across his face.

“Her Excellency is merely visiting a friend, under my supervision.” Kurt interjected, his voice low. “Any concerns can be directed to the Governor himself.”

With a slight nod, Kurt held the door open for Arline. Lefroy flinched slightly, but nodded back. Arline stormed out. Of course, he would listen to a man, Arline thought, annoyed.

“Thank you, Kurt, but refrain from intervening henceforth.” She instructed, her stride determined as they ventured into the evening. “Lord Lefroy must recognize his place.”

“My apologies.” Kurt murmured. “The man is infuriating.”

“Imagine my position.” Arline responded, her frustration evident. “Let us speak of it no more. How are the preparations?”

“Everything's set. Dieter’s part is done, and now we need you for Vasco’s files. I’ve got your back.” Kurt assured her, his apology lingering in his tone.

Arline nodded, breathing deeply to regain control. “And in the warehouse?”

“We’re simply marking the crates for our crew.” He explained. “A visual cue they can quickly identify.”

“Why is that?” Arline's brows knit together in confusion. “They are already marked with an inscription.”

 “Most of the men are illiterate.” Kurt responded with a simple shrug, a fact that Arline hadn't taken into account.

As they approached the harbour, the night enveloped them. The moon, a silver crescent, cast a serene glow over the docks, its light reflecting off the gently undulating waters. The rhythmic creaking of moored ships and the distant calls of night birds filled the air, lending a peaceful yet eerie atmosphere to their clandestine mission. Shadows stretched long across the wooden planks, hiding the secrets of the night as they moved towards their objective, the harbour transformed into a realm of whispered conspiracies and unseen movements. Vasco awaited them, his posture relaxed despite the gravity of their mission. “The lasses from Dieter have done their part. The lads will enjoy their rest.” He remarked, a hint of apprehension behind his grin.

Under the cover of night, Arline and Kurt made their way through the Naut territory, their steps cautious and silent. The harbor was mostly quiet, save for the occasional sound of waves lapping against the docks and the distant cry of seabirds. Most of the sailors were asleep, but Arline's heart raced with the thrill and danger of their mission.

They arrived at the warehouse Vasco had described. Kurt approached the door, his movements confident and skilled. In moments, the lock clicked open under his expert hands.

Arline raised an eyebrow, a mix of fascination and curiosity in her gaze. „Since when does a Coin Guard need the skills of a burglar?” She asked, half-jokingly.

Kurt flashed her a mischievous smirk. „My duties don't allow me to be stopped by mere doors.” He quipped, his tone light but his eyes serious.

Inside the warehouse, they moved with heightened caution, their ears straining for any sign of movement. The vast space seemed abandoned, the only sounds their own footsteps and the distant murmur of the sea. They located the crates with Coin Guard inscription, one of which had its lid pried open.

“Here are the crates we have been looking for.” Arline announced, gesturing towards the collection. She peered into the broken one. Steel of sheathed swords and simple rifles caught the dim light. “Kurt… they are full of weapons.” She said, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“That doesn’t seem right. It is our clients that supply us weapons.” Kurt responded, his brows furrowing in confusion and concern.

“You did not know what was in the crates?” Arline pressed, her eyes narrowing as she sought the truth in his reaction.

“No.” He admitted, the surprise evident in his tone. “I don’t concern myself with the Commander’s business.” He paused, caught off-guard, then firmly shook his head. “I should take a look into this. I have some friends here that must know what this is all about.”

Arline watched him for a moment, weighing his sincerity. “Let me know what you discover.” She finally said, her voice steady. “Now let us mark these crates and get going.”

Together, they quickly marked the crates with paint. Despite the night's revelations, their mission had to continue. They opened the doors to the public side of the port and Kurt signalled his men with a hand gesture. They slipped out of the warehouse and back into the shadowy embrace of the harbour, their light steps directed to the harbour master’s office, a dimly lit building standing solitary against the backdrop of the sleeping port.

The night deepened as Arline and Kurt slipped inside. Kurt stationed himself at the door, his gaze sharp and alert for any signs of movement. Arline proceeded to the main office alone, her heart pounding. The office was cluttered with charts, maps, and countless documents strewn about—a testament to the bustling life of the harbor by day. She moved quickly, her eyes scanning the room for the personal files Vasco had described. After tense minutes that stretched like hours, she found a cabinet labeled with what she hoped would signify personal records. With bated breath, she rifled through the files until her fingers brushed against the one bearing Vasco's name. Securing the document, she prepared to leave.

Just then, the sound of approaching voices halted her in her tracks. Kurt's eyes met hers, and with a swift motion, he guided her into a nearby closet, placing a finger to his lips to signal silence. Arline attempted to weave Shadow and Air to conceal their presence, but without her ring and under the circumstances, her focus wavered.

Pressed against Kurt in the confined space, Arline became acutely aware of his scent—a comforting blend of blackberry, soap, and leather. The warmth radiating from him in the cool, dark closet was unsettlingly pleasant. A flush crept over her cheeks as she realized the scandalous nature of their position would far outweigh the transgression of trespassing on Naut territory if they were discovered.

Kurt, however, remained the picture of concentration, his attention fixed on the muffled conversation outside their hideout. To Arline, his obliviousness to their proximity was both a relief and a frustration.

Eventually, the voices faded, and Kurt cautiously opened the closet door. They emerged, their exit from the office as discreet as their entry. With Vasco's file in hand, they made their way back to where the Captain waited, blending into the night's shadows.

Reaching Vasco, Arline handed over the file, trying to shake off the lingering tension from the closet. “We were able to recover your file, Vasco. And nobody saw us.” She said, hoping that was in fact the case.

Vasco eagerly took the file, his hands trembling slightly with anticipation. “Wonderful! You did everything perfectly. So, let’s see what this file can tell us...” He trailed off as his eyes scanned the document, absorbing every word. “So I was right. My real name is Léandre, son of the d’Arcy family from Sérène. Nobles, I suppose?”

Arline nodded, her expression somber. “Yes. I must admit that I had no idea they had given a son to the Nauts.”

A wistful smile crossed Vasco's face. “To think that I spent my childhood polishing ship bridges when I could’ve been wearing silk.”

Arline frowned. “I am sorry for you, Vasco, but growing up in nobility is not as simple as it sounds.” Arline replied, trying to sound gentle.

Vasco shrugged, dismissing the notion. “Really? Well, whatever. I’ve learned my real name thanks to you. That’s what I wanted.”

“Léandre d’Arcy…” The name ringed a bell. “I remember coming across a d’Arcy at my uncle’s court. Your brother, no doubt.”

“My brother?” Vasco echoed, his eyes going wide. “What was he like?”

“It was a long time ago, we were children. The family was one of the first to relocate to Teer Fradee. I couldn’t tell you what he looks like today.” Arline said, her gaze distant as she recalled the memories.

Vasco looked thoughtful. “They’re here?”

Arline shook of her reverie. “Assuming nothing happened… yes.”

“A brother?” He repeated, contemplation threading his voice. “I wonder if we are alike despite our completely different lives. Thank you for sharing this, and for telling me about him. You gave me back my identity. This is more important than the Nauts care to admit.”

“It was a pleasure.” She said, a flush of warmth colouring her cheeks as memories of their close quarters flashed in her mind. She found her gaze inadvertently drifting towards Kurt, wondering if the night's close encounter had affected him as profoundly as it had her.

“Oh, and your guards have successfully transported the crates.” He informed Kurt, unwittingly interrupting Arline's reverie, who managed to put the crates out of her mind completely.

“Then it's time we called it a night.” Kurt stated. Turning to Arline with an inviting gesture towards the square, he added, “Shall we, Green Blood?”

Nodding to Vasco in farewell, they began their walk towards the square in a companionable silence, until Kurt broke the quiet.

“You've come to my rescue three times now. I'm truly grateful, my friend.”

Arline winked, surprised. In all the years they’ve known each other, Kurt never called her a friend. A pleasant warmth suffused her, distinct from the tension of earlier, and she smiled. She met his eyes and saw this warmth reflected.

“Friend?” She couldn’t quite blunt the edge of amusement from her voice. 

Kurt's laughter was a sound of rare ease. “I know, you’ve always been one.” He admitted with a theatrical roll of his eyes. “But you have to understand how… isolating my position as master of arms had been. Always at the court, but never really belonging to it. I must say, I’m grateful for the change in scenery.” He said, pointing at the statue of Prince Claude.

Arline gently commandeered his arm. She was allowed to take a friend’s arm. “It seems your position also distanced you from your fellow soldiers.”

Kurt gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Indeed, my duties and benefits set me apart.”

Arline searched his face. “Do you ever feel lonely?”

He shrugged. “I always do.” Raising an eyebrow he added, “Why, do you wanna rectify this?”

Arline held his gaze. “I hoped to have kept you good company for all these years. After all, we were always together.”

Kurt’s eyes softened with tenderness as he smiled. “And these memories I hold dear. You’ve always been extraordinary, Green Blood.” He hummed. “But I had to watch over you. You were my responsibility.” He reminded her with a forced sternness in his voice. “That didn't leave us much time for…friendship.” He hesitated, as his gaze lingered on her face. Arline’s breath caught.

“What about now?” She murmured, her heart racing.

“Now?” He repeated with a laugh. “I hope that we’ll have more time.” His low voice sent a shiver down her spine, and she let out a rugged breath she’s been holding.

“I would like that.” She said with a faint smile. “Perhaps Constantin can spare you sometime.”

Kurt searched her face again. “With you permission,” He said clearing his throat. “He already has. I requested to accompany you on the road, and he agrees with me you’re in far more danger out there than he is here.”

At least three objections flashed her mind, and she ignored them all in a heartbeat. “I will be delighted to have you, Kurt.”

As they reached the embassy's doors, Arline reluctantly released Kurt's arm, lingering on the threshold, not ready for the night to end. Not finding any excuse to stay, she wished him good night and, with butterflies in her stomach, she searched for privacy with her thoughts.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

In addition to the nutritional regimen, an earnest engagement in physical activities is strongly advised. The pursuit of bodily exertions through exercise, coupled with regular ablutions to purge the corporeal frame of impurities, shall further fortify one's vitality and lend resilience against the malevolence of the Malichor.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

Two days filled with preparations, meetings, and social calls had passed, each moment punctuated by Síora's growing impatience. But now, as Arline's expedition was finally poised to venture into the region of Vedrad, known as the Red Woods, Arline couldn't contain her excitement at the prospect of exploring this land that seemed both wild and inviting. Their group was considerable: five horses for Arline, Lord Lefroy, Kurt, and two guards; two smaller carriages laden with camp supplies and post pigeons; and a larger carriage for the two servants, Vasco, and Síora, who lacked equestrian skills.

Leading the way, Arline was captivated by the breathtaking views, her spirit soaring with the prospect of exploring this enchanting land. Their journey followed the course of a river Síora named Cadarg Srodí, the Mirror River, known for its depth and the stark, sharp beauty of its banks. The vibrant forests around them was bathed in sunlight that filtered through the dense canopy overhead, dappling patterns on the forest floor. The air was alive with the calls of birds, their songs weaving through the trees like threads of magic. The scent of the woods was a complex tapestry—fresh, earthy, and subtly sweet, hinting at hidden blooms and the verdant undergrowth that blanketed the forest floor.

Despite the beauty around her, her thoughts soon returned to the pragmatic. The Bridge Alliance, a coalition formed as a counter to Thélème’s religious expansion, had always navigated the turbulent waters of politics and war. The historical friction between the Alliance and Thélème has lasted for over two hundred years, a conflict that Kurt had once been part of, before he became the Master of arms in Sérène. Unlike the Alliance, the Congregation had carved a niche for itself through neutrality, skillfully balancing between politically inspired conversion of it’s leaders and and economic prosperity. This delicate position allowed them to supply both sides, reaping benefits without the burden of overt allegiance.

Teer Fradee's discovery by the Alliance had been a double-edged sword, their initial dominance marred by a failure to engage constructively with the native tribes. The Congregation, arriving later, opted for negotiation over demand, a strategy that had yielded better rapport with the natives. Now, with tensions between the natives and the Alliance escalating into armed conflict, not all tribes sought war; some, like Síora’s, yearned for peace. Their request for the Congregation to mediate was a chance, a chance to demonstrate a commitment to harmony over hegemony.

This mission wasn’t about grand heroics or the fate of the island; it was a pragmatic step towards a more peaceful coexistence, a testament to the Congregation’s diplomatic agility. For Arline, fresh in her role, it was a personal test — an opportunity to contribute meaningfully to the Congregation’s legacy and, perhaps, to the island’s future.

The companions along the way were an added value. Arline slowed her horse to match Kurt’s pace, their journey promising about six hours of shared travel. “Have you managed to learn anything more about our crates?” she inquired, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and concern over the gentle clop of hooves.

Kurt's response was tinged with frustration. "Not really. Major Sieglinde—she's in charge of the barracks in New Sérène—was also kept in the dark." He sighed heavily, his expression turning somber. "But she did tell me she's butted heads with Commander Torsten over his decisions lately. A couple of months ago, there was an issue with some Egon guy extorting money… anyway, she suspects Torsten of covering for him. If that’s true…" He trailed off, shaking his head, lost in grim contemplation.

Arline, taking note of Kurt's troubled demeanor, gently shifted the topic. “Any word on the Ghost Camp?”

“Sieglende referred me to a contact in San Matheus, and I've reached out to some old allies in Hikmet as well. I will get to the bottom of this.” Kurt assured her.

The trees towering into the sky swayed gently in the breeze, the play of light and shadow on the ground creating a tapestry of movement and stillness. Arline took a deep breath, closing her eyes, listening to the distant calls of birds, wondering if some would be familiar. Behind her, sounds of Vasco and Síora’s conversation in the carriage drifted forward, Vasco's voice, deep and resonant, sharing amusing anecdotes from the sea. Arline looked back to Kurt, pondering a question which has been on her mind since their discovery.

“You seemed really attached to Reiner.” Arline ventured after a pause.

Kurt's nod came with a heavy sigh, a shadow of sadness crossing his face. “He brought some memories back. I was a bit like him at his age. I felt responsible for his well-being since I was the one who brought him into this.” He explained, his tone tinged with regret. His glance flicked towards Arline, a half-hearted attempt at humor in his voice. “Why? Don’t tell me you’re jealous of this poor kid?”

“Don’t be foolish.” Arline said gently. “It is just that you seemed so hurt about everything he went through, I wanted to understand how you felt.”

“That’s…kind.” Kurt looked away for a moment, a mix of emotions on his face. “I’m sorry I made that stupid comment. This whole matter makes me nervous.” He shook his head, then managed a small smile, his eyes meeting hers again. “I should have known that you were far too subtle to feel like that.”

Arline reflected his smile back at him. “Your attitude towards him seems almost fatherly. I have never seen that side of you before.”

Kurt looked momentarily taken aback before a soft chuckle escaped him. “I guess you could say I'm relieved to hear that.” He said, his eyebrow arching slightly in amusement.

Arline broke into a giggle. “I meant to ask if you started having paternal instincts.”

Kurt's scoff was light, but his tone carried a deeper note. “Not really. I’m a soldier’s child, and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.”

“Were your parents in the Guard as well?”

“Yes, and to be truthful, I never knew them.” He shrugged. “I was entrusted to a wet nurse. A prostitute who followed the troops.” He explained, probing her reaction to the revelation. Arline, though surprised, listened intently. It wasn’t his fault who he was raised by, after all. Besides, perhaps it wasn’t the woman’s fault to be in this predicament either.

“What was she like?” Arline asked, with an encouraging smile.

 “She was sweet, a good person. She may be the only one who showed me any kind of affection…” Kurt's expression softened as he remembered. “But that didn’t last. As soon as I could hold a wooden sword, I was given a real one and sent to training.”

And as soon as he could hold a real one, he was sent to war, Arline pondered his words, her heart aching slightly for the young boy Kurt once was.

“And were there moments in your childhood that brought you joy? Memories that make you smile?” She ventured, gently steering the conversation towards lighter shores.

Kurt paused, his gaze drifting to the canopy above as if sifting through the shadows of memory. “I have a few sweet, but blurry memories of my wet nurse. I remember her smell of crushed flowers and herbs.” He began, his voice softening. “But when I try to remember something happy, it’s the memory of a later event that stirs. The memory of a day when we skipped training to go for a swim in the river. It was spring. We waded for a good part of the afternoon into a marvelous little cold stream running over a bed of round pebbles.” His lips curled into a wistful smile as he shared this slice of his past. “Isn’t it odd, that that appears to be my happiest memory?” He asked.

“No,” Arline said. “It was a moment of freedom, you were carefree. I guess that is why you remember it.”

Kurt nodded in agreement, a shadow passing over his expression as he contemplated her words. “You’re right. Since that day, there hasn’t been much room in my life for being carefree.” Dark thoughts seemed to envelop him again, a contrast to the warm hues of nature around them.

“What about yours?” Kurt asked after a pause.

Arline's face lit up at the question. “Oh, I have the perfect story. When I was around seven or eight, Constantin and I decided to play a prank on the palace staff. We slipped soma leaves into the fish stew, hoping to cause a bit of a stir at dinner.” Her laughter echoed through the trees. “Revi, the cook, caught us red-handed and put us to work in the kitchen as punishment. He was grumpy at first, but he warmed up to us when he saw how much fun we were having with the cake decorations. He even let us decorate the main cake for the banquet. It was, without a doubt, the most hideous cake the palace had ever seen, but Revi presented it with such pride.” She shook her head, still amused by the memory. “After that, I spent a lot of time in the kitchens. Revi made sure I was always busy. Did you know I can bake bread?” She asked with pride colouring her voice.

Kurt chuckled, clearly entertained. “I always thought you went to the kitchens to avoid court life, not to become a baker.”

Arline's giggle was light and carefree. “Revi would never have let me just sit around idle! And believe me, my bread will not win any beauty contests. If you have ever come across a loaf with particularly poor braiding at the palace, there is a good chance it was my handiwork.”

Kurt's laughter subsided as he glanced at Arline, an enchanted smile playing on his lips. Arline blushed under his gaze.

“Your stories always bring a lightness to my heart.” Kurt remarked, the warmth in his voice wrapping around Arline like a comforting embrace. A companionable silence fell between them, as Arline pondered the warmth in Kurt’s laughter, wondering if her imagination was playing trick on her.

The forest around them seemed to shift, the greenery giving way to the striking reds of Vedrad. The foliage above and the ground below were awash in shades of crimson and ruby, a stunning transformation that lent an otherworldly quality to their surroundings.

Síora’s voice broke through the quiet awe of their journey, her call from the carriage window drawing Arline’s attention. “On ol menawí!” She called out with an urgency that brought Arline to match the carriage's slower pace.

“We are close to my village,” Síora announced, scanning the horizon that was now coming into view. “It will be best if your people set up camp somewhere here, and we go the rest of the way on foot.”

With a nod, Arline gave the order. As the sun continued its descent, casting a golden light over the landscape, they prepared to leave the carriages behind. The servants and one guard stayed with the horses, and the smaller group ventured on.

The village of the Gaís Rad, Red Spears clan – Vedrhais or Spear Wood, soon revealed itself, cradled in a natural amphitheater framed by looming rocks and sporadic boulders. Dome-like dwellings made with wood, stones, and clay, which Arline has seen in drawings, blended into the environment, with moss and ferns growing over their surfaces. The simplicity and ingenuity of this architectural solution astounded Arline in person. In the centre, there was a large, rune-inscribed stone structure, and smaller stacked stones were placed methodically around the clearing. As they came closer, the scent of fire and smoked meats, and the sound scattered voices were carried by the wind. The population seemed scarce, and curiously not many children were about.

Síora’s posture shifted, her hand moving swiftly to the spear she carried. Her eyes were sharp, searching, sensing something amiss. Kurt responded in kind, his own hand settling on his sword's hilt, ready to draw at the first sign of danger.

“What is the matter?” Arline asked, frowning.

Síora's pace quickened, a sense of urgency overtaking her. "It is too quiet," she replied tersely. Kurt silently agreed with a firm nod.

Síora's voice rang out, calling to a villager. “Arwant!” She ran towards the man, the rest of the party moving swiftly behind her. “Cwad es ma mátir?”

“Es tu rodéan, ta mátir imid do cogad déad! Do díd e kiden nádaigeis fágad en máin caraid arean ais.”

A shadow of distress darkened Síora's face. “Ná! Fan caig socraí se!”  Síora cried, then  turned to Arline with a plea in her voice. “On ol menawí! The war has started! We need to catch up with them, and avoid the shedding of blood. Please, haste!”

Arline's heart thudded with the rush of heat to her face. “Lord Lefroy, you have our banner, I trust?” She sked, her voice trembling slightly.

His face paled at the implication. "Surely you are not considering entering the fray!" he objected.

“I’m inclined to agree with his lordship, Green Blood." Kurt’s grave voice interjected.

“We must! This mission, it is not just about this battle or this tribe. It is about proving we can be effective mediators, about setting a precedent for peace. If we can help prevent this conflict from escalating, it could be a step towards broader stability.” Arline said, voice betraying a hint of nervousness despite the calculated articulation of their goals. It was her first mission, she wasn’t going to give up just because it became complicated. She took a deep, steadying breath before continuing with personal conviction. “Our purpose here is to forge peace, and we shall see it done. I gave my word!”

Lefroy's eyes widened, a mix of incredulity and concern in his gaze. “To attempt peace, yes! Not to perish in the attempt!” He argued.

Arline narrowed her eyes. “If I should fall, you'll ascend to Legate. Now, the banner, Lord Lefroy.” The demand hung heavy in the air until, with reluctance he complied, retrieving the folded banner.

“Captain Vasco, I do not expect you to follow me.”

“I approve of your quest.” He said, already oiling his blade.

Arline offered a grateful nod, then looked to Kurt, seeking his support.

His face was set in a hard expression of resolve. "Stay behind me.” He insisted quietly. 

Arline exhaled, closing her eyes. “Lead the way, Síora.”

“Thank you, on ol menawí.” She said, a whisper of relief in her voice as they hastened towards the path she indicated, winding upward into the shadowed embrace of the forest.

Their march toward the battlefield was tense, each step laden with trepidation. Arline's hands tightened on the banner, the smooth texture grounding her as her mind raced with scenarios of what lay ahead. The weight of responsibility pressed on her chest, making each breath a conscious effort. Was she putting her companions in danger unnecessarily? She could feel the unease radiating from the group, a silent storm brewing in the midst of their focused advance.

The path wound through the dense foliage, the natural beauty of the landscape at odds with the grim task they were approaching. Arline's eyes flickered to Kurt time and again, seeking a sliver of reassurance. But the man marching beside her was transformed, the familiar warmth replaced by the steely focus of a seasoned soldier. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the path ahead, in this moment, he was the guard first, friend second.

Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig beneath their feet seemed amplified, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Arline's heart hammered against her ribcage, a staccato rhythm that matched the cadence of their hurried pace. There was no room for error, no chance for second thoughts. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of earth and greenery a stark contrast to the metallic tang of fear that threatened to choke her.

She slipped the magic ring on her finger and spoke a silent prayer to the Enlightened. The priests of Light always assured her He watches over all, and holds a special place for those who wield His gift.  She hoped they were right.

Before they emerged from the dense forest into another clearing, their ears were assaulted by the cacophony of battle: the grating clash of steel, the twang of bowstrings, the harrowing symphony of screams echoing in a chilling chorus. Some cries rose in the native tongue, sharp with fear and fury, while others carried the distinct tones of Safardi. The acrid scent of fire singed the air, a visceral prelude to the sight that awaited them.

As they crested the rise, the clearing unfolded into a scene of violence and chaos. The battle raged with savage intensity, with only a few dozen combatants from each side still standing, locked in a dance of death. The ground was littered with the fallen, the earth beneath them darkened with the blood of friends and foes alike.

Síora charged ahead, her battle cry cutting through the din, a rallying call that was both fearsome and tragic. Arline hesitated, feeling a rush of paralyzing fear. They were too late to stop the bloodshed, but could they cease it? Propelled by duty more than courage, she lifted the banner high above her head, its fabric unfurling like a promise against the sky.

Kurt positioned himself before her, a living shield, his sword a deadly extension of his will, while Vasco and the other Coin Guard flanked her, forming a protective cordon. Arline, focused on the fluttering banner of the Bridge Alliance, extending her hand, drawing upon Force and Space, weaving them into a shield that shimmered in the air before her, a barrier against the lethal hail of gunfire.

But the bullets that flew were not merely stray shots; they were aimed with intent. The Bridge Alliance soldiers, leaderless and frenzied, turned their weapons upon Arline and her entourage. Kurt's voice cut through the chaos, urging her to retreat, but retreat was not an option—they were quickly surrounded. She let the banner fall and unsheathed her sabre, its blade catching the light as she prepared to defend herself.

Back to back with her companions, they became a maelstrom of steel and shadow. Her swordplay was punctuated by the silent hiss of shadow missiles launched with the use of her ring, the elements she commanded weaving between her blade's arcs. She ensnared an enemy in a cage of Spark and Ether just in time to stop his blade, but a native arrow found its mark, and the man shook off the stasis with a convulsive shudder. Using his shock to her advantage, she cut his throat in a swift lethal arc.

She saw Síora, tempest incarnate, as she dashed between the enemies, red spear cutting through the air with precision. Earth itself responded to her call, trembling as boulders rose into the air to soar into the Alliance soldiers. Thick vines moved around her, ensnaring their feet and throats.

The battle raged around her, a blur of motion and violence. Each enemy felled added to an unwilling tally in her mind—one, two, three, four—each sliced artery and stabbed eye imprinting on her conscious like a fiery brand, each life extinguished leaving a scar on her soul. The edges of her vision blurred, focusing only on the immediate threats, and the cacophony of battle numbed her to all but the rhythm of enemy steps.

She felt the distinct taste of Chaos on her tongue, a prickling sensation rippling on her skin. The first lesson imparted upon an Ombrégeur was to never overchannel beyond the moment you detect Chaos buildup, even if there was energy left to cast. Drawing upon the Power carried consequences – a raw surge of Chaos, untampered by elemental transmutation, drawn with it. A destructive force, which corrupted the very essence of the world, especially the mystic three elements: Ether, Spirit, and Shadow. For creatures rooted in Ether and Spirit like humans, Chaos posed a grave danger to the caster.

But Arline was always more resistant to Chaos buildup than other Ombrégeurs. It was as if her mark protected her, preventing her from excess draw. She never understood why, but in this moment, she embraced it. She delved inward, finding a thread connecting her to Power, stronger than the one she was using, stronger than it ever was before. She surrendered to it. Power surged through her veins, flooding her senses. She trembled as she held it for a fleeting second before releasing it, the only way she knew how. The air around her crackled with Spark as lightning struck several attackers, pushing them back and freezing them in their tracks.

Her escorts seized the opportunity, dispatching their adversaries with ruthless efficiency. Arline gasped, as if she were breathing for the first time, and, as if the world had exhaled a long-held breath, the conflict ceased.

Arline stood, panting, blade before her, her eyes darting, looking for a new source of danger. The fog in the corner of her vision had crept further, enveloping her, and extinguishing her senses. She could not feel the breeze on her skin, nor could she hear the exchange between a native and Vasco. Kurt's hands cradled her face, his eyes searching hers, his words a distant echo she couldn't quite grasp. Her thoughts came slowly, as if crawling through an oiled surface, but eventually, she pieced together Kurt’s inquiry about her injuries. She shook her head to clear it, her palms grasping his sleeves, the touch of cool leather grounding her, bringing her back to clarity.

The coppery stench of blood assaulted her, overpowering her. She took a few shaky steps before she stumbled, and the weight of realization brought her to her knees. She vomited, trying to expel not just the contents of her stomach but the horror she felt.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

A life lived in moderation, with plentiful rest and purifying airs, alongside prudent attention to personal hygiene and cleanliness, may serve as a bulwark against the enigmatic taint of this affliction.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

Arline wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her movements shaky. The bitter taste of bile lingered, but she forced herself to focus, uncapping her waterskin to rinse her mouth. The cool water was a small mercy, offering a momentary relief from the acrid stench of blood that filled the air. She looked around, her gaze sweeping over the aftermath of the battle. Bodies lay scattered across the clearing, the dead intermingled with the dying, cries turning to whispers, then silence.

She crawled over to a Bridge man they had cut down, his uniform torn and soaked with blood, his breaths shallow and ragged. Arline's heart clenched at the sight of his injuries—severe, likely fatal without immediate intervention. With hands trembling from shock, she reached into her pouch, fingers wrapping around a vial of health potion. The red liquid glowed faintly, a beacon of hope amidst the devastation.

Before she could uncork the vial, Kurt's hand closed over hers, firm and unyielding, as he kneeled beside her. “Save that for those who can be saved.” He said softly, his eyes, though shadowed with sorrow, held a resolve born of too many battles, too many losses.

Arline's gaze met Kurt's. The harsh reality of his words settled in, a heavy weight on her already burdened heart. She looked back at the wounded man, the rise and fall of his chest growing fainter by the moment. A basic healing potion could mend a few shallow cuts, or one larger wound, and replenish one’s strength after blood loss, but it could not achieve all these effects simultaneously. With a heavy heart, she nodded, acknowledging the cruel truth in Kurt's caution. They had limited resources, and the potion would be wasted on injuries too grave to mend.

She placed the potion back into her pouch, her decision a painful acceptance of the battlefield's grim calculus. Instead, she gently removed the man’s helmet and took his hand. “I am sorry.” She said in Safaradi, her voice breaking, a tear running down her cheek. “Look how beautiful the sunset is.”

The man’s unblinking eyes followed her gaze, his wide pupils not contracting at the light. With the sun’s descent, painting the sky in hues of gold and purple, his breath ceased. A moment later, Kurt, gently pried her hand from the dead man’s grip, his face full of emotion she did not recognize. She let him help her to her feet, his brace steady and reassuring. He took off one of his gauntlets and wiped the tears on her cheek with a tender touch.

“Thank you for that.” He whispered. “We can go back to the camp, there is no shame in that.”

Arline shook her head. “I want to look for survivors.” She whispered back. Kurt acknowledged with a nod, understanding her need. They moved together, Kurt guiding her with a steady hand, as they turned to the sombre task of tending to the wounded. Vasco and the other Coin Guard were already at work, their movements methodical and urgent. In the distance, Síora's figure moved with feverish intensity, her focus singular.

“Eseld!” Síora’s call broke through the sombre air as she spotted someone in need. Around her, power shimmered, a display of magic foreign to Arline. They made their way toward her quickly. The woman Síora attended to, though her face was marked with paint, bore an uncanny resemblance to her.

“Síora.” The woman groaned as she opened her eyes. “Es tu rodéan, Síora. Mátir tun titei a tuid sieindád nes.”

“Ná! Ná, ná.” Síora’s response was laden with a guttural pain that transcended language, her tears flowing freely. “Es tu éagrad!”

Arline, though not understanding the words, caught one. Mátir. “Your mother?” She asked in a rasp.

“Lost.” Síora responded between sobs, her grief striking a chord with Arline.

Eseld, now sitting up with confusion clouding her expression, eyed Arline suspiciously. “Who is this woman? She resembles one of us but is dressed like a renaígse.”

“I am the ambassador of the Congregation of Merchants.” Arline introduced herself, her voice weak in the face of anguish. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“The Congregation? And what side are you on in this war?” Eseld’s voice was sharp as she heaved herself up. “Those that massacre our people?”

Síora interjected, trying to soothe her. “Eseld, calm down! You know that Mother sent me to seek out allies.”

“You show up when the fight was nearly over! Was this part of your plan?” Eseld accused, her cheeks gaining colour again as her anger flared.

“The Congregation is neutral. We hoped to stop this battle.” Arline pleaded.

“Stop this… battle?” Eseld scoffed, disbelief and anger intermingling in her voice. Her hand reached for her spear, her gaze turning fierce. “You are mad or a dreamer! This battle was destined!” She exclaimed, her voice rising. “You know that these monsters are taking our own. I will not allow this crime to go unpunished!”

“We did our best to come as fast as we could, and I fought by your side.” Arline said, forcing herself into practice calmness. “Please, please take the time to at least hear me out. There has already been enough death, and you are wounded. This is not the time for vengeance!”

Eseld’s gaze softened, her anger dissipating as she surveyed the aftermath around her, the spear slipping from her grasp. “You may be right.” She conceded, exhaustion evident in her posture. “Waiting for my vengeance will make it taste all the sweeter.” She murmured, allowing herself to sit back down. She shook her head. “I feel weak, might I ask you to watch over our own, Síora?”

Síora exhaled a sigh of relief. “Yes.” She agreed, her voice tinged with gratitude. “And find Mother,” She added, her voice breaking slightly, “or her body if… if she is indeed dead.”

After sending the Coin Guard back to the village with critical information regarding the aftermath and their immediate needs, the group took the grim task in the dying light of the day. Síora, tapping into the magic of her people, summoned the forces of nature to heal her kin, her hands glowing with a verdant light as she whispered words older than the trees. Arline distributed healing potions without regard to faction, while Kurt and Vasco, their skills honed in countless skirmishes, provided first aid.

Hours passed, marked only by the slow journey of the moon across the starlit sky and the diminishing cries of the wounded. Arline, succumbing to exhaustion, worked on nothing but willpower until her body felt detached from her mind, her movements automatic in the face of overwhelming need.

In their search, they stumbled upon the natives’ banner, a sad relic submerged in the blood-soaked mud, but of the queen, there was no sign. Amid the chaos, another form stirred – an Alliance soldier, his uniform torn and bloodied, lying helpless amid the detritus of war.

“I beg of you. Help me.” He implored, his voice a thread of desperation in the still air.

Síora, her face a mask of fury and grief, crawled to him on all fours, the ground at her command birthing thick vines that ensnared the soldier with an almost sentient grip. “And still you dare to breathe! How can you hope that I am here to save you?” She spat, her anger palpable.

“No! I…” The soldier's protest was cut short by fear and pain.

"What have you done with my mother?" Síora demanded, her voice echoing with a mix of rage and desperation.

“Pity! I…beg of you. I…I don’t want…to die!” He pleaded, the imminent shadow of death lending his voice an earnest tremor.

“Then answer!” Síora lashed, her vines tightening around him.

Arline, stepping forward, intervened with a voice that, despite exhaustion, carried the weight of authority and reason. “Síora! Stop! Look at yourself! You’re acting like a beast.”

“A beast has far more majesty than these monsters who have traded their souls.” Síora retorted, her eyes burning with a cold fire.

“They have taken her. The queen, they took her!” The soldier confessed, his voice quivering with fear.

Arline, seizing upon the information, reasoned out loud. “Then she must still be alive; they wouldn't have bothered to carry away a corpse.”

Síora’s anger was momentarily replaced by a flicker of hope. “She would have chosen death before capture. They must have wanted her alive. We must find her.” Her vines retracted as her anger ebbed, leaving the soldier gasping for breath.

“If your mother is in the hands of the Bridge, they’d have taken her to their closest camp.” Arline deduced, her mind already racing with plans of rescue and diplomacy.

“Promise me that we will do everything we can to bring her back.” Síora implored, her gaze locking with Arline's, a silent plea for commitment.

“I promise.” She affirmed, her voice steady and sure. There was something she could still do for peace.

With the promise made, Arline turned her attention to the soldier, her hands gentle as she administered the necessary aid. Despite the soldier's role in the day's sorrow, she could not deny him compassion.

And despite her efforts in healing the wounded, the gaze of the four soldiers she had slain haunted her. They were Coin Guards, hired for the wrong side, simply following orders. Despite their aggression towards a peaceful convoy, rationalizing their deaths offered little solace; they, too, were fighting for survival, much like herself.

“We should get some sleep before we head to the Alliance outpost.” Vasco suggested, his pragmatic voice cutting through the night's heavy silence. “We won’t accomplish anything at this hour, and we're all on the brink.”

Arline's gaze lingered on the battlefield, a silent vigil for those she couldn't save.

“You’ve done what you could, Green Blood.” Kurt said, echoing Vasco’s realism. “Let Lefroy shoulder some of the burden.”

With a tired nod, Arline conceded. “Let us go then.” She agreed. Weary to the bone, they returned to camp, replaced their blood-stained clothes with fresh ones, and succumbed to sleep's heavy embrace.

○●○

Arline awoke with a start, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as a sheen of sweat coated her skin. The remnants of her nightmare clung to her, vivid images of war painting the darkness behind her eyelids—faces of those she'd fought, their eyes losing the spark of life, their silent accusations haunting her. She threw off the blankets that felt more like constraints than comfort and stumbled out of her tent, seeking the cool night air as a balm for her racing heart.

The camp was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and movements of a figure hunched over it, tending to the flames with a methodical care that spoke of long practice. It was one of the Coin Guards, the one who had fought alongside them, his back to her, the firelight casting his shadow long and flickering on the ground.

“Excuse me,” Arline's voice was still rough from sleep and the remnants of her dream. “I realized I do not even know your name.”

The man turned, and in the firelight, his features were drawn but kind. “Sergeant Jon, Excellency.” He introduced himself, with a nod that carried both respect and a trace of weariness.

Before she could respond, a stir from one of the nearby tents signalled another's awakening. Kurt emerged, glancing at Jon, a silent exchange passing between them, before the sergeant nodded and moved off, his duty by the fire concluded for the night. Kurt's gaze then shifted to Arline, concern etching his features in the firelight.

“Couldn't sleep?” He asked, his voice carrying a mix of understanding and worry.

Arline huddled by the fire, seeking solace in the movement of dancing flames. “No.” She sighed. “I keep thinking about those soldiers… who attacked us. Are there wives I widowed? Children I orphaned? Mothers I have left childless?” She shook her head, her gaze lost in the embers. “I could rationalize the bandit's fate. He would hang anyway. But these men… This did not need to happen.”

Kurt exhaled deeply, settling beside her, his presence a silent offer of support. “War rarely needs to happen. That’s why we need diplomats, like you. But these men… They knew their lot in life, Green Blood. Every Coin Guard knows that earning their keep through violence could one day end violently.”

Arline searched his eyes, pondering if he too lived with the conviction that his end might be marked by the sword. “And do they choose this profession freely, or is it chosen for them?” She whispered, more to herself than to him.

Kurt's laugh was devoid of humour. “Would knowing that change how you feel?” He countered, skirting a direct answer.

She released a resigned sigh. “No.” She admitted, the truth of her words settling between them like the night's chill. They sat in silence, the crackling of the fire punctuating their contemplation until she voiced the fear gnawing at her soul. “Will I always remember their faces?”

Kurt closed his eyes for a long moment, the lines on his face deepening. “The details will fade with time, as will the pain.” He rasped, a tinge of sorrow in his voice. “And so will the count. But I'm not sure if forgetting is a mercy.” His eyes met hers again, a sad smile touching his lips.

Arline shuddered. “I am so sorry, Kurt.” She murmured.

"For what?" he frowned, puzzled by her apology.

Her gaze momentarily traced the scars around his eye. "For whatever you have endured. Perhaps now I can grasp a fraction of it."

His frown softened, giving way to a gentle smile, the warmth in his eyes a balm to her aching heart. "What a beautiful soul you are, Green Blood. Serving you is an honour."

Her heart lightened at his words, a smile curving her lips. “Have you already forgotten we are friends?”

“I haven't. I work for my employers, not serve them.” He quipped, a playful note in his voice.

She chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the night air. “I never took you for a flatterer, Kurt!”

His eyes sparkled with mirth. “Seems you awaken my lesser instincts.” He teased, his grin infectious. “Now, try to get some sleep, Green Blood. I'll keep watch, alright?”

Nodding, she retrieved her bedding from her tent and returned to the fire, settling down beside him. As she drifted off, stealing occasional glances at Kurt's reassuring profile, a sense of peace enveloped her, guiding her into a restful slumber.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Moreover, the avoidance of close contact with afflicted individuals and their blood essence, the fortification of domiciles to prevent the ingress of foul agents, and the partaking of pungent herbs and spices that doth expel miasmas, are prudent measures to be employed to stave off the insidious grasp of the Malichor.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

Arline stirred as the first light of dawn caressed her face, the air alive with the calls of exotic birds, a stark contrast to the silence of the night before. Opening her eyes, she found Kurt still by her side, offering a warm, reassuring smile that eased the remnants of her nightmares. A servant approached, presenting her with a steaming cup of tea and a modest breakfast, a gesture of normalcy in the aftermath of chaos.

As she sipped her tea, Arline couldn't shake off the desire for a proper bath, to cleanse herself of yesterday's bloodshed. A mere washcloth and comb had proved inadequate; they did little to scrub away the horrors etched into her memory, leaving her feeling tainted still.

The camp came to life slowly around her. Lord Lefroy emerged, untouched by the previous day's events, and his gaze landed on her, carrying an air of unpleasant criticism, as though his eyes whispered, "I told you so." Arline felt her jaw set in defiance, a reflex to his silent reproach, but her tension eased as she turned her attention back to Kurt.

It wasn't long before Síora appeared, accompanied by two other natives, their expressions set with determination. They were ready to embark on the mission to the Alliance Outpost, to seek the queen. Arline's resolve solidified at the sight; despite the previous day's horrors, their purpose remained clear. The quest for the queen still offered a beacon of hope for peace.

Arline and her companions made ready to depart. With a deep breath, Arline steeled herself for the journey ahead, hoping to avoid the battlefield. The task of burying the dead was underway, a sombre reminder of the previous day’s horrors that Arline was relieved to not witness again.

Heeding Síora’s advice, they took a path less travelled, one that led them to a place shrouded in taboo among the natives. The air held a silent tension as they approached the ruins of a city, an area conspicuously avoided by the local population.

The sight that greeted them was starkly different from anything Arline had seen on the island thus far. Here lay the remnants of a city, its architecture wholly foreign to the organic, harmonious structures of the native settlements. Instead, these ruins bore the unmistakable mark of Continental influence—buildings constructed of brick, some still bearing the faded grandeur of frescoes in a style Arline recognized all too well from her homeland.

The contrast was jarring, a silent testament to a past long forgotten, or perhaps intentionally ignored, by the island’s current inhabitants. As they tread cautiously among the ruins, Arline looked around with a mix of curiosity and unease.

“These ruins are very strange. By what name did you call this place again?” She asked, her voice echoing slightly in the open space.

Síora, walking beside her, glanced at the crumbling structures. “Díd e kíden nádaigeis.” she replied, her tone carrying a note of solemnity. “There was once a battle here in the past. A great victory for our clans.”

Arline looked around, taking in the alien architecture. “Strange indeed. These walls are completely foreign to the styles of your own dwellings. Does this name hold any particular meaning?” She inquired, her curiosity deepened.

“Yes, it means ‘ruins of the first guardian’.” Síora explained, her gaze fixed on the remnants of a mysterious past.

“Do you know who built them?” Arline pressed further, intrigued.

Síora paused. “I only know the legend. The legend of díd e kíden nádaigeis and the people that my ancestors vanquished in a past war.” She said.

Arline prompted gently, “I’m listening.”

“It is said our people lived peacefully until men appeared from the sea, intent on making our lands their own.” Síora began, looking over Arline’s people with intent. “They dug great caverns into the earth, ripped down our forests, destroying everything in their wake.” She continued, her voice taking on the cadence of a storyteller. “They were evil; the warriors killed so many people that even their own came to fear them. Here, they built a terrible city that spewed out clouds of cinder and death. Our kings and queens were desperate. They went to the heart of our island, and the island heard them.” Her narrative paused for a breath.

“From the woods appeared the first guardian; he was taller than a city, and with each step, he smashed a lodging. It was a guardian of wrath, and the city could not resist him.” Her eyes brushed Arline’s face, lingering on the mark. “Since then, the earth answers our call for magic, and in exchange, we become ol menawí, in keeping with the pacts our kings and queens once made.” Síora recounted.

Arline’s lips parted as she absorbed the tale. “What pacts?” She whispered, her hand touching her mark.

Síora frowned. “Bring my people peace, on ol menawí, and I will accept you as my voglendaig.” She offered instead.

Arline sighed. “Very well, on ol menawí.“ She said. “I wonder who these people from the sea could have been. A people from the Continent, no doubt.” She mused considering the implications of Síora's story on her own people's history. “Yet I am unaware of any legends of this place on our side of the world. Tales of giant creatures only reached us with the recent discovery of this land.” She shook her head. “If people from the continent have been here ages ago, and warred with your magic casters, could they have been… cursed? Could our Malichor be the cursed result of that war from another age?” She asked.

“I know of no such curse.” Síora said.

“I must report this to Constantin.” Arline resolved. “It might be worth investigating.”

Continuing their journey towards the outpost, the trio navigated the rugged terrain with a determined pace. Vasco, ever the conversationalist, attempted to engage Kurt in light banter. Arline observed their interaction with a hint of amusement. It had taken Kurt a staggering thirteen years to open up to her. Of course, she reminded herself, she had been but a child for half of that time, their relationship evolving only in the recent years.

They headed north, and soon, the wooden structures and palisades of the Alliance outpost came into view. As they approached the gate, a Coin Guard from the Green-Azure Regiment stepped forward, his posture rigid.

“Halt! Who goes there?” He called out, his voice authoritative.

“Lady Arline De Sardet.” Arline responded confidently. “I am the legate of the Merchant Congregation. My companions: Lord Felix Lefroy, my second; Captain Kurt, Coin Guard Blue-Silver Regiment, Second Royal Liaison Company of New Sérène; Captain Vasco of the Nauts; and Princess Síora, daughter of Queen Bládnid of the Gaís Rad.”

The guard's demeanor shifted slightly at her introduction. “Oh, well, you can come in, Your Excellency, but this savage on the other hand...” His gaze drifted towards Síora with undisguised hostility.

Síora's response was immediate, her tone laced with defiance. “Am I the one you call a savage, renaígse?”

Arline quickly interjected, her voice calm but firm. “This young lady is the princess of her people, and she is with me. As such, I would appreciate if you let us through.”

The guard hesitated, weighing his options before nodding reluctantly. “Very well, Your Excellency, please go and find the captain. I’d feel better knowing that he gave you his endorsement.”

With a respectful nod, Arline led her companions into the outpost, leaving the two remaining natives to wait outside. Their introductions repeated with the outpost's Captain Zayd, who acknowledged Kurt with a nod.

Arline measured him. “Why are you at war against the Gaís Rad, Captain?” she inquired, her voice steady.

Captain Zayd’s response was tinged with incredulity. “Because they reject our presence! They've been attacking us for months. These savages stubbornly refuse civilization, and our men pay the price. We can't let them slaughter us without reacting!”

Síora’s voice rose with emotion. “Since you arrived here, you have destroyed the forest and ripped open the earth. And people disappear in our villages, the on ol menawí first. We are only defending ourselves, and we are the savages?”

The captain, unmoved, retorted. “Since we've defeated you, you can believe what you like!”

Arline exhaled, carefully choosing her next words. “Captain, I understand the position you are in is not without its challenges. Encounters with hostile tribes can indeed put your men in difficult situations. However, allow me to ask, why decide to meet yet another tribe in battle? Is it a directive from your commander to antagonize all native tribes, or was there a specific incident that escalated to this current situation?”

The man blinked in surprise, his mouth hanging slightly open. Seizing the opportunity presented by his silence, Arline pressed on. “The Gaís Rad clan sought to avoid this conflict, a fact made evident by their request for the Congregation's mediation. Yet, it appears that soldiers under your command have adopted a rather combative stance, considering they attacked me under the peace banner of the Congregation. I trust you understand the implications of such actions against a legate?” Her tone was conversational, yet the underlying edge was unmistakable.

The captain visibly paled, sweat beading on his forehead. “Your Excellency, I assure you, those men did not act on any orders from me!”

Arline nodded, acknowledging his response. “Indeed, I would hope they did not receive explicit orders to attack the Congregation’s legate. However, it seems there may have been a broad interpretation of orders to 'eliminate any resistance,' an interpretation that might have been avoided with a more discerning approach to engagement. A willingness to listen before resorting to violence can often prevent such unfortunate misunderstandings, Captain.” She observed, her gaze steady on his.

Allowing her words to sink in, she then offered a diplomatic smile. “Nonetheless, I am prepared to move past this incident. We understand that you brought Queen Bládnid here, and I would like to negotiate her liberation.”

The captain, caught off guard by her proposal, stuttered in response. “Her—her liberation? That will prove difficult, Excellency. She’s...she's dead,” he managed to say, the finality in his voice leaving little room for doubt.

“No! You... you let her die!” Síora's anguish tugged at Arline’s heartstrings. “You may even have finished her off like an agonizing animal!” She accused, flaring her teeth.

“We didn't need to.” The captain claimed. “When we collected her from the battlefield, she was severely wounded. She died on the way to the camp.”

“I want to see her body, on ol menawí. Please. I must see her!” Síora implored, desperation in her voice.

Arline nodded. “Can we see her, Captain?”

“If you're the one who's asking, Your Excellency, it should be possible.” He said, wetting his lips. “You're in luck. We were thinking about getting rid of it, but we received the order to keep her body. It’s still at the infirmary. Ask the doctor; he'll show it to you.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Arline acknowledged, and they turned to leave the captain's quarters, heading towards the infirmary.

Outside, De Sardet offered her condolences, “Síora, I am terribly sorry.”

“Let’s go see her now… I need to.” Síora insisted, her determination masking her grief.

Kurt added softly, “I’m sorry, pretty flower, I really am.”

Arline, though sympathetic to Síora's loss, couldn't help but feel an irrational sting of jealousy at Kurt's endearment. Thirteen years of companionship had earned her the nickname "Green Blood," yet Síora, known but a few days, was "pretty flower"? She cast a quick glance at him, before she got a hold of herself.

Vasco and Lefroy expressed their condolences as well.

Together, they moved in solemn unity toward the infirmary, each lost in their thoughts, bracing for the heartache that lay ahead. As the party entered, a hush fell over the space. The outpost doctor, a man marked by the fatigue of his duties, looked up from his work.

“Who are you? Are you looking for a doctor?” He inquired, his tone professional, though surprised.

“I am the legate of the Congregation, and this is Síora, the daughter of the queen whose remains you are keeping.”

Síora stepped forward, her voice trembling with urgency and grief. “I would like to see her, I need to see her… please!”

“My condolences, madam. The body of your mother is back there, in the room on the left.” The doctor said, his expression softening in sympathy.

Inside the dimly lit room of the infirmary, Síora’s mother's body laid out with a somber dignity. The healers had washed away the blood, yet numerous cuts marred her skin, and her colorful attire was torn and tattered, the fabric bearing the brutal tale of her final stand.

Despite the violence that had claimed her, the queen's face bore an expression of serenity, as if in her final moments, she had found a measure of peace. Her closed eyes and the slight upturn of her lips gave the illusion she could be merely sleeping, awaiting the moment to awaken from a long and troubling dream.

Síora's response was a heart-wrenching cry, “Mátir! Ná!”

"I should give you some privacy while you are mourning. We won’t be far." Arline offered gently, giving the othe’r signal to back out.

Síora's voice carried, laden with sorrow. “Andevaurshd tír to, Mátir! Men se dad en on míl frichtimen!”

 They spent a few minutes in silence, their faces heavy with sympathy, before Síora was ready to emerge.

“I must take her with me, on ol menawí! We must perform the rituals.”

“I am sorry madam, the Captain instructed me to keep the body, my hands are tied.” The doctor said with a pained expression.

“I do not care about the captain’s orders! She is my mother; she must be given back to the earth.” Síora cried.

“So, let us go back to see the captain and try to make him change his mind.” Arline interjected, ready to support Síora in her time of need.

The outpost doctor measured her. “You can try, but with all due respect, I doubt you will succeed. He will not want to draw attention to himself by disobeying this order.”

Arline frowned, intrigued. “What do you mean?” She asked.

The doctor hesitated. “I believe he is a traitor and that he made a deal with Thélème.”

“Those are some serious accusations, even for a member of the Guard. Why would you believe such a thing?” Arline pressed.

“I overheard a conversation that got me thinking, and I also saw certain documents.” The doctor admitted, his voice low.

“Did you take them?” Arline queried, seeing a potential leverage.

“No, that would be too risky. I do not want to get into trouble. But I suppose they would still be among his other belongings.” The doctor speculated.

Síora, catching on to the plan looked to him, almost pleading. “Will they let us rummage through this place without protesting?”

“Most of the Guards returned to Hikmet when the battle was over. If you are discreet, you should be able to enter the officers’ building.” The doctor murmured.

“Thank you for your help, Doctor.” Arline said, then turned to her companions. “I will go alone.” She declared, putting on her ring, her eyes hinting at the plan forming in her mind. “I can shadowstep.” Lefroy's expression twisted in scepticism, but he remained silent.

“You'll need a lookout.” Kurt countered, the insistence clear in his tone.

Arline offered a wry smile. “I doubt the clanging of your armor can be hidden with shadowstep, Kurt. Captain Vasco?” She proposed, turning to Vasco with an inquiring look.

“No problem.” Vasco replied, ready to assist.

With a moment's pause, Arline closed her eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths. She focused inward, feeling the dual threads connecting her with Power, the one conducted by her mark pulsating with a strong, insistent energy. This connection, once elusive, now seemed ever-present, eagerly awaiting her call. Tapping into this reservoir, she drew upon the Chaos around her, moulding it into Shadow and Air, weaving them into a cloak of shadow which enveloped her and Vasco, rendering them unseen and unheard by those around them.

As Arline held the elements, a faint scent of dust clung to her, coating her tongue with a bitter taste. They made their way to the officers’ building with swift, silent steps. The door, surprisingly unlocked, swung open with barely a whisper. Vasco positioned himself nearby, his presence a silent anchor as Arline's focus on maintaining their cloaked state stretched thin with disance.

Inside the captain's quarters, isolated from the smaller rooms, Arline's heart pounded with adrenaline. Her eyes scanned the scattered papers on the desk—correspondence from Commander Torsten, Major Alan, Major Elva, and a letter from Father Octavius. A smile tugged at her lips as she pieced the puzzle together.

The evidence was damning; the captain had been involved in illegal arms trafficking with San Matheus. Such revelations would certainly result in a firing squad if they reached Hikmet. Yet, none of the documents bore his signature, a clever move to obscure his involvement. Arline still sensed an opportunity. Pocketing Father Octavius's letter, she retraced her steps to rejoin Vasco. Together, they returned to the infirmary without drawing any attention. The mission was a success, but the true challenge lay ahead—to leverage this newfound knowledge to their advantage. The party regrouped, and they made their way back to the Captain’s office.

Once inside Arline initiated the conversation with a polite request. “We would like to retrieve the remains of the queen… bring her back to her people and her family.”

The Captain remained unmoved. “That will not be possible, Your Excellency.” He said. “As I told you, the governor specifically asked us to keep her. He wants her delivered to one of his scholars who wanted to study her.”

Arline met his gaze squarely. “Well, Captain, you have some peculiar friends for a man who obeys the Alliance.” She retorted sharply.

The captain blinked, taken aback. “What?” He stammered, confusion written across his face.

Arline leaned forward, her expression one of calculated disclosure. “We stumbled upon some strange documents. They suggest dealings in weapons with known enemies of the Alliance.” She revealed casually, the letter now visible in her hand. “Such activities could lead to dire consequences for the correspondent in Hikmet. Do you happen to know who he might be?”

The Captain wet his lips. “You have no proof of anyone's involvement.” He attempted to deflect, his voice betraying his nervousness.

"I believe we have something far more compelling," Arline stated coolly. "The fact that your men attacked a Congregation legate. My status alone grants me enough influence to prompt an investigation without this letter ever seeing the light of day. Luckily for you, all I want in exchange for my silence is for you to respectfully deliver the body of the queen to her village.”

He narrowed his eyes, weighing his options. "Disobeying such orders would also invite scrutiny upon me, legate.” He pointed out, a hint of defiance in his tone.

Arline offered a disarming smile. “Come now. You simply decided to take a proactive role in the peace talks, and thanks to you the Alliance has one less front to worry about. I will confirm that with your governor myself.” She offered a mutual benefit, and she knew she was close. “The Congregation is neutral, Captain. Trading amongst yourselves does not concern us.” She added for good measure.

The Captain hesitated a moment, his jaw tense, his eyes calculating. He sighed. "Very well, I'll see to it that it's done," he agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Arline's smile widened in genuine appreciation. “Thank you, Captain.” With a nod, they left the office.

Vasco whistled, impressed. “Remind me to stay on your good side, De Sardet.” Kurt nodded in agreement, a half-smile on his lips. Lefroy narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, threats are the hallmark of fine diplomacy," Lefroy remarked dryly, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Impressive work, Lady De Sardet."

Arline fought the urge to roll her eyes – a battle Kurt lost, and she had to fight another one not to snort.

“Thank you, on ol menawí.” Síora interjected, her eyes brimming with tears. “You are carants.” She declared. “A friend.”

Arline squeezed her hand. “Let us take your mother home, Síora.”

“Yes. I am eager to reunite with my sister.”

After a brief preparation, the queen's body was respectfully released to them, and their silent procession began their solemn journey back to the village of Vedrhais.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Thus, in the vigilant observance of these regimens, one may hope to elude the nefarious influence of this pernicious scourge that besets our mortal coil.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

The camp was waking, the soft murmur of morning activities blending with the distant calls of the island’s wildlife. Arline sat by the small table in her tent, the early morning light filtering through the fabric and casting a soft glow on the parchment before her. She had just finished tying a small scroll to the leg of a pigeon, one of the many messages she had sent to Constantin since their arrival. She had alredy detailed the mediation with the natives and the mysterious ruins they encountered, a discovery that might shed light on the Malichor and their own history. She watched as the bird took flight, its wings beating against the dawn light, carrying her hopes for support and understanding from her cousin.

Two days ago, they had brought Queen Bládnid’s body back to her village. Eseld’s, now the new Queen, initial reaction to her mother's death was a fiery call to arms against the outpost. Arline had spent hours in negotiation, using every diplomatic skill at her disposal to argue for peace. The idea of attacking the outpost was not just futile; it would have spelled disaster for Eseld’s people, already mourning the loss of their queen. Convincing Eseld that negotiation would yield better outcomes for everyone involved was a difficult task and the eventual agreement felt like a victory, albeit a somber one.

Nothing remained but to convince the Governor of the Bridge Alliance of the same. Eseld's decision to send Síora with them as a representative to ensure favourable terms of the cease fire was a testament to the distrust that still lingered in her mind. Síora, for her part, was reluctant to leave, torn between her duty to her mother and her clan and the broader responsibility toward her people’s future. It was her responsibility as the doneigad to prepare the burial and watch over the dead during mourning when the body was left at home to rest for seven days for those wishing to pay their respects. After embalming the body, she agreed to interrupt their customs for the urgent need for peace.

The Congregation had once practiced burial, a tradition from the times when the Old Gods were worshipped openly. The shift to ritual burning started with the growing popularity of the Church of Light, which taught that fire cleanses sins, and carries the soul to the Enlightened. Now, with the advent of the Malichor, it became a necessity.

Arline, sitting before the small looking glass propped against the tent’s fabric, combed her hair with precise, methodical strokes. The lack of privacy in the camp, a minor inconvenience at first, had grown into a stifling cloak of discomfort for Arline. Her longing for a proper bath, for a moment of solitude, was a craving for normalcy amidst the chaos. Only Cristy, her maid, knew of her frustrations, a confidante in an ocean of obligations and expectations.

As Arline mulled over their plans, her fingers caught on something unexpected in her hair—a twig. Frowning, she tugged it free with a snap, only to freeze in shock. The twig wasn’t tangled in her hair; it was growing from her scalp, emerging like a horn from her skin. Panic surged, and she let out a cry that brought her companions rushing to her tent.

“Green Blood? Are you hurt?” Kurt’s voice rang from the outside, a note of disquiet in it.

Arline could barely form words, her hands trembling as she held the offending twig. “This… What?”

“Green Blood? May I come in?”

“No! Síora… I need Síora.” She mumbled, remembering the twigs entwined in the native woman’s hair. She stared at the snapped twig with horror, feeling the remnants of it on her head with the other hand.

Síora pushed through into the tent, and Arline’s bewildered gaze snapped to her. “Your hair… Can I…?” She gestured, a plea for understanding.

Síora nodded, and Arline reached out, her fingers tracing the base of one twig to find it securely rooted in Síora’s scalp. “What Frostfyre joke is this?” Arline breathed, a mix of disbelief and horror threading her voice.

Síora’s expression was one of mild confusion, then realization. “It is normal for on ol menawí. The more one uses the Bond, the more these will grow. It is a sign of unity with the land.”

Arline’s panic found voice again. “No, no, no, no! This is not the price of magic! The price of magic is drawing Chaos!” She explained, her voice rising in distress.

Síora looked genuinely surprised. “Chaos? Our magic does not draw chaos. The spirit of the land protects the ol menawí from such dangers.”

The revelation left Arline breathless for a moment. “Am I supposed to choose between putting myself in danger every time I cast, or growing horns?!”

Síora offered, perhaps in an attempt to comfort, “Big antlers are considered attractive among my people.”

But Arline wasn’t consoled. Overwhelmed and seeking escape, she dashed out of the tent, almost colliding with Kurt. Terrified to look at him, she pushed through, mounted her already saddled horse, and spurred it into a gallop, leaving a trail of dust and startled looks behind her. Her flight was not toward anything but away—from the awful choice, from the new reality of magic’s price, and from the burgeoning horns that threatened her sense of self.

A cold dread settled in her stomach, unfurling like a dark blossom. This was no mere aberration; it was a manifestation of her deepest fears. The magic that had once been her ally now mocked her, marking her as other, as something less than human. How could she face those she led, those she cared for, with such a grotesque emblem of difference? The very thought sent a shiver of isolation through her.

As Arline rode, her loose hair billowed wildly behind her, a vivid banner of her turmoil against the serene backdrop of the island. The rhythm of hoofbeats and the rush of wind through the leaves began to soothe her frayed nerves, the natural world indifferent to her inner chaos. She could hear the distant call of a hawk, the rustle of the underbrush as small creatures fled her approach…

Then, the sound of another horse, the steady cadence of its gait breaking through her reverie. Kurt's voice, tinged with concern and a hint of amusement, called out to her, a lifeline she wasn't sure she wanted to grasp. The idea of confronting him, of anyone seeing the absurdity sprouting from her scalp, tightened the knot of anxiety in her stomach. She thought of her mark, the disfiguring scar that had once been a source of shame, a constant reminder of her otherness. How she'd learned to find confidence in spite of it, to embrace her uniqueness rather than allow it to define her limitations.

She blinked. The initial flush of embarrassment faded, replaced by a reluctant acknowledgment of her overreaction. Slowly, she pulled the reins, her mount's pace slowing to a trot, then a walk, allowing Kurt to close the distance between them.

He aligned his horse parallel to hers. “Are you alright?” He asked, his voice a blend of concern and restraint.

Arline sighed, a rueful smile touching her lips. “Yes. That was a little excessive, huh?”

Kurt's attempt to stifle his laughter was a failure. “A little.” He conceded, his eyes twinkling with mirth in the soft morning light.

“You... heard the exchange?” She ventured, her voice carrying a hint of resigned amusement.

Kurt donned a facade of innocence, his voice laced with mock seriousness. “Not a word.”

“Liar.” She accused, her spirits lifted ever so slightly by the banter.

Kurt’s laughter filled the space between them, warm and infectious against the backdrop of a cool morning breeze. “As your guard, my lips are sealed; as your friend, I’m here if you need to talk.”

Arline closed her eyes, a momentary refuge from the world's gaze. “Why must this Bond, whatever it is, insist on challenging my vanity of all things?” She mused aloud; her voice tinged with frustration.

Kurt was silent for a moment. When she looked at him, he was caught mid-gaze, his eyes conveying a tumult of thought before he masked it with a reassuring smile. “May I speak freely, Excellency?” He waited for her nod before he continued, “You’d remain just as captivating with twigs in your hair.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson, a mix of embarrassment and surprise at his words. Her heart quickened its rhythm, as her untoward feelings took precedence. She took an unsteady breath, trying to present a playful smile. “Imagine, finding solace in a man’s compliment on such a peculiar predicament. My vanity and I are both grateful.” She quipped, her voice a little higher than usual.

Kurt's laughter was a balm, easing the tightness in her chest. “It’s my pleasure. But perhaps we should correct our course? Hikmet awaits in the opposite direction.” He pointed out, a lighthearted chide in his voice.

Turning their mounts, they set off back toward the path they'd veered from. Arline, still blushing, focused on the road ahead, braiding her hair in an attempt to disguise the new growth. Kurt rode beside her, a silent guardian, giving her the space to gather her composure.

As they came back, the bustling campsite of the morning had transformed into a scene of orderly readiness, with their caravan poised at the edge of the verdant fields of Glendgnámvár—The Shore of Tall Bones. This coastal expanse, framed by imposing granite cliffs, was a place where the majestic whales ventured close to shore, their bones giving the name to the place. The landscape gradually shifted as they moved into Magasvár, the Vale of the Great Battle, a region etched with the scars of another ancient conflict with the people from the sea, as Síora shared. The land here was a tapestry of rocky outcrops to the north and east, and sprawling marshes to the west, each beautiful in their own way.

Riding alongside the carriage, Arline seized the opportunity to delve deeper into the enigmatic transformation she was experiencing, her curiosity directed at Síora.

“You are not yet my voglendaig, on ol menawí, but very, well, I will share what is known even to our children. The mark you carry is the land claiming you, binding you to itself. This Bond, it lends you strength, offers you Power, but remember, Power is borrowed, always to be returned. In nurturing you, the land entwines your fate with its own, for one day, you too will nurture it back. Do you understand?

The words ‘land claiming you’ echoed mockingly in Arline's mind. The thought twisted in her heart like a knife. “When I am ‘returned to the earth’?” She asked, her voice weak.

“Yes.” Síora said with an approving smile. “But that day lies far in the future. Until then, your bond with the land will grow, and so too will your créaga, the antlers.”

Arline shuddered at the thought, grappling with a rising tide of despair. Was this the future of her magic? A future where every spell cast her further away from the person she once knew herself to be?

She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts. The root of Arline’s Bond with this foreign land still puzzled her, another constant source of uneasiness. “But why? Why do I share this connection?”

Síora frowned, her eyes searching Arline’s face. “If you were born with the Bond, one of your ancestors must have been Bonded, on ol menawí.”

“My ancestors?” Arline blinked, quietly reciting her genealogy tree in her head. “Could it be that my lineage traces back to those sea invaders?”

“They did not wield our magic. But perhaps, they took some of our people when they left.” Síora said, her features darkening, her voice grave.

That vision was unsettling, too. “I am sorry.” She offered, the weight of unchosen legacies pressing upon her.

“You did not choose this, carants. I do not blame you.” Síora reassured, a pause lending space for their shared reflections.

“How are you feeling?” Arline asked after a moment. She’s been selfishly questioning the woman while Síora was mourning.

Síora sighed. “Unwell. I am angry and I feel an immense void within me. I blame myself for not having been on this battlefield with my mother.”

“I understand.” Arline murmured, feeling her heart break anew with a heavy weight in her stomach. “My mother had the Malichor, and yet I had to leave her behind as she was at death's door. I cannot help thinking that I should have stayed by her side, just like you.”

Their eyes met, and in Síora’s gaze, Arline saw a softening, an understanding bridging their experiences. “And you could not have done anything to save her either. Thank you, on ol menawí, your words alleviate my sorrow.

Arline gave her a warm smile. “Do you have anyone, a friend perhaps, whom you could talk to in this trying time?”

“I usually confide in my sister, but she's suffering too.”  Síora admitted, her voice tinged with sorrow. “And I think she resents me for not having been there when our mother needed me.” She added, shaking her head.

“I know we have only known each other for a little while, but if you need someone to talk to, I am here.” Arline offered gently.

Síora’s smile, though faint, was genuine. “Thank you, on ol menawí, you are a good person. And I'm glad that you are my friend.”

“Why are you and your sister so different?” Arline asked, hoping to enter a lighter subject.

“If you're talking about physical differences, they're linked to the fact that Eseld is not on ol menawí. When we were little, we were perfectly identical, but our tempers were always different.” She answered.

“What kind of child were you?” Arline encouraged.

Reflecting for a moment, Síora's voice took on a nostalgic tone. “I suppose I was very curious and studious. I loved when our father taught me the names of some plants and how they could be used.”

Intrigued, Arline pressed on. “Could you share more about him?” Her smile was warm, inviting Síora to delve deeper into her memories.

Síora paused, the weight of her recollection evident. “He was the doneigad of our clan, he died many cycles ago. But this memory is still painful.” She confessed, her voice tinged with sorrow.

“I am sorry. What happened to him?” Her inquiry was soft, mindful of the sensitive nature of the topic.

Síora let out a heavy sigh. “He was killed as he tried to escape the Lions who wanted to capture him. My mother never really recovered from it. This is one of the reasons why she decided to go to war.”

“I am truly sorry to hear that.” Arline said. “My own father's story ended before I began; his absence has been a shadow over my mother's heart as well.” She shared, a mutual understanding of loss bridging the gap between them further.

“Our stories echo each other, crossing the vast divide between our lands.” Síora mused. “I wonder if that is because we are connected through Tír Fradí.”

Arline contemplated the vast expanse that lay between their worlds, and the unseen threads that connected them. “I must admit that this bond I never asked for… disturbs me. Back on the continent, my abilities to cast without a ring were attributed to mere talent. But this Bond is so much stronger here, and it feels peculiar being connected with you, with your people, even though I know nothing about your culture.”

“You could learn, carants.” Síora offered a gentle suggestion. “After we secure peace for my people, after my mother is returned to the earth, I can accompany you. I am curious to see what your fate will be.”

Arline smiled, a comfortable warmth spreading over her. “It seems you have not changed much since childhood. I welcome your company on our journey, Síora.”

Her gaze drifted to Lord Lefroy and Kurt, engaged in a polite, if strained, conversation. Arline suppressed a chuckle, contemplating an intervention, like a knight in shining armour, rescuing them from each other.

Before she could act, Vasco's voice halted her. He peered from the carriage, closing his book with a thoughtful expression. “De Sardet.” He closed the book he’d been reading. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

Circling the carriage, Arline positioned herself for a clearer conversation. “What is it, Captain.”

He exhaled deeply. “Back in New Sérène, I inquired about–“ He sighed. “About Bastien d’Arcy. I’d like to know more about my family. I need to know what became of them.” He explained

“What have you discovered?” Arline asked, curious herself and drawn into his quest.

Vasco's brow furrowed. "Madam Clerc, his associate, painted a less-than-flattering picture of my brother. His dealings in Hikmet are delayed, and he might be in trouble.”

“You want to find him?” Arline clarified, sensing his concern.

“Yes. I think I worry.” Vasco admitted, his expression of apologetic amusement.

"Consider it done," Arline assured him. "Who was he meeting with?"

Vasco produced a creased paper, it seems he has been folding and unfolding it many times. "A Ferhat, within the Alchemist District. Here's the address."

“I will have Lord Lefroy schedule a visit.” Arline promised, accepting the note.

“Thank you, De Sardet. I’m in your debt.”

“Not at all.” Arline countered warmly. “Your support has been invaluable, Captain. I did not realize your past weighed so heavily on you. Do you have regrets about your Naut family?”

“How could I not be regretful?” Vasco said. “I never got to experience a mother’s love or a lavish youth.”

"But you must have some joyous memories?" Arline probed with a gentle smile.

“I do! Of course, I do.” He said. “For example, I remember the first time I climbed up the shrouds. The incredible view, the dizziness, the sensation of complete…freedom! It was an unforgettable moment.” His eyes twinkled as he remembered, a wide grin on his face.

Arline’s smile deepened. “I can only imagine how you felt, but it sounds amazing.”

“It was.” He sighed, a distant look in his eyes. “I wouldn't trade that memory for all the gold in the world. Thank you, De Sardet, you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

With a respectful nod, Arline excused herself, leaving Vasco to his musings as she sought out Lefroy to strategize their next steps.

○●○

Arline awoke feeling refreshed, the luxury of a real bath and a night spent in an actual bed working wonders on her spirits. The journey to Hikmet had been long, and they had arrived under the cover of night, weary but relieved. The embassy of the Congregation in Hikmet offered a semblance of home away from home. This morning, however, her thoughts were preoccupied with the tasks ahead.

A pigeon awaiting her upon arrival at the embassy, the message it carried bore the seal of Sérène. Constantin’s condolences for Síora, expressed in his neat script, were a touch of warmth amidst the formality of his instructions. More intriguing, however, was his mention of another ruin, akin to the one they had discovered on their journey to the outpost. He urged her to investigate, a directive that piqued her curiosity and sense of duty in equal measure.

With a final glance in the mirror, Arline adjusted the cravat around her neck, the fabric crisp against her skin. The formal men’s attire she donned was a tactical choice, a balance struck between propriety and authority. Today, she would visit the governor of the Bridge Alliance, a meeting that held the weight of peace or continued conflict in its balance. Her mind raced through the potential outcomes of the encounter, strategies, and arguments lining up like chess pieces on a board.

Arline made her way through the embassy's corridors, nodding her greetings to the staff. Lord Lefroy, looking very dashing in his embroidered doublet, was already waiting in the drawing room with Síora, dressed in her usual colourful leathers. In the corner of the room, Kurt, once again in his dress uniform, sat in the cushioned chair hidden behind a local newspaper. He broke away from it as he heard her enter, smiling. She mirrored his smile, not allowing her eyes to linger on him too long, lest she forget her purpose here.

Together they stepped into the bright morning light outside the embassy, where a carriage with sergeants Jon and Frank standing sentinel. The air in Hikmet was different from New Sérène, charged with the spices and sounds of a city that bridged cultures. Lord Lefroy helped her and Síora inside, and she settled into the plush interior before he and Kurt stepped in, sitting opposite them.

The city passed by her window, a tapestry of life and color that belied the tensions lurking beneath its surface. Arline reviewed her notes one last time, the words of diplomacy and negotiation memorized but flexible, ready to adapt to the flow of conversation.

“Lady De Sardet,” Lefroy began, his tone tinged with his usual dissatisfaction. “I trust that our approach to Governor Burhan will be measured and fitting of our station. Your unconventional methods may sway a Coin Guard captain in a remote outpost, but the Governor's expectations will be far more exacting.”

A fleeting tension gripped Arline's hand, the paper crinkling under her grasp. “Lord Lefroy, I value the perspective of my advisors when it is sought.” She responded, her voice measured, maintaining a diplomatic calm. Kurt’s barely perceptible smirk offered a moment of silent camaraderie.

Lefroy’s features tightened subtly. “My counsel is offered with the best of intentions, Excellency. The issues at hand are of significant gravity to you, after all.”

“The Congregation's commitment to peace is paramount, and this issue transcends personal significance.” Arline countered with gentle firmness. “Thank you for facilitating this crucial meeting.” Her smile was deliberate, and his jaw set in response.

As the carriage drew closer to the governor's palace, Arline took a deep breath. The day ahead would require all her skill, patience, and perhaps a touch of the unexpected. She exhaled with relief as the carriage door swung open, revealing the bustling life outside the governor's opulent residence. Kurt stepped out first, his posture impeccable in his dress uniform, and extended his hand towards her. Gratefully accepting, she alighted from the carriage with a gracious smile, the subtle pressure of his hand through their gloves a comforting assurance. A fleeting fancy brushed her mind, wondering at the hidden warmth of his touch beyond the barrier of their attire, but she swiftly tucked the thought away, refocusing on the task at hand.

The governor's palace sprawled elegantly ahead, its white stone walls gleaming under the sun, reflecting the brilliant light in a dazzling display. Intricate geometric patterns adorned the façade, interlacing with elegant Safaradi calligraphy. The palace's grand entrance was framed by towering arches, each carved with meticulous detail, leading into a spacious courtyard where fountains danced and the air was perfumed with the scent of blooming jasmine and orange blossoms.

Tall, slender minarets reached towards the sky, their silhouettes etching a graceful outline against the horizon. Lush gardens, meticulously maintained, surrounded the palace, offering a serene oasis amidst the bustling city. Inside, the interiors were a harmony of opulence and artistry, with high, domed ceilings, and walls adorned with vibrant mosaics and intricate tile work. The play of light and shadow through delicately carved latticework windows created a tranquil atmosphere, inviting contemplation and diplomacy.

Their presence was formally recognized by a herald, his voice clear and resonant, echoing through the halls as they proceeded to the audience chamber. Governor Burhan stood from his ornate chair, his gesture of respect a notable deviation from protocol. He was arrayed in a robe of soft yellow, cinched at the waist by a sash of emerald green, intricately woven with threads of lustrous blue. A matching cloak draped over his shoulders, fastened by a clasp of polished gold. Beneath, his trousers billowed, the rich taupe fabric tapering to his ankles where they met the ornate embroidery of his azure slippers. His turban, a deeper shade of yellow adorned his head. He had a seasoned and wise demeanour, emphasized by the deep lines etched into his face which suggested a wealth of experience and perhaps the burden of leadership.

Arline bowed deeply. “Your Excellence, it is an honour to meet you. Allow me to present my sincerest regards in the name of the Congregation of Merchants.”

“And allow me to wish you, and your cousin, a warm welcome to the island. In the hopes that this visit will help prolong the profitable relations between our two nations.” Burham responded, sitting himself down. He settled back into his seat, his gaze falling with a hint of disapproval on Síora. “Your choice of company is unexpected, Lady De Sardet.”

Arline met his gaze with understanding. "Your Excellency, as you are no doubt aware, the Gaís Rad clan in Vedrad had asked the Congregation for mediation in their conflict with The Bridge Alliance. It is my hope, as well as the Congregation's, to see a return to peaceful coexistence. I believe we share a common desire for stability and prosperity on this island.” She began, a picture of practiced confidence. “Alas, we were too late to prevent the conflict. However, in the spirit of cooperation your Captain Zayd agreed to display your good will and release the body of the Queen to her people for burial. In response, Queen Eseld of the Gaís Rad has already taken steps toward peace by halting their hostilities. Síora here represents her clan. We wish to discuss the possibility of a ceasefire and to address the underlying issues that have fuelled this conflict."

The Governor studied them for a moment, a deep frown on his forehead. “And what might those underlying issues be, according to the Congregation?”

“The Gaís Rad have expressed concerns about the safety of their people, especially the marked ones.” Arline said, casually exposing her marked profile to his eyes. He stirred in his seat. “I believe there is a path forward that respects the interests of both the Alliance and the native clans. Cooperation could open doors for peaceful scholarly exchange and shared knowledge.” She continued.

Burham narrowed his eyes. “The Gaís Rad have been... vehement in their resistance. Why should we believe peace and cooperation is possible now?”

“Both sides of this conflict express that their actions are merely a violent response to violence, and neither wanted it. The Gaís Rad have proven their reluctance to enter an armed conflict by choosing to request mediation instead of entering another arrangement.”

Arline glanced towards Síora, giving her the cue. Síora stepped forward. “My mother sought out allies before the conflict intensified. She considered an alliance with the Red Suns, but her first choice was to seek peace through the Congregation.”

The effect was immediate. Governor Burham straightened in his chair, The Governor's eyes widened, a flicker of concern passing over his features. “An alliance with Thélème? That would be most... concerning.”

Arline quickly interjected, offering reassurance. "It was a consideration born of desperation, Your Excellency. No formal alliance has been forged. The Gaís Rad have shown restraint, and it is perhaps a sign that peace is the more desired path for all involved.” She took a brief pause to let her words sink in. “Your Excellency, Hikmet's strength is evident, yet the fortification of your outposts on this island suggests that security is as much a concern for the Alliance as it is for the natives. You could benefit from a respite on at least one front.”

The Governor's frown deepened, then relaxed. “You make a compelling argument, Lady De Sardet. I will consider your proposal.”

Arline offered a small, diplomatic smile. “Thank you, Governor. Perhaps representatives from both sides could meet in Vedrad under a banner of truce, facilitated by the Congregation?”

Governor Burhan nodded thoughtfully. “That can be arranged. Lady De Sardet, your diplomacy is as direct as it is effective. I trust you will extend the same candour in all our dealings.”

“As ever, Your Excellency. Open dialogue is the cornerstone of understanding and peace.”

“Is there something else you wished to discuss?” He asked, looking into his agenda.

“Yes, Your Excellency. Another question brings me: the Malichor. The Prince d’Orsay hopes that these new shores will bring us new possibilities, even a remedy.” She said.

“It is an area that concerns us greatly, but be assured, we are studying it acutely. Our doctors and alchemists are particularly interested in the flora of the isle. It’s extremely varied and different from our own. In fact, we have sent a group of explorers into a very promising sector. Alas, we’ve had no news from them for quite some time now. We are hoping that nothing has happened. We would have sent a patrol to investigate, but we cruelly lack the means to do so. The natives have proven aggressive, even hostile to our studies, and have attacked us regularly.’

“You ask the question why?” Síora interjected coolly. “You steal our lands, gouging the earth in sacred places, and now our people are disappearing. It’s enough to drive one to unsheathe a blade, do you not agree?”

Arline felt a rush of heat to her face, as the Governor gave Síora a sharp, indignant look.

“Síora, please, I understand how you feel, but this is not the right time.” Arline pleaded.

“I am sorry, you are right.” Síora blushed, taking a step back. “My apologies, Your Excellence, continue please.”

“Hmm…” Burham measured them carefully. “Yes, as I was saying. We are obligated to maintain all of our able-bodied men here, in order to protect the city. But we would be happy to share with you the results of our research, if your cousin would send us a party to help us find our lost expedition. I could show you to which region they were sent.”

“I thank you for the information and will let him know without delay, and you will have our response promptly.” Arline assured him, her diplomatic mask firmly back in place.

The Governor nodded, marking the end of the discussion. “I await your cousin's word, Lady De Sardet. Let us hope for a fruitful collaboration.”

Arline bowed slightly, hoping the balance of the meeting shifted back into neutral territory. She took a deep breath as they stepped out into the bright sunlight of Hikmet. The air outside the Governor's palace was hot and dry, a stark contrast to the cool diplomacy that had just transpired within.

Síora remained silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on the ground, likely replaying the meeting in her head. Then, looking up at Arline with earnest eyes, she repeated her concern. “I’m sorry on ol menawí. My mother's spirit was on my lips. I did not mean to squander our negotiations.”

Arline sighed, but placed a reassuring hand on Síora's shoulder. “Your passion speaks to the urgency of our mission. It's a delicate balance, but I trust the Governor saw the sincerity behind your words. Now, Lord Lefroy, you will be our representative in Vedrad. Please, arrange the matter with Burham’s people.”

Lord Lefroy, who had been quietly observing, stepped forward, his posture stiff with the formality his title commanded. “I shall prepare to leave for Vedrad promptly. With any luck, our presence will ensure the peace talks proceed without further incident.”

Arline offered him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Lord Lefroy. Your expertise will be invaluable there.” She offered with a dose of sincerity, her relief to be rid of him for a while notwithstanding. “Now, let us take care of smaller problems.” She mused aloud. “We have a family reunion to attend to.”

○●○

In the tranquil evening ambiance of the Hikmet embassy's drawing room, Arline, adorned in her comfortable loungewear, was engrossed in jotting down notes in her travel journal, illuminated by the soft glow of two candles. Behind her, Síora, in her own casual attire, was meticulously briefing Lord Lefroy on the intricate nuances of negotiation with the native clans for the upcoming discussions in Vedrad. Despite her urgent longing to return to her village, Síora had conceded to accompany Arline to Magasvár, serving as a bridge between the Congregation and the local tribes.

Constantin approved Governor Burham’s request to send a search party for the missing scholars and prescribed the mission to Arline, a decision that puzzled her, considering her diplomatic expertise was being sidelined for what appeared to be an adventurous detour. Still, she could not stay annoyed with him long. Dear, thrill-seeking Constantin finished his letter with “Oh, how I envy you, dear cousin! The adventure calls for you. If you only knew how bored I grow behind these walls!”

Kurt, ensconced in the familiar comfort of his chair, appeared lost in the day's newspaper, a rerun of his morning routine. His earlier endeavour to uncover leads about the elusive Ghost Camp had proven fruitless, leaving him to ponder in silence. Arline was glad he was staying with them in the embassy instead of being alone with his dark thoughts.

Vasco, positioned across from Kurt, was absorbed in a book, the soft rustle of pages turning filling the quiet room. They had found his brother. Bastien, the prodigal son of the d’Arcy family, Enticed by the seductive gamble of aristocracy's high-stakes games, Bastien had recklessly dissipated not only the substantial payment due to Ferhat but also absconded with the alchemist’s goods, offering nothing in return. His reckless abandon had ensnared him in a dire predicament, cornered by mercenaries intent on recouping Ferhat’s losses. Arline with Vasco and Kurt found Bastien within the dim confines of a warehouse where, a victim of his own hubris, he was tied and blindfolded, and a hair's breadth away from violence.

Arline’s implicit threat of official censure coerced the thugs into a begrudging release of their captive. Bastien, liberated yet unrepentant, epitomized the entitled demeanor of a man oblivious to the consequences of his actions, his cavalier attitude towards the turmoil he wrought prompting Vasco to not reveal their familial relation. The realization dawned upon him that the life of privilege he had once coveted paled in comparison to the integrity and fulfillment found in his identity as a Naut.

“I was stupid,” He had said. “I resented everyone, and you even more, for the life I didn’t get to live. No more regrets. I certainly don’t regret not being called Léandre d’Arcy.”

The evening's light waned outside the tall embassy windows. Arline paused her writing, closing the ink bottle and laying down he quil, feeling playful. “Captain Vasco?” She called.

“Just Vasco, please.” He responded with a charming smile, putting his book aside on the table.

“Vasco.” She corrected herself with a smile. “Did you really resent me?” She asked, amused.

Vasco's laughter filled the room. “Oh yes. You represented everything I thought I wanted.” He said with a playful grin. “But maybe I was mistaking envy for something else.” He added, his smile turning sly.

Arline blinked in surprise, feeling a hot wave creeping up her cheeks.

“Don’t even think about it, sailor.” Kurt’s cool voice sounded from behind the newspaper.

“Abominal!” Added Lefroy, scandalized. “You are addressing the niece of Prime Merchant of the Congregation!”

Caught off guard by Lefroy's unexpected defense, Arline blinked again. “Gentlemen, please. I am sure Captain Vasco meant no offense.”

Kurt's scrutinizing gaze briefly flickered over the top of his newspaper. “I’m sure he didn’t.” He said flatly.

“Apologies, De Sardet,” Vasco said, defensively raising his hands. “The sea doesn't teach subtlety.”

Arline regarded him thoughtfully, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the embossed patterns on the leather-bound journal, her mind wandering back to a time not so long ago. Back then, she would have considered Vasco a perfect suitor—a man of noble blood, which would likely have mollified any objections her uncle might harbor, yet without the social standing that would challenge her independence. She could maintain her own assets and agency in her status while reaping the benefits that came with matrimony. And Vasco, with his agreeable looks and temperament, could very well make for a happy match indeed. Yet, that was before the distance from the continent had bestowed upon her an unforeseen liberty, a taste of autonomy she now found herself reluctant to relinquish. And more crucially, that was before her heart had found itself entangled elsewhere, rendering pragmatic considerations such as these not just obsolete, but unappealing.

“No offense taken.” Arline reassured, her composure smoothly restored. “Though, Vasco, d’Arcy or not, with such flattery, you would blend right in among the courtiers.” She jested, her smirk returning.

Vasco's laughter broke free again, the tension dissolving into the warmth of the room. “You claim not to be offended, yet you wound me with your words!” He protested, his demeanor easing back into relaxation.

Lefroy scoffed and made a show of turning away. Kurt's eyebrow arched higher, his attention ostensibly on his reading material, yet his eyes not moving.

Síora watched the interplay with a puzzled frown, clearly baffled by the undercurrents of their conversation. “I do not understand. What is wrong with what he said?”

A faint blush crept back to Arline’s cheeks as she contemplated how to navigate the delicate subject, but before she could speak, Lord Lefroy chimed in with a note of stern propriety.  “Such blatant displays of affection are highly inappropriate in our culture.” He stated, casting a reprimanding glance at Vasco, loaded with disapproval. “And so are such audacious ambitions.” He punctuated.

“Come now, Lord Lefroy.” Arline countered, her exasperation thinly veiled. “A single jest hardly constitutes a declaration of affection or intent.” She deliberately avoided glancing in Vasco’s and Kurt's direction.

Síora, still confused, shrugged off the explanation. “Ambition? I still do not understand.”

“It seems our friend Vasco here is also muddled about the concept, pretty flower.” Kurt’s sarcastic voice rose as he folded his newspaper. “You see, Her Excellency belongs to a higher echelon of society, and is therefore unavailable as an object of any misguided attention he might wish to pay. Our customs don't look kindly upon intermingling of stations.” Arline felt his eyes upon her as he explained.

“And your wishes, carants? Do they count for nothing?” Síora asked, her incredulity evident in her voice.

“Curious, is it not?” Arline responded, her voice steady as she locked eyes with Kurt, her jaw set firmly in defiance. His frown deepened in response, the dimming room casting parts of his face in shadow and light.

“Yes.” Síora interjected, her voice carrying a note of innocence oblivious to the tension. “Among my people, matters of the heart are not bound by rank. It's the connection between two spirits that matters.”

Arline’s gaze softened at her words, her eyes tracing the familiar crease between Kurt’s brows, the set of his jaw, the scars around his eye, one trailing down to his lips. She let out a shallow sigh as she lingered there, a mix of longing and resignation, before she lost herself in the depth of his grey eyes. Kurt held her gaze, a storm of emotions flickering through him, for a long, haunting moment before he reluctantly looked away.

Arline closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep, steadying breath, then fluttered them open, regaining poise. She glanced at Vasco, who was watching her with an arched eyebrow, a silent question in his gaze. Turning towards Síora, she offered a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

“Perhaps our culture does indeed overcomplicate matters.” She conceded. “Now, if you will excuse me,” she said, her voice softer, almost frayed at the edges, as she rose from the plush, velvet-lined chair. “I suddenly find myself quite weary.”

With deliberate movements, Arline began to collect her writing materials, signaling her intention to retreat. Casting a final glance in Kurt's direction, she noted his return to the shelter of his newspaper, the subtle tap of his foot against the floor betraying an inner restlessness. Vasco was looking at him too, entirely diverted.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

To minister unto those ensnared in the merciless grasp of the Malichor presents a daunting challenge, for the remedies that thwart its relentless onslaught remain elusive. The affliction’s inexorable assault upon the humours of the blood, transmuting the crimson lifeforce into a darkened semblance, doth inflict grievous suffering upon its victims.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

Arline stood at the edge of the rocky plateau, wiping the sweat from her face with a handkerchief, her breath coming in heavy gasps from the strenuous climb. The sun beat down mercilessly, its rays reflecting off the stark, white stones, creating a blinding glare that forced her to squint. The air was dry and carried the scent of heated earth and sparse, sun-scorched grass, a stark contrast to the cool, moist air of the forests they had left behind. Alongside her, Vasco looked no better after the exertion, his own face glistening with perspiration, his chest heaving as he sought to catch his breath.

In sharp contrast, the rest of their party appeared unfazed by the difficult terrain. Síora's eyes scanned the horizon with the ease of someone accustomed to the rugged landscape, her posture relaxed yet alert. Kurt, with his military background, showed no sign of discomfort, his gaze methodical and keen as he surveyed their surroundings. Jon and Frank, disciplined and sturdy, stood ready and vigilant, adapting seamlessly to the harsh environment.

Two days had elapsed since they had bid farewell to Lord Lefroy, embarking on the quest to find the missing Bridge scholars. Their journey had now brought them to the high ground of Magasvár, revealing the bleak remnants of an abandoned camp.

Síora, her brow furrowed in confusion, surveyed the desolate setup. “This is a rather conspicuous place to set up camp.” She remarked, her voice carrying a note of disbelief.

Kurt, analyzing the area, concurred with a nod. “In the open wind? It was definitely set up by scholars.” He said, delving deeper into the camp. “Signs of combat. They were attacked.” He concluded, his voice taking on a grim note.

The campsite, sprawled awkwardly across the uneven terrain, presented a scene of abrupt desertion and chaos. Tattered tents, their fabrics bleached by the sun and frayed at the edges, flapped mournfully in the sporadic gusts of wind that swept across the plateau. The carriages, once presumably sturdy and reliable, now sat askew, their wheels canted at unnatural angles, the woodwork cracked and splintered from apparent neglect or violence.

Scattered around the site were the forsaken belongings of the scholars: overturned chairs, scattered papers yellowed by the sun and wind-torn, and broken scientific instruments, which lay discarded as if dropped in a sudden flight. The ground was rutted with what appeared to be the marks of a struggle, with deep, erratic indentations and drag marks that carved into the earth, leading away from the camp and into the surrounding wilderness.

The entire scene was underscored by an oppressive silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through the fabric of the tents and the distant calls of predatory birds circling overhead, their sharp cries echoing the desolation of what was once a site of fervent academic pursuit.

Kurt bent down to inspect the remnants of a campfire, now nothing but cold, gray ashes, which were scattered by the wind, the charred wood and unburnt fragments telling a silent story of abrupt departure. “By the look of the tents and the campfire, it dates back several days. It seems they were taken prisoner.”

Arline crouched beside the curious anomaly protruding from the dusty earth, her gaze fixed on the gnarled root that seemed so out of place in this barren landscape. The root was thick and twisted, its surface rough and covered in patches of moss that spoke of an unnatural growth, contrasting starkly with the dry, cracked soil surrounding it. Memories flickered in her mind—visions of Síora on the battlefield, her hands raised, commanding the earth and roots with an authority that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

“The attackers were wielding magic?” She asked, turning to Síora for confirmation.

“Yes,” She said, her eyes narrowing. “It is the art of the doneigada. One of the valley clans was here.”

“Would you know which one?” Arline asked, hoping for some clue that could lead them to the scholars.

“One who fights against the invasion of the peoples from your island.” Síora responded with a shrug, her certainty waning. “I can be sure of nothing more.”

Arline’s brow creased in thought. “Why would they attack scholars? They are not warriors.”

Síora gave her a hard, unyielding look. “They come here as conquerors, this is enough.” Her gaze softened as she sighed. “But they were not killed… warriors would’ve been.” She concluded, suggesting a possibility that the scholars might still be alive.

Arline's attention was drawn to a weathered journal lying partially buried under a tattered piece of canvas. Brushing off the dirt and debris, she picked it up, the leather cover worn but intact, evidence of its owner's care. She flipped it open, revealing pages filled with meticulous sketches of the island's flora and fauna, each drawing accompanied by detailed notes in a neat, precise hand.

The pages were a testament to the naturalist's keen observation and dedication, capturing the essence of the island's rich biodiversity. Arline marveled at the lifelike representations of plants she had never seen before, their leaves and flowers rendered with such precision that they seemed to leap off the page. Among the sketches, there were also drawings of peculiar insects and animals, some of which Arline recognized from her travels, while others were entirely foreign to her.

As she leafed through the journal, she came across detailed sketches of campsites, including the one they had found on the rocky plateau. Another drawing depicted a camp set on the edge of a cliff, offering a breathtaking view over a vast expanse of forest and mountains. Interspersed among the sketches of nature were portraits of the expedition members, each captured with a personal touch that spoke of the naturalist's familiarity and affection for their colleagues. There were faces etched with the lines of laughter and the wear of sun and wind, eyes full of curiosity and determination. Arline felt a pang of empathy for these scholars, their excitement and passion for discovery palpable in every page of the journal.

Arline's gaze shifted from the journal in her hands to the ground nearby, where a stark contrast caught her eye. There, amidst the dirt and scattered debris of the camp, was a dark, dried bloodstain, sharp against the pale ground. She approached slowly, the reality of the situation settling in with every step she took towards the ominous mark.

“A trail of blood.” She informed. “That cannot be good. Perhaps we should follow it?”

Kurt advanced cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning the rugged terrain for any signs of danger. The trail of blood, now a silent guide, led them through a narrow path bordered by jagged rocks. Arline and the rest followed closely behind, her senses heightened, every rustle of the wind drawing their attention.

They rounded a bend and came upon a grim sight. Lying among the stones, illuminated by the harsh light of the midday sun, was a body. Kurt approached slowly and knelt beside the figure, his expression solemn as he examined the lifeless form.

The attire was unmistakable; the distinctive fabric and color of the clothing marked the deceased as a scholar of the Bridge Alliance. The robes, though torn and stained with dried blood, bore the emblem of the academic institution, a sad testament to the scholar's identity and mission.

“From the looks of him, I would say he has been dead for days, as we already thought.”

“This isn’t the woman whose journal I found, there is still a chance that she remains alive.” Arline said, trying to sound hopeful, but her voice faltered.

Síora's response was cold, her voice a blade. “This man traded his life for all the suffering of my people.”

Arline countered, her voice rising in defense, “It was only a scholar, a sage, not a warrior on the battlefield!”

Síora's retort was sharp and unforgiving, echoing the resentment felt by many of her people. “Do you think my people see a difference when Bridge men steal our people from their beds? From who do you think all the clans hide their children?” She snapped.

“I have heard stories from the natives describing Bridger atrocities.” Vasco interjected gently. “If they are true, this violent attack, though tragic, would be justified.”

Kurt shook his head, his lips curled slightly in distaste. “This man was unarmed, and from the position of his body, I would say he was fleeing. It is not honor that motivates them.” He sighed deeply, looking over at Síora with a softened gaze. “Maybe it was vengeance.” He conceded.

They proceeded in the direction the deceased scholar seemed to have been fleeing from, navigating through the terrain that gradually transitioned from rocky ground to a more secluded area. They found another camp, a single tent was strategically nestled between tall, whispering trees and the sheer drop of a cliff edge. The vantage point offered a breathtaking view over a sprawling valley below, a panoramic scene of nature's unbridled beauty and tranquility. This camp, in stark contrast to the previous one, was meticulously organized and undisturbed, suggesting that its inhabitants had left in a more orderly fashion.

Arline recognized the camp from the descriptions in the journal she had earlier uncovered. “This isolated camp was mentioned in the journal I found.” She informed the group.

Kurt, scanning the camp, nodded in appreciation. “Isolated. Discreet. Perfect visibility. Great choice.”

“It’s like being in a crow’s nest.” Vasco said, taking a deep breath with the view. “The view we have over the valley is an ideal observation point.”

Arline, driven by a mix of curiosity and urgency, began to search the main tent. Amidst the maps and scattered notes, her fingers brushed against the leather-bound cover of a journal. She carefully opened it, revealing the neat handwriting and detailed sketches of a person named Aphra.

“I found another journal,” Arline anounced. “Of a woman from the expedition, a certain Aphra. She speaks of their research and relates here that she felt watched. She feared an attack was brewing. I believe she was right, the writing stops in mid-sentence.”

Kurt's respect for the woman's intuition was evident. “A woman with sharp eyes. They might have saved her life.” He mused.

“Let’s hope she’s still alive, as well as her colleagues, or our mission will be a short one.” Vasco said in a dark voice.

“These people of the Bridge have either just hatched from eggs or are complete idiots.” Síora fumed. “My people are at war, they do not spare an enemy under pretext that they are not wearing the clothing of soldiers.”

Arline responded with a stern look, a silent call for respect amid their grim task. Kurt tried to ease the tension. “This naturalist was obviously more rational than her colleagues.” He interjected.

“This woman was right to fear the doneia egsregaw.” Síora pursed her lips. “They must have followed this path coming from the swamp. This is where we should go if we want to find these Lion scholars.”

Led by Kurt's vigilant stride, they began their descent from the rocky high ground into the swamps below. The air grew heavier, saturated with moisture and the rich, earthy scent of decaying plant matter. The ground squelched under their feet, the mud clinging to their boots with every step.

The swamp was a labyrinth of stagnant water, overgrown reeds, and twisted trees, their roots sprawling like the fingers of submerged giants. The chorus of croaking frogs and the occasional splash of unseen creatures added to the eerie atmosphere, a stark contrast to the tranquil beauty they had left behind at the cliff's edge.

In the murky depths of the swamp, the party spread out to cover more ground, their movements cautious as they navigated the treacherous terrain. Arline moved under the heavy boughs of a large tree, her boots slowly feeling with water. Her eyes caught a glint of glass half-buried under a layer of moist leaves – an empty potion bottle, discarded and forgotten. She picked it up, examining it closely, noting its recent use and pondering its significance in this desolate place.

The swamp's eerie silence was broken by the sudden rustle of leaves and the splash of water as a figure leaped from the branches of a large, gnarled tree. Arline, caught off guard, barely had time to register the attacker before a knife sliced through the air towards her. Instinctively, she parried the blade with a swift hit to the woman's wrist, sending ripples through the stagnant water around them.

The assailant, a dark-skinned woman clad in the distinctive attire of a Bridge Alliance scholar, wasted no time in recovering from the deflection. With her other hand, she drew a long-barreled firearm, leveling it directly at Arline's face. The air thickened with tension, the only sounds the labored breaths of the combatants and the distant calls of the swamp's hidden denizens.

Arline raised her hands slowly, a universal sign of surrender, but her eyes did not waver from the woman's stern gaze. Underneath the surface, she reached out to the chaotic energies around her, ready to tap into the Source and cast a spell if necessary.

“I am not here to kill you.” Arline said in Safaradi, her heart hammering again her ribs. The woman was clearly scared out of her wits. She searched the woman’s face for signs of the scholar's intellect and curiosity, wondering if beneath the suspicion and survival instincts, there lay a bridge to understanding and peace.

“Tell me then, what is your intended purpose?” The woman responded in a high, nervous voice.

She had a strong, angular jawline and high cheekbones, contributing to a commanding presence. Her piercing light grey eyes contrasted with her rich, dark complexion. Her braided black hair were partially hidden under a beret worn to the side. Arline recognized the woman from one of the drawings in the first journal.

“We were sent to look for you.”

The woman, her posture rigid with suspicion, pressed the gun closer, forcing Arline to reveal her distinctive mark. “Apologies, but allow me to express my doubts.” She hissed.

Arline’s eyes caught a slight movement — Kurt, attempting to approach her assailant with as much stealth as his armor would allow. But every step in the shallow, calf-deep water threatened to betray his presence with a splash.

“After this little swim, you could always try to pull the trigger.” Arline quipped, masking her tension with a veneer of sarcasm. The woman's lips tightened, and she pushed the cold metal harder against Arline's skin in silent challenge.

“Who sent you to find me?” She demanded, eyes narrowing.

The inevitable splash from Kurt's position drew the woman's attention away; she whirled around, redirecting her firearm towards the new threat, her movements swift and trained. Using the distraction, with a rapid move, Arline applied a precise lever hold targeting the woman's arm with enough pressure to force the release of the weapon. The firearm clattered into the water, its presence now harmless.

Arline maintained the hold, ensuring the woman could no longer pose a threat, while Kurt, nodding with a half-smile on his lips, held his blade at the ready.

 “We were not looking for you in particular, but the entire expedition.” Arline explained. “It was Governor Burhan who asked us to find you. He is worried about you. You have not been reporting.”

With that, she released the woman from the hold. The scholar threw her an offended look, massaging her arm, but visibly relaxed. “You should’ve said that straight away.” She grumbled. “I must admit, I was hoping for a rescue… of a different nature. Do you have a name?”

“Arline De Sardet, legate of the Congregation.”

“Hmm, the new governor’s cousin…who wears an islander’s face.” The woman switched to Lirastrian, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Arline prevented a grimace, her nostrils flaring slightly. “I’ve heard stories about you. And who’s he?”

“Kurt.” He replied tersely, his gaze unyielding and cold. “I protect our Excellency’s back. And if one of your violent fits overcomes you, rescue party or not, I will kill you.” He said in a conversational tone, prompting a stifled chuckle from Arline.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “A pleasure, I’m sure.” She said dryly. “I am Aphra Bahan, a scholar from the Bridge Alliance. It is rather rare to find me rolling in the marshes. I study the fauna and flora of this isle. I should imagine you have many questions.”

“What has happened since the attack? How long have you been in these marshes?” Arline asked, gesturing toward Kurt, who sheathed his sword, maintaining a protective stance.

Aphra paused, collecting her thoughts before answering. “We were taken prisoner and were brought to a village nearby. I was able to escape while the others were taken to a house that they use as a prison. I wanted to join the Bridge Alliance frontier post not far from here, but I wasn’t able. So I doubled back to keep watch of the village from a distance. I have been hoping to find a way to free my companions, without any success so far.” Her voice held a note of frustration as she cautiously picked up her weapons, under Kurt's scrutinizing gaze.

“We saw the site where you were attacked. What exactly happened?” Arline prodded, waving to Vasco who appeared at a distance.

Aphra’s face clouded with the memory. “We were taken by surprise.” Aphra said. “One moment everything was calm, and the next a war party of natives fell upon us. I had an uneasy feeling and kept myself apart, but when I heard my fellow scholars’ shouts, I rushed over. Most of my companions are incapable of defending themselves and we didn’t have guards to protect us. One of them tried to flee, but they brought him down. We decided to give ourselves up to avoid a massacre.”

Arline nodded. “Could you lead us to the village where your colleagues are being held prisoner?”

“Certainly. We are oh so very close, and I fully intend to participate in this rescue. I’m not to sit around and twiddle thumbs.”

As Vasco approached alongside Síora, Jon, and Frank, shadows looming behind them, he addressed Aphra. “The woman from the solitary encampment, I presume?” He eyed her as she attempted to clear her gun of water. “I am Captain Vasco.”

But Aphra's attention was drawn to Síora, her body tensing, hand subtly grazing her knife.

“I would advise against that.” Kurt cautioned firmly.

Aphra blinked in surpise. “Is she accompanying you?” She asked, uncertain.

Síora crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. “Yes. I am Síora, daughter of Bládnid. From the people that your own capture and torture.”

Aphra stood taller, her voice soft with regret. “I’ve never taken anyone. On the contrary, we had hoped to exchange our knowledge with your own.”

Arline watched the standoff, a silent witness to the chasm of pain between them. Despite Aphra’s earlier violent outburst, Arline did not doubt the sincerity of her words. These naturalists were likely simple bystanders to the actions of their government, caught between its anvil and the native’s hammer. But of course, the distinction was difficult for Síora, who lost both of her parents to the Alliance.

“Have you made progress in your search for a cure?” Arline interjected, seeking to shift the conversation.

Aphra’s demeanor softened, a glimmer of passion in her eyes. “Hmm. We were studying some quite remarkable plants when we were attacked. The region is rife with unknown and novel species. Some seem incredibly promising. The local shamans know all these plants and they use them in their remedies. If only we had been about to converse with them, rather than getting ourselves captured.” She sighed.

“I see.” Arline murmured, the taste of disappointment sharp on her tongue. “We should move on. Aphra, you found a way out, can you find a way in?”

Vasco's expression shifted to one of perplexion. “Are we not even trying to parley?”

“I am attempting it, in a manner.” Arline clarified, her eyes intently searching Síora’s for any sign of reluctance. “Síora, may I rely upon your aid in this?”

Síora let out a measured breath. “You have it, carants,” she affirmed resolutely. “But make certain Lefroy remembers this favor.”

“Thank you, Síora. Arline acknowledged, then addressed the collective group, her tone laced with resolve. “I harbor no illusions about our success. Yet, our approach might divert their focus, providing you a window to infiltrate and extract unnoticed.”

Kurt’s declaration was firm and non-negotiable. “I’m accompanying you, no arguments.” His stern face softened with a mischievous grin in response to Arline’s questioning look. “I'd rather not implore you to let me fulfill my duties, Green Blood.”

Arline couldn’t help but respond with a faint smile, shaking her head slightly. “Agreed, then. Though a lesson in courtesy would not go amiss for you, Kurt.”

Arline’s gaze drifted to the silhouettes of the distant trees, where darkness began to blend with the failing light. “Let us go.”

The northern trek through the dense underbrush and overgrown pathways was a silent one, each member of the party lost in their own thoughts and preparations for what lay ahead. The air grew cooler as they advanced, a welcome respite from the oppressive heat of the day but also a reminder of the looming confrontation. The terrain gradually changed, the earth beneath their feet becoming harder, littered with fragments of rock.

As they neared the native camp, the remnants of a once-great civilization began to emerge around them. Crumbling stone structures, overtaken by nature, told silent stories of a forgotten time. The camp itself was nestled within these ruins, making use of the ancient stone walls as fortifications.

Nightfall draped the sky in shades of deep purple merging into the dark of night, leading to a tactical split in their ranks: Vasco, alongside Aphra and the sergeants, executed a wide berth around the perimeter. Meanwhile, Arline, with Síora and Kurt at her flanks, neared the camp's makeshift entrance, her heart rhythm echoing loudly in her chest. Kurt's unwavering presence to her side offered a silent pillar of strength amidst the encroaching dread. Síora, on the other hand, walked with a confident stride, her head held high, though Arline noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders.

A sudden, commanding shout shattered the quiet, reverberating against the ancient stones, laden with the weight of fear and resolve. “Halt! We won't let you take us! We will not kneel down without a fight!”

Síora stepped forward, her voice clear and imbued with a blend of assertiveness and respect, addressing the hidden figures behind the camp's defenses.

“We have not come as enemies,” She announced. “We are only here to find the Lion men. I am Síora daughter of Bládnid. This woman is on ol menawí and a carants of Gaís Rad, who has stood against the Lions alongside our kin.

A heavy silence hung in the air, thick with tension, before the guarded response came, tinged with doubt.  “You are a daughter of Bládnid? What do you want with the Lions? They are ours, doneigad. They will tell us that which we need to understand!”

Síora's reply was calm yet laced with a clear sense of urgency. “They are treasured renaígse, and they are not warriors. Let us take them away, they will bring you nothing but worries.”

From within the shadows, a figure of the doneia egsregaw emerged. “They bring us worries already. One of them escaped and threatened to bring their warriors to destroy us! But they will stay here until they tell us where our people are kept.” He declared, more forceful this time.

Arline took a deep, steadying breath, stepping forward to make her presence known, her voice calm despite her lack of faith.

“My name is De Sardet, I am the legate of the Congregation of Merchants, we are not your enemies. We only want to liberate the Lion sages. They are not warriors, but their chief is ready to send an army of warriors to liberate them. If you let us bring them back, you will save your tribe from a costly battle in lives. Allow me this chance to uncover where your own are detained.”

The leader’s laugh was scornful, dismissive. “I think not. Leave renaígse, it is your only warning.”

Síora turned to Arline, her expression grave, the flickering light from the nearby torches casting shadows across her face. “They mean their words, carants.” She uttered with solemnity, urging retreat.

Acknowledging Síora’s counsel, Arline nodded somberly, retreating with a heart laden with regret. The mission had taken an expected turn, one that could not be resolved with mere words tonight, but each step away from the camp still felt like a defeat. Arline hoped the other group had more luck.

Hidden by the shadows near the cracked wall, east of the camp, Arline, Síora, and Kurt huddled together, their bodies tensed for any sign of movement. The eerie silence of the night was broken only by the distant calls of nocturnal creatures and the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle night breeze. They waited, each minute stretching longer than the last, their nerves frayed by anticipation and the uncertainty of the mission's outcome.

Then, the stillness was shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps. Instantly, hands moved to weapons, and bodies tensed, ready for confrontation. The silhouettes of figures emerged from the darkness—Vasco was leading the way, a look of intense concentration on his face. Behind him, five scholars, visibly shaken but unharmed, were flanked by the sergeants, while Aphra, with a look of grim determination, brought up the rear.

Arline let out a sigh, a mix of relief and lingering tension, as she recognized her companions. Without a word, they quickly regrouped and began to move further east, away from the potential threats lurking near the camp.

Their escape, however, was cut short by the sudden appearance of four doneia egsregaw warriors, emerging from the shadows like vengeful spirits of the night. The tension crackled in the air as the lead warrior spoke, his voice laced with disdain. “You did not heed the warning, renaígse.”

Without warning, they attacked. "No fatalities!" Arline commanded, her focus sharp as she harnessed her magic, casting a spell to immobilize their attackers one by one. Síora, her eyes etched with panic, mirrored her tactics, her own powers weaving through the air to immobilize their assailants. Kurt swung the hilt of his sword, knocking one warrior to the ground with a well-placed blow. Aphra hurled her useless gun at another's face, a mix of annoyance and defiance in her eyes.

Despite the numbers being in their favor, the fight was far from easy. The doneia egsregaw warriors resisted the magic with a strength Arline had never witnessed, their bodies fighting against the restraints with a ferocity born of raw power. Sweat beaded on Arline's forehead as she pushed her abilities to their limits, while Síora chanted in a steady rhythm, her voice cutting through the chaos, commanding her roots to ensnare the attackers.

The grueling minutes stretched on until finally, the warriors' resistance waned, worn down by exhaustion and the relentless magic. Panting and bruised, they stood over their subdued foes, the rush slowly ebbing from their veins.

Síora stepped forward with her arms to the side, shielding the warriors with her own body, her eyes wide with fear and desperation. “Spare their lives, I beg you! They were only fighting to save the lives of those that have disappeared.”

The warriors at their feet, their breaths heavy with exhaustion and defeat looked up, their faces a mix of desperation and distrust.

“Trocared, mercy! You have defeated us. Please spare us our lives.” One of them mirrored Síora’s pleading. Kurt stirred moving slightly forward as if he wanted to join Síora’s side.

“If you spare them, they will only hunt us down until we are all dead.” One of the scholars, crouching behind Aphra a moment ago, now loomed over their defeated attacker, an expression of plain disgust. Arline’s stomach turned at the sight.

“No,” Protested the fallen man earnestly, fear evident in his widened eyes. “You have our word. We have been bested, we will let you move on in peace.”

Aphra stepped forward, her movements sharp as she leaned in to the man’s eye level, inches away from his face. “How can we trust you? You attacked our camp when we were not even armed!” She demanded.

“They are savages!” The other scholar spat. “They had us caged like beasts.”

“We only sought to learn where you have caged our people.” The warrior replied, his tone imbued with a somber dignity that tugged at Arline's conscience. These natives, despite their strength and formidability in battle, were weak compared to the might of the Alliance, with their firearms, potions, sheer number… and entitlement. Bridgers have been fighting a war for so long that they no longer remember a life without it. More, since they formed an Alliance, they have fought an equal war, and no longer remembered what it was like to be alone on the losing side. Though not without its risks, this choice was no choice at all. Arline, her heart racing, sent an authoritative glance toward the scholar, wordlessly commanding her to keep quiet.

“I will not kill men who have surrendered.” Arline stated, a voice that brooks no opposition. She looked back at the warriors. “Leave, and I hope you keep your word.”

Surprise flashed through his face. “Thank you, on ol menawí. I have spoken and I will honor my words. Kwa awelam seg.”

Síora closed her eyes as they moved, breathing heavily. Kurt’s comforting hand rested on her shoulder, a silent vow of support. She acknowledged his gesture with a grateful squeeze, then looked to Arline, her eyes glistening with tears in the moonlight. “Thank you, carants.” She whispered.

Arline, forgetting their earlier disagreement, closed the distance between them and embraced her. “Your faith in me is not misplaced.” She whispered back.

The group, wearied by the night's events retreated to their own camp in the relative safety of the east. They found a secluded spot near a gently flowing stream, the water's soft murmurs a soothing contrast to the evening's earlier discord.

As they settled down, the fire crackling warmly in the cool night air, the group exchanged few words, each lost in their own reflections on the night's events. Arline, sitting close to the fire, gazed into the flames, her thoughts a whirl of what had transpired and what was yet to come. She felt a mix of relief and unresolved tension, aware that the night's choices would echo in the days ahead. Síora, wrapped in a blanket, sat quietly beside her, the earlier tension replaced by an aura of contemplation. Kurt and Vasco took turns keeping watch, their vigilant eyes scanning the darkness, while the scholars, exhausted yet safe, huddled together, their earlier fear slowly abating in the security of the camp.

The night passed with an uneasy peace, the stars overhead witnesses to the fragile truce that had been forged.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Alas, whilst there be no definitive cure for this dread malady, the employment of soothing measures to assuage the torment inflicted upon the afflicted may yet offer some semblance of solace.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

The first light of dawn filtered through the trees, casting a gentle glow on the weary faces of the camp's inhabitants. The night had passed uneventfully, but the tension of the previous day still hung heavily in the air. The scholars, looking marginally better after a night's rest, were discussing their next moves in hushed tones, their voices carrying their words. In the daylight, they have noticed Arline’s mark, and wondered how to ask a legate to be a laboratory animal for their tests.

Arline, her sleep light and filled with restless dreams, was already up, sitting by the dwindling embers of last night's fire. She poked at the ashes, trying not to hear the scholars, until the sound of footsteps drew her attention. Síora approached, her expression a mix of resolve and sadness. Today, she would leave them to complete the final rites for her mother, a duty that had weighed heavily on her since their departure.

“Síora.” Arline began, standing to face her friend. “I know this is not a farewell, but a parting until we meet again. When you have completed your rituals, come to New Sérène. We will be waiting for you.”

Síora nodded, her eyes reflecting the early morning light. “Kwa awelam seg, carants. May you return with the wind.” She responded with the traditional farewell of her people.

Arline stepped forward, embracing Síora tightly. “Be safe, and may your mother's spirit find peace.” She whispered.

Releasing the embrace, Síora picked up her belongings, her posture straightening as she prepared to embark on her solitary journey back to her village. With one last nod to Arline and a brief, acknowledging glance at the rest of the group, she turned and walked away, her figure gradually blending with the morning mist.

Arline surveyed her remaining companions, her gaze lingering on the scholars. Still visibly shaken from the night's events, they needed to return to Hikmet with escorts. They were on foot, so the journey would take several days. Several days of stares and whispers, of calling the native mages ‘savage shamans’ in the same breath with attempts to ingratiate themselves with a legate that bears the same mark. With a sharp sting of distaste, Arline’s eyes turned away, falling on sergeants Jon and Frank who, moving with the efficiency of seasoned soldiers, were helping Cristy and Hubert, the servants, to disassemble the camp. She made a swift decision.

“Jon, Frank.” Arline's voice cut through the morning air, decisive and clear. “Take the scholars back to Hikmet. Ensure their safety. The rest of us will go to the ruins that Constantin wants us to investigate, we are close.

Kurt's objection was immediate, his brow furrowing in concern. “Your safety is our priority, Green Blood. We mustn't split up.”

Arline met his gaze, trying to privately convey her urgency. " We're capable enough for an archaeological venture without additional protection.” She reasoned.

Kurt shook his head. “We should all return to Hikmet first and then come back. It's safer that way.”

Arline felt a twinge of irritation at his insistence. She made a decision, one driven by a desire to escape judgmental glances as much as by the mission at hand, but a decision nonetheless. His words, though perhaps borne of protective instincts, felt more like a challenge to her authority, reminiscent of Lefroy's condescension. This was not what she needed from Kurt, not now. She yearned for his trust, not his supervision.

The frustration of being scrutinized like one of the 'savage shamans' by the scholars, combined with her wounded pride, crystallized into a firm command. “I expect you to follow my lead, Kurt.” She stated, her voice sharp with authority, cutting through the morning's calm. “This is an order.”

The air between them thickened with unspoken grievances and strained loyalty as Kurt's eyes narrowed, a storm brewing behind them. After a tense moment, he complied with a stiff nod. 

“Understood, Excellency.” The formality of his response, so at odds with their usual camaraderie, stung Arline more than she anticipated.

The atmosphere in the camp had shifted palpably, the air charged with tension that even the morning breeze couldn't dispel. Jon and Frank, sensing the mood, went about their tasks with a renewed focus, allocating supplies with the efficiency of soldiers preparing for a march. Their movements were methodical, yet carried a weight of solemnity, as if each item they passed between them bore the heavy silence that had fallen over the group.

Aphra approached Arline with a hesitant step. “De Sardet,” She began, breaking the heavy silence. “I would like to go with you.”

Arline, taken aback, paused, her mind racing. She sought an escape from the scrutinizing eyes of the scholars, not to take one along. “Go with me?” She echoed, skepticism threading through her voice.

Aphra's expression softened with earnestness. “It appears your interactions with the natives permit a greater exchange of knowledge than our own efforts have achieved. Reflecting on your decision last night, I realize your approach might be what we've been missing in our peace endeavors. My colleagues are only interested in the physiology of the islanders, and consider everything else to be superstitions. However, if we want to understand them, we need to take a look at their culture. They will never share it with me, but your relationship with Síora proves that they might share it with you. I promise to pull my weight.”

Arline pondered, measuring Aphra's sincerity. Unlike the others, Aphra hadn't whispered morbid curiosities about dissecting her, about dissection at all.

“Hmm” She mused. “Do you often hold strangers at gunpoint, Miss Bahan?”

Aphra's eyebrow arched, a hint of humor lighting her eyes. “Just Aphra. Only when being tracked. And you? Do you often find yourself pursuing young ladies?”

Arline couldn't help but chuckle, the tension momentarily lifted. “It has been known to happen. Actually, you remind me of someone I once knew.”

She apparently caught Aphra off guard. “Really? That’s… unexpected.” She said, recovering quickly from the surprise. “Sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but you’re not my type.”

“No disappointed hopes here, I assure you!” Arline replied with a laugh, the ease between them growing. “They say not to tread the same river twice, after all.”

Aphra smiled, relaxing. “Glad we have that sorted. So, what do you say?”

“Welcome aboard.” Arline agreed. “Though I warn you, you will need to pull a lot of weight to persuade Kurt.” She added with a half-smile.

Her gaze drifted to where he was assisting Jon and Frank, his expression focused, his usual easy demeanor replaced by a silent intensity. Arline felt a sharp stab of regret for the harshness of her earlier words, for the invisible wedge she had driven between them.

In a desperate attempt to ease her conscience, Arline' tried to justify her behavior through the notion of the superiority of her station. She tried to tell herself that Kurt, being a commoner, a soldier from the Coin Guard, should naturally fall in line, should respect the hierarchy without question.

But the thought soured in her mind almost as soon as it formed. The disdain was alien, repugnant even to her own sense of self. Kurt had always been more than his status – he had been a friend, a confidant, a loyal protector. That she could even briefly consider him lesser for his birthright left a bitter taste in her mouth, a wave of self-disgust that washed over her, erasing any feeble justifications she had conjured.

Arline's eyes lingered on Kurt, the pang of regret growing deeper. The chasm between them was not just about the decision at hand, but about the respect and trust that had been eroded, however unintentionally. She did it, she would have to undo it.

With the camp dismantled and the final decisions made, the group divided their paths under the heavy canopy of the early morning light. Jon and Frank, with steady efficiency, led the scholars towards Hikmet, their two smaller carriages laden with the essentials for the journey. Their departure was a quiet affair, the air filled with unspoken words and lingering glances.

Arline, Vasco, and Aphra prepared to venture towards the ancient ruins, their own carriage now heavily burdened with additional supplies, pigeons for communication, and the weight of unresolved tensions. Aphra took Síora's place at Vasco’s side in the carriage, and the servants, Cristy and Hubert, settled into the coach head with a sense of forced normalcy, their movements a little more hurried, their exchanges a bit more subdued.

Kurt, mounting one of the remaining horses, assumed the lead with an air of silent determination. His posture was rigid, the set of his shoulders speaking volumes of the internal conflict that mirrored Arline's own turmoil. As she rode behind him, Arline found herself fixating on Kurt's back, the distance between them more than just physical. She pondered over the right words to bridge the gap, to soften the harshness of their last exchange, but found herself at a loss.

With a sigh, she spurred her horse to match his pace, knowing there is only one thing she should say.

“I am sorry.” She said, her voice cutting through the crisp morning air, leaving a trail of vulnerability in its wake.

Kurt glanced her way, his expression unreadable at first. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Green Blood. You are within your right to give orders.” He replied, his voice steady, but the undercurrent of something more, something unspoken, lingered between them.

Arline winced at the rigidity of his words. “You are my guard, true, but you are also my… friend. That is important to me.” She admitted, extending her gloved hand towards him, their horses drawing closer until their sides lightly touched.

Kurt's eyes darted nervously back towards the carriage, but the servants maintained a respectful distance, their attentions deliberately averted. Slowly, he reached back, placing his hand in hers.

Arline smiled, a gentle, reassuring smile that lit up her entire face. “I owe you an explanation, and I seek your forgiveness.”

A moment passed, filled with a myriad of unspoken thoughts and feelings, before Kurt’s eyes softened, his guard lowering. “I undermined you, I appologize. You have nothing to explain.” He said hoarsely, shaking his head.

Arline let out a sigh. “I admit, the thought crossed my mind, however, my reaction was driven by something else. I must confess, it is not justifiable,” She continued. “But the scholars, they made my skin crawl. The way they talk about the natives, the way they stare at me saying it… I shall be happy to never see them again.”

A light of understanding appeared in Kurt's eyes as he absorbed her words, his hand tightening around hers. “I did’t see.” He murmured.

“Your duty was never in question.” Arline reassured him, her voice softer now.

Kurt snorted lightly, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. “Your friendship is as vital to me as my duty, Green Blood.”

Their hands lingered together, the roughness of leather meeting, a silent exchange of warmth beneath the surface. Warmth spread through Arline's chest, mirrored in the warmth of Kurt's eyes and the soft curve of his smile as he studied her features with an affection that transcended their roles. The intimacy of the moment became almost too intense, and, feeling a sudden flush of heat, an involuntary shiver rippled through Arline’s body. She gently withdrew her hand, leaving a spectre of the connection hanging between them as they continued their journey side by side.

○●○

Arline stood before the gaping maw of the mines, the air heavy with the tang of rust and the dampness of the earth. A chill seeped from the dark opening, wrapping around her like a cold shroud, contrasting sharply with the warmth of the sun on her back. The entrance, framed by weathered wooden beams, seemed to swallow the light, hinting at the deep, unfathomable darkness that lay beyond. The miners shared the lore of the place – a relic from a bygone era, discovered by the Congregation upon their arrival to the island. It was ancient, abandoned by whatever civilization had once thrived here, yet the veins of iron ore within were still rich and untapped.

There was a palpable sense of unease among them as they spoke of the mines – tales of eerie sounds echoing in the deep recesses, of shadows that moved just beyond the torchlight. The only passage to the ancient ruins, their ultimate destination, lay through these long-sealed caverns, a route not traversed in generations.

Arline felt a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. The idea of venturing into the bowels of the earth, into a labyrinth untouched by sunlight, was daunting. She could feel the weight of the stone above her, a silent, oppressive force that promised no mercy to those who dared to disturb its eternal slumber. Her hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword, seeking comfort in its familiar presence. Yet, the cold metal offered little solace against the ancient fears that the sight of the mine awakened within her.

Despite the fear, there was a part of her that thrummed with curiosity – the allure of the unknown, the history shrouded in darkness waiting to be unveiled. It was this, the dual nature of her emotions, that steadied her resolve. She took a deep breath, the cool, musty air filling her lungs, and squared her shoulders. With one last look at the daylight behind her, she stepped forward into the shadows, leading her companions into the bowels of the island's hidden past.

They veered into one of the mine's unused shafts, the air growing cooler and the path underfoot uneven with neglected debris. The dim light from their lanterns flickered against the rough walls, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to play tricks on the eyes. Kurt's shoulders tensed as they moved deeper, a protective instinct palpable in the set of his jaw and the vigilant scanning of his eyes. To dispel the oppressive silence, Arline initiated a conversation, her voice echoing slightly in the confined space.

"So, Aphra. Where do you come from?" she asked, her words slicing through the quiet with an almost tangible presence.

Aphra's response carried a note of nostalgia. “From Olima, near Al Saad. It is but a small town, but there is a particularly renowned observatory there. My parents wanted me to become an astronomer, but I chose the earth over the sky. I was always more intrigued by life rather than distant stars. Plants and animals fascinated me as a child. For this reason, I left Olima quite early to study in the capital, and I seldom returned.”

Kurt, who had been walking slightly ahead, turned his head at the mention of Olima. “I’ve been to Olima.” He remarked, the light from the lantern illuminating his features, softening the usual sternness.

Aphra looked surprised. “Really?”

He nodded. “Briefly served in the Green-Azure regiment. We were in Olima for Aesthervale once.” A brief smile crossed his face as he recalled the memory. “The troops always bring a bit of excitement to Aesthervale, swapping real shields for painted ones. The communal painting there was one of the best I’ve seen.

Aesthervale was a festival on the spring equinox, when towns become alive with colour and music, originally stemming from Lirastria, the region of the original Congregation, but now widely adopted throughout the continent. Arline smiled. She had seen soldiers do that before in Sérène.

Aphra's eyes lit up at the mention of the festival. “Yes, I remember some vividly. That’s what you get when you unleash scholars hungry for creative pursuits equipped with paint once a year.”

Kurt chuckled, the sound echoing softly. “Did they always paint the sky during the festival?”

Aphra joined in his laughter, the sound bouncing off the mine walls, dispelling the gloom momentarily. “Oh yes.”

The path ahead narrowed dramatically, forcing them to move in single file. Arline's breath hitched, her chest tight as the walls closed in, a visible shiver running down her spine as she forced herself to follow Kurt’s shadowed figure. She fought back the rising panic, the rock pressing close on all sides, her breaths becoming shallow and rapid. Finally, emerging into a more open space, she took deep, steadying breaths, her hands trembling slightly from the ordeal.

Conjuring a globe of light to push back the shadows, she sought to distract herself by continuing the conversation. “When did you arrive on the island?” She asked Aphra, her voice still carrying a trace of her recent discomfort.

Aphra, who had followed closely behind, seemed unfazed by the tight passage. “A little more than two years ago.” She replied, her tone reflecting a hint of excitement. “My master, Doctor Asili, suggested that I should follow him to Teer Fradee. He needed help cataloging all the unknown plants and animals. How could I decline such an offer? There’s so much to discover here!

“Do you miss the Continent, your city…your family perhaps?” Arline inquired, curious about the woman's attachments to her old life.

Aphra shook her head, her expression serene. “No. When I arrived on this island, I immediately knew that it was where I was supposed to be.”

Arline nodded, a sense of kinship with Aphra's words stirring within her. She too felt an inexplicable connection to this land, a pull that went beyond mere curiosity or the desire for adventure. She thought about her own reasons for coming to the island, her subconscious yearnings for escape from the constraints of Sérène, and wondered if what she had attributed to restlessness was actually this deeper connection calling to her.

Subconsciously, her fingers reached up to touch the twig woven into her hair, a tangible symbol of her bond with the island. To her surprise, the break she remembered was no longer there; it had healed, seamlessly integrated into her being. The realization brought a complex mix of emotions, a confirmation of her bond with this land but also a reminder of the changes within her that she was still coming to terms with.

Their journey took a disheartening turn as they encountered a dead end, a wall of solid rock halting their progress. With no choice but to backtrack, they retraced their steps in silence, each lost in their own reflections on the maze-like tunnels. The quiet weighed heavily on Arline, prompting her to seek connection, to dispel the creeping sense of isolation with conversation.

“Vasco, I do not think I ever asked,” She began, breaking the silence with genuine curiosity. “What do the Nauts’ tattoos mean?”

Vasco looked over, the flickering light from Arline’s magical globe reflecting off his inked skin. “The first tattoo we get indicates whether we are sea-born or a sea-given.” He explained, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space. “The rest of them tell our story. They tell of everything we’ve been through, our rank, but also the storms we’ve sailed through.

Arline leaned in with curiosity, her head tilting slightly as she absorbed Vasco's words, her eyes flicking over the inked stories on his skin. “What do yours mean?” Arline asked.

A hint of a smile tugged at Vasco’s lips. “That I am a sea-given, that I sailed through a hurricane when I was but a simple sailor. That I performed several voyages as a captain without losing a single man.” His voice took on a teasing note. “Does my entire curriculum interest you?”

Arline matched his playful tone. “I wish to know you better.”

Vasco’s eyes sparkled with amusement as his voice deepened. “I’m flattered. But there are other ways to do so than questioning me, you know?”

Kurt, who had been silent until now, shot Vasco a look that was both flat and warning, a silent protector’s reminder.

Vasco caught the look and chuckled. “Ah, but that’s not allowed under the watchful eye of your guardian.”

Both Arline and Kurt corrected simultaneously, “Guard.” Their eyes met with a hint of mirth, mirror smirks on their faces.

Vasco nodded, a grin spreading across his face, acknowledging the subtle but important correction. “Guard, indeed. An important distinction.”

The cavernous expanse of the mine transitioned into a steep ascent, their path blocked by a formidable high wall that loomed before them, its surface rugged and intimidating. Kurt, ever the tactician, assessed the obstacle before them with a critical eye, then turned to the group, ready to facilitate their ascent.

“Sailor first.” He directed, his voice firm but encouraging. With practiced ease, he clasped his hands together, creating a step for Vasco to hoist himself up. Once at the top, Vasco extended his hand down to assist the others.

It was Arline’s turn. Kurt lifted her with a strength that seemed effortless. From above, Vasco reached out, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her up to safety.

“Aphra?” Kurt directed, and Arline noted a lack of nickname.

“Thank you, Sailor.” Aphra said when Vasco helped her up, her voice tinged with amusement. A small smile tugged at Arline’s lips.

Finally, it was Kurt's turn to ascend. With Vasco's help, he managed to clamber up the wall, his movements swift and sure. Arline watched, a sense of appreciation washing over her as she saw the two men working together seamlessly.

As Vasco delved into Aphra's academic life, uncovering the competitive nature of her relationships with fellow scholars, Arline's thoughts wandered, landing on a different subject entirely. She turned to Kurt, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“You did not give Aphra a nickname?” She asked, an undercurrent of mischief in her tone.

Kurt shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose I didn't. Why?”

Arline gave him a pointed look, her words laced with subtle accusation. “You always give people nicknames. Some more endearing than others.” She said, feeling a slight burning in her chest.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?”

Jealousy tinged Arline's voice, though she tried to mask it with humor. “'Pretty flower'?”

Kurt couldn't suppress a chuckle, finding amusement in her veiled irritation. “I give everyone a nickname, don’t I? Is there something wrong with this particular one?”

Arline's cheeks warmed, a blush spreading despite her best efforts to appear indifferent. She was glad for the dim light. “I am merely surprised. You usually take longer to warm up to people. Any intentions there, Captain?”

Kurt’s amusement grew, his smile broadening as he teased her further. “None at all. Why, are you interested?”

Arline deflected with the practiced smoothness of a diplomat. “I just realized I never saw you take an interest in anyone.”

The humour in Kurt's expression faded, replaced by a more reflective, almost distant look. “Well, like I told you before, a life of a Coin Guard is a solitary one.”

Arline regarded him, tilting her head, invested. “That might be the principle, but have you never been in love?”

“I was once, when I was younger.” He confessed, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia mixed with something Arline couldn't quite identify.

They entered the expansive cavern, the previous confines of the mine giving way to a vast, open space. Natural light spilled from above, casting the area in a serene glow that highlighted the lush greenery adorning the cave's interior. The moss underfoot was soft, a stark contrast to the hard, cold stone they had grown accustomed to during their descent. Around them, plants of various shapes and sizes thrived, bathed in the sunbeams that filtered through the ceiling, creating a tranquil sanctuary within the earth.

Arline’s lips parted as she took it in, momentarily distracted by the natural beauty surrounding them. Arline's gaze shifted from the natural spectacle back to Kurt, noticing the way the light played across his features, softening the hard edges and scars of a life dedicated to service and combat. He was observing her with a soft smile.

“Tell me about it.” She urged gently, her curiosity reaching its peak.

Kurt shrugged. “There isn’t much to tell.” He began, his voice a low rumble that blended with the subtle sounds of the cave. “She was a miller’s daughter. Beautiful, spirited... but her father didn’t approve of a soldier. He was right, in the end. But back then, I was devastated. It was... pretty soppy, like most youthful flings. You know what I mean,” He continued, a half-smile returning as he tried to lighten the mood. “I think I remember you making eyes at some dandy not so long ago.”

Arline's eyebrows arched in surprise. “You do not mean Edward, do you?” She couldn't mask the hint of amusement in her voice. Edward was a good friend, but she was in love with Eleonora at the time they were betrothed. She thought back to the days on the continent, to the figures that had flitted in and out of her life, leaving their own marks of affection or disappointment. Her suitors, with their polished manners and empty conversations, were hardly a figure of romantic interest. But Kurt's misunderstanding opened a small window into his perceptions of her, and she couldn't help but wonder what else he might have misconstrued or noticed.

“No, not him. I can remember his bloodied nose, but not his name.” Kurt confessed, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Arline leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Lord Moreau? Oh, Kurt, how can you be so naïve? I was only looking at that fool to make you jealous!”

Kurt's laughter echoed in the cavern, a genuine sound that seemed to bounce off the stone walls. “Please, you were but a child. You weren’t into old geezers like me back then.”

Arline raised an eyebrow, her smile sly and challenging. “Am I into old geezers like you now?“ She countered, watching his reaction closely.

Kurt paused, his laughter fading as he met her gaze, a mix of surprise and something else—perhaps curiosity—in his eyes. “You tell me.” He replied, his voice a low, teasing rumble.

Arline leaned closer, her voice playful yet pointed. “Are you flirting with me, Captain?”

Kurt, momentarily caught off guard, took a half-step back, raising his hands in a show of innocence. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Excellency.” He assured her, but the spark in his eyes belied his words.

“Shame,” Arline mused aloud, her voice tinged with mock disappointment. “How are we to find out, then?”

Kurt considered her for a moment, his expression turning contemplative. “Questions such as these are probably best left unanswered.” He concluded, his voice carrying a hint of regret or perhaps a cautious respect for boundaries yet to be crossed.

Arline wrestled with her conflicted emotions. He was likely correct; despite her seeing him as her equal, societal norms did not. Encouraging him could bring nothing but sorrow, she reasoned. What use was there in voicing a preference that, to the world, was deemed inappropriate? Arline risked a surreptitious look at Kurt. His previous light-hearted demeanor had vanished, supplanted by a contemplative scowl that carved deep lines across his forehead. Doubts gnawed at her: was her affection even desired, or merely tolerated? Did a part of him, unshackled by obligation, reciprocate her feelings, or was he merely humouring her whims?

As they reached the far end of the cavern, the pathway began its ascent toward the beckoning daylight. The corridor ahead, carved by nature or perhaps ancient hands, twisted upwards, the light from above growing steadily brighter. The rocky ground beneath their feet shifted to a more forgiving path, easing their climb out of the earth's depths.

Arline led the way, her steps quickening with the promise of open sky. The cool, damp air of the cavern was gradually replaced by the warmer, fresher breezes of the outside world. The sounds of the underground – the dripping of water, the soft echo of their footsteps – faded, replaced by the distant calls of birds and the rustle of leaves.

They emerged into the daylight, blinking against the brightness after the dimness of the caves. The sun bathed their faces, warming skin chilled by the underground's cold embrace. Around them, the landscape opened up, a stark contrast to the confined spaces they had left behind. The sky stretched wide and blue, a canopy of freedom overhead.

Kurt emerged behind Arline, pausing to survey their surroundings with a trained eye, assessing their new environment for any signs of danger or pathways forward. Aphra stepped out next with Vasco, her gaze immediately turning to the flora surrounding the cave's entrance, her curiosity rekindled by the daylight and the promise of undiscovered secrets. Arline forgot about their presence. Vasco gave Arline a pointed glace as he passed them, hurrying behind Aphra, giving them more privacy.

Arline, weary of the ambiguity shrouding her feelings, closed the distance between herself and Kurt. She stood firmly in front of him, ensuring she captured his full attention. Her voice, laden with the heavy burden of her unvoiced thoughts and desires, broke through the prevailing silence. “Best for whom?” she demanded, her eyes searching his for an answer, a desperate plea for clarity and truth.

Kurt's response was soft, almost tender, filled with an undercurrent of sorrow. “You, of course.” He murmured, his eyes locking with hers, full of feeling. In that moment, Arline felt a surge within her, as if a swarm of butterflies had come to life in her stomach, fluttering wildly with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

Despite the violent blush of her cheeks, Arline's retort was swift, her voice rising slightly, echoing Síora’s earlier words. “I do not get to decide what is best for me, then?” She questioned, challenging the boundaries that society, and perhaps Kurt himself, had imposed upon her.

Kurt's expression turned melancholic, his shoulders slumping under the weight of unchangeable truths. “Our birth decides some things for us, Green Blood, but you already know that.”

“And I continue to reject the notion.” She declared, her gaze steady, determined, locked with Kurt's, a complex blend of tenderness and pain reflected in her eyes. She hesitated for a moment, stepping away, before deciding to reveal a piece of her past, a vulnerability she had kept hidden. “Would you like to hear about my first real love?” Her voice was a whisper, barely louder than the rustle of leaves underfoot.

Kurt's interest was clearly engaged, his posture shifting as he prepared to listen. “Go on.” He encouraged.

They moved along the path, it wound gently through the natural landscape, leading them toward their ultimate destination. Aphra and Vasco, engaged in quiet conversation ahead, their figures gradually becoming silhouettes against the horizon. Beyond them, the ancient ruins loomed, their continental architecture mirroring the structures they had previously encountered. Despite the historical significance that beckoned, Arline found her attention elsewhere.

“It was Edward’s sister, Eleonora.” She confessed, her voice carrying a hint of lingering affection and sorrow.

Kurt's reaction was one of surprise, perhaps mixed with confusion. “Oh… I did not realize you preferred women.” He commented, a statement more of realization than judgment.

Arline’s lips curved into a crooked smile. “I preferred that woman, but I have been known to prefer men, too.” She said, giving him a pointed look. He stirred under her gaze. “Anyway, circumstances were against us, of course, but I was willing to run away with her to Al Saad, you see. I was heartbroken after she refused.”

Kurt listened, his frown deepening as he considered her words. “Would you have been happy?” He asked, his usually firm voice tinged with an uncharacteristic hesitance. “Away from your family, never becoming a legate. I know how much this position means to you.”

Arline considered the question with due thoughtfulness. “I could live without ever seeing my uncle again. And as it turned out, my time with my mother was fleeting…” She said, a slight tremor in her voice. “Constantin would not abandon me, I am sure of it.” She continued, recalling a lighter tone of voice. “He would sneak out to Al Saad instead of the Coin tavern.” She finished, a small smile back on her lips.

“Perhaps…” He murmured, pondering her words. “And the legate position?”

“This position,” Arline continued, her voice gaining strength. “Grants me a sense of freedom, Kurt. To be constrained by it contradicts its purpose.”

Kurt gave her a nervous glance. “Are we still delving into past matters?” He asked, his tone laced with caution.

Arline's cheeks flushed with a warm blush. “Would you prefer we discussed the future?”

“The future,” Kurt sighed heavily, “is a concept fraught with uncertainty for a soldier, Green Blood. We seldom entertain it.”

Arline frowned with a pang of fear in her heart, her body tensing. She shook her head in a sharp motion to dispel the awful vision and leaned closer, her voice earnest. “Assume you do have a future. Describe it for me.” Her voice cracked slightly under the strain if emotions.

He shrugged, clenching his jaw, a resigned acceptance in his posture. “I'd continue to stand by your side, battling until either a mistake claims me, or you no longer require my presence. And, with any luck, I'd avenge Reiner's demise.” His gaze dropped to the ground, avoiding Arline’s probing eyes.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes clouding with a mix of sadness and frustration as she turned slightly away from Kurt, wrapping her arms around herself. “I see.” She whispered, her heart sinking at the guarded, constrained vision he held of his future.

As they progressed towards the ruins, the atmosphere among them was markedly changed. The usual banter that accompanied their travels had evaporated, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Arline, wrapped in her thoughts, barely noticed the path underfoot, her mind grappling with Kurt's resigned acceptance of a bleak future.

Vasco and Aphra, who had been engaged in a light-hearted discussion ahead, fell silent as they approached. Vasco’s eyebrows knitted together in concern, while Aphra’s face, previously alight with amusement, now mirrored the group's somber tone.

Determined to shift the focus from the heavy emotional air, Arline gestured towards the sprawling ruins ahead. “Let's concentrate on why we are here.” She said, her voice firmer than she felt. Her suggestion was met with nods, though the silence persisted, a silent spectre following their steps.

The ruins before them were more intact than the ones they had encountered before, though bore the unmistakable signs of a long-forgotten conflict. The structures, while maintaining their form, were battered and worn, but their walls still shown the marks of a once vibrant life. They passed what looked like residential houses, their doors agape, almost inviting yet eerie in their emptiness.

A large square unfolded before them, possibly once the heart of the city, surrounded by remnants of what could have been market stalls and public meeting places. At the far end stood remnants of a larger structure, large stonework had fallen through its roof, littering the space with rubble.

Arline’s pace slowed as they approached the imposing structure. The arch of the main entrance, stood preserved, and over it, barely discernible through the wear of time and nature's reclaim, was the remnant of a crest. Her breath hitched as recognition dawned; it was unmistakably an ancient form of coat of arms of Sérène. Her mind raced, trying to piece together how the ruins of her homeland could possibly find their echo here, on a distant island.

The shock of the discovery momentarily cleared the air of its previous tension, redirecting her focus entirely to the enigma before her. Confusion, curiosity, and a deep-seated need for answers washed over her, pushing aside the lingering discomfort of earlier conversations. Arline’s feet carried her forward of their own volition. This was a piece of her history, misplaced and unexplained, begging to be understood.

“They were us.” she whispered, her voice a mix of turmoil and disbelief. Her companions gathered around, the quarrels momentarily forgotten, as all eyes turned to her. Arline shook her head. “But how? We would surely have records of this...” She pondered aloud, her mind racing with the implications.

“The Congregation?” Aphra echoed, her tone laced with astonishment.

Arline nodded, the pieces of a long-forgotten puzzle slowly aligning in her mind. “Before the Congregation... This insignia belongs to Sérène.” She explained, her gaze locking with Aphra's, a silent understanding forming between them. The idea that Sérène might have had ties to this island before the Bridge Alliance's discovery brought a myriad of political and historical questions to the surface. And their relation with the natives…

Aphra quickly assured her, “Your secret's safe with me. The last thing we need is to fuel Governor Burhan's ambitions.”

A cold shiver traced Arline's spine at the thought. Kurt, absorbing the weight of the discovery, shook his head in disbelief. “It goes to show how times change… To think that you were once conquerors.” His eyes met Arline’s and his features softened slightly. Adopting a forced roguish smile, he gently nudged Arline with his elbow. “You are going to have to pay me more for protection, you know.”

Despite Kurt's effort to inject levity, Arline remained mirthless, absorbed by the crest's significance. “Aphra, could you sketch this?” She asked, hoping to preserve a tangible piece of the revelation.

“Of course.” Aphra replied, already reaching for her journal, her scholarly instincts kicking in.

Arline nodded in thanks. “Let us continue our exploration. There might be a library or records room that has survived the ages.” She said to the others.

They did not manage to take five steps, before the ground beneath them trembled, an ominous precursor to the chaos that was about to unfold. As the rubble shifted and scattered, a colossal beast, more terrifying than the darkest tales could conjure, emerged from its ancient slumber. Towering over the ruins, its massive form dwarfed the surrounding buildings, reaching the sky with an imposing presence that chilled the blood.

It was a nightmarish fusion of humanoid form with shellfish and octopus, its body encased in a spiky carapace that seemed impenetrable. Four tentacles writhed around a mouth, armed with rows of sharp, spike-like teeth, that could easily swallow a man whole. The creature had no eyes, yet its senses seemed honed to a supernatural keenness, its entire being exuding the raw, untamed power of the island's ancient guardians. The air around them grew heavy with the scent of the sea, a briny odor that did nothing to mask the beast's inherent menace.

Arline stood frozen in astonishment, her mind struggling to comprehend the behemoth before them. Aphra stood beside her, clutching her satchel in a silent stupor. Instinctively, Kurt and Vasco raised their weapons, a futile gesture against such a monstrous adversary. The beast roared, a sound that echoed through the ruins like thunder, as it shook off the remnants of its stony prison and charged.

A rush surged through Arline as she gripped her sabre, her heart pounding with fear and determination. She reached out with her magic, attempting to lock the creature in stasis, but her powers slid off it like water on rock. “Move away, things are about to get dicey!” Kurt shouted, rolling to avoid a devastating blow from the beast's tendril.

Vasco slashed at the creature's leg, a bold but minuscule gesture against such a foe. Aphra, abandoning her scholarly tools, produced vials from her satchel in a flurry of desperate action. “Watch out, grenade!” she yelled, lobbing an explosive concoction towards the giant. The blast illuminated the scene with a fiery glow, yet the beast barely flinched, its attention now fully on its attackers.

Magic crackled around its form as it conjured fiery bolts on its tentacles, striking Kurt with a direct hit that sent him tumbling to the ground. “Kurt!” Arline screamed, her voice a mix of fear and fury. She acted on instinct, channeling Spark and Force into a lightning bolt that drew the creature's attention away from her fallen friend.

Aphra fired a shot at the beast as it neared. Arline waited for it, numb to everything else, then unleashed a blinding explosion of Light and Force, momentarily disorienting it. Kurt, staggering to his feet, called to her again to move. She complied, sliding between the creature’s legs, anchoring her blade in its sinew. Kurt and Vasco followed suit, their attacks a coordinated dance of steel and determination. Aphra hurled another grenade, its explosion echoing through the ruins.

Vasco jumped back and fired his gun, the shot ringing out in the sudden silence that followed the blast. The creature, reeling from the assault, managed to regain its bearings and lashed out. Its enormous clawed hand struck Kurt with a force that sent him staggering, blood staining his clothes.

Arline's scream pierced the air as she witnessed Kurt's injury. Aphra, her face set in grim determination, reloaded her rifle, her hands steady despite the chaos. Kurt, the solitary foot soldier, though wounded, continued his attack in close quarters; he targeted the creature's leg, severing tendons and muscles until it staggered to its knees.

Yet the beast towered over them still, a leviathan of flesh and fury. Arline, drawing upon her connection to the land, continued her magical assault. Her spells, a barrage of shadow missiles, sought any weakness in the creature's carapace. Each spell cast drained her, the magical energy waning as her physical and emotional exhaustion mounted.

In a desperate fury, Kurt launched himself at the beast's underbelly, his blade finding flesh before an immense blow sent him careening into the wall. He lay crumpled, motionless, a still figure against the stone. Arline's heart thundered in her chest, her mind clouded with fear as the beast loomed over Kurt, its massive foot descending in a cruel stomp.

Arline's instincts took over, fear transmuted into fierce determination. She channelled the remnants of her magic into a leap fuelled by Force, propelling herself upwards with a velocity that defied nature. Her sabre found the creature's neck, a desperate stab that felt inconsequential against such a colossus. She tumbled to the ground, rolling away from the beast's reach. The creature discarded her weapon as if it were nothing, ignoring the red blood that gushed from the wound.

Vasco, undeterred, continued his assault, his blade a flash of silver against the beast's hide in tandem with his revolver as he retreated out of reach. Aphra, pragmatic in the chaos, fired her gun again, the shot echoing like a drummer's beat in the silence that followed the beast's roar.

Arline's focus narrowed to Kurt, lying dangerously still. Time seemed to slow as she reached him, the battle around her fading to a mere backdrop, Vasco's and Aphra's efforts continued, a valiant attempt to fend off the behemoth that now bore wounds as mortal as any man's. The ground beneath her felt unsteady as she knelt by his side, her hands trembling. Panic and dread coiled in her stomach, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, as she assessed his severe injuries. Her voice, cracked and disjointed, spilled forth in a torrent of incoherent pleas and sobs, her fingers pressing against the gaping wound that marred Kurt's chest. His shallow breaths hitched as a grimace of pain contorted his unconscious face when she pressed on the wound. Her hands, coated in his blood, sought vainly for a way to staunch the flow, tears falling on the slashed chain mail shirt.

Through the fog that claimed her mind, she remembered Síora's healing magic, and she reached the Chaos, not knowing which elements to summon. She tugged on Ether, life force, her best guess, trying to weave it into the wound under her fingers. Her attempt, however, yielded nothing but the unintended flourish of the surrounding grass, sprouting wildly as the taste of honey with resinous undertones filled her mouth.

As the behemoth's final, earth-shaking roar echoed its demise, Aphra rushed to their side, health potions clutched tightly in her hands, with Vasco's determined stride close behind. The sight of Kurt, cradled in Arline's arms, his body broken and bleeding, spurred them into frantic action.

Together, they knelt beside Kurt, their hands moving with practiced urgency. Aphra uncorked a potion, her hands steady despite the chaos, pouring the liquid carefully down Kurt's throat, while Vasco applied bandages, his face set in a grim line of focus. Arline, her eyes blurred with tears, held Kurt close, whispering assurances and apologies, her voice a fragile thread of hope amidst the fear that clenched her heart, long after the potions’ magic began to work, fighting against the darkness that threatened to claim Kurt, pulling him back from the brink.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

The application of concoctions derived from the extracts of willow bark and poppy seeds, known to alleviate the anguish that doth plague the flesh, may provide a fleeting respite from the pervasive pain.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

Arline did not sleep all night. Though Vasco and Aphra proposed to take watch, she insisted on staying by Kurt’s side, curled up by a dwindling fire under the scant protection of a dilapidated roof, providing them with a semblance of shelter, listening to his increasingly measured breath. As dawn crept across the sky, painting the world in hues of gold and pink, she dispatched Vasco and Aphra back through the shadowy depths of the mines, entrusting them with the crucial task of fetching more supplies from their distant camp. Alone, she tended to Kurt with unwavering dedication, offering him sugared water and diligently changing his cold compresses. Despite the bone-deep exhaustion that clawed at her, she remained alert to his every sound, responding with a tender touch or whispered word of encouragement.

Aphra's potent brews, a concoction of the most powerful health potions they possessed, had worked wonders on Kurt's grievous wounds. The deep gash that had marred his chest was now a healing scar, the pallor of his skin replaced by a faint blush of life, the ominous swelling significantly diminished. She warned he still had some broken bones, including at least two ribs. She had said Kurt was lucky his lungs were not punctured, a nightmare scenario that would necessitate immediate surgical intervention before any potion could weave its healing magic.

Arline shuddered, consumed by guilt and distress, a heavy weight in her chest, a void in her stomach. If she hadn’t insisted on sending Jon and Frank with the scholars, Kurt would not have been alone at the forefront of the beast’s vengeance. It was her mistake that almost claimed him, not his.

With a gentle touch of her bare fingers, she brushed away the wet lock of hair clinging to his forehead. His skin still burned beneath her touch, a remanant of the fever he battled during the night. With hands that trembled from fatigue and emotion, she cradled his head in her lap, reaching for a waterskin and a fresh cloth. She moistened the cloth with care, gently pressing it to his cracked lips, coaxing him to drink.

His response, a soft groan muffled by a fit of coughing, sent ripples of anxiety through her. She held her breath, her heart pounding in anticipation of the moment his eyes would flutter open. They did, first disoriented, squint against the daylight piercing through the ruins' crevices before gaining focus. Arline blinked rapidly, at the pinching of the forming tears, a surge of relief and love overwhelming her as she gazed down at him.

“Hi.” She said, her voice a high creak. His gaze landed on her face, his pupils widening, and he stirred upward. Applying minimal pressure to his chest she held him down. “Careful, you still have a few broken bones.”

He let out a faint wheeze, a tacit acknowledgment of his condition, and relaxed back into the warmth of her lap, his brow creasing in discomfort. “Affirmative.” He managed to croak out, followed by a cough that seemed to rattle through him. As Arline dabbed his forehead with a cloth, he grasped her hand. “Are you alright?” He asked, his voice rough yet filled with genuine worry, his concern for her wellbeing overshadowing his own pain.

A humourless laugh escaped her as she met his gaze. “Yes. I got away with barely a few scratches. You took all the punishment.” Her voice was quiet, brimming with shame and misery.

“Good.” He said, letting go of her hand. “That’s my job.”

His words felt like a slap; she squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw, a tear finally escaping down her cheek. “Stop.” She whispered. A tremor jolted through her as she took a sharp breath. “I almost lost you.” Her voice faltered. “I cannot imagine…” She pressed both hands to her face, trying to unsee the vision of his still body, trying to hide from his soft gaze.

“Hey.” Kurt's voice was a gentle caress. He eased her hands away from her face and, interlacing his fingers with hers, brought their clasped hands to rest against his cheek. “I’m still alive.”

Arline stared at their entwined fingers, with lips parted, suddenly aware neither of them wore gloves, the weight in her chest bursting into flames. Her other hand moved of its own accord, fingers threading through his hair, tracing soothing patterns on his scalp. He closed his eyes, a rare expression of serenity on his face, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“Stop that before you encourage me to get injured more often.”  He murmured.

A laugh, rough with emotion, tumbled from Arline. “I think you might still have a fever.” She teased, feeling her previous tension slowly melting away, replaced by heat rushing through her body.

“I hope I do.” He quipped. “How else do I explain this to myself later?”

Her heart raced in her chest which rose rapidly with quick breaths. She shook her head, her fingers freezing mid-motion. “You should be cross at me. My decision almost killed you, Kurt.”

Kurt exhaled a deep, weary sigh. “What matters is that it didn’t, Green Blood. And if it’s any consolation, I don’t think Jon and Frank would make much difference against that thing.” He offered, trying to alleviate her guilt with a gentle lie.

Arline knew better than to believe him, but she chose not to challenge his words. Instead, fighting back a yawn, her fingers resumed their soft patterns on his skin until the rhythm of Kurt's breathing slowed, signalling his return to sleep.

○●○

As the outskirts of New Sérène came into view, the landscape slowly transformed from the wild, untamed beauty of the island's interior to the familiar bustle of civilization. The group's return was marked by an air of quiet contemplation, each member lost in their own thoughts about the revelations uncovered in the ancient ruins.

Aphra, taking the reins of Kurt's horse, rode with an ease next to Arline, mounted on her own steed. Kurt rested in the carriage, the latest concoction of Aphra's skills having mended his broken bones, but still fatigued from the ordeal, leaving him to recuperate in the slow-moving vehicle beside Vasco.

Arline battled a haze of fatigue, too. The sleepless vigil by Kurt's side and the subsequent disruption of her rest had left her feeling disoriented, her thoughts drifting back to the tattered journal they had found amidst the ruins. Written in the ancient script of Lirastrian, the journal offered undeniable proof that their ancestors from what would become the Congregation had once sought to claim this land. The implications of such a discovery weighed heavily on her, sparking apprehension about the potential consequences of this knowledge. Determined to shed light on the murky history of her people's involvement with the island, Arline resolved to seek an audience with Sir de Courcillon, the master of records. His vast knowledge and access to the Congregation's archives would be invaluable in unraveling the truths hidden within the ancient text.

Upon returning to the embassy, Arline made arrangements for Kurt to stay in a guest room despite his protests. Lady Eloise, with her usual efficiency and grace, assured her of the best comforts for the injured guard.

“Are there any urgent matters requiring my attention?” Arline asked her.

“Resting.” Kurt chimed in, a playful glint in his eyes as he lounged on the couch in the vestibule. Arline shot him a look that combined affection with mild reproof.

“There was a letter from Lord Lefroy, Your Excellency.” Eloise reported, her voice steady but with an underlying note of concern. “It appears there have been complications with the peace talks, involving Thélème.”

Arline felt a sudden tension at the mention of Thélème, her posture rigidifying as she processed the news. “May I see the letter?” She requested, her brows knitting together in a frown that was echoed by Kurt, who watched her with an intensity borne of concern. Lady Eloise promptly retrieved the letter, returning within moments to hand it over.

Arline unfolded the letter with deliberate care, absorbing its contents with a growing sense of unease. Thélème missionaries had stirred controversy by claiming Queen Bládnid had agreed to protect her clan from the Bridge Alliance in exchange for their conversion to the Church of Light—a claim vehemently denied by the natives. The situation was further complicated by damaged oathstones, the only supposed record of the alliance, and the disappearance of the promise keeper, rendering the truth unverifiable. The missionaries’ threats of violence and the Bridge Alliance’s refusal to engage in peace talks without clear evidence of no alliance added layers of tension to an already volatile situation. Lefroy’s recommendation for the Congregation to withdraw was a heavy blow.

With a heavy sigh, Arline massaged the bridge of her nose, feeling the weight of decision upon her. “Lady Eloise, please begin preparations for another expedition to Vedrad tomorrow. Kurt, I will need your input on selecting a guard detail.” She preempted his protest with a firm hand. “No arguments. You are still on the mend. You may join us later, should you wish it.”

Acknowledgments came, some more hesitant than others, as Arline prepared to depart for the Palace with Vasco And Aphra. The journal tucked under her arm served as a tangible reminder of the unresolved mysteries and the critical work that lay ahead.

Arline entered Sir de Courcillon’s study, a realm scented with the distinct aroma of aged parchment and fading ink. The master of records, ensconced amidst towering piles of documents, greeted her with a genial smile, though it barely reached the tired lines around his eyes. “What assistance can your old instructor provide today?” He inquired, his voice rich with a warmth that seemed to fill the cramped space.

She presented the ancient journal and Aphra’s meticulous sketch of the Sérène’s insignia, laying them upon his cluttered desk. Sir de Courcillon’s eyes widened with a mix of intrigue and apprehension as he examined the items, his initial excitement giving way to a noticeable tension.

“How curious!” He exclaimed, though the pitch of his voice betrayed his unease.

Arline observed him closely, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “Surely, such a discovery would not have eluded someone of your expertise, Sir. This is either an elaborate hoax or we have existing records of it. And this,” she gestured towards the items on his desk, “bears the mark of authenticity.”

The room seemed to shrink under the weight of her words. Sir de Courcillon slumped, the fight draining from him as he met her gaze. “The Prince d'Orsay wished to leave the past buried. But you must understand, Lady De Sardet, the repercussions of revealing our prior conquests to the natives could be catastrophic.”

Arline's fingers drummed agains his desk as her anger simmered beneath the composed exterior. The potential ramifications of this revelation, should it reach undesired ears, were dire indeed. Yet, it was the secrecy and exclusion from this crucial piece of information that stoked her ire. “Do you not think a legate, tasked with maintaining diplomatic relations, be privy to such critical information?” She asked, her voice a controlled whisper of barely contained fury.

The man before her faltered, his eyes shifting away in guilt. “I recommended transparency, but the Prince insisted on secrecy.”

“And was Governor Constantin also left in the dark?” Her question hung between them like a guillotine. His silent affirmation spurred a cold resolve within her. “That is about to change.” She declared.

Sir de Courcillon nodded, a mixture of respect and fear evident in his gaze. “I understand, Lady De Sardet, just please, disseminate this information with prudence.” he implored, his glance flickering towards Aphra then quickly away.

Arline was not sure if she could trust the scholar’s secrecy, but she could not bring herself to regret her presence in the ruins – she owed Kurt’s life to her potent alchemy. It was a debt of gratitude that could not be overlooked. “Miss Bahan has given her word to remain silent on this matter.” Arline stated firmly, her voice carrying a conviction born of necessity rather than certainty. “And she has earned my confidence.”

Arline leaned forward. “Now, is there anything else I should be aware of?” She pressed, her gaze piercing through the air between them like an arrow.

De Courcillon seemed to shrink slightly under her scrutiny. “The records of this… chapter in our history are housed only in the restricted section of Sérène’s royal library.” He confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “However, I can recount what I know, my lady.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “An expedition from Sérènefirst landed on this island eight hundred and eight years ago. Their dominion here ceased forty-two years thereafter. This failure precipitated the shift from a military coalition to a commercial federation among Lirastria's cities.”

Arline's brows knitted together. “So, the disbanding of the Militant Union of Free Cities was a reaction to our failed conquest here?”

“Yes.” Confirmed Sir de Courcillon, nodding slowly. “Moreover, this debacle directly led to the Nauts establishing themselves as an independent entity.”

Vasco interjected with a hint of disbelief. “Really?”

“The Prince of Sérène sought to erase this embarrassment. Maintaining the Admiralty’s silence required significant concessions…” De Courcillon trailed off, his voice tinged with regret. “Such concessions enriched them to the extent that the nautical community recognized their newfound political sway, banding together to form what we now know as the Nauts. Inadvertently, this helped keep our secret buried.”

Arline connected the dots silently; the Congregation’s transition from martial endeavors to mercantile pursuits had inadvertently fostered the environment for the Coin Guard's inception. The historical impact was immense.

 “But why would the Nauts then permit the Bridge Alliance to rediscover this island?” Aphra questioned, puzzled.

Vasco answered before Sir de Courcillon did. “There was a falling out between the Congregation and the Nauts.”

Arlie frowned. “You suggested it before, yet I know of no conflict.”

Vasco hesitated. “The specifics are above my paygrade, but Admiral Cabral might provide answers. My… donation to the sea was not unique during that period.”

“Sir, would you know anything about this?” Arline pressed de Courcillon, narrowing her eyes.

Sir de Courcillon became visibly uncomfortable. “It was a tumultuous time. A… royal child was born on board a Naut ship. The family had… liberated it.”

Vasco’s voice turned icy. “A breach of contract?”

Arline exhaled, shaking her head. “That does explain it.”

“Yes. My life was altered because some Prince could not part with his offspring.” Vasco said bitterly. “It seems my Naut identity was just further reinforced.” He added, crossing his hands on his chest.

 “Mending our relations with the Nauts took painstaking efforts and time. It was only after they divulged our secret to the Alliance that they deemed our slate clean.” De Courcillon concluded with a hint of shame.

Arline carefully folded the drawing, leaving the journal on Sir de Courcillon's desk as they exited towards Constantin's audience chamber. The opulent room was bathed in the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows, reflecting off the intricate gold and blue decorations that adorned the space. Constantin sat in his grand chair, his attire, usually so pristine and vibrant, seemed somewhat disheveled today, and his complexion was noticeably paler than usual, the dark circles under his eyes stark against his skin.

“Ah, cousin!” Constantin exclaimed, his voice a mix of joy and fatigue as he rose to greet her. “You have returned to me. Your absence was sorely felt.”

“You do not appear to be in top form.” Arline remarked, noting their shared signs of sleep deprivation. “Are house intrigues keeping you from finding proper sleep?”

He waved off her concern with a tired smile. “No, nothing to bring me nightmares as of yet. I am blaming it on the change of diet. Now, tell me what adventures you’ve been up to. Your last report was rather vague.”

Arline did not dare include her findings in the ruins in the last message by pigeon. She only reported they had encountered one of the giant creatures people spoke of, and that Kurt was injured.

“Allow me to first present Miss Aphra Bahan?” She suggested.

Aphra stepped forward, offering a respectful bow. “Your Excellency.”

“Welcome, Miss Bahan.” Constantin responded with a nod. “But dear cousin! You must not keep me in the dark any longer!”

Arline nodded. “Indeed, I have some illuminating news. We should discuss them privately.”

They moved to Constantin's study, a smaller, more intimate space filled with the scent of old leather and ink. Books lined the walls, and the light from the setting sun painted the room in warm hues.

“As you already know we explored the ruins you and Lady Morange suggested we visit.” Arline began, her voice steady despite the swirling emotions. “All our findings point to one conclusion, those ruins were originally built by Sérène.” She said, presenting Aphra’s drawing of the insignia.

Constantin’s lips parted. “Us? But… father never once even hinted…” He suddenly stood up, his chair hitting the wall behind him with impet. “Once again he must have deemed me unworthy to know the secret! How he must despise me…” He muttered, pacing the room.

Arline reached out, touching his arm gently, pausing his pace. “Constantin… He informed neither of us.”

His gaze sharpened. “We need to learn more. I want to understand, I need to learn everything my father has kept from me.”

Arline leaned forward, her voice earnest as she recounted the startling revelations shared by Sir de Courcillon. The weight of history, a hidden chapter of their past, seemed to hang between them in the quiet of Constantin’s study.

Constantin's features tightened, a mix of frustration and disbelief marring his youthful face. “He hid this from us? But... how can we be certain he is not withholding more?” His gaze turned speculative, almost accusatory, as it rested on her. “This question also concerns you… You look too much like a native for that to be a coincidence… Talk with the Admiral of the Nauts, cousin. They must have records, too.”

Arline shifted uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny, the implications of his words sinking in. “Síora mentioned...,” She started hesitantly, “that the ancient invaders might have taken some of her ancestors. It is possible I might share blood with the island natives.”

His eyes lit up with a mixture of excitement and concern. “Exactly, cousin! Isn't that something worth exploring further?

Arline wasn’t sure if it was. She hesitated. “Yes... I will speak with the Admiral.” She handed him the drawing of the old Sérène crest. “And Constantin, those ruins... they should be secured.” She added, pointing to the drawing of the insignia.

“Yes, I shall see to that that immediately.” He agreed. “But tell me, did the Alliance uncover anything of note?”

Arline sighed. “Alas, no. Aphra says their botanical research is far from being finished but they have not found a plant with sufficient medicinal properties yet.”

“A shame indeed. But we still have Thélème – they may yet surprise us.” He said, his cheer returning.

Arline smiled. “I will address the issues in Vedrad first, then head to San Matheus.”

“Very well, my dear cousin.” He said, rising. “Continue your adventures and keep me informed. How I envy your freedom!”

As they parted ways with Constantin, Arline with Aphra and Vasco made their way through the bustling streets of New Sérène, heading towards the port. The city was alive with the usual midday commotion, merchants calling out their wares, sailors hauling goods, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the docks.

They spotted Admiral Cabral, overseeing the naval activities with a keen eye. Her imposing figure turned towards them, a hint of curiosity in his otherwise stern demeanor.

“Good day, m’lady. Vasco.” She greeted. "What brings you to my corner of the city?"

Arline smiled. “You could perhaps answer my question. Do you happen to have records predating the formation of your faction? Say, from eight hundred years ago?

Cabral's eyebrow rose in intrigue, her gaze shifting suspiciously between Arline and Vasco. “We might, but why this sudden interest?” She eyed Vasco, who stood by Arline's side, his posture rigid with anticipation.

Vasco, catching the Admiral's look, responded with a slight edge in his voice “Don’t look at me, Admiral, you know I had no knowledge of this.”

Cabral crossed her arms on her chest. “You also had no knowledge of your last name, Vasco. Yet I heard it spoken recently.”

“Yes, well,” Vasco shifted uncomfortably but held his ground. “That matter’s settled. I’m ready to return to the family.”

Cabral chuckled softly, a brief smile breaking through her usually stern demeanor. “Not what you expected?”

“Indeed.” He grumbled. “But let’s not digress. Lady De Sardet has pressing concerns.”

“Thank you, Vasco.” Arline was growing irritated by the rude exclusion and was glad to return to protocol. “I am interested in reading records concerning Sérène and this island, predating the arrival of the Bridge Alliance a decade ago.” She stated bluntly.

Admiral Cabral considered this for a moment, her expression turning thoughtful. “I understand. All the same, we are in a difficult position, we are bound by the pact. We do not trade our clients’ secrets.”

“Except once?” Arline asked with an innocent note to her voice.

“Except once.” Cabral nodded. “She paused, weighing her words. “For you… I could reconsider the validity of the pact and overlook these engagements – if you would perform a service.

“Please, continue.” Arline urged.

“Commander Fernando who holds the port of San Matheus has problems with certain members of Thélème, who don’t look kindly on our lack of openly expressed faith. There have been… incidents.”

“Consider me your intermediary.” She declared, smiling.

Cabral's expression eased into a nod of approval. “Solve these problems and I will answer your questions. Vasco, consider this you loyalty mission.”

Vasco's expression transformed from stoic to subtly pleased, a smile breaking through. “Thank you Admiral.”

It seemed like all roads lead to San Matheus now. Arline filed away the reminder to inform Kurt of their new direction—he had matters to attend to there as well. But first, she acknowledged the weight of fatigue bearing down on her; rest was essential.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Additionally, the administrations of balms infused with chamomile and lavender, renowned for their soothing properties upon the bodily form, may offer a momentary reprieve to those ravaged by the ceaseless affliction

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

The journey to Vígyígidaw wove through a forest as surreal as it was ancient. Giant trees, their trunks wide as houses, stretched skyward, their canopies merging to form a green veil that filtered the sunlight into a perpetual twilight. The air was thick with the scent of moist earth and rich foliage, filled with the sounds of unseen creatures and the distant calls of exotic birds. Vines and other plants clung to the trees, climbing towards the scarce light above, contributing to the feeling of being in a world untouched by time.

Síora, at ease in the embrace of such wilderness, moved with a confidence that Arline envied. She guided them through the dense underbrush with an almost mystical intuition. In contrast, the two Coin Guards, assigned for Arline’s protection, marched on with mechanical diligence, their presence a stark reminder of Kurt's absence. Where Kurt would have offered a comforting word or a shared glance, these guards maintained a professional distance, their faces set in concentration, focused solely on the path ahead and the safety of their charge.

The disconnect between them and the natural camaraderie Arline shared with her usual companion filled her with unreasonable sadness. She had only parted with Kurt a day before, yet she already missed the effortless bond, the banter, and the sense of safety she always felt when he was near. Only now did she realize that sense of safety had little to do with his capabilities as a protector, and instead stemmed from her trust in a friend.

Arriving in Vedrhais mere hours earlier, Arline's stay was brief but poignant. The dwelling of Caradeg, the promise keeper bore the scars of haste and violence; his abode was left in disarray, a clear indication of his sudden departure, while his workshop was ransacked, a deliberate act of sabotage mirroring the destruction of the promises themselves. This scene of chaos offered no solace nor evidence to pacify the demands of Thélème or the Bridge Alliance.

The tradition of inscribing promises into stone, Síora  had explained, was deeply rooted in the native culture, a sacred practice that binds agreements with the unyielding certainty of the earth itself. Those who sought to immortalize their vows must seek out a keeper of promises, an artisan versed in the secret scripts of the doneigada, capable of etching words into stone. Such keepers were rare, their skills passed down through generations, shrouded in the mystique of tradition. Before Caradeg graced Síora's village with his presence, coming from from the Beraíg Nodas, Sap Bearers clan in the village of Vígyígidaw, The Healed Wound – such a figure was absent. With hopes that he might have sought refuge back in his ancestral home, Arline and her party set out to follow his trail, venturing into the heart of this enchanted forest.

Unlike the open clearings of Vedrhais, Vígyígidaw was seamlessly woven into the dense tapestry of the forest. Dome-like structures nestled among the towering trees, their architecture harmoniously integrated with the natural surroundings. Greenery cascaded over their surfaces, blurring the lines between the man-made and the wild. Despite the daylight piercing through the canopy above, green-hued lanterns dangled from the branches, their glow emanating from raw glowstones— a commodity of great value on the continent—casting an ethereal light throughout the village.

They made their way to the chief's dwelling, a structure that stood out not in opulence but in intricate integration with a particularly majestic tree within the village's heart. Its entrance was guarded by intricately carved totems similar to those Arline had seen in Vedrhais. She mentally bookmarked the enigmatic symbols for a later discussion with Síora, curious about the stories they held. The chief, Dunncas, awaited them with a demeanor that balanced wariness with a dignified openness. His appearance was striking, his dark skin bore the intricate patterns of paint markings, reminiscent of the bark of ancient trees. The white fur lining his attire, likely sourced from the beasts of the forest, added an air of primal nobility.

Dunncas's gaze was penetrating, yet there was a wisdom in his eyes that spoke of a leader accustomed to the complexities of both the natural world and the dealings with outsiders. He greeted them with a cautious nod, his posture relaxed yet authoritative, embodying the serene confidence of one who understands the delicate balance of life within these woods.

“What brings you here, doneigad? And the renaígse who is on ol menawí?” Dunncas’s voice carried a tone of curiosity mingled with respect. Arline felt a stir of surprise at his immediate recognition of her unique status among the natives, a detail she suspected had traveled through the whispers of the Gaís Rad.

“We are looking for Caradeg, the keeper of promises.” Arline responded, her head tilted to the side with curiosity.

Síora, standing beside her, added, “Did he come back to your village?”

Dunncas nodded slowly, his expression somber. “He did come, and then he left. We could not take him back.”

Arline’s eyebrows drew together in a frown of confusion. “Did you exile him? Why?”

“He is the one who left.” Dunncas clarified, a tinge of regret in his voice. “He disagreed with our stance on the renaígse. He thought that we should be fighting them, throwing them back to the sea. This is why he joined the Gaís Rad. And I did not want him to return if it meant he would bring his hatred with him.”

Arline was even more intrigued by this declaration. She had met two clans so far, and both of them were at war with the Bridge Alliance.

“You wish to create a balance between your people and the renaígse?” She asked.

“Indeed.” Dunncas said.

Síora interjected, her voice carrying a hint of challenge. “But how can there be balance if all those who oppose your vision are simply pushed aside?”

Dunncas paused, his frown deepening as he pondered her question. “I did not push him aside. He is the one who left and gave his support to the war he was dreaming of.”

“And yet, he kept the symbol of your clan with him; we found it in his house.” Síora said, her observation hanging between them like a silent accusation.

Dunncas exhaled a deep, weary sigh. “You are right. I must be capable of maintaining peace, even with those who think differently. Tell him that he can come back.”

“Do you know where he might have gone?” Arline asked, hopeful for a lead.

Dunncas's eyes turned unfocused towards the door of his dwelling, and the dense forest that enveloped their village beyond. “He feared someone or something, and he wanted to hide. He must have left for the woods, south of here. He knows the area well.”

“Thank you, Dunncas.” Arline said with a respectful nod.

Venturing south, deeper into the foreboding embrace of the dark forest, Arline and her party found themselves enveloped by an almost tangible gloom. The light, which had once dappled the forest floor through the dense canopy above, gradually receded until it vanished altogether. The decision to set up camp was made reluctantly, acknowledging the impossibility of navigating such darkness.

As they gathered around the fire, Arline couldn't shake off the coldness that seemed to cling to its warmth. The flames crackled and danced, but their light felt insufficient, their heat inadequate. She knew the reason, though she hesitated to admit it even to herself. The fire felt cold without Kurt's presence beside it, his laughter absent, his reassuring glances no longer meeting hers across the flickering light.

Arline reprimanded her own thoughts for this unexpected dependency, for growing so obsessively fixated on a man who, despite the hints of underlying affection, had declared having no intentions whatsoever. Life, she mused, should have been simpler with such a potentially difficult choice made for her, and yet it was anything but. It was frustrating, particularly knowing Kurt believed this choice was made for him as well.

As she laid down to sleep, Kurt's face haunted her thoughts, stubbornly remaining as the last image in her mind before she succumbed to exhaustion. The following morning, waking up felt like emerging from a dense fog, her surroundings slowly coming into focus, with Kurt's face besetting her once more. The frustration lingered, a silent companion as they packed up and ventured further into the forest's heart.

The dense underbrush and towering trees seemed to close in around them, the path forward obscured by shadows. They pressed on, driven by their quest and the hope of finding answers within the depths of this ancient wilderness.

After hours of navigating through the dense, shadowed forest, their path finally showed signs of habitation—traps set for the game, a clear indication they were not alone. With Síora's guidance, familiar with the ways of the land, they followed the subtle signs until they encountered Caradeg. The man stood tall among the trees, his grey beard betraying his years, and his face adorned with traditional paint that spoke of his deep connection to the native culture. He crouched as they approached, a knife in his hand, teeth bared.

“Caradeg, es tu Síora, hedoch!” Síora called, raising her hands.

“Ka renaígse tos?” He barked, not relaxing his stance.

“Gaísas Rad carants es tu on ol menawí.”

Arline, understanding the meaning vaguely, cautiously stepped forward, addressing him with a mixture of respect and urgency. “We would like to ask you about a stone you supposedly engraved.”

Caradeg's eyes, though still narrowed, reflected a lifetime of wisdom and wariness. “It is the stone of the renaígse, isn't it?” He began, his voice heavy with regret. “I should never have accepted to seal such a promise. I did not like them, but I could not refuse to fulfill my duty. Not when Bládnid was demanding it. And now that she is no longer with us, these Monisinaiga are chasing me!”

 “It is because you were the last person to know what was engraved on it. The stone has been destroyed.” Síora interjected.

The man spit to the ground. “I kept the piece of tree bark in which I prepared the glyphs. All the details are there.”

“With this tree bark, we could verify what my mother promised! Can you give it to us?” Síora asked, her voice as hopeful as it was urgent.

Caradeg hesitated, the internal conflict evident on his painted face. “No, doneigad. I do not mean to disrespect you, but I will not. The renaígse only bring us trouble and you come with them. They will disappoint you, just like they disappointed your mother. I do not want to deal with them ever again. They threaten my life, and because of them, I am forced to hide here!”

Arline, sensing the opportunity to bridge the gap, spoke gently. “You wanted to go back to your original clan, did you not? You were hoping that Dunncas would welcome you. He is prepared to do so. He simply hopes that you will put aside the anger that is inside you.”

Caradeg's expression softened, the anger giving way to contemplation. “When I left, I thought Dunncas was too soft, too nice with the renaígse. I was hoping to fight them with Bládnid. But, in the end, she also chose to negotiate with them. So, I might as well go back home.” He shook his head. “Thank you for convincing him to take me back.” He said, looking to Síora . “Here, take this piece of tree bark. I hope that it will help you to chase these r renaígse away, doneigad.”

As Síora carefully read the writing inscribed on the bark, the anticipation was dense. Arline, unable to decipher the script, asked, “What do these glyphs say?”

Síora looked up from the bark, a fierce determination in her eyes. “That we will assist the priests in their war against the Lions, and they must help us in return. There is nothing about the spirits of the people of the village or renouncing our traditions. I knew they were lying! Let's show this to Eseld!” She called, fire in her eyes.

Contrary to Síora's evident relief, the outcome failed to ignite Arline’s sense of achievement and satisfaction. The pact forged between the Gaís Rad and Thélème threatened to alienate the Bridge Alliance, potentially unraveling the negotiations Arline had so carefully orchestrated, a potential stain on her reputation as the mediator. She kept her concerns silent, choosing not to voice the doubts that gnawed at her conscience. After all, the alliance with Thélème still promised a tangible ceasefire for Síora's people, and that was all she ever asked for.

Despite the bitter taste on her tongue, Arline smiled. “That is wonderful news, Síora .” She said, her voice betraying none of the inner conflict that plagued her thoughts. Arline braced herself for the inevitable confrontation with Governor Burhan, knowing she must account for the unforeseen misinformation.

As they retraced their steps back to Vedrhais, the dense, wild greenery of the deep forest gradually receded, giving way to the rich reds that lent the region its name.

Vasco and Aphra filled the air with conversation, their voices a constant hum against the backdrop of the forest sounds. They spoke of the stars and sea creatures, their dialogue weaving through topics of astronomy and navigation, fishery and natural sciences, common ground between the sailor's expertise and the scholar's upbringing. Their dialogue was a blend of academic interest and seafaring lore, filling the journey with a background of friendly chatter that seemed to make the journey shorter.

Síora moved ahead in silence, impatient to be back with her sister and finally lay her mother to rest. Arline walked quietly among them. She listened to Vasco and Aphra, but her heart was elsewhere, the stars, for all their beauty and constancy, seemed distant and indifferent.

The setting sun cast the forest in a warm, crimson glow, the fading light filtering through the towering trees, painting everything it touched in hues of gold and fire. The beauty of the scene was almost surreal, and she caught herself glancing at the guards, seeking Kurt’s reaction, only to chide herself again for such habitual thoughts. As they emerged from the tree line, the outlines of Vedrhais appeared against the backdrop of the setting sun, the village bathed in the evening's scarlet light, reflecting the colours of the nearby Thélème missionaries' encampment, with their shields emblazoned with the red sun emblem of the Enlightened.

As they approached the missionaries, the air was thick with tension. Arline stepped forward, her expression stern and authoritative, her party standing firmly behind her. The evening sun cast long shadows, stretching across the ground, merging with the darkness of the encroaching night.

“Do you maintain your version of events regarding the pact with the queen?” Arline's voice cut through the charged atmosphere, her gaze intensifying as she fixed it on the lead missionary, challenging his conviction.

“Naturally.” He responded his voice unwavering, though his fingers twitched nervously against the symbol of the sun around his neck, reflecting the fading light.

“Really? Because we found the man who engraved this stone. A man that you wanted to silence.” Arline continued, her tone sharpening with each word. “He gave us a piece of tree bark with the words the queen had asked him to immortalize on the stone.” Her hand gestured towards the evidence clutched in her grasp.

Síora, fueled by righteous anger, stepped forward, her voice laced with contempt. “You see? Destroying the stone was not enough to hide your lies!” She pointed accusingly, her stance aggressive and unwavering.

The missionary sister tried to wrest back control, her voice wobbling slightly. “This is… regrettable, but apart from this child, we are amongst civilized people.” She said, her tone dismissive, yet tinged with desperation.

Her Brother joined in. “If this village is so dear to you, then you know that it will not survive another assault from the Alliance without our help. Even if they don’t know it, they need us!”

Arline met his challenge with a steely gaze. “And why should this village not receive your help regardless? You have made a promise, set in stone, to aid them, have you not?”

The sister scoffed dismissively, the veneer of civility beginning to crack. “Please, as a legate, surely you understand Thélème would never ally with pagans without their conversion!”

“Their scribbles in stone are not treaties recognized by our state.” The brother coldly interjected. “They convert, or we leave.”

Then, with a manipulative tilt of her head, the sister presented Arline with a heavy purse, the sound of clinking gold undercutting her saccharine words. “What would you say if I offered you this hefty sum of money to forget about your unfortunate discovery? For the sake of the village, of course.”

Arline's eyes narrowed, her body rigid with indignation, the muscles in her jaw tightening as she fought to control the storm brewing within. To convert by trickery, break pacts, and offer a legate a bribe was so brazen she could barely maintain her composure, her teeth grinding. One thought only sparked between her indignation – if Thélème did not recognize stone-set promises as treaties, why should the Bridge Alliance? They still had a chance of succeeding with the mediation.

Arline gave them an icy look. “Do not count on me to support your lies.” She finally stated, each word dripping with cold finality.

The missionary Sister's face hardened. “That is regrettable, Your Excellency. Because of you, these poor children will be slaughtered by the Alliance.”

“And we were told that you were receptive to the Light. How do you think that He will judge you?” The Brother added, his voice filled with a mock sadness.

“And what will Thélème think of a foreign diplomat sabotaging the mission of their priests?”

Arline's patience had reached its end. “If I were you, I would consider how the Congregation will respond to Thélème missionaries attempting to manipulate their legate with lies and bribes,” she declared with a menacing calm. “You may find out soon enough, as I will be discussing this with Governor Cardinal Cornelia. I suggest you leave.”

Síora's anger surpassed Arline's. “You took us for gullible children! Leave this village at once! You will never be welcome here again!

“By lying, you have insulted the memory of the queen. The entire village will be happy to make you pay for your affront if they hear about it. You would do well to leave before having to face their wrath.” Arline delivered the final blow.

The expression on the missionaries’ faces changed as they seemingly started to question their choices, their eyes darting between each other and Arline. “We are not here to shed blood.” The sister conceded, her voice quivering with newfound fear.

 “Very well, we’re leaving,” The brother declared, though his parting glance held a venomous promise. “But we will not forget your role in this matter, Your Excellency.” Their hasty departure was marked by Arline’s scornful eyes.

Síora turned to Arline, her expression softening. “I did not think they would leave of their own accord. Thank you, on ol menawí. Thanks to you, we managed to chase away these liars and we will be able to perform our rituals and give our mother back to the earth.”

Leaving Síora to fulfill her sacred duties as a doneigad in preparation for the burial rites, Arline turned her attention to the urgent task of conveying the day's tumultuous events to those who held the power to influence the outcome further. First, she penned a detailed message to Constantin, her words carefully chosen to convey the gravity of their discovery and the deceit they had unveiled. She hoped it would arm him with the knowledge needed to navigate the delicate political landscape that lay ahead. Then, turning her focus to Lord Lefroy, she drafted another missive, outlining the potential for peace that still lingered in the air, like the faint glow of embers waiting to be stoked into a flame. Her heart held a cautious optimism that, with the right words and actions, a lasting peace could still be brokered here, amidst the ancient trees and whispered secrets of Vedrad.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

In seeking to comfort the afflicted, attentiveness to their mental and spiritual well-being is of paramount importance. The offering of solace through gentle words, the provision of succour through the companionship of friends and kin, and the invocation of prayers and benedictions to grant them solace amidst their suffering, may bestow a measure of tranquillity upon their beleaguered souls.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

The burial of Queen Bládnid, adhering strictly to the private customs reserved for family, could proceed the following day. Concurrently, the Bridge Alliance diplomats, [disillusioned] by what they perceived as duplicity from the clan's dealings with Thélème, vacated Vedrad – there would be no ceasefire. Their departure left a bitter taste in Arline's mouth; the sting of professional disappointment acutely felt, was surpassed only by the loss of a valid reason to distance herself from Lefroy and his pronounced discontent.

“This is a disaster, Lady De Sardet!” He lamented, his voice sharp with reproach. “You have assured Governor Burham there was no alliance between the natives and Thélème! This tarnishes the reputation of us all.”

The missed chance to advocate for peace for Síora’s people diminished Arline’s hope that Síora would start her teachings. Síora surprised her with her choice to go with Arline, and pronounce her the donaigad’s voglendaig, driven not by curiosity, she said, by rather by friendship.

“You are a noble-hearted woman, and a true on ol menawí.” Síora assured her. “Do not worry, I'm not staying because I feel constrained to do so, but because the more I know you, the more I find other reasons to stay with you.”

They journeyed towards San Matheus, anticipation lifting Arline's spirits at the thought of reuniting with Kurt. She had arranged for Lefroy and one of the guards to take the carriage, prioritizing Síora and Vasco’s equestrian education: it was high time they learned horseback riding to avoid the constant reliance on carriages for their travels. Riding side by side, Arline offered patient instructions, her voice calm and encouraging as Síora, with a mix of trepidation and excitement, mimicked her movements, gradually finding her rhythm with the horse. She was doing better than Vasco, who didn’t have experience with any mounts, while Síora rode the andríg before, the island kind of a buffalo.

As they trotted along, Síora, appearing more comfortable now, initiated an exchange of knowledge she had promised.

“How many elements do you know, on ol menawí?” She asked.

Arline considered the question thoughtfully, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Know or know how to channel?” She clarified.

“Know how to channel.”

 “I was taught to use Light, Shadow, Force, Space, and to recognize Time and Spirit. Then I learned how to weave Air, Spark and Ether on my own.” She recounted, her hands unconsciously outlining the motions associated with each. “Ombrégeurs do not typically know how to weave the five primary elements, Ether or Shift, though the alchemists can harness them in potions. I believe the roots you can conjure are of Ether?”

“Ether? We call it Life, but yes, that is the element.” Síora said, slightly puzzled. “The primary five?” She added, sending Arline a questioning look.

“Fire, Ice, Earth, Air, and Spark.” Arline explained. “Then we have the energy four – Time, Space, Force, and Shift; and sacred four – Ether, Spirit, Light, and Shadow.”

From behind, Aphra, who had been listening intently, chimed in. “Light is actually an energy element.” She interjected. “Were you taught by the priests?”

“Yes.” Arline confirmed, raising an eyebrow.

Síora cast a wary glance towards Aphra before turning back to Arline with a request laced with a hint of protective urgency. “Can we move away, carants? Only you are my voglendaig.”

Arline, catching the underlying tension, nodded in understanding. With a gentle tug on the reins, she guided their horses to lag slightly, creating a space between them and the others, honouring Síora’s wish for a more private conversation.

“You have discovered Lightning and Air alone?” Síora resumed.

“Yes, with Air, I once accidentally pulled it from Chaos instead of Space, and instead of plunging my teacher into darkness, I made her hard to detect.” Arline shared with a light chuckle, shaking her head at the peculiar memory. “We were both quite shocked. And Lightning, we call it Spark, I have known since I can remember, I used to put people in stasis by instinct when I was scared.”

Síora responded with a knowing smile, her eyes lighting up with the shared amusement of elemental surprises. “Sin ol menawí often have a favourite element that they don’t need to learn. Mine was Fire. Right after my Bonding, I accidentally ignited a tree.”

Arline couldn’t help but laugh in response. “I suppose I should count myself fortunate with my elements then.”

Delving into her pouch, Síora retrieved a small collection of stones. “Have you ever used these essence stones in your training?” She asked, presenting them to Arline.

Arline examined them, nodding slowly. “I have, though I never practiced with the opal.” She admitted, her brow furrowing in thought.

“And why is that?” Síora prodded.

Arline hesitated, her fingers tracing the smooth surface of the untouched opal. “Because I was taught that Shift could not be channelled directly. But you are suggesting otherwise?”

With a soft chuckle, Síora encouraged her, “Yes, you can channel Shift. Give it a try.”

Taking the opal, Arline concentrated deeply, her mind reaching back to the elemental exercises of her youth. She connected to the Source with her innate bond and touched the stone in her hand with her mind. At first, she could not feel anything, however as she touched Chaos with another thought, she started sensing the energy within the stone, as if the element wished to evaporate from it into the Chaos.

“Hold it.” Síora said, apparently sensing the element running through Arline’s fingers.

Arline focused on the steaming energy, trying to bind it, isolate it away from the Chaos. A sensation of vibration came through her skin like a wave, and she felt an intense taste on her tongue, sweet, sour, tart, salty and spicy at the same time. An elusive scent reminiscent of the bustling food market followed it. She opened her eyes, thrilled. It was a first-time sensation of an unknown element.

“I have it!”

“Good! Now, channel it together with Light, infuse it into a piece of cloth you are wearing, imagining it changing colour.”

Arline’s lips parted as she understood the implication. She followed the instructions, drawing Shift with the familiar Light, fusing them into a vibrant shade of green in the brown leather of her gloves.

“Very good!” Síora praised, her eyes alight with approval and a hint of mentor’s pride.

“That is how your clothing is so vibrant, is it not?” Arline asked, her grin wide as she connected the dots, a spark of excitement in her eyes.

“It often is.” Síora admitted. “Our voglendaiga train this way. However, I suspect this was too simple for you, given your experience. Perhaps you are ready to delve into healing.”

Arline felt a flutter in her chest, the words stirring a mix of anticipation and dread within her. Memories of Kurt, injured and vulnerable, flashed through her mind, reigniting the desperate wish to have been able to do more. “You need to weave Shift with Ether?” She asked, her own voice sounding distant to her.

“Yes, but there are many ways to Change a Life healing and harming lie on the same spectrum.” Síora explained, her voice serious, her gaze intense. “It is a dangerous skill. You will need to first practice with plants, then with animals.” She said. “But first, we must explore what you can do with the natural elements. If you can perceive Change, surely you can connect with Fire and the others. Try once more.”

Arline, though eager to start training to heal, accepted the direction. She looked for cryolite, the essence of Ice, hoping the perpetual coolness of the crystal would help her identify the sensory experiences of its element. She repeated the search process, and to her surprise, immediately felt the energy closed in the stone. The coolness spread from her palm to the rest of her body, and she felt the distinct frosty scent of a first snowfall mingling with a faint sweet taste. The element flowed through her with ease and, touching her waterskin, she channelled it forward. The liquid inside turned to solid.

“I did it!” She exclaimed, her voice a mixture of surprise and delight, as she held up the frozen waterskin to Síora, seeking her validation.

Síora's smile was one of genuine pride. “You are progressing swiftly.” She acknowledged.

Arline pondered aloud. “Perhaps my earlier attempts were hindered because I used a ring, not my innate Bond. The connection felt diluted, limiting my access to the Source.”

“That is possible, the natural elements are the easiest to control, but the hardest to call in the first place, because they are deeply rooted in our world.”

“That is ground-breaking. I do not suppose you will let me share it with my people?” Arline asked.

Síora's body stiffened, her openness retracting as caution took its place. “Only you are my voglendaig, on ol menawí. I do not trust your people to return the Power when the time comes.”

“You say it like it is a conscious choice, to die.” Arline said, confusion and concern knitting her brow.

“Not to die, to live only for yourself.” Síora paused, thoughtful. “Even in our history, there were those who took more Power than they were given, not giving anything in return, a selfish choice that required those who remained to heal the land.”

“If there is a limit, how do I know how not to cross it?” Arline pressed, her pulse quickening with the gravity of the discussion.

“This is wisdom shared from a doneigad to their voglendaig after careful observation.” Síora explained, her voice soft yet firm. “For now, know you are in no danger of committing this crime, I promise.” She said. “You must practise drawing all the elements you were unfamiliar with before, until you recognise them so distinctly, you can invoke them without the aid of the stone.”

The remainder of their journey was dedicated to this task, Arline delving deep into her newfound abilities with a fervour, her focus unwavering. She moved from one element to the next, her connection to each growing stronger, more intuitive, as if awakening long-dormant senses within her. Each successful invocation marked not just a triumph of skill, but a step closer to the healer she aspired to become.

○●○

The path curved around the edge of the dense, wild forest, where they had found the keeper of promises. On their right, the forest rose like a living wall, impenetrable and mysterious, the underbrush thick with untamed growth, branches interlocking in an ancient dance. To their left, the wide, roaring Vegvílvie Srodí, Weave of Thousand Lives River, flowed with rapid, tumultuous currents, its waters catching the fading light of the slowly setting sun, sparkling with a thousand shades of orange and gold.

Suddenly, a piercing scream echoed from the depths of the forest, followed by the high-pitched calls of wild beasts and desperate calls for help in the native tongue. Síora's head snapped towards the source of the commotion, her expression taut with concern. In her urgency, she directed her horse too sharply, colliding with Aphra's mount in her haste.

“Lieutenant Wilma, with me.” Arline commanded, addressing the remaining Coin Guard still mounted. Without hesitation, she spurred her horse towards the origin of the screams, Aphra recovering quickly and galloping right behind them, with Vasco and Síora, not adept in horse riding, trotted after her.

As they broke through the foliage, they came upon a harrowing scene: two young natives, a man and a woman, were embroiled in a desperate struggle against five giant lizards, each the size of a small pony. Arline recognized the creatures from her readings; they were known for their ferocity and resilience. The native man wielded a makeshift spear, his movements swift and determined, while the woman, armed with a shorter blade, danced around the lizards with lethal grace. Despite their bravery, one of the lizards bore down on the woman, its massive jaws snapping perilously close to her limbs, time after another. Blood stained the ground beneath them.

Arline charged at one of the lizards, her sabre slicing through the air to run it through, while Lieutenant Wilma, with determined precision, cut down another with her halberd. A gunshot rang out as Aphra took aim and fired, her bullet finding its mark in another of the beasts. The sudden noise spooked the horses; Vasco’s mount reared up, throwing him to the ground, while Síora, clinging tightly to her reins, managed to maintain her seat and, with a fierce cry, summoned a bolt of lightning that struck another lizard dead.

As Vasco tried to calm his horse, Arline and Wilma tackled the remaining beasts. The air was filled with the sounds of battle, the frightened whinnying of horses, and the guttural roars of the dying lizards.

Finally, as the dust settled and the last of the creatures lay defeated, silence returned to the forest, broken only by the laboured breaths of the survivors and the heart-wrenching cry of the native man over his fallen companion. “Morian!” He screamed, his voice laced with despair, as he fell to his knees beside her.

Aphra quickly dismounted, rummaging through her satchel with urgent hands. “These creatures are venomous,” she announced, her voice steady despite the panic around her. “If their venom has come into contact with her blood, this young woman does not have long.” She pulled out a vial from her bag, her movements swift. “Hold on!” she shouted, rushing to the injured woman’s side, ready to administer the life-saving potion, the liquid inside shimmering faintly.

Síora leaned in, her tone imbued with a soothing timbre, a stark contrast to the panic. “Féans miníns se, vreigámewd sin se siend.”

The young woman hesitated only a moment before accepting the antidote from Aphra’s steady hands. She drank, and the forest around them held its breath, the violent encounter with the beasts already fading into the backdrop of a natural calm.

The man’s face transformed with relief, the lines of worry smoothing as color washed back into Morian’s cheeks. “Blessed be the earth that has brought you to us at this time.” his voice laden with heartfelt gratitude, his hands trembling slightly as they reached out to the woman.

Morian opened her eyes wide. “I… I feel the pain leaving me.” She whispered, seeking the man’s hand in an assuring gesture.

The man clasped Aphra’s hands, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “She is saved. You have great wisdom. May the trees always bear fruits on your journey. You have saved my Minundhanem!”

Aphra, though slightly taken aback by his intensity, managed a humble smile. “It was nothing. I’m glad I could help you.”

Morian, now sitting up, regarded the group with new eyes. “You are different from other renaígse. You help us, you know the potions.”

Síora, standing slightly apart, couldn’t hide her irritation, her brow creased in disapproval. “Fós layona tus.” She muttered under her breath.

The man looked at her and shook his head. “Ná cudríum.” He said, then looked back at Aphra with a warm smile. “You are my carats, renaígse. I am Yewan.”

Síora’s skepticism deepened, her frown marking her face as she interrogated. “Cwé tealan tuen?”

“Beraíg nodas.” Yewan replied, naming his clan.

 “Cengeden ná tuen?” Síora pressed further.

Morian answered for him, her voice weak and apologetic. “Ná, voglendaiga tuen.”

Síora sighed, resignation setting in. “On ol menawí, these two are voglendaiga from Dunncas's clan. They are vulnerable. We should escort them back.”

Arline had managed to help Vasco calm his horse, her hands gentle but firm on the animal’s reins. She turned to the young couple, concern etching her features. “What are you doing here alone?”

 “We journeyed to the circle of knowledge. We never met lewolana here!” Yewan said.

 “We are near a river.” Aphra interjected. “They could make a nest nearby.”

Arline, though inwardly frustrated with the delay this detour would cause in her plans, masked her feelings well. “Join us, we will set up camp for today, and help you to your village tomorrow.”

As they settled down for the night, Arline observed the young couple. Their bond was unmistakable, each drawing strength from the other’s presence. A pang of longing hit Arline, her thoughts inevitably drifting to Kurt, whom she would now be postponing meeting once more for the sake of these strangers.

But duty called, and she would answer, as she always did.

○●○

The flickering flames of the campfire in Vígyígidaw cast a warm, inviting glow against the encroaching darkness of the surrounding forest. The atmosphere was serene, the night's symphony of crickets and distant calls of nocturnal creatures providing a natural backdrop to their quiet contemplation. Leaving the carriages, servants and one Coin Guard behind at the edge of the forest, they backtracked to the village with the young people the following day. Dunncas, thankful for the help they provided his voglendaiga, had extended the invitation to stay and learn, but the village leader and the elders had departed early, leaving a veil of mystery in their wake. Arline watched the flames with a piece of pyrite in her palm, sensing it through her bond, tracing patterns within. A faint scent of sulfur, reminiscent of matches being struck, enveloped her, a bitter metallic tang on her tongue.

Aphra shifted uneasily beside the fire, her restlessness evident in her constant movement and the furrow between her brows. Arline noticed her discomfort, the flames reflecting in her concerned eyes.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, her voice soft, barely rising above the crackling of the fire.

Aphra’s fingers twitched, betraying her agitation. “Dunncas wasn’t here tonight, yet he’s the one who invited us to stay. I also saw one of the elders sneaking out of the village.” She whispered, her gaze fixed on the dark outline of the forest.

Arline frowned. “I fail to see how that concerns us.” She responded, her voice laced with caution.

Aphra stood up abruptly, her silhouette tense against the firelight. “I don’t know, but since they don’t want to share their knowledge with us, let’s try to follow them.”

Arline stared at her in shock, the idea of spying on their hosts unsettling to her. “I would rather not antagonize this clan. They are open to the renaígse, let us not change that.” She urged, hoping to sway her companion from her reckless path.

But Aphra was undeterred, her determination set. “Have it your way, I'm going.” She stated firmly, her figure slipping silently towards the camp's exit.

Arline sighed with resignation, her sense of responsibility outweighing her judgment. With a heavy heart, she rose and followed, her footsteps light but filled with trepidation.

Together, they traced a well-trodden path northward, the forest closing in around them. Arline’s heart thrummed loudly in her chest, her mind racing with the potential consequences of their actions. Every step felt like a betrayal of the trust Dunncas had placed in them, yet she could not let Aphra venture into the unknown alone. The tension knotted in her stomach, a silent companion to the clandestine journey.

The path through the dense forest was barely illuminated by the slivers of moonlight that managed to pierce through the thick canopy above. The underbrush brushed against their legs as Arline and Aphra moved with cautious steps, the sounds of their movement muffled by the natural blanket of leaves and moss underfoot. Arline's heart raced with nervousness, her senses heightened by the enveloping darkness and the unknown ahead.

Finally, they reached the cave at the end of the path, its entrance a gaping maw in the moonlit night. Inside, the air was cooler, filled with the earthy scent of damp stone and ancient secrets. Arline's nervousness escalated, her breaths shallow and quick as they silently nestled into a shadowed corner, hidden from view.

Inside the cave, the voices of the Vígyígidaw elders resonated, the tone serious and reverent. “Mandú velu deis, Dunncas?” One of the elders asked.

“Ya, es radei da hamirádi, smeuin em es en yeuang arulám.” Dunncas replied, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

“Sag nás vell da gomarosi e tégedach renaigsemen?” The elder pressed further.

Dunncas's response was measured. “Nás folad em voucsand wint éd sin ya es radei da regu. Es dag e lochsen, nás folad da hestegaw clos e garmam.”

Aphra, understanding the language better than Arline, scribbled hasty notes in her journal with a charcoal, her hand moving quickly to keep up with the elders' conversation. Arline felt her heart beating a relentless, thunderous rhythm, echoing so loudly she feared their cover would be blown.

She wasn’t wrong. “The leaves rustle and speak.” Dunncas remarked, his voice laced with a blend of amusement and mild reproof. “Are you satisfied with what you saw, renaígse?” His eyes, glinting with curiosity, fixed upon the hidden observers.

Flustered, Arline emerged from their hideaway, her cheeks flushing with a mix of shame and fear. “Forgive us, we did not intend… I have no excuse.” She stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m the one who brought her here.” Aphra quickly interjected, stepping forward into the dim glow of the cave's torchlight, her own face a mask of determined justification.

Dunncas regarded them, arms crossed over his chest, his eyebrow arching inquisitively. “And what did you hope to accomplish here?”

Aphra, undeterred, brandished her journal like a shield. “Only to learn, Dunncas.” She declared, her voice a mix of defiance and plea. “Your people guard their secrets well, leaving my questions unanswered. I thought witnessing a gathering of the doneigada might unveil your mysteries.”

With a heavy sigh, Dunncas responded. “Such knowledge is earned by those who commit to the path of patience and learning.”

Arline’s expression tightened, a slight grimace betraying her decided impatience. “I am Síora’s voglendaig. Yet I still do not know exactly what the bond is or how does one return the power.” She confessed, her voice wavering, laden with a vulnerability she seldom showed. “I fear the unknown, the changes within me. I woke to find nature itself sprouting from my skin, and I'm told only to expect more.”

Dunncas considered her words, his expression turning solemn. “Wisdom must precede revelation.” He stated slowly. “And trust must be tested before one can wield the Power responsibly.”

Arline meet his gaze, challenging. “And those like me, marked without choice? Must we navigate blindly the consequences of a bond unsought?”

A nod from Dunncas, solemn and understanding. “Such individuals are under our vigilant gaze, for their bond may be broken if necessary."

Arline’s lips parted in shock. “The bond... it can be severed?”

 “Indeed.” Dunncas said. “You did not ask for this bond, yet you must still prove you deserve it.”

Arline absorbed his words, watching the flickering flame of the torch, tasting the element through her bond, a sense of fear for losing it washing over her. She listened to her own breaths, feeling a wave of calmness come with understanding. “I do not want to fail.” She whispered, emotion stinging her eyes.

“Then trust your doneigad, on ol menawí.” Dunncas advised, softening. “She does not wish you to fail either.”

Arline bowed with respect. “Thank you, mál.” She said, finding resolve.

As the night's embers dwindled to a soft glow, Arline sat in quiet contemplation, the weight of Dunncas's words pressing upon her. The resolve within her, however, was undiminished; she was determined to prove herself worthy of the bond she had been granted, to show Síora and the other doneigada that she was more than just another renaígse. With dawn's light, they would resume their journey to San Matheus, and despite the uncertainties that lay ahead, Arline felt a surge of anticipation, comforted by the thought of sharing her burdens with Kurt at the end of it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Succinctly, the affliction of Malichor, an enigmatic scourge that ravages the very core of life's vital forces, hath been explored in this discourse. Its nefarious grip, transmuting the vigour of humours and casting dark shadows upon the lifeblood, calls for an earnest understanding and resolution.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

As twilight deepened into night, the flickering lights of San Matheus emerged on the horizon, a beacon of civilization amidst the darkening landscape. The weary party pressed forward, propelled by the promise of comfort and rest after six relentless days in the wilderness. Arline, despite her own aching body from hours in the saddle, couldn’t help but spare a thought for Síora and Vasco, novices to horse riding, now safely ensconced back in the carriage to shield them from further discomfort.

The grandiose gate of San Matheus, resplendent with the sun symbol, loomed before them, casting long, intricate shadows under the torchlight. Lefroy, looking every bit as exhausted as she felt, managed a tired nod in her direction. They were waved through by guards who bore the same sun insignia on their armour, a symbol of the city’s allegiance and faith.

The embassy was a short ride from the gate, an imposing structure that stood out even in the dim light. As they dismounted, a guard led them through the ornate doors into the warm, welcoming vestibule of the embassy. The interior was bathed in soft, golden light, the familiar surroundings a stark contrast to the cold and discomfort of the forest nights. The housekeeper greeted them with a mixture of surprise and relief, ushering them in with the efficiency of someone well accustomed to late arrivals.

The promise of a hot bath was a siren call to Arline’s sore muscles, and she mentally vowed to make straight for the sanctuary of her room without delay. The thought of sinking into warm water, letting the heat seep into her tired limbs, was all she needed to muster the last of her energy and push through the fatigue that weighed heavily on her eyelids. The comfort of a real bed awaited, a luxurious end to the days of roughing it in the wild, and a well-earned respite before the demands of diplomacy called upon her once again.

As the quiet hum of the embassy filled the air, footsteps echoed rapidly from the staircase, catching everyone's attention. It was Kurt, his initial frown melting into a relaxed smile as his eyes met Arline's. The transformation in his demeanour was like the sun breaking through clouds, warming the cool, dimly lit vestibule.

Arline's face lit up with a radiant, unrestrained smile at the sight of him. Without a moment's hesitation, she stepped forward, her hands outstretched in a gesture that was both welcoming and intimate. Kurt's smile widened as he reached out to meet her halfway, their hands clasping together in a firm, meaningful grip. For a fleeting moment, they locked eyes, before Arline, realizing the openness of their gesture, blushed deeply and reluctantly released his hands.

“I am glad to see you, my friend.” She managed to say, her voice a mix of joy and embarrassment.

Kurt's voice was low, filled with a mixture of relief and concern. “And I you. You were delayed. I was worried.”

Arline began to peel off her gloves and hat, a subtle attempt to disguise her fluster. “Everyone is alright.” She assured him. “We happened upon two natives who were attacked by wild beasts. We escorted them to their village.” Kurt assisted her with her coat, his movements careful and respectful, and she blushed deeper. “When have you come?” She asked.

“Three days ago.” Kurt informed her, his tone light. “I departed New Sérène as soon as you released me from my imprisonment.”

Ignoring the hustle and bustle around them, they moved towards the drawing room, enveloped in their own world. “Very funny.” Arline retorted with a light-hearted roll of her eyes. “Have you talked with your contact?”

Kurt's lips curved at the corners, but a frown quickly supplanted his smile. “Yes, I have finally learned of the location of this ghost camp. It’s barely two hours from New Sérène it seems!”

Arline's response was instinctive, a gentle squeeze on his arm conveying her support. “That is good news. We can go there as soon as we finish our missions here. Is that alright?”

Kurt's smile returned, softer this time, touched with gratitude. “Of course. Thank you, Green Blood.”

Their intimate exchange did not go unnoticed. “It’s nice to see you, too, Kurt.” Vasco interjected with a sly tone.

“Oh yes, it’s so nice of you to ask after our health.” Aphra joined in, her voice laced with mock offence.

Kurt, caught off guard, raised an eyebrow in response, his gaze shifting between the two. Arline, her cheeks still tinged with a blush, shot a nervous glance at Lefroy, who seemed too preoccupied with ordering tea to notice the undercurrents swirling around the room.

Turning to Síora, Kurt addressed her with genuine concern. “How are you, little one?” Arline silently noted the absence of any pretty flowers, a wave of satisfaction washing over her.

“I am sad, but at peace, thank you.” Síora responded, her voice carrying the weight of her recent experiences.

The room settled into a quieter rhythm, the initial excitement giving way to a more subdued atmosphere, punctuated by the clinking of teacups and the soft murmur of conversation. The evening, it seemed, was just beginning.

○●○

The morning sun bathed San Matheus in a serene glow, painting the cobblestone streets with a palette of soft golds and gentle shadows, as Arline, Lefroy, Vasco, and Kurt, all immaculately dressed, set out to address the Governor, even the usually rugged Kurt appeared polished and restrained, his uniform pristine. They were well-rested, having spent the night in the comfortable confines of the embassy, a pleasant contrast to the previous days of relentless travel and makeshift camps. Síora and Aphra had stayed behind, a decision made to avoid the tensions that their presence might ignite in this city governed by Thélème's doctrines.

The air was crisp, carrying the early scents of the bustling city awakening, as they settled into the plush interior of the carriage. They reviewed their agendas silently, each lost in their own thoughts. Vasco, the link between their group and the sea-bound Nauts, carried his own set of grievances and hopes, particularly regarding the ongoing disputes with the Thelemite inquisitors.

The carriage ride came to an abrupt stop before the main square, jolting them from their preparations. A regiment red-gold regiment guard, approached them with a solemn expression, informing them that an execution was underway and they would need to continue on foot. Arline felt a chill crawl down her spine at the mention of an execution, the dread of witnessing someone burning at the stake knotting in her stomach. She could feel her apprehension mirrored in Lefroy's visible disgust and Kurt's rigid, concerned posture. Stepping out of the carriage, Lefroy extended his arm to her in a gentelmanly gesture, which she gratefully accepted.

The square was packed with spectators, the air filled with morbid curiosity, thick smoke and the scent of burning wood. Arline, Lefroy, and Kurt made their way through the crowd, their official attire parting the sea of bodies. The closer they got to the center, the heavier Arline's heart felt, each step a challenge against the sinking feeling of despair.

Then, they saw it. Not a person at the stake as they had feared, but one of the massive creatures they had encountered in the ruins. Arline's breath hitched in her throat, a flash of memories—of their fight, of Kurt's broken body—flooding her mind. Feeling weak, she sought out Kurt, needing the reassurance of his presence, her heart pounding against her chest as their eyes met, sharing a silent moment of mutual understanding and relief.

The creature before them was different from the beasts they had fought; no tentacles or carapace present. It was leaner, its body built with swirling branches, like a living tree, with antlers branching out like a majestic deer. Its roars of agony and fury cut through the square, reaching deep into Arline's soul. A wave of unexplained sadness overwhelmed her, a pang of empathy for this being that she couldn't justify. She locked eyes with the creature, and for a moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of intelligence, a plea.

Instinctively, Arline connected to the Source, reaching out with her Power towards the flames. But she hesitated, torn by the moral conflict. She couldn't, shouldn't interfere. This was the law of the land, however cruel it seemed. With a heavy heart, she forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to quell the storm of emotions raging within her.

Urging Lefroy with a subtle nudge, they continued their path, the image of the suffering creature seared into her memory. As they drew closer to the heart of the commotion, the pyre, a grotesque column of fire and smoke, served as a sinister backdrop to the harrowing scene that played out in front of it. A native man, knees digging into the dirt, faced an inquisitor whose face was etched with a blend of zealous fervour and a disturbing sense of pleasure.

“Do you renounce your gods? Answer me!” The inquisitor's command thundered through the square, his tone laced with a zeal that chilled Arline to the bone.

The native warrior, tears carving clear paths through the dust on his cheeks, met the inquisitor's gaze with a bewildered stare, his voice a mixture of confusion and sorrow. “Why? Why are you doing this?” He pleaded, seeking some semblance of reason in the inquisitor's eyes.

The inquisitored leaned in, his face inches away from the native’s. “Behold your so-called gods, your demons: they burn, they are nothing!” The inquisitor's voice rose triumphantly as he gestured towards the burning effigy. “You shed tears for this creature while your heart should be full of joy, welcoming the Light.” He said with a joyous smile. Then, his hand, a vice of conviction, clasped around the native's throat, a sinister grin spreading across his face as he hissed. “Forget your pagan foul teachings, embrace the true faith!”

Arline's heart hammered against her chest, her breath caught in her throat as she witnessed the life being cruelly squeezed from the native warrior, his final breath a whispered defiance. “You are mad!”

The inquisitor’s face contracted and he squeezed harder with both hands, pushing the man into the dirt. “Renounce… your… gods!” He demanded, as his relentless grip ensured the native had spoken his last words, his body going limp.

The scene's grim aftermath left an eerie silence, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire and Arline’s drumming heart. She felt sick to her stomach, like that day on the battlefield, her vision fogging up. She was grateful for Lefroy’s hand as her legs felt weak.

Another inquisitor pointed to Arline with his head. The murderer’s gaze shifted, landing on Arline with a disturbing intensity. He approached, steps measured, filled with a twisted sense of purpose. Arline, still reeling from the shock of the execution, felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Lefroy instinctively recoiled from the approaching figure, while Kurt subtly moved to shield her, his body a protective barrier.

“You!” The inquisitor's accusation pierced the tense air as his eyes bore into her over Kurt’s shoulder. “You wear the mark of the impure pagan cult of the natives.” His voice was a venomous sneer, eyes alight with a dangerous mix of condemnation and zeal, his lip curled in disgust. “I am Inquisitor Aloysius, and by authority of my title, I order you to explain yourself.”

Arline stiffened with indignation, a ragged breath calming her down, her face mirroring the inquisitor’s displeasure, a frosty calm masking her inner turmoil. “The mark on my face is by no means impure. You are walking on thin ice and are close to committing a grave diplomatic error.” Her words were ice, a cold rebuke to his burning fanaticism.

“Diplomacy?” Aloysius spat the word as if it were poison. “If the truth of the Enlightened is obscured, then our relations are tainted and of no value. Answer my questions, or receive the punishment reserved for heretics. Do you believe that the God of Light is the one and only god?”

Arline narrowed her eyes with disgust. She would not let this man threaten her. “Diplomacy may seem to you of little import, but I doubt that your Governor will be of a similar opinion. Aggression towards an emissary of another nation is an error that could lead to war.” She said, her voice barely above a frosty whisper.

Aloysius's icy stare lingered for a moment longer, his fanatic zeal momentarily contained, yet his eyes bore into Arline with a final, malevolent intensity. “You cannot hide from the Divinity behind politics.” He spat disdainfully, his lips curling as if the words themselves were distasteful. “But very well, I leave you in divine hands… this time.” His ominous words hung heavy in the air as Arline's grip tightened around the hilt of her blade. “I shall allow you to continue along your path. I am certain ours will cross again. And be aware that where so ever you wander, you shall be weighed, measured, and judged.”

With considerable effort, she loosened her grasp and turned her back on him, her posture rigid with indignation, leading her companions away with deliberate strides towards the grand staircase leading to the palace.

“The sheer audacity!” Lefroy exclaimed, his voice a mix of outrage and disbelief. “The Ordo Luminis is not exempt from international law. This must be brought to the Governor's attention, Lady De Sardet!”

 “She will hear of it.” Arline replied, her voice cutting through the chill morning air with the sharpness of steel.

Kurt seethed, his fists clenched as if holding back the storm within. “I wish I had been given an excuse to put this madman to the sword!” He muttered, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. He then paused, exhaling slowly, and offered Arline a supportive nod, as he attempted to lighten the mood with a hint of a smile. “But you did well! Congratulations, you are already a great diplomat.”

Arline’s eye ticked. “It seems to me you are being sarcastic.” She retorted, her brows knitting together in a mixture of irritation and confusion.

“Me?” Kurt frowned, taken aback, then softened his expression, a trace of warmth breaking through the steely exterior. “My apologies, my lady. It wasn’t my intention.” He assured her.

Vasco chimed in, a playful smirk on his lips. “You are now under the stern eye of the God of Light. Hope that your underwear’s clean.”

A snicker escaped Arline, the absurdity of the situation momentarily lightening the tension of her muscles. “It seems like you do not hold the priests of Thélème in high regard.” She remarked, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Vasco shrugged, his smirk widening. “It’s mostly that I do not trust them.” He said. “They’re hotheaded.” He added casting a knowing look towards the direction they had come from.

“Indeed.” Arline agreed, her spirits lifted marginally by the camaraderie as they continued their ascent to the palace.

The Governor's palace in San Matheus was a testament to the piety that permeates the city, with its architecture borrowing heavily from the grandeur and solemnity of sacred structures. The building stood with an imposing presence, its façade adorned with intricate carvings and statues that depicted scenes of religious fervour and divine judgment, reflecting the deep-rooted faith of Thélème. Tall spires reached towards the heavens, as if in constant communication with the divine. The main entrance was framed by a pair of massive, wooden doors, their surfaces etched with symbols of the Light.

The large, ornate windows, reminiscent of those in a cathedral, allowed the light to filter through in a kaleidoscope of colours, casting ethereal patterns on the polished stone floors inside. The walls were lined with tapestries and paintings that narrated the history and beliefs of Thélème, each piece a meticulous work of art that speaks of devotion and the pursuit of enlightenment. High, vaulted ceilings echoed with the quiet footsteps of its inhabitants. The palace did not forsake its administrative purpose. The halls were bustling with the comings and goings of officials, guards, and servants, all moving with a purpose under the watchful eyes of the saintly statues that lined the corridors. The air was filled with a mix of incense and the subtle scent of parchment and wax, a constant reminder of the palace's dual role as a place of governance and a bastion of faith.

“Young lady?” A low voice called after her. Arline turned to face an older man with a distinctive, well-groomed appearance that suggested both refinement and authority. “Pardon me, are you not part of the new governor’s entourage?”

Arline looked at him cautiously. His receding hairline gave way to a broad forehead and he sported a meticulously trimmed grey mustache and beard. He had a narrow face, accentuated by sharp cheekbones and a prominent chin. His fair skin betrayed signs of aging, with wrinkles around his eyes and forehead, hinting at a life of both thoughtfulness and stern discipline.

 “I am his cousin, and I am accompanying him on his mission to Teer Fradee. What can I do for you, Father?” Arline asked, tense, bracing herself for another confrontation.

The man's lips curled into a broad smile, revealing a warmth that seemed at odds with the initial formality of their encounter.  “Bishop Petrus.” He introduced himself with a respectful bow, his eyes twinkling with a hint of recognition. “Lady Arline De Sardet, was it? How divinely fortunate this is. Did you know that I had the honor of meeting you at your uncle’s court when you were a child?” He said as Arline offered him a small bow in return. “I would never have imagined that you would grow up to resemble the island natives so closely.”

Arline's head tilted, her curiosity now laced with a sharper edge of suspicion. “The island was yet to be discovered, how could you have known?”

Petrus's laughter broke through, a sound rich with genuine amusement. “You haven not lost your clever little tongue! You were always quite a remarkable young girl.” His words were coated with an affection that seemed almost too knowing, too intimate for the distance their past acquaintance suggested. “I am on my way to New Sérène as an ambassador to the new governor. Do you think there would be room for me to accompany you? The roads are not truly safe.”

“I must first meet the Mother Cardinal to present my respects on behalf of my cousin.”

“I will accompany you, and then we can take the road together.” Petrus stated, making it sound like a foregone conclusion. “I am so happy our paths have crossed once again.”

Arline's response was less than enthusiastic, a slight frown creasing her brow as she introduced her companions to the Bishop. The group proceeded towards the audience room.

“I must confess I do not remember you, Father.” Arline ventured cautiously. “What was your role at my uncle’s court? Were you already an ambassador?” She asked.

“No, but I was part of the embassy. I had only just started my career as a diplomat back then. My main duties were conversion efforts.” He said. The Congregation as a nation never officially converted, and likely never would, but Thelemite priests had some luck converting individuals, including her own ancestors. “I tried to teach you some of the basics because you had a predisposition for magic. But you were so young. You preferred to run around the halls with a wooden sword in hand, chasing your cousin.” He chuckled.

Kurt's interjection broke Bishop’s nostalgia. “I must say I don’t remember you either, your grace.” His tone was polite but firm, an unspoken challenge in his stance as he assessed Petrus, protective.

“Kurt was the royal Master of Arms in Sérène.” Arline offered an explanation.

Petrus raised an eyebrow. “Truly? You seem quite youthful for such a prestigious role, Captain.” His smile was tinged with curiosity. “Perhaps your tenure began after my departure? My memory places that in 824 – that is 1217 by Sérène’s calendar.”

“Ah, I would have been but six years of age.” Arline nodded.

Kurt leaned closer, his smile tinged with mischief. “Don’t make me feel old just after the gentleman here acknowledged my youthful appearance, will you?”

Arline couldn't help but laugh, her earlier tension dissolving into the warmth of the moment. “I suppose you are not so very ancient.” She teased him with a wry smile.

As they were announced, the doors opened to reveal the audience room of Governor Cardinal Cornelia, a space that mirrored the piety and grandeur of Theleme's ecclesiastical might. The room was vast, the Mother Cardinal sat at the far end, her figure framed by a magnificent backdrop of a golden sun.

Cornelia was an older woman, whose posture, despite her years, was erect, exuding an air of command that demanded respect and attention from all who encountered her. Her hair, silvered by time, was neatly arranged, framing her face, set with a hardened expression, with a dignified grace. Her attire was impeccably tailored, blending the sombre colours of her office with a touch of elegance that could not betray her position as Mother Cardinal.

“Your Eminence, in the name of the Congregation of Merchants, I present my best regards.” Arline began, bowing, her voice echoing slightly in the spacious chamber.

“May the Light bless you and accompany you on these grounds, with inspired guidance.” Mother Cardinal responded, her voice filled with theatrical thoughtfulness.

“I thank you.” Arline said. “We truly wish that this visit will strengthen the ties between our two nations.”

Mother Cardinal offered an apologetic smile. “I learned that you crossed paths with that of Inquisitor Aloysius. I beseech you to forgive his zealous nature; his faith is absolute. And I congratulate you to have appeased him, your faith and your diplomatic skills honour you.”

Arline plastered a fake smile on her face. “While I appreciate his fervour, I trust he will be reminded of the virtues of temperance and respect.”

Cornelia regarded her with a slight frown, nodding. “I assure you, his fervour will be... guided more judiciously.”

Arline nodded gracefully. “Another subject brings me as well: the Malichor, the horrible blood plague decimating our peoples.”

“A terrible matter that worries us all and reveals our imperfections and sinful nature.” Cornelia mused. “For He would never have allowed such an evil to spread without deeper reason, a fault.” She said, her hands clasped as if in prayer. “Our theologians are certain that the Malichor is the work of a curse, and we have discovered that this island is home to a cult that venerates willfully a horrifying demon.”

“What a fortuitous coincidence. A practical excuse for sending the Inquisition out to set the island ablaze.” Vasco's murmur, barely audible broke behind her.

Arline shot Vasco a sharp, admonishing look, her eyes conveying a mix of frustration and warning. Must every meeting with governors be jeopardized by remarks from my untrained companions? She thought, her annoyance palpable.

Vasco, catching her gaze, muttered an apology, his tone a mix of contrition and reluctance.

Unperturbed, Mother Cardinal Cornelia continued “We must unearth this cult and tear it out by its sinister, sinful roots. We started to investigate a village not far from here where strange happenings have been reported.”

Petrus, leaning forward with a nod of his head, added his own observations to the discussion. I have begun investigations, and I confirm that a demon is certainly active in the area.

“Alas, the population is very secretive and we have great difficulty gleaning any useful information.” Cornelia continued. “But if the Congregation would help us with this matter… In other words, if the Malichor troubles your cousin as much as myself… Report to his Majesty that the destruction of this pagan cult is the only way to eradicate the plague, and his help in obtaining any information from the natives is extremely welcomed.”

Arline, though sceptical of the narrative presented and the motives behind it, responded with a measured politeness. “Be certain that your message will be transmitted, Mother Cardinal. Await my haste response.” She assured, her tone maintaining the diplomatic courtesy required of her position. “One more matter, Your Eminence, if you allow. Admiral Cabral of the Nauts has requested me to mediate the tensions between her faction and Ordo Luminis.”

“An excellent idea.” Cornelia said with an encouraging nod. “You should speak with Bishop Domitius in his study.”

With a graceful wave of her hand, she summoned a servant, entrusting him with the task of guiding Arline and her companions to the Bishop’s study. Arline offered a respectful bow, as they were led away. In the dimly lit corridor, the echo of their footsteps mingled with the distant murmur of prayers. “Father Petrus, we shall reconvene for tea this evening.” Arline suggested. With Petrus left behind, they traversed the ornate hallway, following their guide.

As they entered, Arline and her companions were greeted by the sight of the Bishop, ensconced amid piles of books and parchments, his gaunt face framed by perfectly groomed moustache beneath the shadow of his wide-brimmed inquisitorial hat. He looked up, his gaze piercing as he assessed the newcomers. His eyes, sharp and scrutinizing, seemed to miss nothing, reflecting a mind always in the pursuit of conformity to the doctrines he upheld.

“What is it, my daughter?” Domitius inquired, his tone carrying an air of expectation mixed with a hint of disinterest.

“Lady Arline De Sardet, emissary of the Congregation.” Arline corrected firmly.

Domitius’ expression remained unimpressed, a slight curl of his lip betraying his thoughts. “Ah? The Congregation still has an uncanny gift of surprising us…”

Arline’s patience frayed at the edges, but she maintained her composure. She expected the kind of scepticism often shown towards her official capacity, especially given her youth and gender.

“I am Bishop Domitius, I represent the Ordo Luminis on the island.” The man continued in his monotone. “What can I do for you?”

“I believe you have a few problems with the Nauts who reside in the port.” Arline said.

“We have problems with all kinds of heretics, my daughter. And of course the pagan Nauts would be among them.” Domitius replied, casting a disparaging glance towards Vasco, who managed to stay calm. The Bishop leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he continued. “They are very secretive and have all sorts of strange rituals that they keep to themselves under cloak of mystery. The sorcery they employ to guide their ships is drawn from Nature, just like the sorcery used by the natives.”

Arline never thought about this. She found herself intrigued by the bishop's accusations, her curiosity piqued in a way that differed greatly from Domitius' disdain.

“And to top it all off... and this is where it stings,” Domitius added, his voice dripping with contempt. “We suspect them to be at the origin of Malichor.”

Arline fought the urge to roll her eyes or sigh. She had just heard a native demon was to blame for the Malichor, after all. “Whatever do you mean? How?” She asked with a proper dose of concern.

“Have you ever once crossed paths with a Naut suffering the blood plague?” Domitius challenged. “Why are they spared?” He demanded, his eyes boring into Vasco’s face. “The only logical reason is that they are at its origin, calling upon various cursed rituals, it’s simple as day!”

Vasco, his body stiff, could not hold back this time. “What a nest of absurdities.” He muttered, barely containing his indignation.

Domitius’ gaze sharpened, fixated on Vasco as if vindicated by his reaction. “What other reaction would you expect from those responsible for the curse that afflicts us!”

When her mother became ill, Arline has read about some scientific articles on Malichor, some of them had theories on the matter of Naut resistance. She remained sceptical of Domitius suspicions.

“I am certain we will find clues of their rituals and their pagan idols in their stock houses in the port.” Domitius concluded, his gaze returning to Arline.

Arline, for the first time in years, did not know what to say. “Uhh… Very well…” She stammered. Lefroy let out a soft scoff behind her back. “Let us just agree that these rumours need to be verified…” She managed.

With a curt nod, Arline signalled their departure, leaving the bishop’s study behind. Once outside, Vasco couldn't contain his frustration, his brows furrowed in concern. “You can’t seriously consider his accusations!” He exclaimed.

Arline met his gaze, her expression calm and resolute. “I do not,” she assured him, her voice firm. “But Ordo Luminis will only be swayed with solid proof, Vasco. I will need to conduct an investigation, for your people’s sake.”  

The group made their way back to the embassy to change and partake in a much-needed lunch. The path took them past the site of the morning’s execution, where the charred remains of the creature lay in a heap of coal. Arline’s stomach churned at the sight. The native’s body was gone, but the memory lingered, leaving Arline with a nauseous feeling that dulled her appetite.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Further inquisitions into the elusive nature of this affliction are most fervently urged, for the remedies remain elusive, and the suffering it begets weighs heavily upon the afflicted souls. Robust endeavours toward unravelling the insidious workings of this malevolent force must be undertaken to alleviate the anguish that plagues our brethren.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

After a brief moment of respite, which did little to ease the tension, they set out for the port. Lefroy insisted on accompanying them. Arline understood his presence as a silent vote of little confidence in her ability to navigate the challenges ahead, but she accepted it with a nod, her focus on the task at hand.

As they traversed the bustling streets of San Matheus, they passed rows of tightly packed apartment buildings, their facades a blend of Thelemite architectural elegance and the practicality dictated by the city's maritime character. The air was filled with the mixed scents of sea salt and the myriad spices from nearby markets. Reaching the port, the expansive view of docks and ships opened up before them. The sound of seagulls and the shouting of sailors filled the air, the bustling activity a stark contrast to the solemnity of their morning's encounter. Ships of various sizes were moored, their flags fluttering in the sea breeze, while workers and traders moved goods along the wooden planks and stone paths that crisscrossed the area.

Their final destination within the port was the commander's office, a sturdy building overlooking the docks, where they hoped to find answers and perhaps a way to ease the tensions that threatened the fragile peace of the island. The room was sparsely furnished, dominated by a large, weathered desk cluttered with maps and naval charts.

Vasco stepped forward with an air of familiarity. “Fernando.”

The commander, a man as seasoned and tough as the ships he oversaw, glanced up, recognition lighting his rugged features. “Vasco. Hello, milady. You are from the Congregation, are you not?”

“Indeed.” Arline responded with a poised nod, stepping forward. “Arline De Sardet, your Admiral has sent me here.”

“A pleasure.” Fernando replied, standing to extend a hand, the calluses on his palms a testament to years at sea. “I am Second Mate Fernando, the port commander. What might I do for you?”

“Your admiral informed me that you have been having problems with… a few citizens of Thélème. What more can you tell me?”

Fernando scoffed. “Problems, huh? We’re up to our neck and sinking with problems, yeah! I even received threats to my own person! One of those high and mighty long robes dared walk upon my docks with talk of burning me at the stake! Burning me!” He slammed his fist into the table. “Then two of my men up and disappeared, and I do not believe in coincidence.” His hands clenched involuntarily, the knuckles whitening. “I wanted to ask for help from the Mother Cardinal, but she did not answer my request for an audience. The games of politics are not my forte, and investigations even less so. Find my men, I implore you.” He pleaded.  

Arline nodded. “I shall talk with sailors in the port. If some of their comrades have disappeared, they may be able to give us some information.” She promised. “However, first, I must ask you to assist me with investigations of your warehouses. Ordo Luminis accuses you of pagan magic, and if we wish to ease tension, we will need to present them with proof of your compliance with their law.

“I assure you,” Vasco interjected. “We are not hiding anything reprehensible. But if you absolutely want to check it out for yourself…”

Fernando’s gaze shifted uncomfortably. “Respectfully, milady, this isn't what the Admiral envisioned when seeking your aid. Our secrets aren't for outsider eyes, inquisitors included.”

“Except for De Sardet here.” Vasco stated. “The Admiral consented to some disclosures. Besides, she accompanies me on a loyalty mission.”

Fernando regarded him for a moment with a deep frown, then let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. But on your head be it if our secrets are compromised.”

“Aye, eye.” Vasco agreed.

“These two remain here.” Fernando added. A preemptive gesture from Arline stilled Kurt's imminent protest. Extracting a key from a drawer, Fernando entrusted it to Vasco.  “Warehouse thirteen contains our pagan equipment.”

They left through the back door into the Naut’s private sector. Their footsteps echoed softly along the path to the warehouse which wound through the labyrinthine backstreets of the port.

The warehouse designated thirteen loomed before them, its door yielding to the key with a satisfying click. Inside, the vast space was methodically organized, shelves upon shelves lined with instruments, made of glass and metal.

Her gaze first fell upon a sextant, its polished surface catching the scant light. “I know this.” She said, a spark of recognition in her eyes. “It is used to spy on the stars."

Vasco nodded. “Looking at the heavens through sextants we can determine and track precisely the course of our ships.”

As they delved deeper, they encountered thermometers and a peculiar clock-like instrument. “What's this one?” Arline asked, cocking her head to the side.

“That's a barometer.” Vasco explained, taking the device in his hands. “It measures air pressure, helping us anticipate weather changes and steer clear of storms.”

“You really can predict the weather? Without magic?” Arline pressed, fascinated.

“Without magic.” He confirmed.

She spotted a complex device she couldn't place, it had a dolphin etched to it’s side. “What does this one do?”

“I wouldn't begin to know how this one works, it's a new invention. It's called a fathometer and is designed to measure the depths of the oceans. Extremely useful, we can now avoid shallows.”

Arline stepped back, absorbing the scene. The warehouse, filled with instruments of navigation and exploration, held no trace of magic or diabolical artifacts. Instead, what lay before her was a testament to scientific achievement, a foundation of knowledge that challenged the wilderness of the sea with human ingenuity. She felt a twinge of disappointment; there was no new magic to uncover, yet relief washed over her—there would be no need to concoct explanations for Domitius's wild accusations.

“You are using only science.” She murmured.

Vasco's gaze met hers, serious yet filled with a quiet intensity. “I don't think you realize the importance of what you’ve just seen. These instruments allow us to dominate the oceans and discover new worlds. Keeping this secret has enabled us to remain the only ones capable of navigating the high seas.”

Arline’s expression softened into a thoughtful frown. “Everyone assumes you use your own form of magic.” She noted, half-joking, half-wistful. “I must say, I am a little disappointed.”

“We were the ones that spread that rumour.” Vasco admitted, a shadow crossing his face. “It harms our reputation but protects us from competition. I truly hope you'll reveal nothing of what you've discovered in this place.”

The weight of his words hung heavily between them. Fowning, Arline considered the responsibility now resting on her shoulders. “How am I supposed to clear your name without revealing what I have seen here?” She asked, trying not to sound frustrated.

Vasco's eyes held a blend of resignation and hope. “I don't know.” He said softly. “But I trust you'll find a way.” Their gazes locked, and Arline’s mind raced trying to find a solution, a way of navigating the fine line between truth and secrecy.

“Let us find the missing sailors.” She finally sighed.

As they made their way back to their companions, the air around the port felt denser, filled with the salt and brine of the sea intermingling with the heavy bustle of daily commerce. Arline's steps were measured, her mind turning over the secrets she’d just been privy to in the Nauts’ warehouse. When they reached Lefroy and Kurt, who had been waiting outside the restricted area, Arline kept her findings succinct, simply stating, “There is no magic to be found there.” She offered her gratitude to Fernando for his cooperation.

After leaving the commander's office, Arline, with Vasco, Lefroy, and Kurt in tow, moved through the bustling heart of San Matheus towards the sailors' haunts. The port was a hive of activity; the clatter of ropes and wood, shouts of dockworkers, and the creaking of ships melded into the symphony of maritime life.

As they navigated the crowded docks, Arline approached various groups of sailors, her demeanor authoritative yet open, inviting conversation. She inquired about the missing men with a subtle urgency, distributing descriptions and listening intently to the sailors' tales.

The sailors, rough men weathered by sun and sea, initially regarded her with suspicion. However, Vasco's presence lent her credibility, and soon murmurs of concern and snippets of information began to weave together a narrative. It was in the Coin Tavern, they learned, that the missing men were last seen, their evening of leisure turning ominous with the appearance of Inquisitors.

Lefroy's expression was one of grim anticipation, understanding the political sensitivities of their task. Kurt's jaw was set, his hand resting subconsciously near the hilt of his weapon, ready for any eventuality. Vasco's eyes were narrow slits, his usual relaxed demeanour replaced by a tense readiness.

As they left the bright openness of the port and headed into the darker, narrower streets leading to the Coin Tavern, a shadow fell over their spirits. Each step took them closer to another inevitable confrontation with the dark undercurrent of the island's politics.

The tavern loomed ahead, its weathered sign swinging gently in the sea breeze, a beacon for the weary and the heavy-hearted. But before they could step within, Arline froze. There, unmistakable in his menacing presence, was Inquisitor Aloysius, the same man whose hands had snuffed out a life that very morning, his very being an affront to her sense of justice.

Her previous apprehension transformed into a fiery indignation, her heart thundering against her ribs. Without a second thought, she strode towards him, her companions’ calls of caution fading behind her. “You again!” She accused, her voice sharp. “Why am I not surprised to to see you implicated in this story of surveillance?”

Aloysius turned, his face a mask of feigned innocence marred by the undercurrents of his zealous nature. Yet, there was a glint in his eye, a reflection of the earlier confrontation, as he recognized the emissary he had dared to challenge. “I have no idea what you're talking about.” He responded, attempting to maintain his authoritative composure.

“A witness told me that you and others of your order seem to be spying on all comings and goings in the port. Two Nauts were captured not long ago, you had to have seen something.” Arline pressed, stepping closer, her eyes narrowed in determination. Kurt, Lefroy, and Vasco caught up, forming a silent barrier of support around Arline.

Aloysius set his jaw. “You are mistaken my daughter, you've been misinformed.” He insisted.

Around them, the bustling streets seemed to pause, the air thick with tension and unspoken threats. Passersby gave them a wide berth, sensing the gravity of the confrontation between the emissary and the inquisitor.

Arline leaned in. “You do know that lying is forbidden in the sacred texts?” Her whisper was venom. “Lies from someone as pious as yourself… You know I have Mother Cardinal’s ear? Is she aware of your initiatives?” She held his gaze, as his façade of ignorance cracked.

“I… I do not appreciate this attempted intimidation.” Aloysius stammered. “But very well, since you insist.” He took a step back, pressing the fold of his uniform. “These Nauts were arrested. We were forced to interrogate them to bring to light their pagan rituals.”

“It was not a sanctioned arrest, was it?” Arline demanded, her every word etched with her barely contained wrath.

“No. The mother cardinal is not aware… not yet!” Aloysius's admission was reluctant, his hands clenched, his whole body tensing with the revelation. “But as soon as we have succeeded in making them talk and they have confessed their heresy, she–“

“Of course.” Arline interrupted, her voice dripping with contempt. “Where did you take them?”

“The Coin Guard has… lent us their jails and some men.” He said, avoiding her eyes. “We do not normally like to call upon the services of these brutes, but… we have need of their skills and discretion.”

Arline grimaced. “I am putting a stop to this. I suggest you start praying, Father.” She spat, before she turned away from him, her cloak swirling around her as she stormed off towards the barracks.

Her companions hurried after her. “I cannot believe these lunatics dared to capture some of my brothers to interrogate them!” Vasco drawled through his teeth.

“To hell with those extremists!” Kurt agreed. “Why do they have to drag us into this! We must set these Nauts free from their jails, Green Blood, or the situation will escalate, and it will be bad for everyone.”

Lefroy, though worried, tried to provide a voice of reason. “These inquisitors really do not realize the consequences of their actions… We will have to proceed with caution, Lady De Sardet!”

But Arline, her heart racing with righteous fury, was not in the mood for caution. She was ready to cut through the lies and injustice with steel if somebody dared stop her.

The tense atmosphere of the Coin barracks' cellar was thick as Arline forcefully pushed the heavy doors open. The metallic clang echoed through the stone corridors, alerting the Coin Guard jailer who immediately stepped forward, his stance authoritative and unwelcoming.

“Halt! You have no authority to go any further.” He barked, blocking their path with an outstretched arm.

Kurt leaned in slightly towards Arline, his voice low and steady. “Do not forget that there is only one song that can make us change our minds, Green Blood.”

Arline, catching on, responded with a raised eyebrow. “Played with golden notes?”

“You said it.” He nodded. “Or songs of steel they also open doors.” He said louder, his eyes locking with the guard's.

Arline's hand twitched towards her sabre, the message clear. Kurt intervened, his movements smooth as he slid a few Tal into the guard's hand.

“Go and have a little fun, sergeant.” He suggested, his voice laced with a thinly veiled threat.

 The guard hesitated, weighing his options, then finally nodded, accepting the bribe with a gruff. “I could certainly look the other way for a while, but be discreet.”

With a nod from Arline, whose hand relaxed away from her weapon, Kurt took the keys from the jailer with a final warning glare and led the group deeper into the cellar. The damp, musty air filled their lungs as they approached a remote cell where the two missing Nauts, a man and a woman, looked up with a mix of hope and fear in their eyes.

As the Nauts saw Vasco, their expressions transformed into relief. “Captain!” The woman exclaimed, rushing up to the bars.

Kurt quickly unlocked the cell, and they ushered the Nauts out of the confining space, his hand never straying far from his pommel, ready for any surprise.

“Thank you thank you for getting us out of there.” The Naut woman breathed, her voice trembling with lingering fear and gratitude. “Those inquisitors are completely mad! They tortured us! They wanted us to admit to all manner of horrors stories of some demonic cult and curses of Malichor! I was of the firm belief that they were going to kill us.”

 “But you must make haste, they are planning some sort of wickedness. They spoke of a ‘great purification’ and after what they did to us it doesn't bode well. Not at all.” The Naut man added urgently, before the two hurried away back to the safety of the port.

Lefroy, his expression etched with urgency and concern, shook his head. “We must meet with the Mother Cardinal urgently; only she can put an end to this madness. She must intervene.”

Arline’s body seemed to deflate slightly as the rush in her veins began to subside. She took a deep, steadying breath and nodded in agreement. “We will need proof, first.” She said, her voice firm yet fatigued from the day’s harrowing discoveries.

“If Ordo Luminis enlisted Coin Guard’s help, there must be a contract.” Kurt theorized. “Give me a minute, I will get that for you.”

Arline squeezed his arm in appreciation. True to his word, Kurt returned swiftly, document in hand. The parchment seemed to tremble with the gravity of its contents, a damning testament to the plotted atrocities. The 'Great Purification' plan, laid out in cold ink, spoke of a horrifying intent to eradicate the Nauts from the city, by any means necessary. Arline’s stomach churned as she read through the lines, the horror of the situation settling heavily upon her shoulders. The thought of the Coin Guard, soldiers she once respected, being complicit in such an act made her skin crawl. The Red-Gold Regiment was used to war, true, but against other soldiers, not innocent sailors!

Turning to Kurt, she sought solace or explanation, but found none. His face was ashen, his eyes fixed on the ground, evading hers, every muscle in his body tense, speaking volumes of his inner turmoil and shame.

Vasco, unable to contain his anger, spat out bitterly. “Your crew has the scurvy, Kurt.” His words were laced with contempt and a deep sense of betrayal.

“I must agree, sailor, and I don’t like it one bit.” Kurt murmured, a rare admission of fault from the seasoned soldier.

“Let us go now.” Arline whispered, her voice barely above a whisper, echoing the hollowness she felt inside. Together, they traversed the streets back to the palace, a silent, sombre group haunted by the reality of their discovery. Their steps were measured, heavy with the burden of the document they carried.

Upon reaching the palace, Arline’s posture straightened as they requested an immediate audience with Mother Cardinal Cornelia and Bishop Domitius. The urgency of their request, reflected in their grim expressions and the tightness of their gestures, left no room for delay. They stood, a united front, bracing themselves for the confrontation that awaited.

As they entered the ornate chamber of Mother Cardinal Cornelia, Arline stepped forward, her posture both respectful and determined. “I would like to discuss the discoveries made during our investigation.”

The Governor seated in her grand, high-backed chair, turned her piercing gaze towards Domitius. “What is this about, Domitius?” She asked, her tone commanding.

Domitius shifted uncomfortably, his hands clasping and unclasping as he avoided the Cardinal's eye. “Well… I don't rightly know.” He stammered.

Arline took a deep breath before continuing. “You see, Eminence, Bishop Domitius has brought to my ears his order’s accusations concerning the Nauts.” She paused for effect, her eyes locked on the Cardinal's. “According to him, they practice a religion close to those of the natives and use a ‘nature- drawn magic’. They would also be implicated therefore in the appearance of the Malichor.”

Mother Cardinal's eyebrows rose sharply. “That is an extremely serious accusation.”

Arline nodded. “Effectively. Considering the accusation is founded on no proof other than the naught tradition of secrecy.” She leaned slightly forward, emphasizing her next words. “But these suspicions have pushed the order to extreme actions, risking the fragile peace of the island. The Ordo Luminis captured several Nauts, locked them in jails rented to them by the Coin Guard. They were tortured with the singular goal of forcing them to admit heresy. They obtained nothing. If I had not intervened, those men would be dead.”

Mother Cardinal's face turned ashen, her hands gripping the arms of her chair. “Is this true Domitius?” She demanded, her voice a mix of shock and anger.

Domitius squirmed under her gaze, the remnants of his earlier bravado evaporating. “Some of our brothers undoubtedly misinterpreted the evil… I would have never allowed such a plan!” He exclaimed.

“These Nauts are now united with their captain, and I am certain they would be most eager to bear testimony.” She said. “This is not all. I got wind of a ridiculous scheme planned for the port by the Ordo Luminis, and I wanted to clear it up.” She produced the documents from her dublet, laying them out for the Cardinal to see. “I was able to get my hand on documents that effectively detailed an attack, a ‘great purification’. They were signed by you, Father, and included a contract where you enlisted the assistance of the Coin Guard to attack every Naut building and imprison every one of their men that could be taken alive.”

Mother Cardinal Cornelia stood abruptly, her eyes blazing with fury. “Domitius, how could you? Whatever did you want to accomplish?” She thundered, her voice echoing off the chamber walls.

“The Nauts are not believers! We should not be dependent on heretics!” He finally blurted out, after a moment of struggling to find words.

Mother Cardinal shook her head in disbelief. “Have you gone completely mad Domitius? We are on an island! How could we not be dependent on the Nauts?” She turned to a nearby attendants. “I want him arrested. I will decide his fate at a later time.”

Domitius muttered in a weak protest, before two Red-Gold Coin Guards forced him out of the chamber. The Governor turned to Arline. “I thank you for bringing this business to my attention. Going after the Nauts! What madness! Without you this city would now be drowning in chaos.” She tugged on her uniform and offered a stiff nod. “Carry my best wishes to your cousin. His desire to maintain the peace on the island honours his house's reputation.”

Arline bowed deeply. “I will tell him, your eminence. Until we meet again.”

Despite completing her mission without revealing the Nauts' secrets, Arline could not shake off a lingering sense of unease. The arrest of Domitius by the very guards who had colluded in his schemes did little to assuage her concerns. She felt a weight in her chest, heavy as the setting sun that cast long shadows on the cobbled streets of San Matheus. While she walked away from the Cardinal's residence, the tension in her body remained.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

Thereinafter, the recent deliverance of the annual Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge is thus recounted. Esteemed researchers have proffered distinct theorems in the pursuit of understanding Malichor.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

As the first light of morning filtered through the curtains of the dining hall, Arline and her companions gathered around the breakfast table, each nursing the remnants of last night's revelations. The air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and brewed tea, and the sound of clinking teacups, a comforting start to a new day.

The previous evening had been an eventful one, concluding with a meeting with Father Petrus. Petrus, a man of Ordo Arcanum, Thélème’s Ombrégeurs, was impressed – and most pleased – with Domitius's downfall, yet he harbored no illusions about the cessation of Ordo Luminis's influence. The order cast a long shadow over the continent with the fervour of religious conquest, with the Pontiff of Thélème hailing from their ranks. Perhaps the scales might yet tip on the island, especially with Mother Cardinal's roots in Ordo Iuris—an order devoted to the sanctity of law and justice. “All in a month’s work!” Petrus had exclaimed, his laughter rich and warm, and Arline did not mind him stroking her ego.

She had believed herself prepared for the world’s politics, but it seemed her tenure in Sérène’s court had been a rehearsal for a play whose plot had morphed into something more capricious on the island, often leaving her feeling adrift, caught in a current stronger than anticipated.

Seeking to shift the morning's mood to a lighter note, Arline turned to Vasco, with a polite smile. “Now that you will have earned the admiral's forgiveness, do you intend to set sail again?” She asked, spreading butter over a warm roll.

Vasco, leaning back in his chair with a nonchalant grace, met her gaze. “Without a doubt, but… do not worry, I will not leave you before I find out where our story leads.” He said, his tone flirtatious, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

The table fell into a momentary silence, punctuated by Aphra's choked snort into her tea and Síora's oblivious pat on her back. Arline, taken aback by his forwardness, could feel a warm blush coloring her cheeks. She threw a quick glance at the other men at the table. Kurt and Lefroy both stared daggers at Vasco.

“Really? You can get back to the sea but you prefer to stay grounded with us?" She feigned disbelief, gesturing to everyone in the room.

“What can I say, I'd rather not leave these shores without you.” Vasco countered smoothly, his sly grin widening.

Determined not to give Kurt—or anyone else—the impression of any deeper interest in Vasco, Arline let out a nervous laughter, attempting to steer the conversation back to safer waters. “You will need to, sooner or later! But perhaps we will get to sail together again, someday. For now, I am delighted with the prolonged company of such an excellent friend.”

Across the table, Kurt and Lefroy exchanged looks. Arline, catching their reaction, mused, how fortunate they can find common ground at least in this one matter. She narrowed her eyes, noticing Vasco's amusement at their visible irritation. It dawned on her that Vasco might have deliberately chosen his words to provoke a reaction, a realization that brought a light laugh to her lips.

The chatter was interrupted by the arrival of a servant with the day’s post. Among the assorted correspondences was a letter marked with the seal of New Sérène and a stamp of carrier pigeon number. Arline’s fingers worked through the wax seal, and carefully unfolded the parchment, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting of Constantin. With the authority of her cousin's words, she was granted permission to delve into the investigation of the village under the shadow of dark cult accusations, with Father Petrus as her guide.

As the letter settled gently back onto the table, a second, more enigmatic piece of correspondence drew her attention—a curious note found at the doorstep of their embassy, the servant explained.

Arline studied the foreign, yet vaguely familiar symbols etched onto the parchment, the secret writing of the doneigada. Without hesitation, she passed it to Síora, whose expression morphed from curiosity to surprise upon reading it. “It's a request for a meeting.” Síora revealed, her voice laced with urgency. “In the forest, just outside the city.”

Kurt's brow furrowed in concern at the revelation. “This could be a trap.” He cautioned, his voice a low rumble of warning.

“It's from my people, renaígse do not know our writing.” Síora insisted. “And they're asking for our help.”

Arline tilted her head to the side. “We will go,” She declared, “Armed, of course.” She added with a pointed smile just for Kurt.

Lefroy was quick to voice his intentions. “I will be accompanying you.” He stated, his insistence as predictable as it was unwelcome.

As the morning sun climbed higher, casting long shadows over the city of San Matheus, Arline, Kurt, Lefroy, and Síora exchanged their casual attire for more practical outfits. Vasco and Aphra, after a brief discussion, were to remain behind.

Síora led the way, her voice low but clear as she described the secluded meeting place hidden deep within the forest's embrace. The journey stretched on, taking them a good hour away from the city's safety and deeper into the untamed wilderness that lay beyond.

Finally, they arrived at the designated location, a clearing veiled in the forest's perpetual twilight. The sight that greeted them was grim: three natives stood motionless over the lifeless body of an inquisitor, his robes stained with blood that had seeped into the earth. Kurt's reaction was immediate and visceral; his hand flew to the hilt of his weapon, drawing it with a swift, practiced motion.

Arline and Lefroy wasted no time in readying their own weapons, their bodies tensing for the conflict. Síora, her expression a mix of worry and determination, stepped forward slightly, positioning herself as a bridge between her companions and her fellow natives.

The natives slowly raised their hands in a gesture of surrender, their eyes locked on the trio of armed newcomers. The air grew heavy with tension, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the shallow breaths of the living, as both parties assessed the other.

Arline's gaze shifted between Kurt and the natives, her mind racing to piece together the events that had led to this moment, subtly lowering her weapon. Kurt, though visibly reluctant to lower his guard, eventually followed suit, his weapon lowering but not sheathed, a silent testament to his readiness to defend should the need arise.

“What is this?” Arline demanded, her voice sharp, her stance firm.

One of the natives, a man with a brown and white paints on his face, spoke with a sense of urgency, but no aggression. “Please, we do not wish to fight you. We heard there is an on on menawí among the Lugeid Blau, a carants to Gaís Rad. It is you?” His gaze swept over the group, stopping on Síora.

Síora stepped forward “I am Síora, daughter of Bládnid, this woman is a diplomat of Lugeid Blau and carants of my clan. Everybody stay calm!”

Arline stepped forward; a movement Kurt immediately mirrored, as if bound by an invisible thread. “My name is De Sardet, legate of the Congregation. Why did you make me come here?” She demanded.

“A diplomat is someone who talks, right? Not someone who fights?” The man asked.

Arline scoffed. “I know how to fend for myself, if that is your question. Now answer mine.” She insisted, a clear signal she was not there for pleasantries.

The man sighed, a heavy, burdened sound. “Two nights ago,” He started, his voice thick. “We attacked a group of red suns who were taking away some of our people. Many of them fled, but we captured this man,” He said, pointing to the dead inquisitor, his gaze hardening. “And we made him talk. We wanted to know where they took our brothers! And he talked about a secret camp.” His voice was steady but filled with underlying pain.

Kurt's eyebrows furrowed. “Another one of those?” He muttered under his breath.

“Elaborate.” Arline prompted, making a calming gesture with her hand, signaling to everyone to lower their weapons as a show of trust.

“A camp to confuse our minds!” The native woman exclaimed, her voice shaking with anger, or perhaps sorrow. “They torture our people until they renounce the truth and praise the sun.” She spat to the ground. “This red sun was mocking us. He said they would burn us like the others.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “He had killed some of my brothers. So I killed him!” She finished, now her whole body shaking.

Arline found it hard to doubt them. The image of the native man strangled to death by Aloysius with hundreds of witnesses was still fresh in her mind.

She sighed. “If what you say is true, then indeed, we cannot let the inquisitors continue… But because you killed him, we can only take your word for it.” She explained, maintaining her authoritative stance.

“Maybe not.” The man with painted face said. “The red sun had a key on him, and also some words sealed in bark. We do not know how to set them free, but the renaígse do, yes?” He slowly retrieved a piece of paper from his pouch, extending it towards them as if offering a fragile truce.

Kurt cautiously moved forward and took the offered letter, his movements deliberate, his eyes never leaving the natives. He handed it to Arline, who quickly unfolded it and scanned its contents, her face a mask of concentration. It was addressed to one Inquisitor Claudius.

“The letter ordered this man to join the escort party of a group of natives…” She read. “This partly confirmed what you told me. There is no location of the camp, only the inquisitor’s address.”

“What is an address?” The other native man asked, frowning.

“This is what we refer to the place we live in. I suppose the key you found is the key to his door.” Arline explained, her tone patient.

“So you can go to his house, and look for more words?” He asked.

“Why would we do that?” Lefroy interjected, his voice filled with disbelief and impatience.

The native woman's plea cut through the tension, her voice laden with desperation. “You must do it, or the suns will keep burning our people!” Her eyes, filled with a pleading urgency, sought Arline's, a silent entreaty for justice and intervention.

“Lady De Sardet, we cannot get implicated in this. We need to leave immediately.” Lefroy pressed, his tone brooking no argument.

“This warrior is not wrong, even though I disapprove of her methods.” Arline declared. “We all saw what Ordo Luminis does. If they continue this, Thélème will have the same problem with the natives, as the Bridge Alliance. The Congregation's neutrality in this hostile trinity would become untenably strained.” Her voice wavered slightly; the reasoning sounded weak to her own ears.

Lefroy shot back, unable to hide his irritation. “You are making a lot of assumptions!” Lefroy protested, his hands clenched at his sides. “We should bring this matter to Governor Cornelia’s attention; this does not concern us.”

Arline whirled on him, the fury she had been holding back now blazing in her veins freely. “Perhaps it does not concern you, Lord Lefroy.” She spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “You do not wear a mark on your face that makes Ordo Luminis who arrogantly think themselves above the law, itching for their kindling.” She hissed, her voice low and seething with a barely contained rage. The intensity of her gaze pinned him in place.

Wrinkling her nose, she turned her back to him. “I will visit this man’s house.” She addressed the natives. “I will come back to you if I learn anything more.”

Leaving the shade of forest behind, the group made their way back to the city. Leaving Síora and Lefroy discreetly two streets away, agreeing on a silent nod that fewer would draw less attention, Arline and Kurt continued to the address. It led them to a modest, unassuming house, its door yielding easily to the key, betraying no sign of the secrets it kept.

They stepped into the study first, the room awash with the generous light of the noon sun filtering through the windows, clouded with a thin layer of dust. Kurt began rummaging through the writing desk, his movements methodical and silent, while Arline searched through the contents of a simple cabinet nearby.

“Are you alright?” Kurt’s voice cut through the sound of rustling paper.

Arline let out a long sigh, motes of duct dancing in the sunlight around her. “No. The face of that native from yesterday... the burning creature... they are etched into my mind.”

Kurt paused in his search, turning to her with understanding in his eyes. “I know what you mean... But you know these zealots can't really hurt you, right? They would have to go through me, first.”

A snort escaped her, a smidgen of humour reaching her through her earlier furore. “So we would burn at the stake together. How comforting.” She remarked dryly with a smirk curving her lips.

Kurt chuckled softly. “You also know I can't make speeches.” He admitted, a slight shrug accompanying his words.

Arline offered him a small, appreciative smile. “I know. Thank you for trying.” She replied, the weight in her chest lightening just a fraction.

As they came back to their search, Arline turned the conversation to him. “How are you? You seemed to take the Guard's involvement hard.” Her voice was gentle, a soft probing into his well-guarded thoughts.

Kurt stiffened, his previous ease fading as he straightened up from the desk. “We are mercenaries; we do what we are paid for... But there is an honor code. If it's just empty words to the brass...” His voice trailed off, as the muscles of his jaw tensed. He shook his head. “Torsten commands this garrison directly. Perhaps Sieglinde was right about him, and I don't like the implications.”

Arline absorbed his words, her brow furrowing in concern. “What can be done?”

Kurt took a deep breath, but his hands clenched on the edge of the desk. “Normally, a direct subordinate, like Sieglinde, could report the Commander for investigation to the General. But he’s back on the continent,” He explained, his voiced laced with frustration and resignation. “It would take months, and due to the inconvenience of the distance, would likely be dismissed without solid proof. Here on the island, our hands are essentially tied unless we resort to mutiny.”

Arline’s eyes widened. “I see. Is there nothing an… external pressure could do?”

The creases on Kurt’s forehead dissolved as he looked at her, a fond smile breaking through. “I appreciate your support, Green Blood. But you are already helping me. Once we investigate this Ghost Camp, we might learn what the Guard has been up to on this island, and who is involved.”

Arline gave him an apologetic look. “I was hoping to go there directly from here, but it seems we need to investigate this native village first. Will you forgive me a couple of days’ delay?”

Kurt’s eyes betrayed no sign of pique, the warmth undimishied. “Naturally. Duty calls.” He assured.

Their search led them to a letter from one Inquisitor Honorius, congratulating Inquisitor Claudius on his “conversion camp project,” hinting at more hidden information that could be uncovered in the Ordo Luminis headquarters, in Claudius's office. The discovery sent a chill down Arline's spine.

Kurt held a keychain adorned with a sun symbol up to the light, his expression turning grim. “This could be what we're looking for.”

Arline nodded, taking the keychain from him, determined to get to the bottom of this.

The sunlight momentarily blinded them as they existed the house. As their eyes adjusted, they tensed at the sight of three inquisitors, their postures rigid and expressions taut with agitation, as if they were coiled springs ready to release. Kurt subtly moved closer to Arline, his hand inching toward the hilt of his weapon. With a gentle touch, she stopped the movement, hoping they could still feign ignorance.

“Hey you!” One of the inquisitors barked, stepping forward. “Who are you and what are you doing in Father Claudius’s home?”

Drawing on her traingin, Arline elevated her chin and assumed a mask of confidence she didn’t feel, her heart racing. “Lady Arline De Sardet, legate of the Congregation.” She asserted, trying to convey authority in the tone of her voice.

The inquisitor narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. “My colleague has been away for the last few days. May I know exactly what it is about your status as a diplomat that gives you the right to enter his home in his absence?” He demanded, his voice icy, challenging.

Arline briefly considered her options. She could threaten them, invoking Domitius’s arrest she brought. Before she opened her mouth however, a familiar figure came to her rescue.

“Ah, lady De Sardet, my apologies, did you have to wait long?” Father Petrus emerged from around the corner of the street, a wide smile on his lips.

Arline tamed her eyebrow which rose in surprise into a polite smile. “Indeed, we thought we might find you inside, Father.” She responded with a crafted casualness.

“Bishop Petrus.” The inquisitor nodded with a hint of distaste.

“Inquisitors.” Petrus greeted them, turning his benevolent smile toward Arline. “Excuse me, Lady De Sardet and I are on a mission from Mother Cardinal to find out where Father Claudius might be.” He lied smoothly, surprising Arline once again.

“Really?” The inquisitor crossed his hands on his chest. “I find that very strange. Why would Mother Cardinal ask that some strangers, who do not belong to our order, try to find him?”

Arline evoked a tone of righteous indignation. “Perhaps you want us to go ask her together? I am sure she will be delighted to see how you have been treating the representative of one of her allies.” She retorted, her gaze locking onto his with an air of superiority.

His expression soured, lips pinched tightly.. “That won’t be necessary.” He conceded. “But know I am keeping an eye on you!”

With a flick of her wrist, Arline dismissed him with nonchalance. “As you wish. I hope I do not see you again, Father.” She said coolly, turning to leave with an air of finality, Kurt and Petrus in tow, leaving the inquisitors watching their retreat with silent brooding.

As they moved away, Petrus regarded her with a quizzical glance “This snake gave up too easily.” He warned. “I suspect you will soon find our new friend again. Do you mind telling me what was this about?” He added with a hint of amusement.

Arline paused, her gaze drifting a moment, as she considered her response. “I am investigating Inquisitor Claudius’s suspicious activity.” She admitted, weighing each word before it passed her lips. “Why did you come to my aid?” She locked eyes with him, searching for his true intentions.

Petrus responded with a heart chuckle. “I happened upon your attendant and native friend, looking conspicuously nervous. By a fortunate coincidence, I turned in this direction and saw the inquisitors waiting for something in agitation. I suspected these two groups might be connected by you and decided to eavesdrop.” He said, his sharp eyes twinkling with mirth. “Are you about to lead to another arrest, Lady De Sardet?”

Arline studied him for a moment, her head tilted slightly, deciding if she can trust him. He had no love lost for the Inquisition, that much was sure, but his commitment remained unclear. “That is a possibility.” She finally said, her voice composed.

Rumbling laughter escaped Petrus as they continued down the street. “Delightful! So, why is Claudius not home?” He pressed.

Arline sighed. “He is dead.” She revealed. “Killed by natives looking for their kidnapped people. Their suspicions turned out correct.” She said, showing him the letter they had found.

The light in Petrus’s eyes dimmed as he absorbed her words, his amusement vanishing likemist in the sun. He scanned the letter, his brow furrowing in concern. “A secret conversion camp? Ordo Luminis really has no respect for Mother Cardinal’s authority.” He muttered. “We should show this to her immediately.”

“There is further evidence to found in this inquisitor’s office in the Ordo Luminis temple.” She said, assessing his reaction. “Perhaps… You could retrieve that?” She suggested, jiggling the keychain.

Petrus raised an eyebrow. “I have no qualms rummaging through Ordo Luminis secrets… But to be clear, I will consider this a favour I hope you will return.”

Arline narrowed her eyes. “As long as my reciprocal favour would be of similar immateriality of inconvenience, Father, I consider it an agreeable solution indeed.”

A chuckle erupted from Petrus once more, echoing off the surrounding buildings. “We have an agreement, then.” He concluded.

Arline and Kurt, regrouped with Lefroy and Síora, found themselves in a quiet corner of the city square, the usual hustle and bustle around them fading into a distant murmur as they awaited Petrus's return. Kurt, ever the vigilant soldier, scanned the area with a discreet but watchful eye, while Arline, despite her attempts to appear composed, tapped a rhythmic pattern against her thigh, betraying her impatience. Síora stared at the charred remains of the creature, her body tense.

The minutes stretched longer than they had any right to, each one adding a layer of tension between them. Finally, Petrus appeared, his pace brisk and purposeful, a sealed envelope clutched in his hand. Without a word, he handed the envelope to Arline.

Armed with the incriminating evidence, they hastened to Cornelia's residence. The Mother Cardinal received them in her study, a room bathed in the soft glow of afternoon light filtered through stained glass windows. Her expression was one of serene composure, but as Arline unfolded the contents of the envelope before her, a flicker of concern crossed her features.

Cornelia listened intently as Arline presented the findings, her eyes narrowing with each word. Upon conclusion, she rose from her seat with a decisiveness that seemed to command the very air around her. “This is most troubling.” She admitted, her voice laced with genuine surprise. “I assure you, I had no knowledge of this.” She quickly scribbled and sealed a letter, then turned to a guard stationed at the door. “Go to the barracks, immediately. Liberate the camp and report back to me.”

With Cornelia's promise of swift action, Arline's party made their way back to the forest, the ambiance shifted from the sunlit clarity of the city to the dappled shadows of the trees. The natural chorus of the woods crescendoed around them as they neared the agreed meeting spot. The natives, like apparitions, materialized from behind the verdant foliage, their expressions a complex tapestry of hope and scepticism.

“I have discovered the location of the camp. The leader of this city did not know of its existence. She dispatched a force of guards to liberate it. You should be able to get your men to safety.” Arline explained, offering a reassuring smile.

The man with the painted face, his features etched in the light and shadow cast by the overhead leaves, narrowed his eyes. “Why come and tell us all of this, if your intention is just to betray us?” He challenged, his stance tense and wary.

Arline’s brow furrowed, her confusion genuine. “Betray?” She echoed, the word feeling alien in the context of their mutual goal. Before she could further elaborate, a familiar hostility sliced through the serene forest air.

“You’re not the ones this so-called legate betrayed.” The cold, hard voice cut through the clearing, rooted in the direction they had come from. Three inquisitors, their bodies rigid with anger, stepped into the clearing, their weapons glaring under the sun's intermittent rays. It was them, the very inquisitors who had confronted her in Claudius’s home, now looking more menacing than before.

Arline stepped forward, her hands raised in a universal sign of peace, her heart beating a frantic rhythm. “Mother Cardinal seems to disagree.” She stated firmly, attempting to wedge diplomacy between their sharpened intents.

The lead inquisitor, his face a mask of scorn, spat onto the forest floor with disgust. “Mother Cardinal focuses too much on politics when she should be following her faith instead!”

The inquisitor abruptly swung his sword, his movement was a blur—a flash of steel aimed directly at Arline. Paralyzed, she stood rooted to the spot, disbelief freezing her actions as the inquisitor dared to strike a diplomat. Kurt’s blade materialized before her, a circle-parry intercepting the attack with a resounding clash of metal. His countermove, a dance of steel and skill, pushed the aggressor back. Arline dodged out of the way as the sound of metal clashing echoed through the forest; Kurt, with swift reflexes and a firm stance, responded to the attack.

Arline’s heart leaped to her throat. “No!” She screamed, the word torn from her lips in a desperate plea for cessation. Lefroy echoed her cry.

As Kurt backed out, positioning himself before them, Síora, her movements fluid and precise, drove her spear through another inquisitor’s heart, her face betraying no hint of doubt in her action. As she withdrew her weapon, the lifeless body of her adversary crumpled to the ground. The three natives, eyes alight with the fire of battle, engaged the remaining inquisitors with a ferocity. They wielded their short blades with practiced ease, moving with a synchronization that spoke of years of unity and shared struggles.

Arline, caught between her instinct to defend and the horror of unnecessary violence, drew upon her magic. Her hands glowed with potent energy, yet she hesitated, uncertain what to do, as the clashing of blades and the grunts of exertion filled the air.

The first inquisitor unleashed his own tempest of Light and Shadow, pushing the natives away, then ran straight at Kurt, a feral expression on his face. With a grim set to his jaw, Kurt delivered a decisive blow to his assailant, the man’s body falling heavily to the forest floor. The natives, with a combination of agility and ruthlessness, quickly overcame the remaining adversary, their coordinated efforts leaving no room for the inquisitor's survival.

Within just a few seconds silence fell, heavy and oppressive, punctuated only by laboured breaths. Arline’s gaze swept over the scene in disbelief – the inquisitors, motionless, their lives extinguished. A cold realization washed over her, chilling her to the bone. This was not just a confrontation; it was an act that would have far-reaching consequences. She had, however inadvertently, become embroiled in the murder of three officials of an allied state. The gravity of the situation bore down on her, leaving her immobilized by shock and dread. What had begun as a mission to uncover truth and protect the innocent had spiralled into a nightmare beyond her worst imaginings.

Though Lefroy’s thoughts evidently mirrored her own, his reaction was quite the opposite. His face reddened with anger and his hands clenched into fists, his fury erupted like a storm. “This is a political disaster! I told you we should not get involved!” His accusatory finger jabbed the air towards Arline with each venomous word. “You obstinate, headstrong, impulsive girl! Your emotional, egotistical, improvident nature might have just cost us both of our careers! Perhaps an alliance! Definitely indemnity!” His voice rose to a crescendo as he paced back and forth, his steps heavy with the weight of his displeasure. “All of this, because of nepotism! I told the prince your place is in marriage mart, not politics! I shall only hope your removal from this position will not be hushed, you should be publicly disgraced. At least then you can be the woman of the evening and receive your sailor’s compliments in peace!"

The air seemed to freeze around them. Arline, her body rigid with shock, stared at him, eyes wide and lips parted, her mind reeling from the barrage of insults. Kurt, his narrowed eyes locking on Lefroy, his grip tightening on the zweihander he still held, moved forward, his voice icy with suppressed rage. “I suggest you measure your words, Lord Lefroy, before her guard makes it his duty to defend Lady De Sardet’s honour.” He snarled, his low voice vibrating in the air.

Lefroy’s bluster deflated like a punctured balloon, his complexion turning a shade paler as Kurt’s warning sank in. He swallowed hard, his stance softening as he forced out a begrudging apology. “My deepest apologies, Lady De Sardet,” He muttered, maintaining eye contact with reluctance. “Calling your personal honour to question crossed the line of decency. Please forgive my indecorous outburst.”

Arline held Lefroy's gaze, her wits returning with a wave of boiling indignation. “You did indeed cross the line, Lord Lefroy.” She spat, her control fraying as the air around her shimmered with unleashed energy, her anger giving her trembling voice a sharp edge. She took a shaking breath, consciously disconnecting from the Source. “I respect your position and your concerns, but that respect is not reciprocated. Although the deaths of these inquisitors are regrettable, we have acted in self-defence,” She reminded, recovering a steady tone of voice. “Having just prevented an atrocity, safeguarding lives and potentially the future peace of this island.” She grimaced, her eyes drilled into Lefroy with disdain. “Your personal grievances should not blind you to the nature of our duty. We both serve the Congregation, and right now, you are serving nothing but your own anger.”

“You lost all your moral superiority with these ‘regrettable deaths’, as you called them.” Lefroy barked in response. “And everything you wanted to do for these natives will be at risk once your diplomatic methodscome to light.”

“Do not worry about it, on ol menawí,” The native woman interjected. “We will make these bodies disappear. Nobody will ever know what happened to them.” Her assurance, while practical, sent a shiver down Arline's spine. Hiding the bodies felt like admission of guilt.

The man with painted face nodded in agreement. “Except for our mál, of course. Queen Derdre will be grateful to you for helping us.” He added, touching his closed fist to his lips and then to his chest in a solemn gesture, offering Arline a symbol of respect and gratitude from his culture. “Visit Cengeden Anedas clan in the village of Vedleug. Kwa awelam seg.”

The return to the embassy was a silent procession, each step weighted with the gravity of what had transpired. Kurt extended his arm for support, a gesture Arline gratefully accepted, feeling numb, her legs barely holding her up. Ahead, Lefroy walked several feet away, stiff and unyielding, without a backward glance, while Síora maintained a silent vigil, trailing behind them. Arline, haunted by the day’s events, sought solace in the privacy of her chambers. She submerged herself in the steaming waters of a bath, attempting to cleanse not just the grime of the forest but the shadow that clung to her soul.

As she sat there, the water swirling around her, the events replayed in her mind over and over. The warmth of the bath did little to soothe the chill of doubt that crept within her. What if their actions were discovered? The thought of hiding the truth gnawed at her conscience, the line between justice and deceit blurring. She scrubbed her skin, trying to separate it from guilt, but the water could not wash away the blood.

In the midst of her turmoil, the realization dawned on her; Vedlug was the very village they were meant to investigate next, led by Father Petrus. The same village was accused of harbouring a demonic cult. A shiver ran through her, not from the cooling water but from the impending sense of dread. Were her actions today really emotional, egotistical, and improvident? Were the prisoners of the camp some kind of dark cultists? How deep did the roots of corruption go, and what horrors awaited them in Vedlug?

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

Professor Akgun doth posit the origin of the affliction to be rooted in malevolent minuscule creatures unseen by the naked eye. Heretical as it may seem, she doth suggest an invisible battle between benevolent and malevolent corpuscles, a theory in stark opposition to the established humours doctrine.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

            As the new day dawned, a deceptive chill permeated the air, contradicting the bright sun outside. The breakfast table was engulfed in an unsettling quiet. Lefroy made a point of avoiding eye contact with both Arline and Kurt, his silence heavy and deliberate.

Arline, her nerves frayed and mind reeling from the previous day's catastrophe, found little solace in the morning routine, each clink of cutlery on porcelain echoing too loudly in the strained atmosphere. She longed for a departure from this place, seeking escape in the daunting task ahead – the investigation of a cult.

The arrival of a visitor broke the oppressive silence. Father Petrus was announced, his usual buoyant stride carrying him into the room. He brought with him news that sent a wave of reactions through the group. The conversion camp had been liberated, a victory marred by the tragic loss of many natives who had been held captive before help arrived. The toll was grim: two dozen inquisitors arrested, several more dead. The scandal had burgeoned into something colossal, an emergency meeting of all the Thélème orders had been convened to deliberate on the future of Ordo Luminis on Teer Fradee.

While Petrus seemed to revel in the unfolding drama, delight tinging his words, Arline felt a cold dread settle in her stomach thinking about the mass pyres to come. No sympathy stirred within her for the fallen inquisitors, and she could not regret her involvement, even if that cost three additional lives on her conscience. She zoned out of the conversation, thinking about the bodies. Arline had asked the natives to burn them, according to Thélème customs – a respectful end, she hoped, though part of her feared they might lay discarded in the forest, forgotten in unmarked graves, an insult to their spirits.

“Green Blood Kurt's voice jolted her from her morbid reverie. Eyes hazed, she searched for his. Kurt watched Arline with a guarded concern, as he subtly nodded towards Petrus, drawing her attention back to the conversation, where the priest waited with an expectant look.

Arline blinked away the lingering shadows of her thoughts, returning to the present with a forced clarity. “Forgive me, Father, you were saying?” She murmured, her voice barely hiding the undercurrent of distress.

Petrus, seemingly unfazed by her momentary withdrawal, leaned in slightly. “I was asking about collecting that favour you owe me, my child.” He stated, his tone smooth. “Though I consider the matter one of our mutual benefit.”

Suppressing a sigh, Arline attempted to mask her reluctance with a semblance of attentiveness. “I am listening.” She responded, her posture straightening as she prepared to confront whatever request Petrus had in mind, her mind steeling itself for another round of political manoeuvring amidst the tempest they had unleashed.

“In just two days you have made a bigger impact on our politics than I managed in the last decade.” Petrus chuckled. “And although it promises to be a positive impact, Thelemite politics is a delicate balance, and upsetting that balance will undoubtedly have repercussions.” He paused, his expression turning pensive. “I’ve known the Mother Cardinal for quite some timeI believe she truly had no knowledge of this camp, but I also suspect she chose not to look too closely – affording the Ordo Luminis the freedom they are accustomed to. Now, the backlash places her in an uncomfortable position. She is a formidable woman, gifted and diplomatically skilled. I fear that you might be a little defenceless when dealing with her and would like to give you a few… weapons.”

Arline’s brow creased in confusion and scepticism. “How exactly does arming me translate to a favour for you?”

A sly smile crept onto Petrus’s face, his eyes sparkling with unspoken knowledge. “Diplomacy is not only a matter of formal encounters and choreographed etiquette. If we have the means to action more personal leverage, the Mother Cardinal could not manipulate either of us.”

Arline studied him intently, weighing his words and their potential implications. “And how, pray tell, might we uncover such leverage?”

Lefroy abruptly rose from his chair, his face a mask of discomfort and disapproval. “Excuse me.” He announced tersely, his exit from the room swift and silent.

Petrus watched Lefroy’s departure with raised eyebrows. “What seems to be the trouble with him?” He asked, genuinely puzzled by the sudden change in atmosphere.

“He is none too fond of my... less-than-official endeavours.” Arline explained with a wry grimace.

Petrus let out a hearty laugh, the sound rich and unburdened. “Perhaps politics is not his forte.” He mused, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Arline.

She raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by his candour. “An interesting viewpoint.” She remarked, her mind churning with new considerations.

Petrus leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Everyone has nasty little secrets, my child.” He continued. “I suspect Cornelia’s might be found in the palace cellar, a place strictly off-limits to those without proper clearance.”

“Very well, let us go and discover what the Governor would rather keep hidden from the world.” Arline accepted.

“Excellent!” He exclaimed, gesturing for the servant to fetch his satchel. From it, he produced three sets of nondescript linen garments. “We can disguise ourselves as servants. I assumed your master of arms will be accompanying us?”

“He will.” Kurt interjected. “But I’m not the master of arms anymore.” He added, almost to himself, his mind seemingly preoccupied.

The plain linen clothing felt alien to Arline. Her wardrobe, even at its most casual, consisted of materials that whispered against her skin with a gentle caress, an unpleasant contrast to the coarse linen she now donned. The shirt hung loosely around her, its thin fabric doing little to disguise the vibrant red ribbon of her chemise beneath. She tugged at the material self-consciously, feeling a rush of vulnerability without her usual layers to shield her from prying eyes.

As she stepped out to regroup with the men, Arline noticed Petrus's ease in his similar attire. Despite the simplicity of the garb, which she suspected was far removed from his usual standard of dress, he carried himself with an unaffected comfort leaving Arline to wonder if this wasn't the first time he'd undertaken such a covert mission.

Together, they made their way towards the palace, their plain garb allowing them to blend seamlessly with the flow of servants and laborers that frequented the palace grounds, their presence raising no suspicions among the guards and staff. As they descended into the dimly lit cellar, the cool, musty air enveloped them. The cellar's vast expanse, filled with rows of wine barrels and crates, didn’t look out of the ordinary – until they found a closed door.

Retrieving pins from his pocket, Kurt kneeled before the door, working his lockpicking magic with controlled movements of his hands. As the final pin clicked into place, the door swung open with a soft creak, revealing the opulent secrecy it guarded. Kurt rose from his kneeling position, a triumphant glint in his eyes. Arline, caught off guard by the intensity of her observation of his skilled hands, felt a flush of warmth creep up her neck. She quickly averted her gaze, feigning interest in the doorway ahead.

Stepping into the room, the trio was greeted by an extravagant display of leisure and indulgence. Richly furnished with plush couches, gleaming card tables, and a grand dining table that commanded attention, the room spoke of many a clandestine gathering. A piano sat elegantly against one wall, its polished surface reflecting the dim light that filtered through hidden vents. However, what caught Arline's attention was a secluded corner adorned with large armchairs and an array of huge pillows strewn across the floor, a stark contrast to the rest of the room's organized luxury.

Petrus let out a low whistle, breaking the silence that had enveloped them. “Ah, well… This is a very unique place. ”His voice carried a hint of mirth as he surveyed the room. “The smell of stupor and vice reign as its masters.”

Arline wrinkled her nose, the potent aroma of alcohol permeating the air. “Oh, for goodness’ sake! This room reeks of alcohol!” She exclaimed, her words echoing slightly in the lavish but confined space.

Petrus chuckled, wandering closer to a cabinet filled with an assortment of bottles. “And not just any old alcohol, if my nose does not deceive me.” He picked up a bottle, inspecting it with an appreciative eye. “Cornelia always had great taste when it came to drinking.”

Arline observed him silently, her eyebrow raised. It struck her that Petrus seemed just as familiar with the nuances of fine spirits as the room's owner. She opted to remain silent on the matter, her curiosity about the contents of the room growing. The presence of the luxurious corner filled with armchairs and pillows puzzled her, its purpose and significance a riddle amidst the room's more overt displays of opulence.

Arline approached the enigmatic corner, her curiosity piqued by the peculiar setup. The faint gleam on the floor caught her eye, drawing her closer. It was a large, gaudy earring, its golden sheen marred by the cheap embellishments that clung to its surface. She picked it up, turning it over in her hand, the metal cold and garish against her skin.

“It seems that someone forgot their earring.” She remarked, holding it up for Petrus to see.

Petrus joined her, his nose wrinkling in distaste as he examined the piece. “Ugh, here is an object of more than questionable taste; a woman from a good family would never wear it. It’s junk, the kind of thing a courtesan would wear.” He commented, a faint smirk on his lips.

Arline’s eyebrow shot upwards again. “I did not know you were an expert on the subject, Father.” She teased him.

“The subject of jewellery?” Petrus asked, missing or perhaps ignoring the jab.

“No, of courtesans.” Arline clarified, a playful edge to her voice.

Petrus sighed, sweeping a hand across the room. “We are here at the heart of human depravity. Outrageous luxury, excessively-priced alcohol, obvious debauchery…” His voice trailed off as he took in the lavish surroundings

Arline frowned. “Surely this is enough to incriminate the Mother Cardinal?”

“No, my child.” Petrus said. “These things are common in certain circles, even in Thélème, unfortunately.” He explained, his tone one of a parent explaining where babies come from. “Cornelia may well have organized these things for others. These parties might be of use in gaining some political favour. We must find out who is involved and learn more.”

Arline mulled over his words, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to fall into place in her mind. The secluded area, the earring, the opulence surrounding them—it was all too distasteful, too indecent for someone of higher class. The realization hit her like a wave of embarrassment, and she felt her cheeks heat up.

Determined not to sound too coveted, she attempted to shake her disdain off. “The earring that we found may help us with that. We could ask at the brothel if it belongs to a prostitute.” She suggested, her voice a touch apprehensive.

Before the conversation could continue, Kurt called out from the other side of the room. “Here’s another locked door.” He announced, already positioning himself in front of it, his tools at the ready.

Arline and Petrus exchanged a quick glance before moving in his direction, as Kurt worked the lock, his movements precise and focused.

As they entered the next room, it revealed itself to be a study, the desk cluttered with piles of paper that seemed to stray far from any official ledger. They spread out, sifting through the documents with a practiced eye.

Petrus leaned over a particularly hefty ledger, his eyes narrowing as he deciphered the handwriting. “This document is highly important. By reading it carefully, you could learn a lot.” He murmured, pointing to a line in the ledger. “The Mother Cardinal apparently borrows large amounts of money from a moneylender. Actually, enormous sums.

Arline pursed her lips as she read, a deep frown on her face. “What is more, she does so quite regularly. How does she manage to give it all back?”

“Hmm,” Petrus hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against the ledger. “And the name ‘Candy Cane’ crops up several times. Quite suspicious, don’t you think?” He raised an eyebrow, looking to Arline for her reaction.

Arline nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. “This ‘sweet’ person must be doing her huge favours to get these sums. There is probably a connection between these pleasure parties and the account books.” She said.

Petrus straightened up. “Let’s ask a few questions. The moneylender is well-established, they call him Magpie. He can be found near the main square.” He began to pace the room, his footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor. “As for this ‘Candy Cane’, the name doesn’t ring any bells to me, but the moneylender must know more about him.” He paused, turning to Arline with a conspiratorial look. “We can also go and gather information at the Coin Tavern. Or below it.”

Arline let out a sigh. “Let us go there first.” She said. “I would prefer to go incognito.”

Kurt gave her a long, assessing look, his frown deepening, though he kept his concerns unspoken.

They exited the palace, blending into the bustling streets of the city. As they made their way to the tavern, Arline pulled the simple linen closer around her, appreciating, for the first time, the anonymity it provided.

Inside the tavern, the air was thick with the scent of ale and the murmur of hushed conversations. Arline approached the bar, where the innkeeper was busily wiping down the counter.

“Can I get you anything?” He asked, not looking up from his work. The simple clothing really seemed to open a whole new world for her.

“Can I ask you a couple questions?” Arline ventured.

The innkeeper looked up, his expression turning from serviceable to sceptical. “If you wish.” He said, though his tone suggested he found the inquiry inconvenient. “What would you like to know?”

“You sometimes deliver goods to your big clients, is that not right?” Arline asked, trying to sound casual.

“Of course! The rich don’t like to get drunk among mere mortals.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her with new interest.

“And have you ever supplied anyone from the palace?” She pressed on.

“Yes, that has happened. It suits them.” The innkeeper said, nodding.

“Who places these orders?”

The innkeeper frowned with a small smirk on his lips. “Well, a steward, of course. Don’t you know how things work?” He said.

Arline shifted her weight under his gaze, wondering how obvious her ignorance was.

“What can you tell me about a certain ‘Candy Cane’?” Kurt interjected, leaning on the counter.

“Candy Cane?” The innkeeper repeated, his tone changing to one caution. “Everyone speaks about him or has heard of him, but no one really knows him.”

“And what do they say about him?” Kurt leaned in slightly, encouraging him to share more.

The innkeeper glanced around the tavern before leaning closer. “Here? Nothing. You need to go downstairs for that sort of thing.” He murmured nodding towards a less conspicuous staircase leading down from the main area of the tavern, where the brothel and game arena was.

Descending into the tavern's lower levels, Arline leaned in towards Kurt. ”I blew my cover, did I not?”

Kurt regarded her with a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Cover, huh?” She chuckled. “You asked ‘is that not right’; a commoner would say ‘isn’t that right’.” He pointed out softly, the hint of amusement in his voice not mocking, but affectionate.

Arline blinked, taken aback by such a subtle indicator of her status. She hadn't even considered her choice of words could betray her origins.

“And your accent,” Kurt added with a grin. “Is very posh.”

Arline felt a flush of warmth spread across her cheeks, not entirely from embarrassment but from the realization of how much she stood out—even in the simple linen clothes she wore, though his light-heartedness brought a reluctant smile to Arline's face, momentarily easing the tension.

Stepping through the dimly lit entrance of the brothel for the first time in her life, Arline felt a wave of discomfort wash over her. The thick, perfumed air and the soft, lascivious murmurs seeping from behind draped curtains were alien to her senses. Her eyes darted around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, as they approached a small desk barricaded by a half-wall, where a pimp lounged, assessing their approach with an evaluating gaze.

“So, have you found what you were looking for?” The pimp asked, his eyes lingering on Arline longer than she found comfortable.

Sensing Arline’s unease, Kurt stepped forward, shielding her slightly with his presence. “Let’s just say that we’re gathering information.” He said firmly, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding.

The pimp's eyes narrowed slightly, but his smile remained, oily and unctuous. “My treasures are worth their price. I promise you that you will get your money’s worth.” he assured, though his gaze turned calculating. :For you, I’m sure we can make a… special arrangement.”

Petrus interjected before the situation could devolve further, his voice cutting through the heavy air with the sharpness of a blade. “We are not here for your… services,” He clarified sternly. “But to lead an investigation. Several clients of yours have made a complaint: precious objects disappearing after your… employees’ visits.”

Arline, taking a deep breath to steel herself, embraced her posh accent. “People in very high places are concerned, which explains why we have been asked to take care of it.” Her voice carried more confidence than she felt, but her voice or perhaps the mention of high-ranking involvement seemed to pierce through the pimp’s previously unshakable demeanour.

“This cannot be... I… Well, listen, come in, but please be discreet!” He stammered, the slickness in his voice faltering as he gestured for them to proceed deeper into the establishment.

Petrus nodded, a tight smile on his lips. “Thank you for your cooperation.” He said, leading the way as they moved past the desk into the heart of the brothel, Arline closely following, her discomfort a tangible presence between the decadent walls.

As they navigated beyond the partition, the atmosphere shifted palpably. Arline was immediately struck by the candid displays of flesh. Women, draped in simple attire that seemed to reveal more than her best evening gowns, lounged alongside men whose shirts were carelessly unbuttoned. They reclined on sofas, nestled in armchairs, or sprawled across large pillows strewn about the floor, all bathed in the dim, sultry light of the hidden chamber. Arline’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson as her gaze skittered away from the intimate scenes.

“Look, a new face.” A voice cooed. Arline’s eyes darted to the source: a prostitute, her gaze sharp and knowing. “Oh, but wouldn’t that be… Hello, Father.” She said, a smirk playing on her lips as she recognized Petrus. Arline shot Petrus an amused look, her earlier discomfort momentarily forgotten in the light of this revelation.

Petrus, caught off guard, stammered. “I… Oh, hello.” His usual eloquence deserting him under the prostitute’s gaze.

Arline, seizing the moment, extended the gaudy earring toward the woman. “Hmm. We would like to know if you know who this earring belongs to. Is it maybe yours?”

“Absolutely not.” The prostitute dismissed with a scoff, her voice etched with a note of pride. “I am careful not to leave my belongings with clients. And I have no desire to answer your questions. That doesn’t fall within my… services.”

“Very well. Goodbye.” Arline responded, a touch of nervousness creeping into her voice as she turned to leave.

Only to collide with a scarcely dressed man who reached out to steady her with unexpected gentleness. “Well, here’s someone new. What can I do for you, pretty face?” He asked, his voice low and silky, making Arline’s skin tingle uncomfortably where his fingers made contact.

Kurt materialized at her side instantaneously, a silent sentinel. The man's hands fell away from Arline as he caught Kurt's protective stance, his smile widening as he measured him with an inviting glance from under half-closed eyelids.

Arline stirred as the prostitute’s eyes darted back to her, insinuating. She cleared her throat. “I wanted to know who this earring belongs to.”

The man, visibly deflated from the interruption, took the earring with a resigned air. “Oh, this really isn’t my day. Show me, pretty face.” A quick inspection led to a dismissive chuckle. “Huh… Given the way it shines, it must be a piece of junk. It probably belongs to one of the girls, try Felice, it’s really her style.” He gestured lazily toward a corner of the room. “Well, if that’s all you’re here for, I’d rather get back to the grind.”

Arline, smoothing her thin linen shirt, directed a determined gaze towards the indicated woman, with Kurt and Petrus following closely behind her.

“There are too many of you for me alone, my little lambs.” Felice teased, her voice a blend of amusement and wariness.

“Sorry madam, but we’re here to ask other favors of you.” Arline explained, maintaining as much composure as she could muster. She extended the earring towards the woman. “This question might seem a little surprising, but do you know who this earring might belong to?”

The shift in Felice’s demeanor was instantaneous, from easy-going to guarded.  “Why… it’s mine! I-I lost it when… How did you get hold of it?” Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her nerves.

Petrus interjected softly. “Are you sure you want to broach that subject here?”

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment before nodding. “You’re right, come with me.” Felice gestured for them to follow her to a more private area. The room they entered was heavy with the scent of incense mixed with the sour scent of bodily fluids. Arline’s discomfort intensified, her skin prickling with heat as she realized the true nature of their surroundings.

“Well, what do you want? Why are you giving me back my earring?” Felice asked, her voice steadier in the privacy of the room.

Arline took a deep breath, pushing past her discomfort. “You know where we found it, do you not?”

“Obviously!” Felice said. “I realized as soon as I’d got back that I lost it.”

Kurt, leaning against the wall, addressed the underlying issue with a nonchalant tone. “I imagine your employer does not know that you take part in these parties. He doesn't dabble in this at all?”

“No!” Felice whispered urgently, her eyes darting to the door. “Do not say anything to him, I beg you. He’s on my case enough as it is!”

“Then I suggest you answer my questions.” Arline pressed, sensing the leverage they had.

Felice exhaled a defeated sigh. “What would you like to know?”

Petrus folded his arms. “Could you tell us who you saw at the parties?” His voice was calm, but authoritative.

The woman shifted uncomfortably on the worn-out cushion beneath her. “Rich people. Or better, they seemed very rich and important to me. But I don’t know them.” She shrugged.

Petrus narrowed his eyes. “Do you know who organizes these parties?”

Shaking her head, the prostitute responded with a hint of frustration. “Not really, no. A steward pays me when I go, but I don’t see anyone else… apart from the clients.”

“You cannot even give us a single name?” Arline interjected, her frustration mirroring that of Felice's, her voice sharper than she intended.

The woman looked up, meeting Arline's gaze for the first time. “No. The only person who sometimes speaks to this steward is a woman who is always wearing a green coat. She never takes part in the…festivities, but the steward rushes over whenever she arrives.”

Arline's eyes flicked to Petrus, a silent understanding passing between them. Arline pressed on. ”Do you think that…an important person from Thélème could’ve partaken in these soirées?”

The prostitute's expression hardened. “You’re thinking of Mother Cardinal, aren’t you? You lot really think we are a bunch of degenerates.”

Petrus, stepping forward from the shadows, fixed the woman with a stern look. “You’re hardly a shining example of virtue, my child. Just answer our questions.”

Her defiance seemed to crumble under his gaze. “Sorry.” She muttered. “I don’t know the Mother Cardinal, but I strongly doubt she dabbles in that.”

Arline leaned in slightly, drawing the prostitute’s attention.” This woman in the green coat, can you tell me about her?”

Felice’s gaze focused on a spot on the floor as if the memories were etched there. “She always hides her face and never joins us, then she disappears into a little office and locks the door.” Her voice came slow, but her hands fidgeted with the edge of her skirt, betraying her nervousness.

Kurt spoke up, his tone edged with a mild accusation. “Admit it, you must know more than you’re letting on. It’s virtually impossible not to recognize someone while being so close to these influential people, wouldn’t you agree?” He folded his arms, his posture imposing even in his disguise.

The prostitute hesitated, wringing her hands, then let out a slow breath. “Well, I was able to recognize someone, once. Even with a mask on, I’m good at recognizing my clients.” She admitted.

“Please, continue.” Arline urged, assuming a gentle tone.

 “I don’t want to implicate anyone, but he… is of no real importance. And you’ve probably never even heard of him. It's the local moneylender.” She mumbled the last part, almost as if regretting her decision to reveal so much.

Petrus gave a slight nod. “I know very well who you’re referring to, my dear.” His voice was soothing, aimed at putting the woman at ease.

“But I didn’t mention anything to you, huh?” She glanced around nervously. “This stays between us.”

Petrus smiled. “I don’t even remember the subject of this conversation anymore.”

Seizing the moment of relative trust, Arline pressed on. “Do you know someone who goes by the name of ‘Candy Cane’?”

The prostitute's posture relaxed slightly, a sign of resignation. “Everyone does. He is a powerful person, so his name makes the rounds.”

“Have you ever spotted him at these… pleasure parties?” Arline asked, her gaze fixed on the woman's face, searching for any sign of recognition.

“In all honesty, I wouldn’t even be able to recognize him.” The prostitute shrugged. “I’ve heard his name but that’s all.”

Petrus nodded. “Thank you for the information.” He said, his voice warm.

The woman’s eyes shifted between the three visitors. “Be sure not to mention this to anyone. I’d lose my clients if they suspected me of speaking about them, you know.”

As they left the sultry ambiance of the brothel behind, Arline felt a tangible sense of relief wash over her. The air felt cleaner, less oppressive outside, though the lingering sensation of the establishment clung to her skin like an unwelcome perfume. They headed toward the fighting arena, another establishment that promised its own brand of disrepute.

The arena loomed ahead, its exterior rough and uninviting. Inside, the atmosphere was charged, the air thick with the scent of sweat and blood, the ground sticky underfoot. The sounds of grunts, cheers, and the clash of combat filled the space, creating an undercurrent of primal energy.

Kurt navigated the charged atmosphere of the arena with a confident stride, his silhouette casting a long shadow as they approached the bouncer. “I imagine that the name ‘Candy Cane’ rings a bell?” He spoke casually.

The wiry man with eyes that had seen too much, scoffed lightly. “Obviously. Even though I would prefer it wasn’t the case. He’s a sort of… organizer. He captures most of the beasts who fight in the arena.” He said, his hands gesturing loosely.

“How is that a problem?” Kurt asked, leaning slightly forward.

The man’s gaze shifted uneasily, his mouth a thin line. “Apparently, he’s fixed a few fights. These kinds of rumours aren’t good for my business.”

“If that is the case, then why do you not stop him?” Arline chimed in. The organizer’s narrowed eyes locked onto her, his brow quizzical. Arline’s hands betrayed her nervousness, clasping and unclasping at her sides.

The fight organizer's hollow laughter resonated through the dense, sweaty air of the arena, a sound devoid of any real amusement.  “He has friends, lady. Without solid evidence, no one will lift a finger. And the only ones who wanted to speak of his cartel have disappeared.” A cold shiver ran down Arline’s spine, despite the stifling heat of the arena.

Petrus took over. “Do you know where we can find him?” His voice was soft, almost casual, but there was a sharpness in his eyes.

The organizer glanced around before leaning closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “He often hangs out around the port at night, but I strongly advise you to stay away from the guy.”

Arline leaned forward, her hands clasped in from of her. “We know how to look after ourselves.” She assured. “Thank you for the information. We are looking for someone else. A woman wearing a big green coat.” She inquired, regaining control.

The man’s eyebrows raised in amusement as he regarded her. Narrowing her eyes, she drew Light and Air, making a show of her skin becoming alight and loose strands of hair fluttering in the wind that came out of nowhere. The man’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I know who you mean.” He said, taking a step back. “She’s a good client. She comes in ‘specially for the big fights and she has prime… information.” His fingers air-quoted with a certain distaste.

Arline smiled in satisfaction at his reaction. “Do you know where I can find her?”

Shaking his head, the man shrugged, an action that seemed to release the tension from his broad shoulders. “No, I don't even know her name.”

Disappointment flickered across Arline's features before she could conceal it, her resolve waning momentarily. They exited the arena, the clamour of the crowd diminishing behind them like the fading pulse of an erratic heartbeat. Arline, relieved to be almost over with this place proposed to question the innkeeper once more.

The Innkeeper's eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at his lips as if amused by her persistent return. “Look who it is, the lady in rags. I feel that, once again, you’re not here to support my business.”

The corner of Arline’s mouth twitching in a faint, mirthless smile, but she ignored the barb. “I am looking for a woman who comes here. She always wears a long, green coat.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes drifting to some unseen point over Arline's shoulder. “Yes, I have seen this coat before, but I have no idea who is beneath it, if that’s what you’re asking. All I know is that I've seen her speaking to a regular: a steward of the palace.”

Arline nodded, sliding over a single Tal on the counter. “I am always happy to patron good, hardworking people.” She said with a half-smile. “Be so kind as to not mention a lady in rags to anyone.” The man swiped the gold with an affirmative nod.

As they made their way back to the embassy, the tension that had knotted Arline's shoulders began to ease. The simple linen attire was quickly discarded for a walking skirt, a welcome return to normalcy that she hadn’t realized she’d missed until now. The weight of the fabric, the familiar texture, brought a sense of self back to her, dispelling the last remnants of the uncomfortable charade they had played. The ordeal of the morning had drained more from Arline than she cared to admit, but duty called with unrelenting persistence.

Reinvigorated, albeit still carrying the shadow of recent events, they set out once more, stepping into the bustling activity of the city. The square, under the unyielding gaze of the burned creature, held a morose air, as they navigated through the throng of people, each step taking them closer to the moneylender.

The moneylender's establishment, draped in the opulence of ill-gotten wealth, greeted them with a deceptive calm. Magpie, the proprietor known as much for his sharp attire as his sharper business acumen, eyed them with a mix of curiosity and caution. “Can I help you?”

Arline, took the lead with a confidence bolstered by her return to familiar terrains. “Yes, actually. I have a small favour to ask.”

Magpie’s eyebrow arched, scepticism written across his features. “You don’t look like you need money from me.”

With a gesture from Petrus, encouraging her to proceed with an entertained smile, Arline leaned forward with a sweet smile. “Indeed. I will get straight to the point. I know about the… decadent parties at the palace. I know that you take part in them.” She said, her voice laced with a mixture of charm and threat.

The color drained from Magpie’s face, his previous composure faltering. “What? But… what are you talking about?”

Arline, maintaining her casual demeanour, locked eyes with him. “I believe you heard me, do not act all innocent. I have all the information I need to incriminate you.” She sat at the edge of his desk. “Although your reputation is not spotless, there are others who have a lot more at stake than you. What if I were to spread it around town that you boast about being there?” She suggested with a disinterested smile.

Panic flickered in Magpie’s eyes. “That's enough!” He hissed. “Alright, alright, I get the message. What do you want?” He demanded, leaning back in his chair.

A softer smile replaced Arline's intimidating façade, a small reparation after the threats. “It would appear that you know the Mother Cardinal very well. I know that she borrowed money from you. I even know how much. What I want to know is why.”

Magpie, cornered, deflated visibly. “I have no idea. Do you really think that my clients tell me everything about their lives?”

Arline narrowed her eyes, carefully studying his face. “Does she still owe you money?” She asked.

He shook his head, a trace of his earlier confidence returning. “No, she always pays me back on time, with interest.”

Arline looked back at her companions, both of them watching her with arms crossed and expressions of enjoyment. “Do you think she is plundering the city funds?”

Magpie scoffed, a humourless sound. “If that were the case, the funds would’ve been depleted long ago. Nah, the money is coming from elsewhere.”

Arline’s brows rose with a satisfying connection discovered. “Like Candy Cane?” A pleasant smile played on her lips as she turned back to Magpie.

His jaw dropped with the implication. “Good Lord! I don’t want to know what my clients get up to with their money!” He exclaimed, leaning away so much his chair hung on its back legs, his eyes wide open. “And we’re not close, if that’s what you want to know, his activities have nothing to do with my line of business.” He assured, a pleading tone in his voice.

Arline nodded. “I believe you.” She said raising from his desk. “I would advise you to keep all of this to yourself.” She added with an expectant look.

Magpie nodded frantically, eager to see the back of them. “I… I don’t want any trouble. I will be as silent as a stone.” He muttered.

“Pleasure doing business with you, mister Pie.” She said walking out with the ding of the doorbell.

The door swung shut behind them with a soft chime, cutting off the murmured assurances of Magpie as they stepped back into the open air. The setting sun bathed the city in a warm, golden glow, and shadows stretched long across the cobblestones, intertwining with the fading light to paint the ground in a patchwork of dark and light.

Petrus adjusted his hat, shielding his eyes from the slanting rays. “So, how do you see things, my child?” He asked cheerfully.

Arline gave him a sly smile. “I think that the usurer is lending money to the Cardinal, and with these very significant sums, she bets on the arena fights while hiding in a big green coat.” She said. “And it seems she also gives large amounts to a certain ‘Candy Cane’, known for fixing fights.”

Petrus chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Not only does our dear Cornelia love betting games, but she also wouldn’t think twice about cheating to win.” He mused, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Maybe he is just giving her advice.” Arline proposed with a smirk. “How can we prove anything?”

Kurt gave her a sharp, worried look. “You’re not contemplating a direct confrontation with this underworld figure, are you, Green Blood?” He said, his voice tight with concern.

Petrus raised his hand, signaling for calm. “We have enough information.”

Arline frowned. “Really? Is the fact that she bets on fights that are potentially fixed enough for you?” She asked, confused. The fact she organizes secret parties with courtesans wasn’t enough, after all.

Petrus nodded with a satisfied smile. “It’s already a huge scandal. Let me just think about it for a little while. I will find a way of putting this information to good use.” He promised.

“Thank the Enlightened.” Kurt muttered under his breath and Arline snorted.

“You could protect me from a mobster.” She teased, her voice low and playful, as they moved toward the embassy, the fabric of her dress catching the breeze and fluttering slightly around her legs.

Kurt, casting a sidelong glance her way, replied with a mix of humour and sternness. “I’m glad I won’t have to.” He shook his head. “The old fox didn’t think twice about risking your reputation, taking you to the brothel.” He complained, his voice taking on a gruffer edge, his brows knitting together in a frown of distaste. “I’m glad he at least holds your safety in higher regard.”

Arline felt a soft blush returning to her cheeks. “I will admit the place was not to my liking.” She said, briefly wondering if these kinds of establishments were to his liking. She shook her head, dispelling the thought. “But is it bad that the adventure raised my spirits?”

Kurt’s expression softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, smoothing the harsh lines of concern. “If finding dirt on people is entertainment for you,” He said with a lighter tone. “Either the old fox is a bad influence on you, or I underestimate how dangerous you are.”

Arline’s light laughter rippled through the air. “Perhaps both.”

They continued they walk, leaving the lingering presence of the burned creature behind. The streets of the city square were less crowded now, the hustle of the day giving way as the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the clouds with strokes of pink and orange. The smell of evening fires being lit and distant cooking floated on the wind, blending with the lingering scent of the sea.

Despite Arline’s better mood, the prospect of leaving the city behind, with all its veiled threats and hidden agendas, brought a sense of relief. Tomorrow, they would be on the road again, journeying towards new horizons. How odd she should yearn for an adventure at last.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

While the advent of the microscope hath invoked similar suppositions and continues to incite interest among scholars, the substantiation of such entities remains precarious.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

Two days on the road quickly reminded Arline that even San Matheus had its comforts. Still, she welcomed the natural surroundings, the fresh air brushing against her face, the canvas of vibrant greens and earthy browns, under a sky so wide and clear it made her heart swell. As they ventured further, she practiced channelling Earth and Ether listening to the symphony of life that thrummed softly beneath the surface – a myriad of small, interconnected existences that hummed with vitality.

However, as they entered Tír Dob, the vibrant chorus of life dwindled, replaced by a sombre silence. The Black Lands lay before them, a reminder of nature's fury and its lingering scars. The landscape, marred by the disaster, held a desolate beauty of its own, with charred remnants of trees standing like silent sentinels. It was a place touched by a a fierce blaze ignited by a tempest's rage, Síora explained, yet the resilience of life whispered in the gentle return of greenery among the ashes. Vedlug loomed on the horizon, the Lightning-Struck Wood Village, rebuilt from the ashes left by nature's wrath, stronger than ever before. The Cengeden Anedas clan, the Storm Warriors, was known among the natives for the same resilience. Their warriors, celebrated and feared, possessed an ability to fight despite great wounds — a prowess that transcended Síora's understanding of magic and one that had drawn the wary gaze of Thélème.

They arrived as the sun reached its zenith, casting short shadows on the ground and bathing the village in a harsh, unrelenting light. Sister Euphésia greeted them with weariness. Her investigations, hindered by the natives' reluctance, had borne little fruit. Arline decided it was time for a new approach. Leaving Lefroy, Petrus and Aphra with the guard detail, Arline, accompanied by Kurt, Vasco, and Síora, made her way towards the heart of the village. The air was filled with the subtle sounds of daily life.

The interior of the chief's house was dim, the sparse lighting casting deep shadows across the room, giving it an austere, sombre feel. As they entered, the air held a sense of stillness, as if the very walls were waiting, listening. The chief, a striking woman with stern features and hair as golden as the sun, regarded them with an unwavering gaze, recognition flashing in her eyes as she met Arline's.

“Beurd tír to mad, on ol menawí. I am Derde, daughter of Enora, daughter of Rowenna, mál of this clan.” She greeted. “Is it you who helped my warriors discover what the men of the red sun were doing?”

“Indeed.” Arline said with a slight bow. “I am Arline De Sardet, legate of the Congregation.”

Derdre touched her fist with her lips, then laid it on her chest with a nod. “Then I thank you.” She said, her stern expression softening for a moment. “It’s probably because you are on ol menawí that you are different from the other renaígse. What do you seek?”

Arline took a moment before answering, her eyes scanning the sparse interior, looking for something out of the ordinary. “I seek answers.” She said, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet space. “Can you tell me something about your beliefs?”

Derdre gave her a suspicious glance, but gestured them to sit. “We believe that we are a part of an Everything,” She began, her voice low. “And that life depends on the balance that comes from this Everything. Our strength is drawn from that which we protect. All that surrounds us. And that what surrounds us feeds and protects us in return.”

Arline nodded, taking in her words, knitting her eyebrows in thoughtful conteplation. This was no different from what she knew of the natives’ beliefs. “What can you tell me about your rituals?” She asked.

“Ah…” Derdre’s smile was devoid of humour as she folded her hands. “I have heard that question before. You sound like the Mind shaker woman. The rituals are a business of the doneigada, not of the renaígse.”

“I am voglendaig of Síora.” Arline said, pointing to her teacher. Síora gave a firm nod of support.

Derdre’s expression remained impassive. “Really?” Her tone was sceptical. “Even so, you are not doneigad.”

Arline shifted under her gaze. “All I want is to verify the red suns’ accusations against you.” She explained. “Please, do you know anything about a demon that would be worshipped by your clan?”

Derdre’s patience evaporated; her stance became rigid, her eyes narrowing. “It is not enough to take us for idiots, now you accuse us of bowing down to evil creatures.” Her voice lowered to a dangerous murmur. “But the lack of understanding leads to fear, so I will not prove you wrong. An enemy who knows fear is already defeated.” Her lips curved into a smile devoid of warmth, a predatory baring of teeth in the dim light.

Arline’s hands opened in a gesture of peace. “I am not your enemy.” Her insistence was soft, almost pleading.

Derdre’s gaze lingered on her, before scanning Kurt and Vasco. “Perhaps you are not. But the renaígseare.”

“I seek only peace between our peoples.” Arline assure, undeterred by the chilly reception.

Derdre scoffed. “We do not want peace.” She spat. “We want you to leave our land. I have nothing more to say.” She finished in a cold, decisive voice, turning her back to them.

Arline raised slowly from the ground, rejection stinging more than she anticipated. “Thank you for your time, mál.” She said, taming her voice into politeness, concealing her disappointment as they turned to leave the dimly lit interior into the sunlit village.

Their encounter with the clan's doneigad proved just as barren. Merely voicing their intent to inquire was enough to earn a swift rebuke. “The people of your island are constantly asking questions, yet reject any answers that displease them.” He accused. “Questions have no value if one already claims to know the answers”.

As they moved through the village, the sense of isolation grew. Villagers averted their eyes, their bodies angled away, creating a barrier of silence and suspicion. Even Despite Síora's attempts to bridge the gap through translation and mediation, their efforts were met with cold indifference. One man fixed them with a glare so intense it was almost a physical force, his body tense as if ready for confrontation.

Among this hostility, a new figure approached. She was a stark contrast to the solemn faces around her: her hair was a vibrant shade of red, and her smile radiated a warmth that felt like a beacon in the cool, unwelcoming air. Her approach was unhesitant, her demeanour open and curious.

The villager, a spark of mischief in her eyes, leaned forward. “Question, questions.” She began, her voice dancing with amusement. “It is a word that you adore. Let us play a game. If you answer my questions, I will answer yours!” She proposed, eyes twinkling with the challenge.

Arline took a moment to study the vibrant figure before her, noting the playful anticipation in her stance. With a slight nod, she accepted. “Very well. Let us play.”

The villager clapped her hands in delight. “I am pleased, we will have fun. But beware, no lies. What name is given the place from where you come?” She asked, her voice full of child-like curiosity.

“I come from Sérène, a grand city on the continent of Gacane.” Arline answered, the villager’s enthusiasm infecting her with a smile spreading across her lips.

“Really?” The villager mused, with a tilted head, her expression shifting into one of playful scepticism. “It is possible that you come from there, but I believe that this is not your land. Your turn.”

“Could you tell me more about your beliefs?” Arline asked.

The villager frowned, seemingly deep in thought. “What a strange question. I don’t believe I know.” She said. “Nature is alive. Every river, every rock, every beast, the land itself, all live, all speak to us.” Her hands moved as she spoke, tracing the shapes of an unseen landscape. As she explained, a distance fogged her gaze, a light smile came back to her lips. “In exchange for these gifts, we honour her, give her our dead. We do everything in our power to protect her.”

“What does that involve?” Arline pressed.

“Ah-ah,” The villager wagged a finger. “It is my turn! Are you on ol menawí with your land, or did you inherit your link from your parents?”

Arline hesitated, feeling uncomfortable. “I did not link myself…”

The villager leaned in. “Then it is your parents. One of them at least must have been doneigad.”

Arline shook her head. “No. I never met my father, but I do not believe he was linked either… Síora suspects it could be one of my earlier ancestors.”

“Well, if she says so.” The woman gave a noncommittal shrug, a shadow of humour still in her gaze. “I am not doneigad. Your turn.”

Arline nodded. “What can you tell me about your rituals?”

The woman regarded her with a sly smile. “Oh. I see what interests you. You want to know how our warriors are so strong.” She teased, her laughter airy and soft.” But I don’t have an answer. It is a secret of the doneigad.” She said, spreading her hands as if to show her openness yet revealing nothing. “The rituals I know are meant to celebrate nature. To honour and bring her blessings upon us.” She explained. “My turn. Why do the mind shakers wish to trouble our spirits?”

Arline exhaled, a shadow of disappointment and concern crossing her face. Had the missionaries not even explained their intentions? “The people of Thélème believe there is only one true God, the God of Light. They think that all those who do not believe in their God are in error and must learn the truth; that if they convert everyone to their belief, then the world will be saved.”

The villager’s face contorted in disbelief, her eyes widening as if Arline had spoken in tongues. “Saved from what?” The villager demanded, incredulous. “No, don’t answer. You are sincere but what you are saying makes no sense. If the people think truly what you have said, then they are fools.” She concluded with a dismissive flick of her hand.

Arline’s forehead creased in frustration. “It is no less real to them, than your land being alive is to you.” She said. “Your village seems different than the others. Why is that?”

The villager relaxed slightly. “Each village is different than the others. It is the reflection of those who live in it and of all that surrounds it.” The woman said. “We are like our land. We will not give up.” She smiled, a determined glint lit her eyes. “Why do the renaígse come to our home?”

“They do not all have the same reasons, but most of them are fleeing the continent that is dying.” She said gently. “Over there, where I come from, a terrible sickness kills many of our people, and our land is scarred by war.”

The woman’s features hardened. “And so your land rejects you, and you come running to our land.” Her voice was sharp and unapologetic. “I am sad for your people renaígse, but I would prefer you to run somewhere else.” She shook her head. “Your turn.”

“This is a delicate question,” Arline said cautiously, her voice lowering. “But would you know anything about a demon?”

The villager chuckled lightly, a sound that held more curiosity than mockery. “A demon? I think that is what the bright and shiny mind shakers called the spirits, no? There are spirits everywhere. In you, and in us, in each tree, in each spring. There is not only one.” She explained, spreading her hands as if to encompass the whole of nature in her gesture. “I cannot tell you more if you are not more precise in what you seek.”

“A demon would be an evil, malevolent spirit, one whose intention is to harm.” Arline clarified, her brows knitting together in earnest.

The villager’s eyebrow arched, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. “There are no evil spirits! Only people are capable of wishing ill.” She explained, assuming the patient tone of a parent. “Sometimes spirits can harm if you harm them.” She said. “How… do your staffs spew the metal rocks?”

Arline smiled, gesturing towards Vasco who handed her his weapon. “We put a special powder in the staff.” She said, showing her the breech where a reusable metal cartridge sat. “We then light it on fire by making a spark.” She pointed to the flint. “The powder explodes and the explosion throws the ball – uh… the metal stone.”

“That is brilliant!” The woman’s eyes lit up as she observed Arline’s movements. “I would love to have some of this special powder.”

Arline's laughter echoed lightly. “Aiming with this staff can be quite difficult!” She warned. “I was never very good.” She thought hard about her next question, but there was only one left to ask. “Could your spirit consider our coming here a harm?”

The woman nodded with a smile, as if pleased that Arline understood. “Renaígse cut the forest, gut the earth, spill our blood. Would you not consider it harm?” The question was rhetorical, as her smile immediately widened. “It was fun! More than with the woman who makes light. She did not want to play.”

Regrouping with Sister Ephésia outside the village, they shared their findings, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on their faces. Ephésia recounted her experience with a noticeable strain in her voice. “I've had an unsettling encounter with that hostile man.” She confessed, her hands clasping and unclasping as she spoke, a clear sign of her discomfort. “He sneaks out frequently under the cloak of night, and I attempted to follow him once, but alas, I lost his trail.”

Arline's eyebrows raised in curiosity. She shared a glance with her companions, a silent exchange of determination. “I may have more luck.” She said, a subtle confidence underlining her words. “I know a few tricks that might help us remain unseen.”

The group nodded in agreement. The village's usual evening chatter and the distant sound of children playing were slowly replaced by the serene silence of the impending night. They decided to pass the time by helping with the village’s evening chores, blending in, avoiding any unnecessary attention.

As nightfall embraced Vedlug, casting everything in a veil of mystery and anticipation, they prepared themselves. Arline led the way, enveloping them in Shadow and Air, their presence barely noticeable against the backdrop of the night. Kurt, Vasco, and Síora followed, mimicking her movements, their eyes adjusted to the dim light, alert to any sound. They moved like shadows among the houses, their senses heightened, the rhythm of their breaths in sync with the natural world around them. Arline felt the now-familiar thrill of the hunt sharpening her focus, as they neared the outskirts where the hostile man was last seen.

The forest, alive with nocturnal whispers and the soft rustle of leaves, seemed to watch their every move, an audience to their stealthy pursuit.

The man they followed moved with a purposeful gait, unaware of the ghostly shadows tailing him. His path led them deeper into the heart of the forest, where the moonlight struggled to penetrate the thick canopy above.

A small clearing emerged ahead, its tranquillity anchored by the massive form of an ancient tree, split down the middle by some fierce, bygone storm. The legendary lightning-struck wood stood as a silent guardian, surrounded by small stone pillars that seemed to hum with an ancient power, their surfaces etched with symbols that shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

Without hesitation, the man approached the great tree and, to their amazement, slipped between its massive, gnarled roots. Before their eyes, the roots shifted, closing the entryway behind him, sealing the passage as if it had never been.

Arline, with a burst of urgency, dashed forward, her heart racing, hoping to catch the closing gap. She reached out, her fingers grazing the cool, damp bark.

In a flash, the world changed. was engulfed in a tumultuous storm, invisible shards lacerating her bark, the relentless wind buffeting her as though she were a mere leaf. She could not move, rooted deeply in soil. Her thick branches, sprawling wide, snapped under the ferocity of nature's assault as if she were a sapling. Pain. She tried to scream but no sound came. The heavens became alight with fire once and again, the cacophony of the roaring thunder deafened her. Lightning seared through her, the sensation zipping through every fibre of her being, agonizing. A scorching warmth took hold of her entire body and in an instant, flames began to devour her. Terrible, mind-numbing pain.

Panic gripped her soul as she felt life itself leaving her. Despite this, she continued to feel. Her bark turned to ash and her sap sizzled and smoked, leaving a nauseating scent of charred wood and taste of cinder in her mouth. As the last flicker of flames claimed her, all was calm, sinisterly peaceful. And the rain began to fall on her roots. Slowly, at the very heart of her being, she felt the sap begin to flow again. A shoot appeared at her darkened trunk, a long-yearned breath filling her lungs.

Gasping for air, she was abruptly wrenched back to reality, staggering backward into the present, her heart a drumbeat of terror in her chest. Firm hands anchored her before she fell.

“Green Blood!” Kurt’s voice cut the air like a whip. “What’s happening? Are you okay?” A hand, clad in cold leather, lifted her head up to meet his eyes, wide with worry.

Arline grasped the rough fabric of his doublet, her breath beginning to slow. “I… what happened?” She managed to utter, her voice a fragile thread of sound.

Kurt’s frown deepened, his jaw tense, as he helped her to find footing again. Vasco responded in his stead. “You started… wobbling all of a sudden.”

“Did the lightning-struck tree speak to you?” Síora asked, her voice barely above the whisper. Arline looked at her, lips parting, still clinging to Kurt’s arm.

“In a way…” She said, starting to understand. “I-I saw many images. They were so real… as if I was the tree itself.”

“Do tell.” Her voice was filled with wonder, a contrast to the lingering horror Arline felt. “This vision is surely the key to the portal.”

The tree's ordeal – her ordeal – poured from her in shaky, halting sentences. “I have never experienced anything like it before.”

“That couldn’t have been pleasant.” Kurt murmured, his eyes intense with emotion.

She locked eyes with him, finding a fragment of solace in his steady gaze. “No.” She replied simply.

Síora, moved by the revelation, stepped forward with reverence. “You saw through the eternal eyes of the spirit of the island!” She whispered, touching her fist to her lips and then to her heart. “They speak to you already.” She declared, her expression one of wonder.

“The symbols on these stones, I think they represent the elements you saw at play?” Vasco speculated, his attention fixed on the intricate carvings.

Arline, leaning slightly on Kurt for support, approached the curious stones alongside them. Each stone bore unique etchings, vividly portraying the elements. She extended her hand toward the one marked with a bolt of lightning, hesitating a moment before touching the rough surface. The moment her fingertips grazed the stone, the etching ignited with an ethereal glow, and the distinct smell of ozone filled the air around them. Her eyes lit up in recognition, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Touch Fire next.” She directed Vasco, her voice stronger now, laced with newfound understanding.

As Vasco's hand made contact with the stone depicting a fiery blaze, it too sprang to life, casting a warm, flickering light.  “Chaos...” Arline continued, her voice a mix of narration and wonder as they made their way from one stone to the next. “Ice... and Ether…” She concluded, her words echoing softly in the hallowed space.

The gnarled roots of the old tree stirred again, parting, revealing a path. Cloaking them in shadowstep once more, they continued inward into the cave beyond.

The cavernous chamber unfolded before them as they crept along. The air was cooler here, the scent of earth and ancient wood heavy in their nostrils. They reached a large chamber, spacious and hauntingly beautiful, with a singular, gnarled tree standing proudly at its center. Moonlight spilled through an opening in the ceiling, casting a serene glow that bathed the tree in ethereal light, creating a contrast of shadows and silver.

Arline, with a cautious gesture, signalled the group to halt and hide. They nestled themselves behind a large, moss-covered boulder, their presence masked by the shadows. From their concealed vantage point, they observed the scene unfolding before them.

The village doneigad, distinguished by his huge, sprawling antlers, stood solemnly before the sacred tree. Around him, several warriors crouched in respectful silence, their bodies tense yet reverent, like statues carved from the night itself.

The doneigad's hands were raised before him, the murmuring of an ancient language filled the chamber. ”Clos duis, a to de yam ceneded olei! Tad olaun vrandí, olaun aleis, ag en olei veyí. Clos egarmam etalemí ol flínauí ca grem!”

With deliberate movements the Doneigad drew a blade across his palm. One by one, the others followed, each making a similar incision. Blood, the essence of life, pooled into their hands, glinting like dark rubies in the moonlit chamber.

Doneigad's voice escalated as he chanted “Clos eciedom ta jenteis ol arbínauí a ol slaí! Farn cwa sa cengedan fradem a dígelam! Lincwíd dwint da darbau sa ya galansend ní. Togomber neis grem ol snegauí a ren casí e crimoderem da negau ed dent. Clos duis, a ruicht neis dírí!”

As he touched his bloodied hand to the ground, the others followed in a synchronized motion, each connection with the earth sending a ripple through the chamber.

Suddenly, wind swept through the clearing, lifting leaves and dust in a frenzied dance. Arline’s breath hitched as she felt the mark on her skin prickle and burn, a sign of the overwhelming Power that flooded the space, invisible yet palpably present. Síora, crouching beside her, mirrored her reaction.

In response to the ritual, the tree at the centre ignited, not with flame but with a radiant, inner light. It was as if the tree itself had become a beacon, a conduit for something far greater than themselves.

Then, from everywhere and nowhere, a voice thundered, a woman's voice, omnipresent and commanding, reverberating through the chamber and within their very bones. “Clos deis rharman a deis giedon, a rhenta! Es farnau fradí da ma gengedan ya digalaidándi ent. Es farnau fradí da wint gaishedon ag es farnau fradí da wint grem ol snegauí.”

Arline and her companions watched in silent awe, hardly daring to breathe, as the warriors stirred, their voices rising in a chorus of cheers and affirmations.

“En on míl frichtimen, faurnd e dar ad grimoderem dam…” Síora whispered.

“We need to leave, now.” Kurt whispered urgently, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of unwelcome attention. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his weapon, ready for any sudden movements. The party, sensing the urgency, followed his lead, their movements cautious and measured. This time the roots shifted as they approached, almost acknowledging their departure. In absolute silence, they made their way back to the camp.

Síora broke the silence, her voice tinged with reverence and disbelief. “I’ve never seen anything like this…” She murmured, her gaze distant as she tried to piece together the fragments of what they had witnessed. “They allow the land to borrow their life force, on ol menawí. That's how the land revives them when they fall.”

Vasco, usually unshakable, looked unsettled. “This ritual made my skin crawl.” He muttered, a visible shiver running through his body in affirmation of his words.

“What was that voice, Síora?” Arline asked, her mind swirling with questions.

Síora’s eyes, wide with amazement and a hint of fear, met Arline’s. “En on míl frichtimen, the spirit of the island. I never heard them speak, but I am sure of it.” She paused, as if reliving the moment.

Arline felt a shiver run down her spine. The implications of a spirit demanding a blood sacrifice unsettled her deeply. “We need to speak to Derdre.” There were too many questions, too many shadows hanging over these rituals and their true purpose. She needed answers, and she needed them now.

Despite the late hour, Arline marched to Derdre’s hut under the cloak of night, shadowed by her companions in silence. The moonlight bathed the village in cool silver light, the warm glow of evening fires already fast asleep. With a quiet nock, the door creaked open to reveal Derdre, her expression shifting from surprise to resignation as she eyed her late visitors.

“More questions?” She asked, one eyebrow raised in sceptical curiosity, her posture rigid against the doorframe.

“Quite so.” Arline said, her voice tight with the effort of keeping it level. “We found your sanctuary and saw one of your… blood rituals. Was the apparition we witnessed the demon the priests were talking about?” She demanded.

Derdre grimaced, her body tensing. “What is clear is that these priests know nothing and you know nothing!” She barked, her voice sharp and tinged with anger.

Síora reached out a hand in a calming gesture. “As you can see, Arline is not a renaígse like the others, she bears our bond.” She interjected with a gentle plea. “Please share your knowledge with us. Grant us the chance to understand.”

Derdre paused, narrowing her eyes, her lip curled slightly. Slowly, her expression softened. “Very well, I’ll attempt to help you make sense of what you witnessed.” She conceded with reluctance. “The ritual you saw is a ceremony to summon forth the strength of our warriors.” She said. “Our people have always lived in harmony with nature, our very existence revolves around her. She talks to us and takes on many faces. What you’ve witnessed is just one of many. Confronting the threat of the renaígse, we called them for their blessing, and they appeared to us.”

Arline shook her head, grappling to reconcile a peaceful vision of harmony with nature with what she just witnessed. “But… a blood sacrifice?”

Derdre let out a dry, humourless chuckle. “All power is borrowed and must be returned.”

Arline reached up to touch her créaga, which had grown significantly, no longer hidden by the veil of her hair. The texture of bark still felt alien to her. Derdre's eyes followed the movement, and she nodded.

“If they are not evil… Can we contact them? I mean, is communication possible?” Arline asked.

Derdre considered her words carefully before responding. “What you witnessed was not a discussion. But if you visit a sanctuary, you may see one of the faces, and then you will be able to talk.” She paused, regarding Arline, then Síora thoughtfully. “Pass the mountains and head to the swamps. There, if you perform a ritual, you will see them come. Though what you will hear may not be to your liking…”

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

Conversely, Doctor Yilmaz doth avow the potential for reversibility of the blood's transmutation through injections of perhydrol, a notion that doth raise scepticism among the learned, given the scarcity of evidence supporting such practices.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

The afternoon sun hung heavily over the Swamp of Thousand Lives, Védvílvie, where a dozen rivers entwined and branched anew, casting shimmering reflections on the water. The air, thick with the scent of wet earth and verdant life, buzzed with the sound of countless unseen creatures. Few people dared to make their home in such a place, yet it thrived with a vibrant tapestry of life unlike any other.

Aphra's enthusiasm seemed to know no bounds as she darted from one specimen to another, her previous focus on the ritual they described to her now eclipsed by the allure of uncharted flora and fauna. Her sketchbook flipped open in a fervent rush, her hand moving rapidly to capture the essence of each new discovery.

Arline, however, trudged wearily behind the group, stifling yawn after yawn, her eyes struggling to remain open. Her night was restless; she tossed and turned, as the vivid sensory stimuli fired in her mind, filling her half-sleep with the smell of ozone and metal, the feel of the rough bark on her skin and ash on her tongue, the sound of thunder and thundering voice of the spirit.

The image of the tree, struck by lightning and engulfed in flames, flickered behind her closed eyelids, an unrelenting spectre from her vision. Blood, thick and vivid as it was offered to the damp earth and gnarled roots, seeped into her dreams, tainting them with shades of crimson and echoes of ancient chants. Every time she drifted closer to sleep, the ritualistic scene invaded her peace, merging with the burning tree in a haunting symphony of life, death, and rebirth.

The lack of sleep had taken its toll, leaving her with a lingering fatigue that seemed to seep into her very bones. Her steps dragged, the squelching mud beneath her feet feeling more like quicksand pulling her down. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking comfort and warmth against the pervasive dampness that hung in the air. Every so often, Kurt cast a concerned glance her way, but he remained silent after her first assurance that fatigue was her only ailment.

As the land transformed beneath their feet, and the firmness of the forest floor gave way to the squelch and suck of marshland, they left their carriages and horses behind. Lefroy remained with the animals, accompanied by two of their guards, while the rest of the party proceeded on foot with lieutenant Wilma and Kurt for protection. To Arline’s surprise, Petrus wished to joined them, now convinced that Thélème’s suspicions about the demon were confirmed.

The swamp stretched out before them like a living, breathing entity – each step they took seemed to draw them deeper into an alien landscape where the air hung heavy with the scent of wet earth and decaying plant matter.

Ahead of them, a solitary figure emerged from the misty backdrop, drawing their collective attention. An old man, his white hair and beard flowing down to his midsection, sat perched upon a large boulder. He seemed an intrinsic part of the swamp itself, as unbothered by their approach as he was by the buzzing insects that danced around him. In his hands, he held a simple pipe from which plumes of fragrant smoke rose, swirling around him in the humid air.

The man’s gaze, though clouded by the passage of time, held a certain depth as it settled on the mismatched group before him. His voice, tinged with the weariness of one who had seen too much, broke the heavy silence. “What a strange party we have here! Who are you to come and disrupt our solitude?” He asked, more curious than accusatory.

Arline’s back straightened as she approached. “Good day, we…”

“You…” The aged hermit interrupted. “You are on ol menawí and at the same time renaígse.” He said. “So it is possible to bond yourself on your far away island?”

Arline blinked, trying not to take offence for such lack of manners. “I do not know. I was born with the bond.” She explained. “Excuse me, we are here to perform a ritual and speak with the spirit of the island. Do you know anything about it?”

The hermit seemed to drift into his memories, his eyes unfocused. “A man from your island came already, a long time age. Full of questions he was as well. He had a small party of warriors with smoking tubes, and on their chests a golden lion.” He mused.

Petrus's expression soured at the mention. “Bridge Alliance… in our territory. Such boldness!” He exclaimed, his voice laced with indignation.

Síora scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “Your territory?”

Aphra shared her scorn. “We discovered this island, priest.” She said.

Arline remained silent. Aphra knew the Bridge Alliance had not discovered this land, but she seemed intent on maintaining the narrative and keep Arline’s secret, as promised. This small act of solidarity from Aphra offered Arline some sense of comfort.

“When was that?” Aphra asked the sold man, her brows knitting together.

The hermit paused, his weathered face reflecting years of isolation. “It was a long time ago. I don’t remember all that well.” He confessed, a distant look in his eyes as if trying to grasp the foggy remnants of his wisdom. “My memory has been leaving me of late. They set up a camp near here. And then they disappeared. All of the sudden.” His voice trailed off. “Ah, you are bringing back the memories!” He added, a flicker of clarity in his eyes.

“What happened to them?” Arline asked.

Hermit: I warned them, I remember.” The hermit shook his head slowly, his eyes focusing on some unseen point in the past. “They did not listen very well. Too bad.” He sighed. “Their weapons were strange and powerful. But not enough so. The marsh is more powerful still.”

“That doesn’t seem to bother you all that much.” Aphra noted.

The hermit shrugged. “Tír Fradí gives, Tír Fradí takes back.” He stated, mater-of-fact. He looked at the group with a hint of confusion. “But you’re still here? What do you want again? “

Arline’s jaw tensed, her patience thinning. “Do you know how to perform the ritual?”

“Ritual? Yes… there is a ritual, for the impatient.” The man chuckled softly. “For me it serves no purpose. I am here, I wait.”

“For me it would be useful.” Arline pressed. “Can you help me?”

“Hmm. There” The old man pointed. Arline's gaze traced the path the hermit's gnarled finger indicated, finding a circular hollow nestled amidst the swamp's dense undergrowth. Murky water pooled within the hollow, reflecting the somber light that managed to filter through the thick canopy above. Moss and creeping vines clung to the edges of the water, giving the place an ancient, untouched aura. Every so often, a bubble would surface in the stagnant water, breaking the silence with a soft plop, before the stillness returned.

At the far end of the hollow, a natural dais rose slightly above the wet earth, its surface uneven but clearly worn by countless feet over time. Upon this earthen stage stood three large drums, each different in size and design, positioned as if waiting for a sacred ceremony. They were crafted from dark, weathered wood, bound with strips of hide that had been stretched taut across their tops.

“Do you see those drums over there? They awaken the Earth, as long as you play them correctly.” The hermit said.

“They awaken the earth?” Arline repeated, a frown of confusion painting over her face.

The hermit nodded, a trace of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Oh, and that’s not all. Once the Earth is awakened, the stone will appear that must be quenched.”

Arline shook her head in a sharp motion, tired. “Quench a stone? What does that mean?”

“Water trickles on the stone and returns to us, empowered by its force.” He explained, making a motion as if water were flowing from his hands.

Arline questioned her sense in seeking help from this man. “I see.” She sighed. “How to play the drums correctly?”

“Oh, that’s easy!” The hermit’s eyes sparkled with a momentary clarity. “The music is the first language of Tír Fradí. It resonates with the Earth. You need only to respect the natural order of the Earth to hear you. A predator, a prey. The cycle!” His voice trailed off, as if he were lost again. “Alas, time devours all memories.”

 Wading knee-deep into the greenish water, Arline approached the dais with the drums, feeling the cool liquid seep into her boots, prompting an involuntary grimace. Each drum was positioned in front of a stone, each adorned with a unique fresco: a dragonfly, a frog, and a snake.

“That's the food chain.” Aphra observed immediately, her eyes scanning the frescos with a scientist's precision. “A predator, a prey, a cycle.” She echoed the hermit's cryptic instructions. With a nod of understanding, Arline took the drum rod and struck the drums in the sequential order of natural predation.

As the final drum sounded, the earth beneath them trembled violently. Instinctively, Arline grabbed onto the nearest stone to steady herself. Síora and Wilma swiftly grabbed Aphra, preventing her from tumbling, while Vasco and Kurt braced Petrus between them. Kurt's gaze snapped back to Arline, vigilant and protective.

In the centre of the hollow, something began to emerge from the greenish water. Once the ground stilled they approached the structure – a stone altar, adorned with branches that strikingly resembled the antlers seen on the heads of doneigada. Her heart drumming in her chest, Arline uncapped her waterskin and poured clean water onto the stone surface.

The earth shuddered once more, with the altar’s ascension further from its watery bed. This time, Kurt's reflexes were swift as he steadied Arline before she could stumble into the surrounding mud. Síora and Petrus managed to maintain their balance with Wilma’s help, but Vasco attempted to catch Aphra but both ended up splashing into the shallow waters, laughter mingling with their splash.

The laughter died abruptly as the form before them rose. Not an altar – a head of one of the colossal creatures.

“Nádaig!” Síora's voice cut through the thick air, a mixture of awe and alarm.

Kurt pushed Arline gently but firmly behind him. “Move away, Green Blood!” He commanded, his voice low but insistent. His gaze remained locked on the stirring giant, ready for any movement.

Blood rushed in Arline’s ears as she watched the creature stirring from its slumber, her mouth agape, transfixed by the sight. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her breath hitching, and a cold dread pressed on her, remembering the last time they faced one of those beasts in the ruins. This one looked similar, it bore tentacles around its mouth, but it boasted majestic antlers instead of a carapace, and its form was distinctly feminine.

Síora ran towards the beast, her hands open in a gesture of peace. “Carantsen tuei!” She managed to call before she had to dodge a lethal swing of its clawed hand.

“May the Enlightened protect me in this battle!” Petrus invoked, casting shadow missiles, retreating strategically.

Kurt and Lieutenant Wilma advanced, shoulder to shoulder, a barrier between the monster and their comrades. Vasco and Aphra, rising from the muddied waters, spat curses, their weapons rendered useless by the swamp. Arline, tapping into the Source with her bond, unleashed a torrent of Fire and Force, sending a blazing bolt straight at the creature.

It fixed its gaze on her, the air around them crackling with Spark before it released its own counterattack, a lightning bolt, a streak of pure, raw power.

Arline dodged, but it was for nothing – the bolt's impact with the water sent a shockwave through them all. Arline felt a zapping sensation coursing through her body, a scream torn from her lips as every nerve alight with electric fire. Her comrades' cries were distant, muffled by the water's embrace, as their bodies succumbed to muscle paralysis. Arline felt the creature's charge, a shadow of death blurring her vision, but her muscles refused to obey her desperate need to move. A blunt force collided with her side, a pain so sharp, so all-encompassing, that her world narrowed to that single point of agony. She was airborne, a ragdoll in the grasp of a storm, before colliding with the stone dais. A sharp pain exploded in her head, a bloom of red behind her eyelids.

“Green Blood!” Kurt's voice reached her, distant and desperate. The world spun, a whirlpool of pain and darkness, before succumbing to a sinister, engulfing white.

Arline's consciousness ebbed and flowed like the tide, her moments of awareness brief and fragmented. Through half-opened eyes blurred by pain, she caught glimpses of the chaos that enveloped them. Her heart thudded erratically in her chest, a sharp intake of breath, the sight of her companions retreating to the dais. Kurt and Wilma stood before her, a bulwark against the monstrous threat, their blades moving in desperate, harried arcs. Vasco fought beside them, his short blade a blur of motion. From a distance, Síora and Petrus wove spells, their hands tracing intricate patterns in the air. Aphra, kneeling beside her, muttered a stream of curses, frustration etched in every line of her face as she fumbled with the components of a grenade, all rendered useless by the soaking they had endured.

Arline's world dimmed once more, only to be jolted back to life by the creature's piercing roar and an unexpected wave of warmth enveloping her. Síora's magic, a soothing balm to her battered form, brought a flicker of relief. Kurt's grasp was tight, his eyes wide with panic that melted into relief as she met his gaze.

The hermit's cry sliced through the tumult. “Ná! Cer toncedág! Killed! You killed her! Monsters! Murderers!” His voice cracked with grief and accusation, casting a pall over the already grim scene. Síora, turning to face the old man, her expression a mix of sympathy and inquiry, asked, “You knew her, old man? Before she became a Nádaig?”

Arline's breath hitched, a sharp pain lancing through her as she processed the revelation. “...was once a woman?” She managed, her voice barely a whisper, laden with shock and disbelief. Kurt's response was immediate, a gentle hush, his hands steadying her with a care that belied the violence that had just unfolded.

The hermit's sorrowful litany filled the air, his voice a tempest of rage. “May the earth swallow you whole! You and those from their dark isle! They must all be destroyed! En ol mil frichtimen will stop them. He will chase you away! Murderers! His hunt has begun!”

Síora stood up. “Calm down,” She plead, gentleness against the storm of wrath. “We didn’t have a choice. We were only defending ourselves.”

Arline, caught in a maelstrom of confusion and dread, found her mind seized by a singular horror. Ignoring the pounding in her head and Kurt's worried protests, she pushed herself to sit up. “Síora, this was a woman?” Her voice cracked.

Síora let out a heavy sigh, locking her eyes with Arline’s. “Yes, like you and me. Anyone who draws upon the power of the earth becomes one of their faces in exchange. It was a doneigad who received very much power, and who traded herself completely, becoming a Nádaig, a guardian of the land.

Arline's heart seemed to freeze, then race uncontrollably. “What? But… How…”

The implications of Síora's words crashed into her like waves against a cliff. The fear that had been a mere whisper in her mind bloomed into a terror so profound it seemed to unmoor her from reality. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, her vision narrowing as the edges of her consciousness frayed.

Around her, the world faded to a blur of motion and sound, distant and muffled. Kurt's voice, a beacon in the swirling darkness, reached her ears, but she couldn't make out the words. She felt herself lifted, cradled against a warmth that she recognized on some primal level as safe. But even that comfort couldn't anchor her; the horror of what she might become, a creature of nightmare, a guardian twisted by power, engulfed her. The swamp, the shouting hermit, even the faces of her companions receded into the background as she spiralled into the abyss of her fear, her body wracked by uncontrollable shivers and a sense of impending doom.

After what felt like an eternity, gradually, the tendrils of panic that had ensnared her began to recede, replaced by a growing awareness of the world around her. The dampness of the earth seeped through her clothes, coolness to the heat of her rushing blood. Beneath her fingertips, the grass whispered against her skin. The touch on her hand was warm, alive, a lifeline pulling her back from the abyss of her fears. A gentle breeze, carrying a scent of freshly lit fire, caressed her face, bringing with it a sense of calm and safety.

The voice that reached her was low and steady, a beacon in the fog of her terror. “Here, can you feel the grass? Focus just on how it feels. The texture of an individual leaf, the cool droplets of water. Do you feel?” Her breathing began to find a rhythm, guided by the simple task. A sound, a sigh of relief, escaped her as she nodded, affirming her return to the present.

“Good, can you feel that I am squeezing your hand?” The voice continued, grounding her further. She nodded again, feeling the pressure on her hand, a tangible proof of her not being alone. “Now squeeze mine.” She complied, a small action, yet it felt like reclaiming a part of herself that had been lost in the storm of her emotions. “That's it. You are here now, with me, and there's Aphra, can you hear Aphra?”

“I'm here, making fire.” A higher voice chimed in.

Arline nodded again and her gaze finally found Kurt's, his grey eyes and the crease between his brows reflecting a storm of worry and care.

“Good, take a deep breath, I will count to three, okay?” His voice was her anchor now, guiding her breathing, helping her regain control over her body and mind. She followed his lead, inhaling deeply and exhaling on his count, she could feel the smoke-laden air fill her lungs.

After a few steady breaths, she found her voice, though it was little more than a whisper, “I am sorry.” A wave of shame threatened to overtake her in panic’s place.

Kurt shook his head. “There's nothing to be sorry about, Green Blood.” He assured her. His hand, rough and calloused, still held hers with gentle pressure.

Her other hand found the créaga protruding from her head like an omen. Her breath hitched again, and Kurt's hand guided hers away.

“Easy now, Green Blood, stay with me. Tell me about Arline De Sardet.” He said, his voice soft and warm.

Arline blinked, confusion briefly crossing her features before sharpening into focus on Kurt. “What?”

“That’s what I do when I’m lost in fear. I tell myself about myself.” He shared in a murmur.

“You get lost in fear?” Arline echoed back, a new feeling swelling her chest, radiating through her body.

Kurt's lips curved into a small, understanding smile. “Yes.” He whispered. “But we don’t let it stop us, right? So, humour me. What is your favourite colour?”

“Deep blue, like the sky at dusk.” Arline responded, a softness entering her voice as she let the warm feeling embrace her. “What is yours?”

“Orange.” He said. “Like the clouds at dusk.” He added pointing to the canvas above them, but Arline’s gaze remained fixed on his face. “Your favourite fruit?” He continued.

“Blueberries.” Arline said, the corners of her mouth lifting in a genuine smile for the first time. “Yours?”

Kurt paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “Apples, I think.” He decided after a moment. “Your favourite book?”

“Rogue in Rouge. Yours is The Midnight Plot, is it not? I saw you read it a couple of times.”

As Kurt nodded in response to Arline's observation, his eyes reflecting the flicker of their campfire, the sound of wet boots and hushed voices announced the arrival of the rest of their party to their makeshift camp. Arline's heart accelerated, a mix of anticipation and dread swirling within her as she noticed Síora approaching. Instinctively, her fingers gripped Kurt’s hand tighter, seeking comfort in the solid presence beside her.

Síora's eyes, filled with concern, locked onto Arline's. “Are you better, carants?” She asked, her tone gentle, despite her visible weariness.

Arline managed a nod “Yes. But I need answers, Síora.” She said hoarsely.

Kurt, his brow furrowed in worry, interjected with a note of caution. “Perhaps this can wait.” He suggested, glancing between the two women.

But Arline shook her head, a stubborn set to her jaw. “No. I never asked for any of this; I must at least have an explanation, or I shall never find peace.” Her eyes, imploring and fierce, met Síora's. “Please, Síora.”

Síora exhaled deeply, her expression softening as she nodded in understanding. “Forgive me, carants.” She began. “I never imagined my first voglendaig would be someone who is already bonded. I was tested, and everything was explained to me before I made the choice.” She paused, looking at Kurt, then Aphra, who came closer to listen. “I will answer your questions. But we need to be alone.”

At Síora's request, Arline's anxiety spiked, reflected in the tightening squeeze of Kurt's hand. The uncertainty of the conversation ahead sent a shiver through her, yet Kurt's presence offered a grounding force she wasn't ready to relinquish.

“I care nothing for your secrets, little one, but for Her Excellency’s well-being.” Kurt said, his voice quiet but firm, his gaze never wavering from Arline's face. “Let me stay.”

Arline nodded with newfound vigour. “I trust Kurt with my life, Síora.” The conviction in her words left no room for argument, her eyes pleading for understanding and support.

Síora's gaze lingered on Arline, reading the unspoken fears and hopes that danced behind her eyes, then it shifted to her hand, still clasped with his. Finally, she sighed, a sound of resignation. “Very well.” She conceded, her eyes shifting to Kurt with a mix of caution and trust. “He can stay.”

Relief washed over Arline, visible in the slight relaxing of her posture. Yet, as she maintained her grip on Kurt's hand, it was clear the upcoming conversation held weight, its outcome pivotal to her understanding of the new world she'd been thrust into.

Aphra stepped forward, her expression firm. “I want to stay, too.” She declared.

Síora's response was immediate and decisive, her eyes hardening. “Absolutely not, lioness.”

Aphra, undeterred, leaned in, her voice low, but insistent. “I already suspect what you will say. I translated the conversation De Sardet and I overheard at Vígyígidaw, but I didn’t understand.” She paused, giving Síora a pointed glance. “What you said at the ritual site just explained it. The doneigada where speaking about hearing a call – about transforming into Nádaiga, correct?” Her eyes were sharp, seeking the truth but also bracing for the fallout.

Síora’s jaw tensed; she threw a worried glance at Petrus, her expression a mixture of irritation and concern.

Aphra, catching the look, scoffed quietly. “Well, you can believe me, that I won’t tell the priest.” She whispered, her words barely audible yet filled with defiance.

Síora locked eyes with Aphra. “Not just the mind scares, other lions too. You won’t tell anyone, or I will kill you.”

Aphra met her gaze, her eyes narrowing, acknowledging the threat with a silent, fierce acceptance. “Fine.” She muttered.

Síora grimaced, echoing the sentiment with a strained, “Fine.” The word was a grudging agreement, sealing their uneasy pact.

Arline turned to Wilma, Vasco, and Petrus, who had been silent witnesses to the unfolding drama. “Could you give us some privacy, please?” She asked, her voice carrying a mix of apology and authority. Vasco and Wilma exchanged brief glances, a silent conversation passing between them before they nodded and stepped away, understanding the necessity of privacy for the conversation that was about to unfold. Petrus, ever the observer, paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on the group before he too acquiesced, turning to follow Vasco and Wilma with a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.

As the three of them moved away, the twilight seemed to close in around the remaining group, the campfire casting long shadows that danced across their faces, illuminating the tension, the fear, and the questions that hung in the air like a thick fog.

Arline's voice trembled slightly as she asked the question that now haunted her thoughts. “So… Will I… become a Nádaig?”

Síora's response was immediate and reassuring, a softness touching her features as she looked at Arline. “Only if you chose to, carants.” Her hand reached out, brushing lightly against Arline's arm in a gesture meant to comfort.

An overwhelming sense of relief washed over Arline at the words, though the tension from her shoulders did not drain. Her eyes remained vigilant, locked on Síora's, seeking the entire truth.

Arline's voice grew firmer, more determined as she found her ground. “Tell me everything.” She demanded, not just as a student to her mentor, but as one destined for a fate she barely understood.

Síora nodded, her hands clasped in front of her. “By your bond, you already are one of the faces of En ol mil frichtimen – that is why you can see through their eyes, as you already experienced. And because of this bond, when your time comes, you will hear their call, and will have to make a choice what happens to your body, while your spirit joins the spirit of the island.” She paused, searching Arline’s face. “Most doneigadachoose to answer the call and bond themselves once more, becoming a Nádaig. It is a great honour to serve our people even after we pass. But some choose to simply… die, and their body is returned to the earth.”

As Síora spoke, Arline's heart seemed to sink once more, but she felt Kurt's hand gently squeeze hers. His touch was grounding, giving her hope that she was not facing this daunting path alone.

“So I become a monster, or die.” Arline said, bleakness in her voice.

“Not soon, De Sardet.” Aphra chimed in. “Duncas suggested it happens when you’re old.” Her eyes, usually so filled with curiosity, now bore a trace of empathy.

Arline's gaze flickered between Aphra and Síora, her heart racing with a cocktail of fear, confusion, hope, and a spark of anger for the hand she'd been dealt without her knowledge.

“Of course it happens when you’re old!” Síora hastened to reassure her, the lines of her face softening. “I told you, you have many cycles, on ol menawí!”

Arline let out a long, shaky breath, a tangible release of the tension that had coiled tightly within her. It was a sound mirrored by Kurt, who, she noticed, had a relieved smile playing on his lips. It seems he, too, had harbored fears that her time might be prematurely cut short. As their eyes locked, sharing the moment of relief, he gently kissed her hand. The action sent Arline's heart racing, this time for a completely different reason.

In the warmth of Kurt's touch, Arline faintly remembered she had been wearing gloves before. She glanced down, noticing them now lying next to Kurt’s gauntlets near his knee. He must have taken them off at some point, a detail she hadn't noticed until now. Her face flushed with a rush of warmth, her cheeks tinting a deep shade of red. Despite the swirling emotions and revelations, this small, intimate gesture touched her deeply. With some effort, she turned her attention back to Síora, though her heart continued to flutter wildly.

“And until then, no more surprises?” Arline asked, her voice holding a tentative hope as she sought confirmation.

Síora shook her head, a smile on her lips. “No.” She replied firmly, leaving no room for doubt.

In the silence that followed, Arline closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to absorb the enormity of the revelations and emotions, comforted by the solid presence of Kurt beside her, his hand still enveloping hers, grounding her in the here and now. The fear that had knotted her stomach began to unwind, replaced by a newfound sense of clarity and determination. She was not alone; she had time, and she had choices. And for now, that was enough.

She let out a long breath, feeling the tension finally melt away from her shoulders. “Will you explain now how this bond is made?” She asked Síora, opening her eyes.

Síora’s gaze drifted to Aphra for a second, before she nodded. “It is made with a ritual similar to what we saw in Vedlug. Someone who is already bonded must connect you, by your blood, essence of Life, through a ritual stone, to the island.”

Arline blinked, her brows knitting together in confusion. “Essence of Life? The essence of Ether is amber, is it not? It was among the stones you gave me.”

Síora let out a gentle chuckle, a sound that seemed to soften the edges of the solemn night. “What is amber if not blood of a tree?” She asked, her eyes twinkling with the wisdom of her people.

Arline's lips parted in surprise, the revelation dawning on her like the first rays of dawn piercing the night – it should have been obvious. “So… your blood rituals are just weaving Ether?” She asked

Síora smiled. “Yes.”

Arline shook her head. “Well, you must let me share this at least with Petrus, so that the Thelemites believe there is no demon worship.”

Before Síora could respond, Aphra, who had been listening intently, leaned forward. “The ritual stones, are those the large, carved stones in your ritual circles?” She asked, piecing together her own understanding of the native rites.

Síora's jaw tensed momentarily, a subtle sign of discomfort. “Yes.” She admitted, not looking at Aphra. “They are the essence of Earth and Spirit.” She explained.

Arline shook her head, remembering another unclear thread. “Tell me about En ol mil frichtimen. That is the spirit I am bonded to? Yet the old man said he would hunt me?” She asked.

Síora exhaled deeply, a sigh of resignation escaping her lips. “He was grieving, carants.”

Arline’s frown deepened. “He… they protect this land?” She pressed.

“Through us.” Síora explained, her gaze steady. “The on ol menawí, and the Nádaig.”

Arline nodded slowly, piecing together the information. “If your magic comes from this spirit, they must be powerful? I asked you before – could our Malichor be a curse?”

Síora's eyes met Arline's, filled with a blend of empathy and uncertainty. “I do not know.” She said.

Arline sighed. “Perheps Derdre will know.” She murmured, pondering their next move.

Kurt's response was sharp, a protective edge lacing his words. “You want to talk to her? After she sent you on a suicide mission? Didn’t she commit an act of aggression towards a legate?” He demanded, his jaw setting.

Arline blinked in surprise, taken aback by the reality of Kurt's words. She considered – it was indeed an act of war, but perhaps Derdre was not aware what an attack directed at a legate meant. “I would prefer to give her a chance before I become a legate that wages war.” She decided.

Kurt exhaled forcefully. “I’ll try my best to play nice, Green Blood.” He muttered under his breath. Arline gently patted Kurt's hand, which remained intertwined with hers.

Her attention turned back to Síora. “Thank you, doneigad, for trusting me.” She said, her voice low and filled with emotion.

Síora, acknowledging the moment, squeezed Arline's shoulder reassuringly, offering silent solidarity. As the conversation dwindled and Síora and Aphra retreated into the evening's remaining duties, the warmth of Kurt's hand, still in hers, seemed to grow, more so than the warmth reaching her from the fire. The connection, though making her heart beat faster, felt as natural as the evening breeze. Carefully, she took his hand between both of hers, her movements deliberate yet tender.

“Thank you, Kurt.” She murmured, her eyes locked onto his. “I would be lost without you.”

Kurt's expression held a quiet complexity as he regarded her. His brows were furrowed, as if puzzling over an intricate problem, but the corners of his mouth turned up in a half-smile, softening his features. For a moment, he was a tapestry of contradictions, a man caught between opposing forces.

“Any time, my friend.” He said, his voice steady, even as his eyes were not, betraying an ember that mirrored the warm flush spreading across Arline's cheeks.

For a single heartbeat, Arline’s mind was free of doubt, these were the eyes of a lover, not a friend. As a woman of elegance and stature, she knew the societal dance well—the rules that governed declarations of affection—it was a prerogative of a man to confess. But she also understood the unyielding barriers of their differing ranks; Kurt, a man of honour and duty, yet not of noble birth, might never dare breach the chasm of propriety to express feelings that society deemed forbidden.

Arline's heart raced, a symphony of hope and hesitation, as she held Kurt's gaze, wondering how to grant permission in a world that granted them none. Yet, the words remained unspoken, the confession unmade, as they stood on the brink of revelation, tethered still by the invisible threads of their respective roles.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20

Concurrently, doctor Yasar doth postulate an intriguing theory advocating for the administration of alchemical elixirs derived from mercury compounds, believed to drive out the pernicious taint within the humours. Although contentious, his remedies have found favour among certain circles, igniting fervour among practitioners of the alchemical arts.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

Their encounter with Derdre proved brief and, to their relief, devoid of violence. The matriarch offered no apologies for the trap she had orchestrated. “The Nádaig is one of the faces, a spirit of the isle. I told you, you may not like what you find.” She had said with stoic resolve. “I have nothing more to give you than my excuses, and a request that you keep our secrets to yourself.” On the matter of En ol mil frichtimen'sconnection to the Malichor, she remained uncertain but sceptical, suggesting that the cure for their woes lay in mending their relationship with their own land. Arline left with more questions than answers, the cryptic advice echoing in her mind.

After dispatching messages via carrier pigeons back to San Matheus and New Sérène, detailing their latest findings, the group resumed their journey. They navigated downstream along the meandering path of the Vegvílvie river toward the coastal area known as Wenshaganaw, or the Singing Waters, to finally investigate the Ghost Camp of the Coin Guard. Kurt, tense in anticipation, led the way.

As they rode into the valley, the region’s name became clear. Multiple waterfalls cascaded down the landscape, their mist kissing the air, creating rainbows that danced in the light of the sun, their song weaved seamlessly with the whispering wind, creating a melody of natural serenity. The forest, though not dense, was alive with a riot of colours, the flora nearly as diverse as the swamp's, but with its own distinct character. Each step they took stirred the fragrance of wet earth and fresh foliage, and an excited cry from Aphra. The variety of the flora seemed to unlock new realms of inquiry, her gaze alight with the thrill of discovery. She paused occasionally to share her findings, pointing out unique adaptations or rare specimens, her voice a mixture of scholarly interest and sheer delight.

With the sun still high in the sky, Arline decided to split the party. This venture was a personal matter, there was no need for the entire party to linger in anticipation of revelations that might hold little meaning for them. With New Sérène merely two hours away, it was agreed that the rest would push forward, leaving Arline with a smaller protective detail – Kurt, and lieutenant Wilma. Vasco volunteered to remain as well; there was no point in Vasco hurrying to the city without her, since they both were destined to report to Admiral Cabral afterwards.

The four of them made their way to the perimeter of the phantom regiment's camp. The camp, secluded and fortified, presented a daunting sight with its silent guards stationed at the entrance, their uniforms devoid of the typical regimental colours.

“This is private terrain.” One of the guards greeted them.

Kurt, stepping forward with the confidence of a man on a mission, stated their purpose and presented a letter of invitation. The guards scrutinized them, a silent exchange passing before one turned to fetch the captain.

As they waited, Arline noticed Kurt’s hands clench and unclench, a subtle sign of his growing anxiety. “Green Blood, can you do the questioning?” He asked, his voice barely audible in the wind. “I may not be able to control myself, and I won't learn anything.”

Arline squeezed his arm, nodding. The gates finally creaked open, revealing the figure of the camp's captain, and Arline’s hand fell to her side. The moment their eyes met, Kurt’s body stiffened further, his jaw clenching, a reaction mirrored in the man on the other side. Recognition flashed, laden with a complex tapestry of emotions — surprise, resentment, perhaps regret. Arline’s brows furrowed in concern.

The Captain, a man seemingly in his thirties, stood before them with a distinct triangular face and long nose that gave him a look of sharp scrutiny. Carefully styled moustache and goatee framed his mouth, contrasting with his simple coin guard attire. He wore the same unmarked coat as the other guards, the lack of regimental colours lending an air of mystery to his presence.

The man broke the standoff. “I was informed of your arrival by my sentinels, but I didn't think it would be you, Kurt!” He exclaimed, a frown etched deeply into his features.

Kurt's eyes narrowed as if revisiting a chapter of his life he thought closed. “Rolf? You're the leader of this camp?” His tone, usually so controlled, carried an undercurrent of disbelief and chagrin.

“You two know each other?” Arline asked, taming her concern into a courtly smile.

Kurt nodded, a shadow crossing his face. "We trained together. We haven't seen each other in a long time. A very long time.” He said, his tone suggesting he preferred it stayed that way.

Rolf offered a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “The world of warriors is very small, Kurt. What brings you here, my old comrade? And who are these people with you? They're not one of us.” He noted, examining Arline with his jaw clenched.

Kurt turned to Arline, storm brewing in his eyes, as he offered a slight nod of respect. “Excellency, may I introduce Captain Rolf to you?”

Arline's lips curved into a half-smile. Stressing her status by introducing the Captain to her, and not the other way around, was a manoeuvre worthy of courtly intrigue. ”You may.” She responded, assuming an expression of authority.

“Captain Rolf, once of Green-Azure regiment; Her Excellency Lady Arline De Sardet, legate of the Merchant Congregation.” Kurt continued. Rolf's eyebrows rose slightly, a clear indication of his surprise at the prominence of their visitor.

“Captain Vasco of the Nauts.” Kurt added, turning to him.

Vasco, arms crossed, offered a wry grin. “No need to comment about our distance from the sea. I know.” He said, pre-empting the familiar jibes.

“And Lieutenant Wilma, Second Royal Liaison Company of the Blue-Silver regiment, like myself.” Kurt finished.

Rolf, not offering a bow, narrowed his eyes at Kurt. “These people sure are important. So? What are you doing here?” He asked, caution entering his voice.

“I've heard things about this place. About this very special camp.” He said, stressing the last part.

Arline stepped forward for support, meeting Rolf's gaze squarely. “And we wanted to see what it was all about with our own eyes.” She added with a firm tone than brokered no discussion. “I am always interested in patroning the exemplary.”

“That's very nice of you, but visitors aren't welcome in this camp.” Rolf said with a nasty grimace that grated on Arline’s nerves. “What goes on here is only the Guard’s business.” He insisted.

“Does the same apply to me?” Kurt pressed, his question cutting through the formalities, edged with barely concealed challenge.

Rolf paused, a long moment passing before he shook his head. “Listen, Kurt, I can give you and your… friends some answers, but only because it's you. Knowing you as well as I do, I'm aware I'm not going to get rid of you that easily.” He grumbled. “So, what would you like to know?” He conceded, gesturing them to come in.

Arline's eyes swept over the layout — tents erected in precise rows, training grounds worn from constant use, and guards whose eyes flicked to them with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Kurt's strides were measured, his posture erect yet strained, as if each step on this ground reopened old wounds or rekindled smoldered disputes. He sent Arline a look, heavy with silent communication, giving her a signal to take the lead. She gave him a reassuring smile, then turned to Rolf with composed curiosity.

“What is it you do here?” She asked. “And why is this place kept secret, even from your comrades in the Guard?”

Rolf shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands clasped behind his back as if bracing himself for the explanation. “The natives have their magic, and we have to train elites to be able to face them. That's what we do here. Our role is… sensitive, and our location obviously cannot be revealed to the whole island.”

Arline arched an eyebrow. “I see the reason for this kind of training, the Bridge Alliance would be particularly interested in soldiers like these.” She said with a slight nod of acknowledgement. “And yet I have never heard of this… elite squadron until very recently.”

Rolf met her gaze, his demeanour cool. “We're still in the early stages of the program. We don't want to rush things. And our leaders demand secrecy. Orders are orders.”

Arline looked around with a bit of theatricality. “This is a huge camp for such a secret location. How do you manage recruitment?”

“ Only the best come here. Those who have combat experience.” Rolf said, relaxing slightly. “Once they arrive, they’re separated into two squadrons, each led and trained by a lieutenant. Most exercises take place outside.” His gaze then slid pointedly toward Kurt. “But you already know all this, Kurt. It must bring back memories.” His voice was laced with a malicious kind of humour.

Kurt’s muscles, already stiff, tightened visibly, making an impression of a stone statue. “Yes.” He forced, his voice strained with barely contained anger.

Arline felt a chill of concern for Kurt’s well-being, the information striking a chord of worry in her heart. She took a moment, gathering her thoughts, before continuing her questioning, maintaining a semblance of professional composure. “Will you tell us about your training?” Her voice was steady, but her hands subtly clenched the fabric of her coat, betraying her internal struggle for control.

“That's a sensitive topic, for which you don’t have clearance.” Rolf replied curtly, his stance rigid. “I can tell you most exercises take place in the field, to get the men used to it. The natives' knowledge of the environment gives them as much of an advantage as their magic.”

“Indeed.” She mused. “We found out about this camp while we were looking for someone.”

Kurt, who had been a silent storm beside her, finally spoke, his voice tight with restrained anger. “A kid I recruited. Reiner.”

Rolf’s reaction was immediate; his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of understanding passing through them, and his body tensed, as if preparing for a blow. “Oh, I didn't know he was one of yours. My condolences. I was told he died in an accident in the harbour.”

“Don't insult my intelligence, Rolf.” Kurt’s voice was a seething whisper, each word laced with barely contained fury.

Rolf let out a long breath. “All right. Since you're here, I guess there's no point in lying to you anymore.” He admitted with a grimace. “The accident occurred during a manoeuvre.”

“You mean to tell me he died in training?” Kurt pressed, his voice flat, hand inching ever so slightly toward his weapon.

Rolf’s hand mirrored the gesture. “It's regrettable, but these things happen, you know.”

“We have taken up enough of your time, Captain.” Arline interjected stepping between them.

Rolf blinked and took a step back. “I agree, and I have things to do.” He said stiffly.

Kurt, however, was not done. “I'd like to question your lieutenant instructors, if you don't mind. To ask them about Reiner.” His tone suggested it was not a request but a demand.

Rolf wrinkled his nose. “You've become a real sap. Fine, but try not to disrupt the day’s schedule too much.” He sneered. With a turn of his heel, Rolf marched off, leaving them alone with hostile glances of soldiers in the distance.

Kurt shook his head. “I’m sorry, I couldn't contain my anger.” He muttered, his voice a low growl.

Arline hesitated, a deep frown etched on her face, wanting to delve deeper into his state but holding back, recognizing this might not be the right moment.

She reached out slowly, her hand lightly touching his arm, a silent show of support, frow which Kurt didn’t recoil. “I noticed.” She said, her voice soft, as if it could ease his tension. “Good thing you know this captain so well. I don’t think he would’ve let us investigate otherwise.” She offered carefully.

“I’m not sure it’s a good thing, really.” He said in response, still tense.

Vasco, sensing the heavy air, tried to interject with a light tone. “Old barrack rivalries?” He asked with a tentative smile.

But Kurt merely shook his head, dismissing the attempt to lighten the mood. “Rolf doesn’t bring back good memories for me. But let’s continue. I want to know what’s going on here.”

Arline gave a nod of agreement, and they moved toward the lieutenant who was closer to them, a youthful man in his twenties. He stood with an air of authority, overseeing recruits engaged in rigorous training with blades, his eyes darting between the soldiers with focused intensity.

Kurt stepped forward with purpose, his voice commanding. “Lieutenant!” He called out, drawing the instructor’s immediate attention.

The lieutenant snapped to attention, his posture straightening as he recognized Kurt’s rank insignia. “Captain!”

Kurt gestured towards Arline, introducing her without formality. “Here is my friend, the legate of the Merchant Congregation. She would like to ask you a few questions.”

The lieutenant nodded briskly. “At your orders, Captain! Madam?” He asked, turning to Arline.

Arline gave him a diplomatic smile. “Can you tell us about your squadron?”

“The recruits who come here are the best. And in my squadron, they get even better.” The lieutenant boasted. “I don't know what else to tell you. They're disciplined, rigorous, and effective. Exactly what you'd expect from the best soldiers.”

“What kind of training takes place in your ranks?” She pressed.

“Combat in natural settings.” He responded with trained reflex. “Combat against the savages’ magic.” He added, as if it were a second thought.

Arline sensed an opening. “Very curious about how you train against the magic the natives use.”

The man stirred under her careful gaze. “These are complex, secret manoeuvres.” He stammered, suddenly uneasy. “I'm very sorry, but I can't tell you anymore.”

Kurt’s eyebrow arched in mockery. ”That's a pity, it would definitely be instructive.”

“Indeed.” Arline agreed. “I heard the recruit Reiner trained here. What can you tell me about him?”

“Oh, he was a good one.” The lieutenant said. “He died a little while ago.”

“So we've heard.” Kurt said, a hard edge creeping into his voice.” Your captain told us he died during a manoeuvre. Can you tell us more?”

“The training we do outside can be dangerous. Unfortunately, Reiner fell to his death in a ravine.” The instructor explained, his gaze drifting off, avoiding Kurt’s piercing look.

“He fell?” Arline echoed, the word flat, wondering if she should enlighten him they have seen the boy’s body.

“During a simulated ambush.” The lieutenant insisted. “I know, it's not glorious, but it happens. I'd like to get back to work now if you'll allow it, Captain.” He added, shifting his weight.

Kurt gave him a curt nod. “Go on! We're going to go talk to some of your recruits.”

The lieutenant hid his grimace poorly. “I hope that it won't take too long. We're all very busy here!” He stated, circling the training ground to make some distance between them.

Kurt’s gaze followed him closely as he moved away. “The story about training against magic is a lie. This lieutenant has no idea what he’s talking about.” He muttered, his voice low and troubled, eyes scanning the surrounding training fields.

Arline nodded in agreement, her brows furrowed in thought. “So what could they be training recruits for here?” She pondered.

Kurt shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

“Let us try questioning the other one” Arline proposed.

Together, they made their way across the training grounds, their boots thudding softly against the compact earth, disturbed only by the clash of steel and grunts from the recruits. Their approach was noticed by a young woman, an instructor on the other side, who paused her observation of the training to face them.

After a brief introduction, where Kurt’s formal yet curt nod met the lieutenant's cautious but respectful gaze, Arline resumed her line of questioning, her voice calm but carrying an underlying steel.

“How do the various squadrons in this camp differ from one another?” Arline decided to try a different approach.

The young woman, unlike her counterpart, held herself with a quiet confidence, yet there was an edge to her, a readiness that seemed to extend beyond the mere physical training of her charges. “The recruits I train are intended to carry out more… subtle actions.”

Arline raised an eyebrow, observing her closely, noting the slight tension in her posture. “Really? What kind?” She asked in a conversational tone.

The lieutenant smiled with pride. “I teach them how to blend into the background, understand customs, observe, and know when to strike.”

Arline assumed a mask of polite interest. “Strange, these skills are normally associated with assassins, rather than soldiers.” Her voice was calm, but the implication hung heavy in the air.

The lieutenant’s eyes darted to Arline's, then away, betraying a flicker of nervousness. “These skills are always useful, regardless of the enemy or the setting.” She countered quickly.

“What kind of training do your men undergo?” Arline continued, not missing a beat.

The woman crossed her arms defensively. “I can’t go into details, but they learn discipline, and to outdo themselves.”

“You mean to blindly follow orders, even to their death.” Kurt’s voice cut, his eyes locked onto the instructor’s.

The lieutenant blinked. “But – I… No, Captain!” She protested, the veneer of authority cracking. “We also teach them to analyze situations, so that they know when to act to avoid risking their lives!”

“Yes, with the nature of the skills you teach them, I would expect they must learn to improvise and lead, not to merely follow.” Arline mused, tilting her head, noting this woman seems to need her own lessons. “How did you become an instructor in this camp?”

The woman hesitated, then seemed to find her footing again. “I have led numerous squadrons before. And I've trained hundreds of recruits on the continent.” She began, a hint of pride returning to her voice. “I worked with Captain Rolf in the past, and when I arrived on the island, he recommended me for this position.”

“Impressive,” Arline nodded, maintaining her composed demeanour. “And I expect that you are familiar with the natives’ environment and magic?” Her smile held an edge of a hunter.

The instructor blinked, clearly taken aback by the query. “Yes, yes, of course.” She stammered, her earlier confidence wavering under Arline's steady gaze.

As Kurt and Arline took their leave, she turned to Kurt, her voice low and contemplative. “Kurt, it seems to me, they are training spies. Though perhaps not very good ones.” She said.

Kurt's expression hardened, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Blindly loyal spies.” He spat out bitterly. “Maybe the recruits will tell us something more.”

The recruits stood in scattered groups, their postures stiff and eyes darting nervously. They were clearly unaccustomed to being questioned, especially by outsiders, and the atmosphere was thick with unease. Arline attempted conversation, but the recruits were reticent. Their responses were curt, their bodies taut with anxiety. Whenever she mentioned Reiner, their unease seemed to amplify. Glances were exchanged — a silent communication filled with warnings and fear. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, not from physical exertion, but from the sheer stress of the interrogation.

One young man, his voice barely above a whisper, claimed Reiner had been sent away on a mission, his eyes not meeting theirs. Another, more defiant but visibly shaking, argued that Reiner had died because he wasn't strong enough, a statement that made Kurt's jaw muscle twitch visibly, his teeth grinding audibly in suppressed rage. A third recruit seemed to wrestle with his thoughts, his answer fluctuating, unsure if he truly knew Reiner or if admitting any connection could spell his own doom.

They were clearly terrified of the consequences of speaking too freely. It was evident they believed that whatever ‘accident’ had befallen Reiner could easily be their fate if they stepped out of line.

Kurt's frustration mounted, his patience was thinning. Finally, with a quick pointed glance he decided to change their approach, and took control of the situation. “Lieutenants! Report.” He called, his voice carrying across the training field.

The lieutenants approached, their steps weary and hesitant. “Captain?” The woman asked.

“Could you give us a few minutes and take us around the site?” Kurt asked. “I’ve never been here before, and I'm curious to see what goes on.” He feigned casual interest.

The male lieutenant hesitated, exchanging a glance with his counterpart. “I’m not sure if we can, Captain.” He said, doubt tightening his voice.

“We are on duty, Captain.” The woman added, her stance rigid, torn between duty and the direct request from a superior.

“Right, Lieutenant. Let’s go!” Kurt didn't wait for an answer, his command clear and non-negotiable. He then turned to Arline, who despite their circumstances was slightly amused. ”Are you coming with us?” He asked, playing his part surprisingly well.

Arline smiled, adjusting her hat. “No, thank you, I would rather stay here, take in some fresh air.” She said in her best dainty voice, waving a hand like a fan.

Kurt’s tension broke a little as the corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk. He gave her a nod. “As you like. In that case, Lieutenant Wilma will stay with you, see you later!”

As Kurt led the lieutenants away, her eyes locked onto the recruits, spotting the one who seemed the most conflicted, Wilhem. She approached him as soon as the lieutenants were out of earshot.

Arline leaned in to meet Wilhem's eyes, lowering her voice to a sincere, insistent whisper. “Wilhem, we need to talk. And do not worry, Captain Kurt will make sure your superior does not come this way.”

Wilhem shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his eyes darting around as if expecting his lieutenants to appear at any moment. “Why are you doing this?” He asked, a grimace of worry distorting his young features.

“We did not think you would say anything as long as she was here.” Arline replied gently, her hand reaching out in a calming gesture.

Wilhem swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “If you noticed, others will have to. They’ll make me pay.” His eyes filled with a stark, paralyzing fear, a look that was becoming all too familiar within the confines of this camp.

Arline’s heart clenched with increasing worry, but her voice remained steady. “Even more reason to talk. If we have proof, we can take action and close the camp!” Her eyes pleaded with him for an act of bravery.

He exhaled a heavy, defeated sigh. “Very well. What would you like to know?” The resignation in his voice was heart-wrenching, as if he were laying down a burden too heavy to bear alone any longer.

Arline acknowledged his effort with a nod. “What is really going on here? We know that Reiner did not die in an accident.” She asked.

Wilhem rubbed his forehead. “This is supposed to be a training camp for the Guard’s elite.” He began, staring into the ground. “Only the most talented recruits are allowed to join. This is an ‘immense honour,’ an ‘extraordinary chance’... That's what we're told every day. But in reality, it's just hell.” The last word fell from his lips like a stone into still water, sending ripples of anxiety throughout Arline’s body.

Arline prompted him for more, her voice soft. “Tell me about the training you undergo here.”

Wilhem shrugged, his frame suddenly seeming even younger. “It’s more torture than anything else. We’re constantly beaten and humiliated, and the slightest complaint only leads to more blows.” He said, risking a glance at her face. “They push us to police one another, so we don’t dare talk. Whatever the orders, we put our heads down, grit our teeth, and obey.”

Arline felt a chilling sensation creeping through her veins, her blood turning ice-cold in disbelief. Beside her, Vasco mirrored her expression, his face a mask of disgust and anger. “All they leave you with is your survival instinct. Obey, or die. It’s inhuman.” He muttered, his voice filled with indignation. Lieutenant’s Wilma disinterested professionalism faltered as her jaw tightened, eyes darting through the camp.

Wilhem's hands shook, a visible tremble that resonated with the horror of his recollections. Arline’s voice, usually so composed and authoritative, now carried a tight edge of outrage. “As for Reiner, do you know what happened to him?” She pressed, her brows knitted in concern.

“Yes.” Wilhem’s voice was a whimper of a hurt animal. “One day he just couldn’t stand it any longer. He disobeyed orders, he fought back, and people got hurt. That’s when things blew up.” He paused, the memory visibly paining him. “They summoned him for night training.”

Arline’s frown deepened, sensing the ominous nature of his words. “What does that entail?” She asked, bracing herself for new awful revelations.

Wilhem's gaze dropped again, unable to meet her eyes. “It doesn’t have much to do with real training. They call us up for it at the last minute. The weakest serve as punching bags for the others, who are encouraged to beat them. If we refuse, we too become the targets… so we join in, and strike.” He voice wavered as he confessed. He swallowed hard, his voice growing higher. “If you’re looking to punish Reiner’s murderer, you can start with me. We all have his blood on our hands.”

Arline felt a cold shiver travel down her spine. The thought that these recruits had to live not only with fear of retribution but with the guilt of taking part in such atrocity was a horror beyond her imagination. She reached out, her hand touching his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “I am so sorry, Wilhem. You are not responsible for something you were coerced to do. I understand there was no escape from this place.” She whispered, blinking rapidly to dispel the moisture from her eyes.

Wilhem’s eyes met hers, filled with a sorrow so profound it seemed to age him beyond his years. “Some have escaped. Taken their own lives to stop this. They were better people than us.”

“No.” Arline’s voice was firm, even as she choked with grief. “You are fighting by sharing all this with us. You're showing immense bravery. Thank you.”

He searched her eyes, a flicker of hope mingling with despair. “I hope you can do something, have this camp closed. Otherwise I'll soon be as dead as Reiner.” He pleaded.

“We understand the risk you have taken.” Arline assured him, her voice steady and sincere. “We will not let you down.”

As the wind carried Kurt’s nearing voice, Arline's retreat was quick, her heart still pounding with the revelations she had just absorbed. Kurt approached, and she tried her best to compose herself, hoping her face wouldn't betray the turmoil that churned within her.

“Thank you, really. That was truly fascinating.” Kurt's voice carried a hint of forced normality as he addressed the lieutenants.

“Captain.” The woman said, her posture stiff, as if she couldn't wait to be dismissed.

“I’ve seen everything I needed to see. You can leave us.” He nodded, his tone authoritative. With a subtle gesture towards the gate he shifted her attention to Arline. “Shall we go?”

“Indeed, we should hurry if we wish to reach Sérène before the night.” Arline agreed, her voice steady but her mind racing, replaying the young recruit’s words.

They left the campsite in silence, trying not to seem to hasty in putting distance between themselves and the gate. Once out of earshot of the guards, Kurt's gaze shifted to Arline, his expression tight with concern. “I assume the young lad has spoken. What did he tell you?”

She stopped, and closing her eyes briefly, shook her head, trying to dislodge the sick feeling in her stomach. “He said the recruits go through hell.” She met his gaze, searching his tense face with worry. “They are humiliated, spy on each other, get bullied… It is essentially torture.” She relayed, her voice low and laden with sorrow. “Reiner would not stand for these methods; he rebelled and was summoned for ‘night training’.”

Kurt's response was almost inaudible. “Are you sure he used that term?” His question was not of doubt, but of dread.

“Yes. But he told me it is not really training, that recruits are summoned…” She trailed off, not sure she could voice the horrific details.

Kurt's features contorted with a pain so raw, Arline felt it, too. “And the others beat them, sometimes to death. I know.” His voice broke as he spoke, his gaze distant and his fists clenching.

Arline stared at him, a wordless stupor taking over as the realization dawned on her. ‘This must bring back memories’, Rolf had suggested. Her heart broke not just for the recruits, but for Kurt, understanding now the depth of his pain and the source of the fear he said he sometimes gets lost in. The world around them, with its chirping birds and rustling leaves, faded into the background as her focus narrowed only to him, hunched and avoiding her eyes. She wished she could somehow take his burden, but found herself completely helpless.

”You… know?” She echoed, her voice dying in her throat with a breath of dread.

Vasco grimaced. “And to think I complained about the Nauts’ training practices,” He said, his voice vibrating with anger. “But this… this is horrific, Kurt.” He spat.

Kurt stood rigid, the muscles in his jaw working as he fought back the surge of emotions. “Yeah. I thought it was a thing of the past.” He said, his voice strained, the fury in his words mingling with a deep-seated pain. “What a monster. How dare he!” His voice was quiet but there was a roaring fire in his eyes.

Arline still struggling to comprehend breathed fast. “I am so sorry. I am… lost for words.” Arline, her heart aching for him, reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she sought to provide some solace. But he recoiled from her touch as if it burned, turning away and marching forward, a wall of unresolved anger.

Feeling helpless but determined not to let him drown in his own turmoil, Arline shifted gears. “Tell me, did you learn anything new?” She asked, hoping to draw his focus back to the mission at hand.

Kurt's response was terse, the cold anger in his voice cutting through the forest’s tranquillity. “I scouted out the site. There's two parts of the barracks we should look at more closely.” He reported mechanically. “Rolf’s quarters and the basement, which they refused to open for me.”

“We can’t just barge in and hope they give up.” Vasco interjected with a frown. “What’s your plan?”

“Let's wait for nightfall.” Kurt said. “We'll sneak into the camp unseen, search the barracks, the private quarters, and then the basement.”

“We might also try to find out where this night training takes place.” Arline suggested, thinking of Wilhem.

Kurt nodded. “Yes. I wouldn't want other young recruits to lose their lives tonight. Especially not the one that talked.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, its dying rays casting long shadows between the tall rocks, Kurt moved with precision and focus, establishing their temporary hideout. The selection of the site, so well hidden and naturally fortified with a singular narrow passage as its only entrance, spoke volumes of Kurt's current state of mind — tense, guarded, prepared for any threat.

In the growing dimness, Arline observed him, the line of his shoulders rigid under the weight of unshared burdens. Gathering her courage, she broke the silence. “What do you need?” Her voice was soft, offering.

Kurt's response was immediate, his voice tight with barely concealed rage. “Right now, only to hurt Rolf very badly. And save Wilhem.” His fists clenched at his sides as if imagining the act.

Arline's heart ached at his words, but she nodded. “Alright. I am with you.” She assured gently. “And I will be, when you are ready to talk; you must know.” She added.

Kurt gave her a faint nod as he closed his eyes. “Thank you,” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with a mixture of emotions.

The world around them seemed to hold its breath as night enveloped the landscape. When darkness settled like a cloak, thick and impenetrable, they prepared to move. Arline, with a hint of reluctance, slipped on her magic ring for the first time in weeks. The cool metal felt almost alien now, but so did the horn on her head. Drawing in a deep breath, she wove the shadowstep around them, her magic casting a subtle, shimmering veil that rendered them nearly invisible.

Silently, they made their way back toward the camp, the quiet of the night punctuated only by the distant sounds of the nocturnal forest and the soft rustle of their movements as they traversed the underbrush.

The camp lay silent under the cover of night, an unsettling emptiness to it that made their steps echo with more weight. “They must’ve already left for their ‘night training.’” Kurt hissed. “Let’s find Rolf’s office. We need to find where they are.”

He moved ahead, his posture rigid, his drawn sword a silver streak in the moonlight that filtered through the sparse canopy. They entered the barracks, equally silent and eerie. Wilma, following the same protocol, mirrored Kurt’s tense readiness, her own weapon at the ready as she kept a vigilant eye on their rear.

They entered Rolf’s office, the room stark under the pale glow of a single lantern left carelessly on the desk, casting long, ominous shadows across the room. The place felt personal, a contrast to the sterile environment outside, filled with maps, documents, and personal effects that painted a picture of the camp's leader.

Arline, with a steadiness she didn't feel, began sifting through the papers on the desk, her fingers trembling slightly with the tension of the moment. Kurt and Vasco searched his possessions, while Wilma kept watch, her body coiled like a spring, ready to react at the slightest provocation.

Kurt quickly announced he found keys, likely to the basement. After minutes that stretched too long, Arline’s hand landed on a letter signed by Commander Torsten. Her eyes widened as she absorbed the contents, revulsion creeping up her spine like cold fingers.

“This letter is disturbing, Kurt.” Arline said, her voice sharp. “It confirms that several deaths have been disguised in order to keep this camp secret.”

She handed the letter to Kurt, watching as his expression darkened with each word he read, the muscles in his jaw clenching so tightly it looked as though they might snap. Wilma, looking over their shoulders, let out a quiet gasp, her usual composure slipping as the reality of what they were uncovering began to set in.

 “But it says that the recruits trained here have been assigned to governors from different cities.” Arline continued, her voice tight with worry. “And yet I am sure that Constantin knows nothing about these elite units. The commander is pleased with what has been going on here.”

Kurt’s muscles in his jaw working as he processed the information. “So Torsten knew.” He muttered through clenched teeth, the words coming out as a growl. The paper crinkled ominously under the grip of his tightening hands.

Arline pried it away from his fist with gentle touch. “So it seems.” She Said. She watched him closely, concern etched across her face as she saw the shift in him from cold fury to something more volatile, a hot, seething anger that seemed to radiate from his very being.

“He's gone too far. He dishonours us all!” Kurt spat out the words with a venom that made Arline recoil slightly. “Sieglinde was right.” He added, almost to himself, a note of bitter regret in his voice.

Arline tried to offer a silver lining. “You can use this letter to remove him from his position, correct?” She ventured, hoping to steer Kurt towards a course of action and away from his turmoil.

Kurt’s gaze turned icy, his fury now a focused, chilling thing. “I’m starting to think I’d rather have a blade remove him from his position.” He declared, his voice deadly calm but laden with intent.

Arline caught her breath at his words, seeing the man she knew veiled behind the facade of righteous fury. “Perhaps Major Sieglinde should see this.” She murmured, striving for calmness as she pocketed the letter.

The descent into the basement brought a chill that wasn’t solely from the damp air. The key Kurt had found slid into the lock with an ominous click, and they pushed the heavy door open. The first room they entered was repository, stacked with crates, their sides splashed with yellow paint – a mark made by Arline’s very hand.

“The weapons we smuggled.” She whispered, her heart sinking with the realization.

Kurt's curse was a low growl, full of fury and despair as he kicked one of the empty boxes. “Empty! Torsten used me for his plot.” His voice was thick with betrayal, his hands clenching and unclenching as if aching to find something, or someone, to unleash upon.

He unleashed his anger on the next door, pushing them with more force than was necessary. As he entered, his body froze, mid motion. Shackles hung from the walls, a blood-stained table stood in the centre surrounded by an array of sinister tools – knives, rods, chains.

Arline couldn’t comprehend the purpose of any of it. “This room… What could have happened in here?”

Kurt, white as a sheet, took laboured breaths as if trying to calm the storm raging inside him. “I know the smell only too well. Fear. Blood. Death.” His voice was a ghost of itself, haunted by memories too painful to bear.

Arline’s stomach churned at the realization. “Good god.” She murmured, horror etching deeper into her face as the pieces of a gruesome puzzle started falling into place.

Vasco, with a hand that hesitated only a moment, picked up a single ledger from the table. His touch was cautious, as if the paper itself was contaminated. “They torture the soldiers to break them.” He spat with disgust. He flipped through the pages, his expression darkening with every name he read. “Reiner shows up on this list more than once. He gave them a lot of problems.”

Kurt’s voice came out flat, eerily calm as if he was detaching himself from the emotions threatening to consume him. “Those who resist too much are lynched during night training. Rolf, you’ll pay for this.”

“Kurt,” Vasco’s voice broke through the mounting despair with urgent news. “Wilhem’s name was added, to tonight's training. The boy will pay the ultimate price for having helped us.”

The words hit Kurt like a physical blow, his anguish tangible in the tense line of his body. “We can’t let them kill him! We must stop this training immediately!” His voice rose, as he already jumped back to the stairs. “If this boy dies because of us, I will never forgive myself.”

“Where, Vasco?” Arline demanded.

“A clearing west of the camp.” Without another word, they knew what they had to do. Time was of the essence, and every second they delayed could be a matter of life or death.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21

Meanwhile, Professor Demir doth advocate for the ancient method of bloodletting as the sole means to purge the body of the vile taint, in agreement with accepted medical doctrines.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

The moon hung low as they rushed behind Kurt’s rigid form to the camp's side entrance. The forest whispered secrets, the foliage brushing against them like the fingers of ghosts as they pushed forward, guided by righteous fury.

“I refuse to let these recruits pay for the bastards who manipulate them.” Kurt muttered as Arline caught up. “Let’s avoid spilling blood in vain.”

“You’re a good captain, Kurt, but I hope you understand that they won’t hold back on us.” Vasco said.

“They’re just kids.” Kurt insisted, his voice pleading, his eyes locking with Arline’s. “There has to be a way to reason with them.”

“We will do what we can, Kurt.” She promised.

The chilling sound of human suffering cut through the night's symphony before they could see the source, a grotesque counterpoint to the natural tranquility surrounding them. Kurt surged forward, his blade an extension of his anger, leading them toward the source of the cacophony. Below, in a moonlit clearing, a harrowing scene unfolded: twenty young men and women – boys and girls really – huddled over a single figure, curled up in foetal position, kicked and kit with blunt tools. The female lieutenant overseeing the barbarism stood detached, a dark silhouette against the moon's glow, her arms folded in silent endorsement of the cruelty before her.

Kurt’s voice thundered across the clearing. “Stop! Soldiers! Do you realize what you’re doing?” The raw authority in his command sliced through the chaos, silencing the beatings and drawing all eyes to him, as he hurried down, facing the lieutenant Confusion etched on their young faces, the recruits hesitated, their indoctrinated minds wrestling with the sudden intrusion of morality.

The lieutenant, her surprise morphing into malice, reached for her weapon. “You shouldn’t be here! This time you won’t get away with it! To arms!” She shouted, but the recruits hesitated, shifting in place, unsure who’s commands take precedence.

Arline, driven by a blend of fear and worry, darted forward, Kurt instinctively positioning himself to shield her from harm. “Think, recruits!” She called, her voice full of desparate conviction. “When my master of arms was in the Guard, he always repeated, ‘Fight with honour!’ What honour is there in lynching one of your own when he is defenceless?” She demanded.

The recruits' eyes shifted, doubt crept into their stance, the seeds of rebellion sown by her impassioned plea. “None. We followed orders, nothing more.” One of them said.

“And do you know what happens to those who die in this regiment?” She continued, her voice trembling. “Their bodies are thrown out like those of rabid animals. If you die here, you will die without glory, without honour. Nobody will ever know what happened to you. I doubt that is what they promised you when you joined the Guard.”

“No! No, of course not.” Another recruit protested.

“A good soldier doesn’t fight for glory. He fights to be the best. I gave you a command, recruits!” The lieutenant spat, her eyes throwing daggers at the kids.

“Really? Then the Guard really has changed.” Kurt’s lip curled in contempt. “Did you recruits leave your families to end up lynched and thrown into a ditch? You’ve been manipulated. But it’s not too late to refuse all of this. To act with honour!” He barked, causing a few recruits to step back.

“No! Y-you’re right, Captain. We never should’ve ended up here.” A club fell from a girl’s hands as she turned away from her lieutenant.

“Traitors! Cowards! Deserters!” The lieutenant spat, her voice filled with venom. She lunged forward, propelled by fury and desperation. Kurt, with practiced ease and a grim determination, responded. His movements were precise, a dance of death learned and perfected on too many battlefields. In barely three heartbeats, her challenge ended in a thud as her body hit the forest floor, a finality that silenced the recruits.

Arline moved quickly, her eyes wide as she knelt beside Wilhem, the young recruit lying beaten and unconscious in the dirt. Her heart pounded against her chest, her mind racing, cursing her lack of healing magic skills. Her hands trembled as she fumbled for a healing potion within her pouch. As she carefully lifted Wilhem's head, Kurt’s hands joined hers.

Together, they administered the potion, Arline holding the recruit tenderly, her voice a soothing murmur of assurances. Kurt watched, his expression complex, a tumult of emotions Arline couldn’t quite decipher, just like he did after the battle of the red spears.

Gradually, the swelling on Wilhem’s face subsided, the smaller wounds knitting together under the potion’s magic. The tension began to drain from Arline’s shoulders as Wilhem groaned, stirring back to consciousness, his eyes fluttering open. Relief washed over Arline, manifesting in a laugh, light and relieved, a stark contrast to the tension that had moments before gripped her heart.

Wilhem’s gaze, confused and pained, met hers, but the comfort of her presence, the reassurance of her touch, seemed to anchor him back to the world.

“How do you fare, my brave soldier?” Arline asked softly.

“I’m wounded, but I'll survive, thanks to you.” Wilhem managed, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I’m eternally grateful.” He added, his eyes wide.

A fellow recruit stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Come, Wilhem, we’ll help you get home. We owe you that at least.”

“I’m counting on you to bring him back to the camp in one piece.” Kurt said.

“Yes, Captain.” Another recruit responded.

“Well then, let’s go!” Kurt held out a hand for Arline. “We can’t let that vermin, Rolf, escape us.”

Without another word, they rushed back to the camp, urgency propelling their strides. The training pit, their last hope of confronting Rolf, loomed ahead. There, the man responsible for so much pain and fear oversaw another harrowing scene: recruits, stripped of dignity, ran as their lieutenant wielded a whip against their brothers.

They stepped into the pit, their forms rigid. Kurt led, his blade unsheathed, his eyes, usually a calm sea, now burned with a ferocious flame, fixed unyieldingly on Rolf. Beside him, Wilma's stance mirrored his, her weapon ready, her gaze equally sharp and determined. Arline followed closely, her fingers clenched tightly around her sabre, the magic ring cold against her skin. Her heart pounded in her chest, a relentless drum echoing her mounting dread. Vasco, calm but alert, held his short blade in one hand and his double-barrelled pistol in the other, ready for whatever came next.

Rolf stood across from them, an unsettling smirk on his lips, his arms crossed as if he were merely an observer at a spectacle. Beside him, the lieutenant hastily dropped his whip to draw his sword, while the recruits, shivering in their smalls, halted their grueling run, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief.

Rolf's mocking laughter filled the air, echoing through the pit. “Kurt, you’re so predictable!” He taunted, shaking his head in mock dismay.

 “Rolf, you bastard,” Kurt growled. “How could you be part of this disgrace!”

Rolf sneered with a malicious grin. “You know this is how the best soldiers are made!” He spat, turning his scornful gaze to the recruits. “Have fun, soldiers! The traitors must die!”

The recruits stirred, hurrying to the weapons stand, their movements stiff and faces contorted in fear. They were unarmoured, vulnerable. They would be canon fodder. Arline shuddered, feeling sick, a visceral hatred for Rolf awakening in her chest like a roaring dragon.

Kurt's voice rose above the chaotic murmurs, booming across the pit. “Stop! Soldiers, are you really going to obey these scoundrels?” He called, a softer note of worry dulling the edge of his voice. “Do I need to remind you of the Guard’s motto? Where is your honour?” He spread his arms wide. His words seemed to fall on deaf ears as the recruits, driven by fear, armed themselves.

“I won’t repeat myself, recruits! Execute these traitors!” The lieutenant barked, his sword pointing directly at them. Arline stepped forward, emerging from between Kurt and Wilma. Kurt's muscles tensed, clearly against letting her expose herself, but he relented, letting her speak.

 “Soldiers, listen to your captain!” She pleaded, her voice soft despite the anger she felt. “You are victims of these monsters, and we are here to bring justice, doing our best to avoid a fight, to spare your lives!”

One of the recruits, weapon in hand and ready to strike, stepped closer, a frown creasing his brow. “Well, what do you want us to do? We have orders.” He said, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.

“Enough! To arms, attack!” The lieutenant's patience snapped.

Arline lowered her sabre, locking eyes with the young recruit in front of her. “All this bullying and humiliation is only intended to turn you into weapons, not soldiers. And when a weapon is no longer needed, its owner discards it rather than risk injury. That is why Reiner was disposed of!”

“Being a soldier doesn’t mean being a puppet!” Kurt added, loud and clear. “Put your weapons down!”

One of the recruits stepped back, dropping his weapon with a clatter. “They’re right, mates. I don’t want to end up in the harbour.” He cried.

The lieutenant’s eyes fixed on him, his lip curling in disgust. Consumed by rage, he advanced on the boy and cut him down with a swift, merciless strike. As Arline cried, “No!”, a collective gasp escaped from the recruits, a sound of shared horror and disbelief, as the youth dropped to the ground.

A guttural, chilling growl teared from Kurt’s throat, as propelled himself forward, fuelled by outrage. Fear and urgency prickling throughout her body, Arline reacted without thinking, drawing Power and weaved it into stasis, halting him in his tracks, his figure frozen mid-charge. She ran, her boots sliding on the muddy ground, to cover his body with hers, shielding him from potential harm, reversing their roles.

“This is what I was talking about!” Arline exclaimed, her voice trembling with fury and desperation, addressing the petrified recruits. “They do not see you as human.”

One by one, the recruits, as if awakening from a trance, dropped their weapons and began to retreat, their actions a silent agreement with Arline's words. The lieutenant and Rolf, their faces contorted with rage, seethed. Before either of them could react, Arline released Kurt and pointed her sabre at the lieutenant.

“You!” She growled. “Why do you not pick a fight with someone your size?”

The lieutenant responded with a vile smile, a prelude to violence, as he crouched, ready to pounce. Kurt, recovered from the stasis, assumed position beside Arline, with Wilma and Vasco flanking them.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant, you've trained cowards.” Rolf spat venomously, scanning the horizon for the absent squadron. “Where is this second squadron? Should’ve been here a long time ago!”

“They’re not coming, Rolf.” Kurt voice cut, a lethal whisper.

“They surrendered too.” Arline said with a malicious grin. “It would appear that your training methods are not very effective.”

“Now that you no longer have lackeys to send after us, Rolf, you'll have to get your own hands dirty.” Kurt challenged, his nostrils flared

Rolf's face contorted as he spat on the ground, finally drawing his sword. “I've dreamt of shutting that big mouth of yours up for so long!” He snarled, stepping forward with murder in his eyes.

"Get rid of the lieutenant and keep the kids safe.” Kurt hissed. “Rolf is mine."

The clash of metal resonated through the night air as Arline engaged the lieutenant, her movements precise and swift, fuelled by the urgency of the situation. Wilma and Vasco flanked her, a seamless trio against the isolated threat. The lieutenant’s blade barely grazed Arline's coat before he was overwhelmed, his final defeat marked by a heavy thud as his body hit the ground.

Arline spun, eager to aid Kurt, but Vasco’s firm hand on her shoulder held her back. “Let him. It’s personal.” He murmured, understanding etched in his eyes.

Arline, torn, clenched her fists, her entire being screaming to intervene, rebel against this stupid, masculine pride, yet she respected Kurt's wish for solitude in this battle, deciding to only interveine if it were a matter of Kurt’s life or death.

Kurt and Rolf circled each other, their swords clashing with the ring of old grievances and unforgotten pain. They moved with a familiarity bred from years of shared history, each feint and thrust mirroring a dance they both knew too well.

A cry escaped Arline’s lips as Rolf’s blade found its mark, cutting a deep line across Kurt's side. Her veins pulsed with Power, urging her to be released.

“Don’t!” Kurt's sharp command, anticipating her reaction, cut through her panic.

Arline, heart pounding, complied, her hands trembling as she fought against her instinct to protect him. Her skin prickled with the force of her rushing blood, and her lungs burned from her heavy breathing. Rolf’s smirk, seeing her distress, was vile, a taunt that made her blood boil.

“Your lady is very protective of you, Kurt. Is she why you're a traitor?” Rolf jeered. Kurt’s response was a series of test swings, favouring his side that already pooled with crimson through his coat. Rolf parried them all with effortless ease. His nasty laughter filled the pit. “I will kill her next. Too bad you won't be here to watch.”

Kurt, despite the pain evident in his stance, responded with a forced chuckle. “I almost would like to see you try.”

The fight resumed, a dance of death between two men who were once brothers-in-arms. Rolf, confident and cruel, aimed for Kurt's wounded side. Perhaps he didn’t know him as well as he though. Arline knew before she saw – Kurt turned his apparent disadvantage into a trap. As Rolf lunged, Kurt’s blade, swift and sure, found its home in Rolf’s thigh, a devastating counter that dropped Rolf to his knees. Kurt’s pommel met his face as he fell, leaving him disoriented for a moment long enough for Kurt to deliver the definite blow. Rolf’s hands, dropping his sword, went to his slit throat, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Blood pulsed between his fingers, in rhythm with Arline’s strained breaths.

Meeting Rolf’s eyes square, Kurt retrieved a healing potion with a grim determination, uncorking it with his teeth, and drank, barely masking the tremble of his hands. Rolf's body crumpled, lifeless, his threat ended as silently as it had lurked.

The training ground lay silent, save for the sound of laboured breaths. Arline stumbled forward, not thinking, propelled only by need of tactile proof Kurt was still standing. She closed the distance between them in a few heartbeats, and her arms wrapped around him in a desperate embrace, her hands clutching the fabric of his coat as if clinging to life itself. For a fleeting moment, Kurt was a statue, his muscles rigid under her touch. Arline's heart hung suspended, fearing rejection, but then, slowly, the iron tension in Kurt's muscles gave way beneath her fingers. His hand dropped the blade he was still holding, his arm hesitantly wrapping around her shoulders in a gesture so tentative it was as if he feared causing her harm.

“Will you be all right?” She murmured into his chest, her voice a whisper heavy with concern and unshed tears.

“Yes… yes, I’ll be fine. I'm just glad to know that this camp won't kill anyone else,” Kurt whispered back, his voice tinged with a blend of relief and a profound sorrow that seemed to weigh down his very soul. He gently disengaged from her embrace, the anger that had fuelled his actions replaced by a deep-seated grief as he glanced at the young recruit's body. “What a waste. I can’t believe these orders came from the top.”

“What do you want us to do?” Arline asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within her.

Kurt's eyes met hers, clear, even as shadows of grief danced in their depths. “I'll need backup if I really want to put an end to all of this.” He said, determination steeling his voice as he began to think of the next steps. “We must go see Major Sieglinde in New Sérène. I need to tell her what was going on here.”

“Are you sure she was not involved?” Arline's question was cautious, probing his trust in the institution after such a betrayal.

Kurt shook his head firmly, the very notion unthinkable. “Her? Never. She’s old school.” He insisted. “She already held the commander at a distance because she didn't like the direction the Guard was headed. He would’ve sacked her, or worse, if she didn’t have so much support within the Guard.” His voice softened, regret threading through his words. “I should’ve listened to her.”

Arline nodded. “Then we will go see her immediately.” She said.

“We need to check on the kids.” He sighed, picking up his blade, not sparing Rolf another glance as he marched to the fallen boy. His face contorted with sorrow, he lifted him with the tender care of a guardian, a softness that belied his warrior's build. His arms cradled the boy’s body, holding him close as if to shield him from any more harm. He turned away from the bloodied pit, towards the barracks.

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of gold and pink, they carefully laid the boy’s body down in one of the barracks’ sparse rooms. The cold morning air was thick with unresolved fear and the night’s shock, but there was a sense of relief among the recruits now gathered outside in a sombre assembly, back in their uniforms.

Arline’s gaze lingered on the boy they saved that night. “How do you feel, Wilhem?”

Wilhem, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush, managed a small, grateful smile. “Better, thank you.” He said.

Another recruit, eyes downcast, addressed Wilhem, his voice laden with remorse. “I don't know if you'll be able to forgive us, Wilhem.”

“I've been in your shoes on other nights. You didn't have the choice.” Wilhem assured, his voice too heavy for such young a person.

Kurt looked over the group. “I hope you can forget about all this. This is not what the Guard is about.” He said, his voice hoarse, a sorrowful frown still on his face. “While we wait for this camp to close for good, you'll be under Lieutenant Wilma’s command. You'll soon receive your transfer orders.” He added in a firmer tone, that straightened backs and snapped legs together.

“At your orders, Captain!” One of the recruits responded.

As Arline with Vasco and Kurt were about to embrace the path to New Sérène, the sun had begun its ascent, casting long shadows before them and painting the world in a gentle light, yet the horrors of the night lingered. Their steps were heavy with fatigue and grief, silence broken only by chirping of waking birds.

They heard hurried steps approaching from behind and a hesitant voice called out. “Uh, my lady?” Arline paused and turned towards Wilhem, his steps faltering as he caught up to them.

Wilhem’s hands fidgeted nervously before he extended one towards her. Clutched between his fingers was a wildflower, its purple petals a vibrant contrast to grey of his uniform. His cheeks burned with a fierce blush as he offered it to her. “I… uh… Thank you, for saving my life. Without you…”

For a fleeting moment, the shadows of the camp seemed to recede, replaced by a warmth that bloomed from within. Such a sweet gesture from a scarred soul. Arline accepted the flower with a gentle smile. “Of course, my brave soldier.” She said. “Thank you, it is beautiful.”

Wilhem’s response was a beam that lit up his entire face, a momentary reprieve from the shadows that lingered in his eyes. He gave a shy nod before scurrying away.

Vasco chuckled. “At least now the boy will have a pleasant reason not to sleep.” He remarked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Arline scoffed with scandalized amusement. “Vasco!” She chided.

“What? Have you never had a sleepless night being lovestruck?” Vasco countered, a grin spreading across his face.

“Well, being a little lovestruck right now definitely won’t hurt him.” Kurt said, the creases in his forehead relaxing a little.

Arline placed the flower behind her ear. “It was a sweet gesture, but I would not go as far as suspecting him of being lovestruck.” She mused, her tone a blend of mirth and mild reproof.

“Waking up in your arms is surely enough to fall in love.” He said, almost under his breath. Their eyes met, and for a moment, there was a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability that mirrored Wilhem's. Was he blushing? The thought brought a gentle warmth to her cheeks.

The journey towards New Sérène unfolded with the golden hues of dawn stretching across the sky, trying to chase away the remnants of the darkness within. The exchange with Wilhem, however brief, brought a glimmer of warmth to their hearts. It was a reminder that there was always goodness to be found, even amidst the darkest hours. The air around them seemed lighter, as if nature itself was attempting to soothe the scars left by the night’s horrors. Still, the burden was not forgotten. They would seek out Major Sieglinde, entrusting in her integrity to secure the camp and safeguard the futures of the young recruits left behind. Only then, in the aftermath of action taken and justice sought, would they allow themselves the respite they so deeply yearned for.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22

Amidst these diverse hypotheses, a few scholars have noted a curious phenomenon—seafarers, known as the Nauts, seem resistant to the affliction of Malichor.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

Arline stirred from her slumber, the soft light of late afternoon filtering through the gauzy curtains, casting a serene glow across the room. She lingered in bed for a moment, her mind drifting to Kurt. She hoped he had found some solace in sleep, a temporary escape from the relentless memories of the Ghost Camp. His face, etched with sorrow, haunted her thoughts. He had promised to visit in the evening with updates and the anticipation twisted in her stomach.

Before that, she still had the time to go with Vasco to Admiral Cabral. With a sigh, she pushed the blankets aside and rose, her movements slow, her body still heavy with the remnants of exhaustion. She dressed, choosing a skirt this time, she rarely wore them these days. Descending to the parlour, she found Vasco already there.

Together, they exited into the bustling life of New Sérène, their steps leading them towards the port. The city was alive with the sounds and smells of late afternoon; merchants hawking their wares, children laughing in the distance, the salty tang of the sea mingling with the aromas of fresh bread and spices.

Admiral Cabral's usually stern demeanour was softened by a warm smile that creased the corners of her eyes. The brisk sea breeze carried the admiral's words as they approached. “I have already heard! Impressive work, Lady De Sardet. And Vasco,” She continued, turning her gaze to him. “You have proven your loyalty and you have regained my trust. What you have achieved for us all deserves to be a part of your history. I will send someone to tell the tattooist. He’ll be waiting for you.” There was a genuine note of respect in her voice that caused Vasco to stand a little straighter, a subtle shift from his usual, relaxed posture.

“Thank you, Admiral.” He said with slight incline of his head.

Cabral turned her focus back to Arline, her smile fading into a more serious expression. “And as for you, De Sardet, I hear you were privy to our secrets.”

Arline met the admiral's gaze. “Indeed. The order thought you to be heretics because of your tradition of secrecy, and I had to investigate. I have kept your secret. It is not the secret I bargained for.”

Cabral nodded with a sigh. “The secrets… they often cut both ways. Therefore I’m going to reveal to you another.” She paused, ensuring she had Arline's full attention. “As you already guessed, our predecessors, the navy of Sérène discovered this island over eight centuries ago.” She continued, her pace slow and careful. “They transported some lords, men and merchandize, and they began to colonize the island.”

“The lords revealed themselves to possess a tyrannical nature and began to exploit the lands with a deadly passion. Their actions provoked the revolt of the natives but also the very workers and craftsmen they had brought with them. The magic of the natives of Teer Fradee was awoken, beasts came out of the woods and destroyed the new cities.” She shook her head.

“Only a handful of lords and armed men were able to make it back to our ships, The losses were enormous, the humiliation devastating. Your princes paid us well to keep their secret.” She paused again, shifting her weight. “But there is more. The reason why in the end, we decided to sell the secret location of this island to other nations.”

Arline frowned. “I thought it was connected to a breach of contract?” She asked.

Admiral Cabral, her face etched with solemn lines of duty and regret, watched Arline carefully, gauging the impact of her words. “Indeed. For as long as we existed, the princes of Sérène continued to make the occasional expedition…” She said. “You are, in fact, a product of one of them.”

Arline felt as if the ground beneath her swayed, the port's bustling noise fading into a distant echo. Her heart pounded, a frantic drumbeat against her ribcage. She shook her head, disbelief clouding her features. “What are you saying?” Her words were barely audible, whispered into the salty sea breeze.

Cabral maintained her composed demeanour, yet there was an underlying note of empathy in her voice. “You must have had your doubts… You are a child of a native, you were born on one of our ships. You are the reason the Prince broke the contract.”

The denial rose in Arline's throat like a tide. “Me? You must be mistaken! I know who my mother is and…” She trailed off, the strength of her conviction waning under the weight of the admiral’s gaze.

“I understand how difficult this is to hear,” Cabral continued, her voice softer, yet carrying a firmness that brooked no argument. “And I wouldn’t know why your family has kept this from you all this time. I am sorry for the shock I have caused you. You asked me for the truth, and now you have it. The reason I am willing to share this with you is because you are one of us.”

Arline stood frozen, her body rigid as the sea wind tousled her hair. “I cannot believe it… That for all this time, I have been fed lies…”

Cabral looked out towards the horizon, her expression contemplative. “They stole you from the natives, they stole you from us. There must be a reason… The Congregation, in spite of its fear, could not keep away from this island. And here you are again… I wonder why.”

Arline's gaze drifted to the vast ocean, a mirror reflecting a lineage she had never imagined. She was the convergence of two… no, three worlds, a living bridge yet also a monument to secrets and betrayals. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, echoing the tumultuous waves crashing against the docks.

“Is that why you had Vasco spy on me?” She asked, meeting Cabral’s eyes again.

Cabral nodded. “Yes. We feared you were raised to be the conqueror of Teer Fradee.”

Arline’s thoughts raced as she pieced together the mosaic of her life, each memory now tinted with suspicion. Her uncle’s seemingly benevolent gestures: her education, so untraditional for a woman with its focus on politics and combat training, a prestigious position of authority despite her youth and maidenhood, all the unusual liberties afforded to her—all crafted to mould her into an unwitting envoy of their ambitions. She recalled the persistent push toward matrimony, a decade-long struggle that had unexpectedly ceased, evaporating like morning mist when the time came to appoint a new legate. Even her acts of defiance, she realized with a chilling clarity, might have been subtly orchestrated, guiding her down a path she thought she had chosen herself, ensuring she never felt the chains that bound her. She was nothing more than a pawn on a chessboard she never even knew she was playing on.

“Good God… I was…” Arline paused, struggling to find the words, her hands clenching into fists as the realization sank in. “They failed to conquer by force, so they sent a peacemaker.”

“Now you know.” Cabral said simply.

“Thank you for telling me. Now if you will excuse me...” Not waiting for any formal parting, Arline turned away abruptly from the Admiral, overwhelmed, fleeing to find… what? She was not ready to face Constantin. What if he knew, what if he betrayed her, too? The world spun around her with each step back to the embassy.

Vasco caught up with her, his voice carrying a tone of empathy. “I’m sorry. I know how it feels to discover later in life that you’re not who you thought you were.”

Arline stopped, turning towards him, her eyes reflecting a storm of emotions. “Oh Vasco! Do you realize that you were given to the Nauts, because I was taken from them?”

Vasco nodded, giving her a small smile. “Yes. At least one good thing came out of it, eh?” He squeezed her shoulder. “You helped me find peace with myself. I’m here for you, if there’s anything I can do.”

“Thank you.” She whispered. “I… need time.”

“Alright. Tell me one thing though.” He said. “Who am I to keep it from, and who will know?”

Arline closed her eyes, trying to focus. “I… do not know if Constantin knew. I must speak to him. And Kurt…” She breathed out with force as she realized he might also have known, fear gripping her heart. “And Síora, I will tell her.” She met Vasco’s eyes. “Please do not tell anyone else.”

Vasco nodded once. “You got it.”

As soon as they returned to the embassy, Arline excused herself, not feeling on par with sitting with others. She sought solace in the garden, but it brought none – too clean, too groomed, it felt like an open stage, offering no refuge from prying eyes or her own spiralling thoughts. She moved with an almost ghostly grace, her feet guiding her to the solitary tree that stood like a silent sentinel in the otherwise immaculate space. With an agile climb, she attempted to hide in its sturdy branches, high above the ground, away from the world’s demands and revelations.

Time seemed to blur as she sat there, the light fading into dusk, her thoughts racing faster than the falling shadows. The daylight waned, giving way to the embrace of dusk. The cool air of the evening wrapped around her, but its comfort was fleeting against the churn of her thoughts.

Her quiet solitude was broken by an approaching figure. She recognized Kurt, even though his strides were hesitant, a rare indecision in his movements, as if he was intruding on her private sanctum. She momentarily forgot he was due to visit, guilt pricking at her conscience amidst her own turmoil.

He stopped below her tree, his face etched with concern, a blanket draped over one arm. “It’s getting cold.” He said, his voice carrying the warmth she desperately needed.

“Kurt. What news?” Her voice, tinged with fatigue, barely carried through the leaves.

“The Blue-Silver Regiment secured the Ghost Camp.” He reported, his tone measured, but his eyes never leaving hers, assessing.

“Good. How do you feel?” She asked.

Kurt offered a humourless chuckle, a sound more weary than amused. “That can wait, Green Blood, I have been feeling that way for years.” He paused, his gaze softening. “How do you feel?”

The sincerity in his question, the genuine concern, made her chest tighten. It seemed Vasco had sent him. She exhaled deeply, the air cool against her skin, as she faced the question that had been haunting her. “Did you know?”

“I promise you that I knew nothing of it.” His immediate response came. “And as far as I’m concerned, this changes nothing. I will keep watching over you.” He added, softer.

She believed him. Relief washed over her, freeing one of the heavy chains around her heart. She descended from her arboreal retreat and accepted the blanket he offered. Together, they sat beneath the tree, the blanket draped around their shoulders, a shared shelter in the growing chill of the night.

“How could they lie to me?” Arline's voice quivered, a mixture of disbelief and anger lacing her words. “My mother… Or what do I even call her now?” Her voice broke, a whisper lost to the rustle of the leaves above.

Kurt’s response was gentle, imbued with an understanding born from a life of complexities. “She is still your mother. She raised you, she loved you. Perhaps she just didn’t know how to tell you something like this.”

Arline pulled out the wooden amulet her mother had given her, its simplicity now cast in a new light. She held it out, the wood grain more pronounced in the dim light.

“She told me it was a family heirloom. I was surprised by its simplicity. Now it makes sense.” She shook her head; her last memory with her mother suddenly left a bitter taste in her mouth. “What a pitiful attempt!” Her laugh, devoid of joy, sliced through the night air. “Did she not think I deserve to know I’m not even a noble?”

“Blood is not everything, Green Blood.” He said, his voice was soft, imbued with warmth. “You are still the same person you were yesterday.”

“But that is precisely the point, Kurt.” Arline countered, her voice rising. “Blood is how we justify our superiority, our wealth while others starve, our power, while others serve!” The words tumbled out, laced with the poison of disillusionment. “I was taught I am more intelligent, more genteel, better than you, all because of my blood which makes me closer to the divine. But my blood is not blue. It truly is green. As she spoke, she extended her hands, and under the cloak of her magic, grass began to sprout and climb over her skin, a manifest of her true heritage.

Kurt watched her, the familiar crease between his eyebrows deepened, as his fingers brushed the rapidly growing blades. “Whether by nature, or by nurture, you are still all of those things, Excellency.” He murmured. “You are brilliant and graceful, and socially superior. If you feel it’s not fair,” He exhaled softly, a semblance of a chuckle. “Perhaps… You are in a unique position to use your wealth and influence for good?”

Arline's gaze lingered on Kurt, a complex tapestry of feelings unfurling within her. She never asked for this burden, yet she knew she could not deny it. His first thought, as always, was doing the right thing. In his innate goodness and moral compass, his wisdom, and his kindness, he shone brightly, a beacon in the darkness that had clouded her life. The realization that she loved him, wholly and unconditionally, stirred deep within her. She didn't want to stand above him; she yearned for parity, for the connection unmarred by titles.

“I am likely to lose both if this comes out.” She murmured, not sure how she feels about the threat to the foundation of her constructed world.

“Then let’s make sure it doesn’t.” Kurt said. It was an offer of solidarity, a selfless commitment to shield her from the storm brewing on the horizon. A promise she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.

Despite her instincts screaming for rebellion against the machinations that had shaped her life, Arline recognized the truth in his words. She was caught her uncle's game, raised for a role she did not fully comprehend, and it was time she started playing herself.

“They raised me for a specific purpose, to send me here.” She said. “To pacify the natives gently? I do not understand what is my uncle planning. I do not know what to do.” She confessed, shaking her head.

“You will figure it out.” Kurt assured, his elbow nudged her gently. “And you don’t have to do it alone.”

Arline sighed. “Thank you. I…” She paused, fear of betrayal tightening her throat. “I am not sure if Constantin knew. I am afraid.”

“That boy could not keep a secret if his life depended on it.” Kurt said, a slight chuckle softening the tension. “I can’t believe he knew. And he won’t abandon you, Green Blood. He would sneak out to Al Saad for you, remember?”

As she looked at him, a surge of love overflowed, her eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. Kurt had weathered storms she could only imagine, yet remained compassionate, a man of unwavering kindness and warmth. A sharp sting of irony pricked her. They were now equals by birth, yet society's chains bound her to play a role that kept her above him, to maintain the façade that ensured her privileges. The world’s cruelty twisted in her chest—a jest of fate that granted her wish for equality only to dangle it out of reach.

Arline closed her eyes, letting out a long breath. “Enough about me.” She said. “Tell me how you feel.”

Kurt released a heavy sigh. “Angry.” He finally said, his voice a low rumble, the muscles in his jaw tensing in confirmation. “Angry at Rolf for his involvement, at Torsten for his encouragement, and at myself for being so blind to what kind of man he really is.”

Arline reached out, her fingers lightly touching his. The texture of his skin was becoming familiar, yet an electric shiver still jolted through her. “How could you have known?” She soothed, her voice low and gentle. “You take no blame in this. In fact, you put an end to it.”

A myriad of emotions danced in Kurt's eyes, a complex ballet of anger, sorrow, and perhaps a hint of guilt. It was clear he struggled with more than just anger; there were deeper wounds there, unseen but deeply felt. He told her before how isolated he felt during his years in Sérène’s court; Arline knew he wasn’t used to sharing, being vulnerable. She wondered if he ever learned at all.

“What was Rolf to you?” She encouraged with a tender tone. “A friend, a rival?”

Kurt’s eyes unfocused as he stared into the distance. “A little bit of both.” He said. “I wouldn’t have willingly chosen him to be my comrade, and yet he was.” He shook his head, a humourless smirk curling his lips. “And he was always picking at me to make sure he was the best, the strongest, and the most appreciated.” He blinked the memory away, and turned to her, meeting her eyes. “I suppose we all have someone like this in our past. Did you not experience that with Constantin?”

Arline frowned. Friends and rivals never blended in the same individuals for her. “Constantin was never easy-going, but we were friends more often than we were rivals.” She said. “I know he could be awful towards other children, but he always had a liking for me.”

Kurt nodded, a faint, but genuine smile tugging at his lips. “You were, and I think you still are, his only friend. The court has not been kind to him.”

Arline's thoughts drifted back to those earlier days. Constantin, always overshadowed by the tragic legacy of his older brother, the beloved Prince Laurent, struggled under the weight of expectations and the cruel whispers that snaked through the court. The rumour that the spare had become the heir through the darkest of means had tainted his right to the throne. Despite his efforts, he could never quite earn the approval that seemed so freely given to his brother, and which Arline managed to gain. He envied her, sometimes, but failing to meet the harsh standards set by his father and the public, he found solace and understanding in her. It was a role she embraced, not out of obligation, but out of genuine affection and shared hardships – she endured her share of ridicule in childhood, disfigured by the mark on her face.

“It is true.” She acknowledged. The frown on her face melted away into a smile as another memory came to her. “Did you know,” She said, her voice carrying a lighter tone. “That his father told him one day that he would never climb up the ladder if he did not start behaving in a noble way? Constantin took it a bit too literally and decided to climb up the city walls.” She giggled, feeling some of the weight in her stomach evaporating.

Kurt's laughter, warm and genuine, broke away, easing some of the tension in his shoulders, too. “Yes. I wasn’t with you then, but I was told about it.” He said. “That was the first time you saved his life, I believe? And if memory serves, thanks to you, he wasn’t even punished.” He sighed with a small smile playing on his lips. “You really are the friend everyone dreams of having.”

Arline joined in the laughter, the sound brightening the cool evening air. “Well, are you not fortunate to have me, then?” She teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

Kurt held her gaze, his eyes laden with a new array of emotions. “I really am.” He murmured, the sound filling her with all kinds of warmth. Her breath caught, lips parted, and, with a light brush of their shoulders, she suddenly noticed they had both been leaning in closer. She exhaled, her eyes dropping to his lips, her heart running mad in her chest. His jaw tensed in response, and he abruptly withdrew, his movement quick and fraught with tension. She averted her gaze, a flush of embarrassment warming her cheeks.

“We should go back inside, Excellency.” Kurt’s voice was gentle, and there was a note of regret in it that made her look back at him. His brows were drawn together, the corners of his mouth downturned, a trace of longing in his eyes that mirrored her own.

Arline closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded. At least one of them thought of her reputation, she thought with bitterness. They should probably be chaperoned from now on, if she really had no self-control. She frowned, rebelling against the thought with passion. Did she not just decide to start shaping her own life?

Kurt, already on his feet tentatively extended a hand to help her up. Equally careful, she accepted, and the warmth of his skin relaxed the creases off her face. As she stood up, she held on to it a little longer. “Thank you for coming, Kurt.” She said, her voice steadier than she felt.

His face softened, the shadows of doubt clearing a little. “Is it my cue to go away now?” He teased, a trace of his usual humour breaking through.

Arline met his jest with a firm, unwavering gaze. “Never.” She whispered, before letting go and turning towards the embassy.

They walked side by side, shrouded in a charged silence. Arline's thoughts swirled, replaying the moment their closeness had nearly breached the boundaries set by nothing but circumstance. As the cool night air brushed against her skin and the lingering warmth of Kurt's hand remained, she knew, with a sinking certainty, that this moment would haunt her dreams, leaving her restless yet craving for more.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23

Doctor Sahin intrigued by this observation, doth posit that exposure to the saline airs of the vast oceans might fortify one's constitution against the disease. He doth propose that prolonged exposure to maritime elements and sea voyages may hold the key to immunity.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

Arline woke to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, yet the rest she sought eluded her. The dreams had been vivid, Kurt's intense gaze and the sensation of his hands, a tender presence that transformed into an agonizing absence. These bittersweet moments paled in comparison to the nightmarish visions that followed—a woman with red hair, pregnant, captured and bound, her destiny rerouted by the cold steel of Blue-Silver uniforms. Her child, her, born in chains, moulded into something she was never meant to be. A weapon. The vision of Princess Livie, her other mother, weaving plots with her uncle, left Arline feeling sick.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the remnants of the dreams, but they clung to her like a second skin. Rising from her bed, Arline felt the weight of sleepless hours in her bones, and the day ahead loomed heavy, filled with the daunting prospect of confronting Constantin. The thought twisted in her gut, a knot of anxiety and a desperate hope that Kurt, with his steadfast presence, would be by her side for this conversation, lending her the strength she desperately sought.

She moved through her morning routine mechanically, breaking the seal of a letter from Governor Burham with a sense of routine. It was a request for help of the Congregation, hoping for neutrality to succeed where force had failed. While they were captured, the scholars they had rescued had overheard whispers of a native healer with unparalleled power. This healer, revered even among her own people, was said to possess an elixir that could mend any malady, a potential treasure beyond measure in these troubled times. However, the bridge between cultures had been burned by conflict, leaving the Bridge Alliance unable to reach out.

Síora, hearing the content of the letter nodded thoughtfully. “The Tierna harh cadachtas,” She said. “Is very wise. It is possible she has such a remedy.”

The hopeful prospect of uncovering a potent native magic sparked a flicker of optimism in Arline, despite the nervous weight in her stomach. If there truly existed healers surpassing Síora in skill, their aid was not just desirable but essential.

Her heart lifted slightly when Kurt arrived, his support a balm to her frayed nerves. Together, they traversed the familiar path to the palace, side by side. The grandiose doors of the audience room opened before them, revealing Prince Constantin ensconced in his ornate surroundings. Arline tensed as he saw him, her previous worries forgotten as she saw his condition had deteriorated. Not only was he still pale, and dark circles under his eyes were like bruises against his skin, but his form diminished, almost swallowed by the regal chair he occupied. When he greeted them, his voice, once robust and commanding, was marred by a wheeze that tugged at Arline's heart with worry.

She approached, her steps hesitant yet urgent. “Oh, you do not look well. What has happened here?” She demanded, her gaze scrutinizing every visible sign of ailment on Constantin's body.

“Nothing!” Constantin protested with a feeble smile. “Nothing terribly bad in any case! I must have eaten something that is having trouble going through me…” His voice was a weak attempt at his usual cheerfulness.

Arline shook her head, a deep frown etched between her eyebrows. “It seems to me that this illness has been lingering too long… Who prepares your meals? Are they safe?” She pressed, a sharp edge entering her voice.

“No one is poisoning me, dear cousin,” Constantin assured, his voice calming and compassionate. “We are far away from court and their customs.” He added with a sardonic smile. “It is nothing, take my word for it.”

“Have you not yet seen a doctor?” She asked, incredulous as she folder her arms, giving him a stern look. Constantin hated bleedings and avoided doctors at all costs.

“No, no! You know I always had a weak stomach! My nausea will leave me eventually.” He almost pleaded.

“That may be faster with a doctor’s help, Constantin. I insist.” She said.

“Oh, very well.” He conceded with a wave of his hand. “But now, tell me what news!”

Arline let out a resigned sigh. “I have news from the Admiral. We should speak privately.”

They moved – with Kurt trailing silently behind – to Constantin's study. Arline slowly unravelled the dark history of Sérène’s failed conquest, her words carefully chosen, as Constantin drank her every word at the edge of his seat.

He fell heavily to the chair’s backrest, shaking his head, eyes wide. “That they hid the fiasco from the world I get, but that my father said nothing about it to me…”

“That is not the most shocking part of the story, believe me.” Arline murmured, her heart thudding against her ribcage.

“What do you mean?” Constantin's frown deepened, his confusion and worry etched across his face. Panic rising, choking her, she stirred in her chair, avoiding Constantin’s eyes. She swallowed hard, and open her mouth only to close it again with a frustrated exhale.

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Kurt, frowning but with an encouraging smile. She drew a shaky breath. “The Congregation continued to make expeditions to the island with the help of the Nauts. According to the Admiral, my… mother was captured from here during one of them. I was born on one of their ships…”

Constantin’s eyes wen wide, his lips parted. “What?” His voice was a forced whisper. He shook his head. “But.. that means you are not…”

“Your fair cousin? No.” Arline's voice cracked, tears brimming in her eyes, threatening to spill over the edges. “All the lies that we have been fed since our tender childhood…” Her anger broke through the sorrow, a tempest lashing out. “The fable told that I am the spitting image of my dead father, lost during and expedition… I… I do not know what to think, Constantin. Why did they do that to me?”

Constantin's usual warmth was replaced by a darker, brooding tone. “I do not know. It is another one of their sly and dark orchestrations… some vile intrigue.” He moved from behind his desk, the prince within him replaced by a friend in need, as he knelt beside her, offering a handkerchief and taking her hand in his own. “If it is of some comfort,” His voice softened with affection. “No matter the true story, you will always be my fair cousin.” He said. “You have always been the only one to care for me. You are my only friend, that is all that matters to me.” He placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “Keep this discovery between us. No one needs to know! My aunt adopted you, after all.”

An overwhelming wave of relief washed over Arline, as laughter broke through her tears, echoing against the walls. She threw her arms around Constantin’s neck in an embrace filled with gratitude and love. He reciprocated the gesture, his own laughter a welcome reprieve.

“You might want to pass that handkerchief on, cousin,” Constantin jested. “Kurt looks like he is about to cry.”

Arline’s laughter found new life at his jest, a sound of pure joy. She released Constantin and turned towards Kurt, reaching out with a hand that trembled slightly from the cascade of emotions. Kurt smiled warmly at her, his eyes soft and amused, as he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“So I am guessing I do not need to tell you, Kurt, that your orders remain the same?” Constantin said with his customary cheer. “Keep my dear cousin safe.”

“I would not allow anything bad to happen to her, Your Highness.” He assured with a respectful nod.

“Oh, it’s just us here, Kurt. Why not continue to call me by my given name?” Constantin said, apparently in mood for warm gestures. With a gentle smile, Arline handed back the now slightly crumpled handkerchief to Constantin, who accepted it with a nod and pocketed it.

“Thank you, Constantin.” She said.

“Of course. Do you have any other news, better ones, perhaps?” He smiled.

Arline chuckled, the sound lighter than before. “In fact, I do.” She confirmed.

She proceeded to share the request from the Bridge Alliance, a new lead in their ongoing quest that held promise. Constantin's response was enthusiastic, his approval of the mission a clear indication of his belief in its potential.

Arline allowed herself to be swept up in his enthusiasm, a flicker of hope igniting within her. The heavy revelations began to feel less burdensome as she considered the future which held a promise of healing and discovery at last.

○●○

The sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the forest floor with patterns of light and shadow. Arline, immersed in the tranquility of the small field, crouched down among the wild herbs, her fingers deftly separating leaves from stems. The fabric of her simple, flowy gown, patterned with delicate designs of nature, brushed against her skin, light and airy in the gentle breeze.

Summer seemed to come earlier to the island than the continent. Her wide-brimmed hat cast a protective shadow over her face, shielding her from the warm, bright rays of the the sun. The air around her hummed with the serene sounds of nature, punctuated by the distant laughter of Vasco and Aphra.

They stood beside the village elder, a man of pride, reluctant to reveal his weakening eyesight, his weathered face marked by the passage of time. He spoke to Aphra with a pointing out various plants and herbs with a shaky hand, imparting his knowledge before it faded away with his sight.

Five days earlier, the party, minus Petrus who stayed in New Sérène, had arrived in Frasoneigad, named after the venerable age of the trees found there – the Forest of the Ancients. Their destination was the secluded village of Vígshádhír, the Place of Long Shadows, home of the Anemen Shádí clan, the Shadow Spirits, led by the Tierna harh cadachtas, the Great Mistress of Wisdom.

Their request for an audience was met with scepticism from the natives, who viewed them with narrowed, distrusting eyes. They demanded Arline prove her intentions were pure, that she was not just another outsider looking to exploit. When she offered resources, her offer was met with derisive laughter. They sought deeds, not goods. Thus, Arline and her companions were invited to live alongside the villagers, to partake in their daily lives and prove their providing nature. Accepting, Arline swiftly sent word back to New Sérène, detailing their detour.

Over the following days, Arline had learned to weave baskets with a dexterity she hadn't known she possessed, to fish with patience and silent respect for the river, and even to ignite her blade with flames—a spectacle that had earned her a nod of respect from the village warriors. Amidst these new experiences, she listened intently to the natives' legends, enriching her understanding of this culture that was taken from her. One legend in particular haunted her—a beautiful and tragic tale of undying love and transformative grief, where a survivor, forever changed by the ritual that allowed her to witness death through her lover’s eyes, turned the dead woman’s blood into vibrant red flowers that grow in the forest to this day. The story resonated with her on many fronts, from love, through loss, to transformation she was undergoing herself.

It did not escape Arline that both lovers in the story were women. Intrigued, she broached the subject with Síora, who clarified that in their culture, any two individuals could be Minundhanemen, those who share their souls, and such a relationship was not deemed any less valuable. Bonding rituals between people were not means of economic stability, nor a foundation for a family unit – rather, it was the collective responsibility of the clan to care for all its members, especially children. This notion struck Arline as both foreign and enchanting. In this society, one's duty was simply to contribute to the clan's welfare to the best of their ability.

Her heart was heavy with the weight of recent revelations, but in the village, amidst its people and their traditions, Arline found a semblance of belonging, a welcome extended first by Síora. “I understand you may be sad because you were lied to, but do not be sad about who you are. We are a proud people, and I am glad to know that you are one of us.” She had said with a warm, affirming smile, planting seeds of acceptance among the thorns of bewilderment.

Arline caught sight of Vasco weaving his way through the meadow towards her, laughter still ringing at something Aphra said. It was interesting to see him interact with someone as forthright as Aphra, their dynamics a blend of fire and calm waters. A small smile touched Arline’s lips; she was glad to see it. Not that she ever believed he had intentions toward herself, but it was still a relief his feelings were not hurt.

“You and Aphra seem to be getting along well.” She said with a coy smile.

Vasco’s eyes sparkled with amusement at her observation. “Are you jealous, De Sardet? ”He teased, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Arline’s smile warmed. “Not at all.” She assured. “Besides, we both know you only flirt with me when Lord Lefroy and Kurt can hear you, to vex them.” She pointed out with an arch of her brow.

Vasco’s laugh was easy and sincere. “I don’t care about Lefroy! But vexing your soldier is almost as entertaining as you are.” He said with a candid shrug.

Arline feigned indignation, playing along with their familiar dance of words. “What cruel man you are, Vasco!”

“I beg to differ!” He protested. “Perhaps a little jealousy is what he needs to act.” He countered with a conspiratorial lean, as though sharing a secret.

Arline blinked, still surprised by his directness. “Then I am afraid your schemes are doomed to fail.” She sighed. “Kurt knows his place in society too well. He would never dare… act.” She shook her head, a wistful note creeping into her voice. “Even if he should possess such bold desires as you suggest.”

Vasco arched an eyebrow. “Right. And these bold desires, should he possess them, would offend you?” He asked, his tone flat in mockery.

A sudden warmth spread across Arline’s cheeks. “No.” She admitted, deciding she can voice that thought to someone so plainspoken. “But I could not welcome them either, Vasco. So, please stop vexing my soldier.”

Vasco considered her for a moment, then broke into a mischievous grin. “Perhaps I got it wrong. I should have flirted with Kurt, and made you act!”

Laughter broke out of her, light and genuine. “I should like to see it!” She challenged.

Vasco let out a small chuckle. “Yes, I don’t think I’m his type.” He said. “But I could send Aphra. She enjoys vexing your soldier as much as I do.” He teased, challenging her in return.

Arline’s brows knitted together, her eyes narrowing in mild reproof. “You would not. She would not!” She protested. “Kurt does not deserve to be teased with pretend interests.”

Vasco’s grin widened, unrepentant, as he watched her. “Would you rather wait to see someone paying him genuine attention?” He prodded, apparently determined to push her to confront something she wasn't ready to admit.

Arline sighed. “If my affections were engaged…” She said, giving him a stern look. “It would pain me to see it, of course, but it surely would be better for everyone involved.” Her words were careful, measured, yet her voice betrayed a trace of sadness. “My status in society is already in jeopardy due to my blood, I cannot risk it further. I should find solace in his happiness – in this hypothetical scenario.” She added hastily.

Vasco scoffed. “Hypothetical scenario! I have never seen a pair as hopeless as you two.” He shook his head, then locked his eyes with Arline’s. “Everyone who has eyes knows you pine after each other.”

Arline's heart skipped, a flutter of panic that maybe others saw too much. She reassured herself that Lefroy and Petrus, potential harbingers of scandal, seemed blissfully unaware. And Kurt – did he really pine after her? Despite her encouragement – which she should not have given – he had maintained a statement of no intentions. Could true love truly manifest in such unwavering passivity? Her own feelings refused to be so easily mastered. Once realized, they surged like a relentless tide, undermining her determination to adhere to societal expectations. In truth, she would forsake it all, if he ever abandoned his restraint. Perhaps whatever she sometimes thought she saw in Kurt’s eyes simply did not compare.

Arline mustered a weak smile, a façade to cover her sadness. “It shall come to pass one day.” She murmured.

Her mind wandered to that dreaded future, devoid of the electricity that sparked between them, the absence of his warmth, his voice, their playful exchanges. A sharp pang of fear sliced through her at the thought, leaving her with a resolute clarity. As long as there was even the smallest chance, she would cling to this fragile thread of hope, and may the Dark One take her social standing. The very idea of letting go, of accepting a life stripped of those cherished moments, was unbearable. She would fight for them until reality forced her hand, and even then, she wasn't sure she could truly desert.

Vasco watched her silent battle with a frown as she met his eyes again. “Oh. It is not that day yet.” She said, her voice quiet.

Vasco snorted, the creases disappearing off his forehead. “Well go on. I was just coming to tell you we are finished here.” He grinned.

Arline blushed furiously and stuck her tongue out at Vasco, but she turned away to find Kurt. The path led her away from the open field, through the dense underbrush of Frasoneigad. The sound of laughter and conversation faded behind her as she ventured closer to the serene melody of flowing water. The forest around her was alive with the harmonious symphony of rustling leaves, the distant chirping of birds, and the soft buzz of insects. The air was fresh, filled with the earthy scent of damp soil mixed with the subtle fragrance of wildflowers.

She emerged into a clearing where a stream meandered lazily, its waters clear and shimmering under the touch of the midday sun. Here, the forest opened up to the sky, allowing beams of light to illuminate the water's surface, turning it into a moving mosaic of golds and blues. Kurt sat alone on the riverbank, his back to her, engrossed in the peaceful task of fishing. The scene was a picture of tranquillity, a welcome reprieve from the emotional turmoil that had been her companion for the past days. He sensed her approach and turned, his features softening into a smile that reached his eyes.

“What are you doing here alone?” She asked, stepping in closer.

“Fishing.” He shrugged. “It’s pretty boring. But kind of peaceful.” He said, leaning back on his hand.

The corners of her lips tilted upwards in a slight smile. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

Kurt chuckled. “No. I will take your company over peace any time.”

Arline feigned offense as she settled beside him. “Over peace? Do I introduce such turmoil to your life?” She bantered.

Kurt laughed outright, the sound echoing against the backdrop of the serene stream. “Sometimes you do.” He said. “And sometimes you introduce fishing to my life.”

 “Did you not just say it is boring?” Arline teased, leaning in closer. “Do you mean to tell me I introduce boredom to your life?”

Kurt's eyes crinkled at the edges as he met her gaze. “I do!” He agreed. “But you see, boredom is a luxury in a soldier’s life.”

Arline exhaled a soft sigh, her demeanour shifting to one of contemplation. “It is in Legate’s life, too.” She reflected, her eyes drifting over the water's surface.

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the sounds of nature enveloping them. The gentle flow of water over rocks and fallen branches creating a soothing backdrop to her thoughts. The river's song was complemented by the whispering of the leaves and the occasional splash of a fish breaking the surface, disrupting the perfect reflection of the forest on the water. The scent of fresh water mingled with the green, vibrant smells of the forest, creating a sense of peace.

“It is a peaceful life, is it not?” Arline mused after a moment, her voice heavy. She sighed. “To think I would have led one like this…”

She felt Kurt’s eyes on her. “Perhaps it used to be,” He murmured, thoughtful. “Before we came to this island. Now these people often lead a life of war.”

Arline met his gaze. “And I am on the side of those who kidnap pregnant women and steal their children.” She said with a bitter taste in her mouth.

The familiar crease manifested itself between Kurt’s brows. “Their sins are not yours, Green Blood.” He said, his voice low and soothing. “You can do better. You are doing better.”

A longing sigh escaped her. “It is probably selfish and irresponsible, but sometimes I wish I did not have to do anything at all.” She hummed. She gave him a shy smile. “I would rather sit by a river with you.”

The crease in his brow deepened, as his eyes scanned her face. He sighed, allowing himself a small, careful smile. “You are allowed some selfishness and irresponsibility from time to time.” He said, his voice softer than before.

“Am I?” Arline grinned, the tension easing from her shoulders as she playfully challenged his words. In a sudden flurry of movement, she lifted the hem of her gown, working to untie her boots with swift, determined fingers. Kurt watched, a puzzled expression painting his face.

“Take off your shoes.” Arline instructed, a mischievous glint in her eyes, dispelling the solemn mood that had settled between them.

“What?” Kurt's eyes widened, and his usually composed demeanour flickered with surprise. His gaze followed her movements, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a mixture of amusement and disbelief painting his features.

“You cannot swim in those.” She teased, her grin widening. She continued with her impromptu disrobing, shedding her stockings next—her cheeks flushed with a blend of excitement and the awareness of his gaze on her.

Laughter tumbled from his throat as he shook his head. “What?” He repeated.

As she stood barefoot, feeling the cool grass beneath her feet, she began to remove the items from her pockets, her hat unpinned and set carefully aside. Kurt’s gaze followed her movements, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a mixture of amusement and disbelief painting his features. Feeling a rush of freedom, she looked back at Kurt with a playful challenge in her eyes. The warmth of the sun, the soft melody of the river, and the seclusion of their surroundings stirred something wild within her. She felt a liberation from the constraints of her title, her duties, and the weighty revelations of her past.

“Come on!” She urged, her voice lively. “I seem to remember you are fond of occasional spontaneous swims in rivers.”

He shook his head, a gesture of resigned amusement, as he began to untie his boots. “This is madness, Green Blood.” He remarked, but there was no mistaking the lightness in his voice. She watched him for a moment, her laughter mingling with the birdsong, before turning and dashing towards the beckoning river that reflected the clear sky above.

The cool water kissed her toes, sending a shiver up her spine as she tentatively stepped in. Better not to think about it too much. She waded in up to her knees, her skirt ballooning out around her legs, letting a high cry of shock. “Hurry before I change my mind!” She called to Kurt.

Kurt snorted, unbuckling his sword belt, and shedding his buff coat, his face lit up with joy she’d never seen in him before. With his shirt clinging to his frame and breeches shortened for ease, he approached the water's edge, a boyish grin on his face. He took a running leap, splashing into the river with the abandon of youth, sending ripples dancing across the surface.

Arline, caught in the moment, let out a laugh that was both surprised and delighted as she watched him. Inspired by his boldness, she took a breath and plunged into the cooler depths, embracing the invigorating chill. The river embraced her in return, its cold touch a stark contrast to the warmth of the sun above.

She resurfaced with a gasp, the cold water a shock to her system, yet she couldn't help but laugh, her spirit lifted by the sheer joy of the moment. Beside her, Kurt emerged, shaking his head like a wet dog, droplets flying from his dark locks. His laughter, genuine and unrestrained, filled the air between them. His eyes, alight with a blissful abandon, met hers, and in that moment, the cold of the water was forgotten. The world around them narrowed to this shared space of laughter and light, a brief escape from the weights they carried.

“You are wonderful.” Kurt's voice carried over the water, warmer than the sun overhead.

His words touched Arline in a way that sent a fresh wave of warmth through her, despite the coolness of the river. She felt her cheeks grow warm, a blush painting her skin not from the sun or the chill. “How bold of you.” She breathed. “Please continue.”

Kurt, momentarily caught off guard, looked at her with wide eyes before a burst of genuine laughter escaped him. “Forgive my boldness, Green Blood,” He said, his demeanour softening into a more playful tone. “But you must know this will be my new favourite memory.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Arline replied with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. “I selfishly wanted it to be of me.” She noticed a shift in his gaze, a fleeting glimpse of something deeper, more vulnerable, but he masked it quickly with a grin, leaving her heart fluttering.

“But now we will have to walk all the way to the village soaking wet.” He said, his tone still light and relaxed.

She shivered, the cold finally catching up with her now that the thrill of their impromptu swim waned. “No, we will not.” She said, her voice slightly trembling from the chill, even as she imagined others seeing them like this. “I can channel primary elements now.” She smiled, taking sharp breaths.

Kurt's laughter rang out again, clear and heartening. “Come on then, before you get a cold.” His tone was teasing, yet there was an underlying layer of care that did not go unnoticed.

Kurt propelled himself towards the bank with strong, sure strokes, reaching out to help Arline as she navigated the difficult transition from water to land. Her hands grasped his firmly, but the weight of her soaked skirts almost pulled her back into the river's embrace. Instantly, his other hand was at her waist, providing a steadying force, his touch sure.

As she regained her footing, with lips parted, Arline suddenly noticed how the wet fabric of Kurt’s shirt moulded to his body, outlining every muscle with startling clarity. Her breath hitched and he released her waist as if burned. She felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment, and from the corner of her eye, she could see his own face tinged with a shade of red.

With his assistance, she finally stood on firm ground again, avoiding his gaze as she turned her attention to the task at hand. Closing her eyes briefly, she tried to slow her breathing to focus. Fortunately, the connection through her bond has become seamless, and she called upon the Source, intertwining Air and Fire magic delicately with the surrounding water, ensuring the steam generated would not harm their skin. Gradually, the wetness dissipated, leaving their clothes dry, albeit still warm from the spell.

“Handy trick.” Kurt remarked, a note of admiration in his voice, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Arline's hand drifted to the créaga above her temple, a reminder of the cost of magic, of the call she will one day hear. But as she looked up to meet Kurt's gaze, seeing the myriad emotions swirling within, she let her hand drop. Despite everything, this moment—their shared laughter, the unguarded looks, the gentle touch—felt irreplaceable.

“I think we scared away all your fish.” She joked, trying to ease the tension, a smile finding its way onto her lips.

Kurt's response was a hearty laugh, free and genuine, as he glanced back at the placid river. “It seems we will have to stay here a little while longer.” His words were light, but Arline could hear the hint of a wish for time to stand still just for them. A wish she shared, not ready yet for this moment to end.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24

However, Doctor Esra doth counter this proposition, deeming it insufficient to explicate the Naut natural resistance. She doth advocate that these seafarers might have been conditioned through inadvertent exposure to a comparable ailment — proposing the Nautic Fever, ubiquitous among maritime communities — drawing parallels to a notable medical inquiry that garnered much attention in recent years, when Doctor Asili presented the observation that individuals previously exposed to cowpox — commonly found among cattle — seemed to possess invulnerability to smallpox.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

As dusk painted the sky with hues of deep purple and fiery orange, the group converged around the gently crackling fire, nestled within the heart of the village. The world around them slowly surrendered to the serene lull of twilight, the vibrant life of the day giving way to the tranquil whispers of nocturnal creatures. Arline, immersed in reflection, penned down the day’s revelations in her worn journal, a soft furrow of concentration on her brow, mirrored by Lefroy across from her. To her surprise, he had adapted well to the village routines, finding solace in the rhythm of archery with the local hunters. Next to him, Aphra engaged eagerly with a group of natives, her hands gesturing animatedly as she discussed the healing properties of local flora. Vasco sat with sergeants Jon and Frank, who had rejoined them in New Sérène, arguing the superiority of fish soup over pork stew.

Beside Arline, Síora leaned towards Kurt, her voice soft and patient, guiding him through the complex tones and structures of the native language, the Yecht Fradí. Arline listened, a smile creeping onto her lips as she heard Kurt stumble over a particularly difficult phrase.

Without looking up from her journal, she corrected his pronunciation. “Bléd gwen neit ta pesam ad tura.”

“Vrandí.” Síora agreed. “Vards rádidaw yechtem fradí sa giedon, voglendaig?” She added, folding her arms.

Arline looked up with a half-smile. “Ná. Es trag me, doneigad.” She reponded. “I will let you continue.”

Kurt, a picture of concentration, attempted the phrase again with improved accuracy.

One of the elders of the village, a tall figure marked by the wisdom of his years and the authority he carried within the community, approached the fire. The conversation naturally quieted as he spoke. “Ceneded, our renaígse guests have stayed with us or five days. Were they takers or providers?” He asked, his gaze drifting from one person to another.

“Taberí.” Said the blind man whom they assisted today.

“Taberí” Agreed one of the hunters.

“Gaváleí” Someone countered. “Renaígse olei tuaw gaváleí.”

“Ná on ol menawí. Es renaígse tus taberí, ag es céad.” Another voice said, and others murmured in agreement.

“They have shown effort to understand.” The first elder proclaimed, nodding, a subtle smile touching his lips. “Enough to see Tierna harh cadachtas, should they pass the test and manage to open her sanctuary.”

Arline closed her journal, her heart beating with a mix of nervousness and determination. The possibility of meeting the Tierna, of finding answers and perhaps even healing, filling her with impatient excitement. “Thank you, elder.” She said.

“The path to wisdom is open for those who seek it.”

As the fire dwindled to glowing embers, the group prepared for a night's rest under a blanket of stars, their hearts buoyed by the promise of the morrow. Arline, folding her journal and tucking it safely away, caught Kurt’s eye across the dying light. With a contented smile, Arline turned away, feeling a surge of warmth despite the cool night air. In the quiet of the night, with the gentle rhythm of the village's nocturnal life as her lullaby, she drifted into a peaceful slumber at last.

○●○

The morning light filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows on the group as they stood before the sanctuary door, nestled in the northern reaches beyond the village. The gateway, a magnificent structure of twisted roots, sprawled across the gap between two ancient rocks, stark against the lush greenery. Unlike the lightning-struck tree in Vedlug, this door lacked any connecting stone circles bearing puzzles. Instead, a simple stump, intricately carved into a bowl, sat solemnly before it, seemingly awaiting an offering.

Arline, examining the natural barrier, turned to Síora for guidance. “Does something need to be placed in this bowl?” She guessed, eyeing the carbed stumo with interest.

Síora nodded, her expression thoughtful. “You are correct, the stele is bound to the entrance and you need to make an offering.” She said. “In general, you place a seed of a particular plant chosen by the doneigadthat sealed the grotto.”

Aphra, stepping forward with a thoughtful expression, began to list various plants native to the area, their properties spilling from her in a stream of botanical knowledge.

Kurt, who had been quietly observing the surroundings, spoke up. “I think you missed one.” He remarked with a hint of amusement in his voice. With measured steps, he moved to the side of the clearing and picked a single red flower from the ground. Arline's eyes widened in recognition—the very flower from the legend that had captivated her.

“There’s a lot of them near the Tierna’s house.” Kurt noted with a half-smile, as he offered the flower to Arline with a playful bow.

Arline responded with an equally theatrical curtsy, accepting the flower with a light giggle. She carefully opened the bloom to extract a seed, and gently placed it on the carved pedestal.

As if responding to a silent command, the root door began to untangle, slowly revealing the entrance to a cave hidden beyond. The party exchanged glances, a mix of excitement and trepidation in their eyes, before stepping forward into the newly revealed sanctuary, Arline and Síora weaving Light to illuminate their path.

The path took them through a labyrinthine network of tunnels that wound beneath the earth like the roots of an ancient tree. The air was damp and cool, the musty scent of moss and wet stone enveloping them as they progressed. Every footstep echoed against the walls, amplifying the eerie quiet that settled between their sporadic bouts of conversation.

Shafts of light sporadically punctured the darkness, casting ethereal beams that danced with dust particles suspended in the air. The path was uneven with nature's indifference to the comfort of those who dared to traverse her hidden domains. The walls bore the marks of time: grooves and patterns etched by water, the slow, relentless drip of limestone forming stalactites and stalagmites that stood like silent guardians of the deep.

Without warning, their path was repeatedly beset by dosantats. The giant bats surged from the shadows, and the fluttering of their enormous wings stirred the stagnant air, sending a chill down Arline's spine. Their eyes, adapted to the perpetual twilight of their home, glinted menacingly as they swooped down upon the intruders with startling agility.

The venomous saliva of the Dosantats added a deadly edge to their territorial aggression. Each attack was a chaotic flurry of movement, as the party defended themselves against the quick and mobile creatures. Kurt's blade moved in precise arcs, cutting through the air with practiced ease, while Arline wielded her magic to create barriers of Force that deflected the bats' diving assaults. Síora guided the group through the attacks, her instructions shouted over the cacophony of beating wings and angry screeches.

The battles with the dosantats were brief but intense, leaving the group winded and in need of an occasional antidote from Aphra as they navigated through the cavernous expanse. With each encounter, they grew more adept at handling the creatures, their movements becoming more synchronized.

When the cave finally opened to the world again, they let out a collective sigh of relief. They emerged from the shadowy confines of the cave, the abrupt return to daylight had them momentarily squinting, hands raised to shield their eyes from the unexpected brilliance. The sun hung lazily in the sky, now tilted toward the west, casting elongated shadows that stretched across the valley like dark fingers.

The valley itself was nestled snugly between imposing rock faces of the surrounding mountains, creating a secluded, almost hidden sanctuary that felt worlds away from the rest of Teer Fradee. Sparse trees, their leaves a brilliant gold, dotted the landscape, painting a scene that whispered of autumn despite the warmth of early summer air that embraced them. Underfoot, the ground was carpeted with those unmistakable red flowers, creating a vivid sea of crimson that seemed to pulse with life under the golden canopy. The beauty of the place was overwhelming, and Arline, looking around with her mouth open, almost regretted not coming here for a leisurely picnic.

They moved forward, drawn inexorably towards the heart of the valley where the Tierna was said to reside. As they stepped into the clearing, the tranquil atmosphere shattered abruptly.

There, in the midst of the idyllic scene, was the Tierna harh cadachtas, her figure marred by fear and pain as she was pursued by a menacing figure. A gunshot pierced the calm, echoing ominously through the valley, and they watched in horror as the Tierna staggered, a dark stain spreading across her clothing.

The air around them seemed to vibrate with her rage and pain as she cried out, the ground beneath their feet trembling in response. From the forest's edge, a formidable creature emerged, summoned by the Tierna's distress. Arline’s heart raced at the sight. It towered over them, its form an eerie amalgamation of branches and wood, moving with a purpose that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Its antlers, massive and intricate, seemed to scrape the sky, a natural crown for this king of the forest.

The Nadaíg moved swiftly, its movements a strange dance of nature's fury. With a single, powerful motion, it dispatched the assailant, his body flung aside like a broken doll. But the peace that followed was short-lived, as the Tierna, blood seeping from her wound, directed the creature's wrath towards Arline and her companions. “Esin! Nád dam dent!” She shouted.

Panic seized Arline as the memories of her previous encounters with such beings flooded back. Her blood swooshed in her ears, her eyes darting from the creature to Kurt, who had nearly lost his life in a similar confrontation before.

He wasn’t alone at the forefront this time. Flanked by sergeants Jon and Frank, they positioned themselves valiantly as a living barrier between the beast an the rest of the group, their swords ready to meet the onslaught.

The Nadaíg’s charge was a fearsome spectacle, the ground trembling under its massive form as it barrelled towards them with deadly intent. The soldiers’ long blades reflected the sun as they advanced, drawing wide, flowing arcs, punctuated by dodges and rolls.

Vasco and Aphra provided cover, the echo of gunfire intermingling with the roar of the creature. Between the shots, Aphra’s grenades exploded in bursts of smoke and fire. Lefroy, seeing a Nadaíg face to face for the first time, trembled visibly as he pulled out his new bow, struggling to lock the arrow. Arline channelled her burgeoning magic, sending streaks of firebolt cutting through the air, shadow missiles darkening the sky as they homed in on their target. Beside her, Síora’s chants called forth thick vines from the ground, attempting to ensnare the creature's limbs, to slow it, to bind it to the earth it sought to dominate.

The Nadaíg, in its primal wrath, was relentless. It swung its formidable claws at Kurt and his companions, each strike a deadly dance of natural ferocity. It conjured long, spear-like branches, tossing them with the effortless power of the wild, forcing each of them to dodge with desperate agility. The battle raged, the air filled with the sounds of combat, the scent of blood, and the raw energy of magic. Arline's heart pounded in her chest, the battle rush sharpening her senses as she wove the Power with superior focus. Their number and lack of difficult terrain made all the change; the Nadaíg’s movements grew sluggish, its attacks less frequent.

And then, with a coordinated push fuelled by the will to survive, they managed to bring the towering creature to its knees. As it fell, a heavy silence settled over the clearing, broken only by the heavy breaths of the weary combatants.

“Ná! Ná!” The Tierna's voice broke through the stillness, raw with agony as she crawled toward the defeated creature, her blood painting a crimson trail on the vibrant grass. “Ná tégeud dem! Ná vardo abalau!”

In a frenzy of despair, she surged towards them, unarmed, her hands driving through the air with the force of her grief. Her attack was cut short with the echoing sound of another gunshot. The man, thought to be downed, stood again, aiming his gun with a cold precision that chilled the air.

“Why? Why?!” Arline's voice tore through the chaos, raw and shattering, as the Tierna collapsed. Síora sprang into action beside her, air crackling with Power, but another shot rang out, and she staggered, a pained cry escaping her lips as her hand clutched at the fresh wound, blood seeping between her fingers.

“Síora!” Arline called in horror, kneeling beside her.

“Move aside, legate!” The assailant's command was edged with desperation, his weapon now trained on her. Arline met his gaze, her own eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

“Drop the gun.” Kurt demanded, his voice a deep, menacing growl.

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” The assassin's threat was a frenzied promise of violence. But before his finger could twitch again, Aphra acted with lethal precision, her shot silencing his threats forever. He fell, a lifeless heap, as the echo of the gunshot faded into a deafening silence.

Frantically, Arline administered a healing potion to Síora, who gasped, her own hands glowing as she summoned her healing magic, desperate to save the still-bleeding Tierna.

“We will need to remove the bullets.” Aphra said, kneeling beside them. “This will stop the bleeding, but there could be an infection.”

Kurt, his expression dark with fury, searched the dead man's body. “He’s Alliance.” spat out, holding up a letter sealed with Governor Burham’s insignia. Aphra jumped to her feet, her movements tense and sharp, grabbing it, and unfolded the parchment. Her voice slightly shook as she read aloud the chilling instructions: to follow Arline and eliminate the Tierna, a revered figure among her people, deemed more a threat in life than any mythical panacea could be worth. Arline’s stomach churned with revulsion. The rationale was cold, calculating, and devoid of any semblance of humanity—the Bridge Alliance had deemed her death a strategic advantage.

Aphra, her eyes wide open, met Arline’s gaze. “I swear I had nothing to do with this.”

Arline considered only a moment. “I believe you. The Governor will have some explaining to do. But now we have to take care of the Tierna and Síora. What do we do?”

Aphra nodded, shaking of her shock as she shifted to action mode, pulling potions out of her pouch. “Sleep potion. It's the best way to extract the bullets safely.”

“You want to cut me open?” Síora demanded, her breath still ragged from pain and exertion.

Arline gently stroked her hair. “You can trust her, she saved Kurt’s life.” Síora locked eyes with Arline, searching, finding the truth and reassurance she needed, and with a hesitant sigh, she accepted the potion from Aphra's outstretched hand.

The tranquillity of the sleeping potions took hold, laying Síora and the Tierna into a deep, vulnerable slumber. Aphra, with practiced hands, retrieved her medical kit, a collection of rudimentary tools not meant for such dire circumstances. She wasn't a surgeon, she had basic training in the medical arts, but she was a scholar of plants, and this task was daunting. They would rely on healing potions to undo any damage her unpractised hands could make. Aphra took a deep steading breath, her focus was absolute, her usual vibrant curiosity replaced by a solemn determination, the lines of responsibility and fear etched deeply on her brow. Arline watched, her heart lodged in her throat as she prepared to assist in any way she could. The men had withdrawn to the perimeter, leaving them to the intimate, harrowing task at hand.

Aphra first attended to Síora, whose injury was the less complicated of the two. The bullet lodged just below her right collarbone was visible under the skin, a dark intrusion against her pale flesh. After magical healing, the bullet would be enclosed in a cyst. With a steadiness, Aphra made a small incision, her hands sure but gentle. Arline, channelling Light, trying to steady her own trembling, watched as the bullet was carefully extracted, a sigh of relief whispered between them. She administered the potion as Aphra moved on to the Tierna.

Her condition was more dire, with two bullets to remove. The first was lodged uncomfortably close to her spine but was removed with relative ease compared to the one near her kidney. Aphra’s hands trembled visibly as she worked on the second extraction, the proximity to vital organs making every movement a calculated risk. Arline, biting her lip, offered silent support, her hands ready with clean cloths and healing potions.

The Tierna’s still form on the ground, illuminated by the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, was a harrowing sight. Arline held her breath, her hands trembling as she passed the needed tools to Aphra, her own fear a cold knot in her stomach.

When the final bullet was successfully removed, a collective, exhausted breath was released. As they cleaned and bandaged the wounds, Arline felt a profound weariness envelop her, a mixture of physical exhaustion and emotional drain. Her hands, stained with blood and dirt, trembled as she finally allowed herself to sit back. The aftermath of their makeshift surgery left her hollow, questioning the very nature of the violence that had led them to this moment.

The rage that simmered within Arline finally boiled over as she contemplated Governor Burham's betrayal. How could he so callously manipulate her position, her trust, and then turn against her with such cold-blooded calculations? The realization that the assassin might have had orders to eliminate her if deemed necessary fuelled her indignation. This was not just a breach of trust; it was a potential declaration of war. She clenched her fists, her resolve hardening like steel. No stone would be left unturned; she would confront this treachery head-on once back in Hikmet and ensure Burham faced the consequences of his actions.

Seeing the surgical ordeal concluded, the men approached with their makeshift stretchers, crafted from branches and cloth, rudimentary but sturdy enough to carry the still-unconscious Síora and the Tierna safely back to the village. The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden light through the trees, illuminating the leaves in vibrant shades of gold and amber.

The journey back was a silent one, the only sounds the rustling of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of evening birds. The men moved with a quiet efficiency, the stretchers swayed gently with their strides. Arline walked beside them, her mind a whirlwind of anger and strategy, plotting her next moves in the political chessboard that Hikmet had become. She was no longer just a legate, a diplomat, or a negotiator; she was a defender of her own dignity and that of those she cared for.

○●○

Arline sat cross-legged beside the low cot in the Tierna's house, her posture tense with concern. The hut, round and womb-like, was filled with the essentials of village life: baskets woven with intricate patterns, herbs drying from the rafters, and the faint, comforting smell of earth that permeated the woven walls. Outside, the night had settled fully, casting everything into a deep silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire maintained by her companions.

Her gaze remained fixed on Síora, who lay resting, her breathing even and calm. The gentle rise and fall of her chest brought Arline a small measure of relief until, finally, Síora's eyelids fluttered open, meeting Arline's anxious look with a tired but steady gaze.

“Síora, how do you feel?” Arline asked, her voice low, filled with barely concealed worry.

“Good. No pain.” Síora's voice was weak but clear. She shifted slightly, her movements cautious as she took in her surroundings. “How is Tierna harh?”

Arline glanced toward the Tierna, who remained motionless except for the gentle breaths that lifted her chest. “She is still sleeping. I worry. Is she going to survive?”

With a strength that seemed to swell from within, Síora sat up, her hands glowing faintly as she extended them towards the Tierna. The room, illuminated by a single, flickering candle, cast their shadows against the walls, turning their movement into a silent dance of hope and healing. Síora's expression, concentrated and serene, held a touch of the ethereal as she channelled her energy.

“Yes, she will heal.” Síora assured after a moment, her voice carrying a conviction that seemed to draw from the very earth beneath them. “They were not shooting to kill her. And we are resistant, you know.” She turned her gaze to Arline, a spark of pride in her eyes. “The bond empowers us, gives us the vigour of animals, the resilience of trees. It is undoubtedly for that reason your Alliance is so interested in us.”

Arline's face relaxed slightly as she processed Síora's words, but the furrow between her brows deepened. “I want to learn healing.” She said. “I have been doing well with plants, have I not?”

“Healing requires knowledge of the body, voglendaig.” Síora responded. “It's not as simple as just commanding flesh to grow. Do it incorrectly, and you might create something harmful like a tumor. Healing demands that you guide the different layers of the body to mend in a precise manner. But let's start with something straightforward. Give me your hand.”

With a hesitant but trusting movement, Arline extended her hand towards Síora. Before Arline could react, Síora had made a quick, precise cut across the palm of Arline’s extended hand with her knife. A sharp intake of breath escaped Arline's lips, a sting of betrayal flashing in her eyes before understanding settled in.

“This is shallow.” Síora’s voice was instructive, void of apology. “Now, focus on the wound. Feel the separation, the disruption in your flesh. Now, draw upon the Life force and Change, and envision the skin knitting together.”

Arline, wincing, did as instructed. Her brow furrowed in concentration, she reached into the depths of her being, where her connection to the Source resided. Under Síora’s watchful gaze, the edges of the cut began to merge, the red line fading, disappearing under the guidance of Arline’s focused will. Within moments, the skin was whole again, unmarred, as if the blade had never touched it.

Síora nodded, a small, approving smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Good. But don't attempt this on more complex injuries yet. You've been with the hunters, haven't you? Seen them dress their game?”

A wave of nausea briefly crossed Arline's features at the memory, her stomach churning at the recollection of blood and exposed flesh.

“Yes.” She managed to say, her voice a bit strained.

“Then you have seen that the body is complex, layered like the earth itself.” Síora continued, her teaching tone patient but insistent. “You need to learn to identify these layers, not with your eyes, but with the Power. For your practice, I'll provide you with a gatsíd kitten. They're resilient against magic, which means you can examine them closely without causing harm.”

Arline nodded, absorbing the information, a mixture of determination and apprehension in her eyes. She used to love the palace mouser, she wasn’t sure about the idea of experimenting on a kitten.

The Tierna's gasp tore through the silence, a sharp intake of air as consciousness flooded back into her, eyes snapping open with a fear and ferocity that seemed beyond human. Arline and Síora rushed to her side, but the Tierna staggered from the bed, her gaze piercing and focused solely on Arline.

With Tierna’s swift motion, vines sprung from the ground, and Arline found herself ensnared, the green tendrils wrapping tightly around her, cutting into her skin and restricting her breath. Beside her, Aphra struggled against her own leafy bonds, her face a mask of surprise and fear.

“Ná! Tierna harh! She does not mean to harm you!” Síora exclaimed, her voice filled with urgency and worry. “Please! Let me explain...” Her plea was cut short as the Tierna shove her aside, her entire focus narrowed down to Arline.

She advanced, closing the distance between herself and Arline, caught in the tight embrace of the vines, with some even encircling her throat. Arline attempted to tap into her Power, trying to coax the vines to loosen their grip, but the constraints remained fixed, responding solely to Tierna's control.

“What do you want from me, renaígse?” The Tierna's voice was cold, filled with distrust and anger, as she advanced on Arline.

Kurt burst through the doorway, sword at the ready. “Let her go.” He commanded, his blade gleaming dangerously in the dim light.

Arline struggled against the tightening vines, her voice a desperate croak as they constricted around her throat. “Stand down, Kurt!” She managed to gasp out. “We were manipulated by the Alliance.” She strained, her eyes darting back to the Tierna. “We had no idea they sought to capture you. We believed their fable of a miraculous remedy. The man that shot you is dead. And their governor will have some explaining to do.”

Slowly, the vines receded, freeing Arline, who immediately brought her hands to her neck, massaging the tender skin where the vines had left their mark. Kurt, still bristling with barely contained rage, sheathed his blade but continued to glare at the Tierna, his body tense and ready for any sign of further aggression.

The room fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of its occupants, as the Tierna absorbed Arline's words, weighing them against her own pain and suspicion.

“I suppose I should thank you for having pulled me from their claws and bringing me here.” The Tierna finally acknowledged. Her gaze softened marginally, a grudging respect in her eyes. “I am Mev daughter of Morrígen, daughter of Cerdwin. Who are you?”

Arline, still rubbing her throat from the earlier constriction, introduced herself with a voice softer than usual. “Arline De Sardet, legate of the Merchant Congregation.”

Mev sat back on the bed, measuring Arline and her companions with a steady gaze. “There is indeed a remedy, but I doubt I can do anything against this sickness of your people. I don’t know it.” She said. Her refusal was not unkind, but still firm.

“Perhaps you could try?” Arline pleaded, her voice soft with despair. “We are desperate…” Her voice trailed off, filled with the hopelessness of their quest and the urgency of their need.

Mev shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “The remedy was prepared for a precise purpose. To heal those who escaped the claws of the Alliance.” She explained with a heavy sigh. “These monsters capture the sin ol menawí, and torture them, bleed them, put things in their veins…” The Tierna’s voice trailed of as she grimaced. “Those that do escape are in such agony that our care and comfort are not enough to mend them. That’s why I made this remedy, not for your Malichor. My people have never fallen prey to such sickness.”

Arline’s brows knitted together in concern. “Put things in their veins?” She echoed. The concept was alien, disturbing.

Mev’s eyes darkened with a deep-seated anger. “We have learned they were taking our people to a place they call a laboratory. It is there that they torture and kill them.” She spat out like a curse. “They talked about ‘experiments’.”

Arline felt a chill ran down her spine. “Experiments?” She shook her head, having trouble to comprehend. “So that was the reason for all these abductions? But what do they hope to discover?”

Aphra’s voice, usually collected, trembled with a mix of fury and fear. “They hope to find the cure for the Malichor.” She said, her fists tightening on her pouch. “And I’m afraid they are willing to carry out any atrocity to find one.”

Arline’s eyes snaped to Aphra. “Aphra, do you know about this?” Her voice wavered slightly, uncertainty and accusation entwined in her words.

A long, exhausted sigh escaped Aphra’s lips. “No, not for sure, but…” She paused, struggling to articulate her thoughts. “I told you my colleagues are only interested in the natives’ physiology… They are not particularly interested in magic, but their resilience. Many scientists believe the answer to our Malichor is in their transformations.” Her admission, hesitant and fraught with discomfort, left an uneasy silence in its wake.

Mev studied her for a moment. “En ol mil frichtimen protects us.” She protested. “They and we are tied and bound, as they are tied and bound to you, on ol menawí.” She added, looking back at Arline. “Their generosity to our people is infinite. But they will not be generous to yours, your bonds would be rejected.” She stated firmly. “The crimes of the renaígse enrage them. Perhaps your Malichor is their vengeance.”

Arline absorbed Mev's words, her mind racing. “That was my hypothesis. The Malichor could be a consequence of the first attempt to colonize. A curse cast at that epoch, brought back by the first defeated colonists.” She glanced around, seeking validation. “But Derdre did not agree. She suggests it is the result of a broken bond with our own land, that we need to heal it, whatever that means.”

Mev pondered her words, eyes narrowed. “That is possible.” She admitted. “This sickness is not natural, renaígse. You are on ol menawí, can’t you feel it reeks of Chaos?” Her question, rhetorical and condemning, rang in Arline’s ears, she barely heard Mev’s next words. “I heal people, not their rotten bonds with the spirits. You can try asking Catasach, he is the doneigad of Yígaíg srodí clan of Wenshaveye. He knows more about healing the land.”

As Mev’s words sank in, Arline felt the blood draining from her face, leaving her numb and weak in her knees. at the suggestion. She stumbled backward, her balance wavering until she found herself against Kurt. His arms steadied her, his brow furrowed with concern as he caught her, offering silent support.

Chaos magic? But the Ombrégeurs surely would notice! Could the disease be an effect of somebody’s overchanneling? It was known that drawing too much Chaos could lead to poisoning, of oneself or the surrounding living creatures. But never did Arline hear of a sickness that could spread. Mev must be mistaken, she thought, her heart racing.

Arline drew in a deep breath, steadying herself with a brief, grateful glance towards Kurt who still scanned her face with a deep frown. “Either way, one thing is certain.” She said. “If there is something, or someone on this island powerful enough to heal the Malichor, it is certainly En ol mil frichrimen.” They needed to bring this news back to Constantin. Even if the remedy remained elusive, he would be happy to know that progress was made.

Mev scoffed. “You will not get an audience, renaígse.” She declared, her voice tinged with a hint of scorn. “Only those who pass the Trial of the Waters can meet them, and only if the high king agrees to take them.”

Ignoring her conviction, Arline nodded. “Thank you for all the information, Tierna harh. Allow me to help you in return.” She offered, leaning forward. “If what you tell me about this laboratory is true, we must put an end to it! Do you know anything else?”

Mev’s expression relaxed slightly, though her eyes remained hard and dark. “The doneia egsregaw found it and are going to attack the big city.”

Arline’s heart skipped a beat. “Do not throw away your lives, I beg you!” She cried, impassioned. “I have influence, and I will do everything to dismantle this laboratory and release your people.”

Mev met Arline’s gaze, searching for sincerity. “How can we know we can trust you?”

“The Alliance betrayed me as much as you. I owe them nothing.” Arline said, setting her jaw.

Mev contemplated a moment. “Very well, on ol menawí.” She nodded. “I will contact them and tell them to wait for your move.”

Arline released a relieved breath, raising her fist to her lips and touching it to her chest in sign of respect.

 “I… might know more.” Aphra confessed, her voice barely more than a whisper. She avoided eye contact, staring at the ground, as if afraid of the judgment she might find in Arline’s eyes. “I left my mentor, Doctor Asili, when he suggested we start human experimentation. I fear he might have gotten the approval of the governor after all…”

Arline’s brows furrowed, her gaze sharpening. “You know where this laboratory is?” She asked, her tone firm, demanding answers.

Aphra lifted her eyes, meeting Arline’s gaze with a resolve born of guilt. “No, but I can find out.” She promised.

 “Human experimentation…” Arline’s voice trailed off as she processed. “If Burham really allowed it… it is against the Accord of Durenthos on Ethical Treatment of War Captives.” Her voice was laced with disbelief and rising anger.

Aphra nodded solemnly. “I know. But there is a loophole, you see.” Her voice broke, the words pained. “The natives of Teer Fradee did not sign the Accord of Durenthos.”

Arline stood, shocked into silence, her mind racing with the implication of Aphra’s words. A loophole? In matters of life and death? Her heart pounded with a mixture of fury and dread.

“It’s still against humanity.” Aphra continued, her eyes were filled with a troubled mix of betrayal and despair. “And against the vow Doctor Asili made: to do no harm. Believe me, I was just as shocked when he suggested it. Perhaps more – he was my mentor.” Her admission was a raw wound open for all to see, her betrayal and disillusionment laid bare in the dim light of the hut.

Arline’s initial shock slowly morphed into a steely resolve. The implications were clear, and action was imperative. She would uncover the truth and put an end to the atrocity, no matter the cost. And perhaps she would end Burham’s career in the process.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25

As was the case of Professor Asili’s findings, Doctor Esra’s hypothesis ignited fervent debate and speculation. Opponents argue against substantial commonalities between Nautic Fever and Malichor, reject the notion of transverse susceptibility theory altogether, or cite ethical quandaries concerning intentional exposure for the study of Malichor resistance.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

As the carriage rumbled along the well-worn paths of Hikmet, tension hung in the air like a dense fog. Arline, her jaw set in anger, sat rigidly, her mind replaying the events that led them here. Her gaze drifted to Lefroy, who sat opposite her, his own face a mask of controlled neutrality. His discourse with her reduced to a mere trickle since the unfortunate events in San Matheus, but it was unlike him to withhold his opinions, especially now when Arline's indignation threatened to boil over.

Arline narrowed her eyes. “Lord Lefroy, have you no counsel to impart?” She asked, her voice laced with a challenge she hoped would provoke a response.

Lefroy regarded her with a cool gaze. “None, Excellency.” He replied, his tone even. “In instances necessitating admonishment, I defer to your well-documented acumen and authority.”

Arline couldn't help but crack a small smile at his backhanded compliment, the now-familiar antagonism almost comforting. “Why, I believe we both share a talent for advising someone retire to their summer home in a most genteel manner,” She said. “Though we may not always opt for such decorum.” She retorted, a slight smirk on her lips.

Lefroy met her eyes squarely. “You misapprehend me, Excellency.” He assured, his voice carrying an unexpected weight of conviction. “I am aligned with your sentiments and endorse your upcoming discourse with Governor Burham.”

Arline blinked, taken aback by this unexpected show of solidarity. She glanced at Kurt, who shared her astonishment, his eyebrow arching in silent question.

As the carriage came to a halt, the group alighted, stepping onto the finely paved courtyard of the governor's palace. The sun hung low, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch ominously across their path. Arline, bolstered by a newfound sense of justified indignation, led the way, her steps determined and unwavering. Her attire, meticulously chosen for this confrontation, whispered of power and authority with every fold and crease.

Lefroy followed closely, his usual composed self, yet there was a subtle firmness in his stride today. Kurt and Aphra trailed just a step behind, Kurt's hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword, while Aphra's expression was one of grim determination.

Together, they traversed the grandiose hallways of the palace, the echo of their footsteps a steady drumbeat heralding their approach. Arline's posture was regal, her head held high, her eyes blazing with the fire of her conviction. This was not a visit of diplomacy; it was a reckoning, and she was ready to demand answers.

As they entered the opulent audience room, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and incense, Burham, seated on his ornate chair, looked up, his face a practiced mask of diplomatic geniality. “Lady De Sardet. What bountiful wind brings­—”

“Enough pleasantries, Excellency!” Arline cut in sharply, her voice resonating through the room, every attendant freezing in shock. “They are a dull canter after such treachery!” Her fists clenched at her sides, betraying the controlled fury simmering within.

Burham, taken aback, stammered. “I beg your pardon? What are you talking about?” His expression was one of bewildered innocence.

Arline stepped forward, her presence commanding. “Have you forgotten that after sending me to save your savants, you then again sought my assistance?” She hissed, grimacing with contempt. “According to you, I needed only to convince the Tierna harh cadachtas to provide us with a remedy. But you used me like a pawn, seeking in truth to capture her!” Her accusation sliced through the air, pointed and unwavering.

Burham's posture stiffened, the colour draining from his face as he struggled to maintain composure. “I... I cannot understand why you are reacting in this way…” He faltered, his voice a blend of confusion and defensiveness. “I was certain that the witch doctor would refuse to help us; they have us marked down as enemies, after all! And I had good reason to believe that you would not resort to physical persuasion…” His voice trailed off as he took in the storm brewing in Arline's eyes.

“Do you think I will allow you to manipulate me?!” Arline’s voice rose, echoing off the high ceilings, filled with outrage. “You ordered your troops to attack while I was negotiating under the white flag! You are even ready to use brute force against your own allies!”

“Whatever do you mean?” Burham asked, his face blanched at the accusation, eyes wide.

“After wounding the Tierna, your spy attempted to kill me, Excellency!” Arline said. “Again!” She added, taking another step closer. “And you dare to tell me that my anger is exaggerated? Can I remind you that to assassinate a legate is to declare war against her sovereign?”

Burham slumped back, the colour completely fled from his face. "I never…” His mouth opened and closed in search of a defence. “I promise you that I had no intention for any harm to befall you!" He protested weakly, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “That man went beyond his orders, I assure you! The alliance with the Congregation is crucial, and you know it.” His voice was a desperate plea. “I implore you, please accept my sincere and profound apologies in the name of the Bridge Alliance.” Burham's voice cracked, his eyes searching Arline's for a sign of clemency that was not there.

 Arline stood her ground, her gaze cold and unyielding. “I can only give you the benefit of the doubt for now, Excellency.” She said. “You may test me at your convenience.”

Burham, his posture deflated, nodded slowly. “I… understand...” He took a heavy breath. “In any case, we need to get our hands on this woman. The remedy is perhaps—"

“You mock, Excellency.” Arline cut in again, the muscles around her eyes cramping from the tension. “There never was a remedy.” She spat. “It was a wild goose chase, a machination to use me to enrich your laboratory with one more specimen.” Her voice was a whip, lashing out with each sharp word. “According to what I have been told she would not be the first taken to a place where experiments are carried out, where the natives are tortured…” She held him under her scrutinizing gaze, watching the bead of sweat on his brow roll down his face as her newest accusation sank in.

Burham swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Laboratory? It is now clear that decisions are being made without my consent… I’m going—"

Arline scoffed, her patience long gone. “I do not believe this matter escaped your vigilance, Excellency.”

The governor stumbled over his words, his facade crumbling. “I… it is true that I knew of the existence of this laboratory… The place is dedicated to the research on the Malichor.” His eyes darted to Aphra for support, but none came. “If a remedy is ever to be discovered, it will happen there! But I assure you that I was not aware that natives were being taken there!” He swore, his irises almost entirely gone under the dilated pupils.

Arline's stance stiffened “Allow me to doubt your sincerity, Excellency. I invoke my right to investigate a potential violation of Accords of Durenthos. I intend to pay the place a visit and see for myself what happens there. Who directs the research?” She demanded.

Burham squirmed in his chair. “Our most brilliant savant, the Doctor Asili.” His voice was weak, as it finally dawned on him there is no way out of the situation. “Certainly, his legend precedes him, he is the master of your friend, the Doctor Aphra.”

“Doctor Asili is no longer my master…” Aphra murmured, her voice cold as ice. “And I regret that he ever was!” She added, raising her voice. “We should be off, De Sardet. If this laboratory were what I think it is, the best course of action would be to burn it to the ground.”

Burham could only stammer a weak protest, but Arline was already moving. With a curt nod, she threw a “Good day, Governor.” Without a second glance, she swept from the room, her companions in tow, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

○●○

   The laboratory loomed before them, nestled at the end of a narrow street, where the hustle of the city gave way to a stifling silence, against the steep rock face that cradled the city. Its small, unassuming structure belied the horrors that were rumoured to occur within. The walls, though not towering, were daunting in their own right, built from the local stone that made them blend seamlessly with the rugged mountain backdrop.

The gate, a formidable iron structure, stood guarded by ten vigilant Coin Guards whose eyes roamed with mechanical precision. Beyond them, the terrain of the laboratory was a grey spot in the vibrant city life; a patch of sterile land, crisscrossed with pathways leading to the building, a sprawling edifice with darkened windows that hid the activities within.

Arline and her party crouched at the edge of the gate, hidden by the shadows of the adjoining buildings. Kurt surveyed the scene with a critical eye, noting the guards' patrol patterns, and the potential blind spots. This was going to be a mission of stealth – yet all of Arline’s companions volunteered, even Lefroy who usually despised clandestine operations. Together with Síora they would be able to shadowstep six people, but there was still daylight The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, providing them with some cover, but not enough to walk past the guards unseen. They needed to act fast if they were to infiltrate the laboratory during working hours to catch them in the act.

   Their best option was to create a distraction. Síora, with a focused gaze began weaving threads of Light and Shadow. Her hands moved slightly as if she were physically sculpting an illusory double that mirrored her appearance down to the fierce determination in the spectral eyes. With a silent nod from Arline, this phantom Síora, spear in hand, charged towards the laboratory's gate, a silent war cry on her lips.

As the guards scrambled towards the illusory threat, Arline conjured a dense, obscuring smokescreen, coalescing Shadows with the subtle warp of Space around them. With the guards’ shouts muffled and disoriented within the trap, Kurt and Vasco quickly helped Arline and her party leap over the wall, their bodies shrouded in silent shadows as they landed with the softest of thuds.

They quickly made their way to the building, slipping inside, and securing the entryway behind them with heavy wooden beams and wrought-iron bars, ensuring no immediate follow-up from the confused guards outside.

Breaths held, hearts pounding in the charged silence, they advanced into the dimly lit corridor that smelled of metal and old stone. The group's progression halted abruptly as the corridor opened into a vast, natural cavern that pierced through the mountain like a wound in the earth. To the left, nestled unnaturally within this subterranean expanse, stood a structure – an incongruous, sombre edifice that seemed to mock the cave's ancient grandeur with its cold, calculated design.

Yet their gazes were drawn to the right with a visceral pull. Below them, descending into the depths, a series of crude, iron-barred cages were placed. Within these cages, figures moved – or rather, languished. Humans, reduced to mere silhouettes of despair, huddled against the unforgiving metal that imprisoned them. The air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies and the unmistakable tang of fear and suffering. In the silence, each breath was a sharp intake, each heartbeat a thunderous echo in the stillness of the cave.

Arline's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as a visceral anger surged within her. Kurt's jaw was set, his eyes scanning the area with a cold fury. Aphra's face was a mask of horror and disbelief, her earlier academic detachment shattered by the grim reality before her. Síora's expression was hard, her lips pressed into a thin line, mirrored by Vasco, who curled his lip in disgust. Lefroy stared wide-eyed, his mouth open in silent shock, his dainty elegance contrasting with the harrowing scene.

Síora's words sliced through the suffocating atmosphere, her tone an amalgam of wrath and despair. “A prison hidden from the sun to better torture my people.” Her voice wavered with anger and sorrow, her face was a canvas of pain.

Arline's eyes darted around. “There must be more guards here. Be careful.” She whispered.

“I have no problem with killing any vermin that agreed to guard this place.” Kurt hissed, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, a cold determination in his gaze.

They moved forward, cautiously navigating the uneven ground, but another atrocity stopped them dead in their tracks. A pit, crude and unfathomable, lay before them, filled by a morbid accumulation of bodies discarded carelessly, as if they were mere refuse waiting for incineration. Arline's stomach churned; bile rose to her throat as she averted her gaze, a hand clamped over her mouth in a futile attempt to ward off the nausea.

 “Andevaurshd tír ent.” Síora whispered. “So many of us must have died here.”

Lefroy, equally white on the face, his hands shaking, pulled out a vial from his pocket. He opened the lid and sniffed the inside, then, with face contorted, passed the smelling salt to Arline. She accepted them gratefully.

Their sombre procession circled the pit and approached the first cage. The revelation hit them like a wave: it didn't confine natives but the Nauts, marked distinctly with face tattoos.

Vasco's face transformed with fury. “What?!” He roared, his disbelief mirroring the horror in the eyes of the woman behind bars.

“C-Captain?” The woman, her voice shaking with a mixture of fear and disbelief, asked, her eyes scanning Vasco’s face. “Please, get us out of here!” The desperation in her voice cut through the stagnant air of the cave.

Arline stared with her mouth open. “Strivanna's shield. Nauts?” She breathed, her mind numb with disbelief.

“Blunder!” Aphra spat out. “They are resistant, too.” She muttered, clenching her fists in anger.

“These scientists captured and abused us.” The Naut woman's voice trembled, her knuckles went white from her grip on the bars of the cage. “They performed experiments, made us drink potions, took our blood.” She shook her head, her voice breaking. “They wanted to find out how we are immune to the Malichor. None of it make any sense! Please get us out of here!”

Without a word, Kurt knelt before the cage, his fingers working quickly to pick the lock, his expression grim.

“I want the one who did this to know fear and suffering.” Síora hissed.

Arline, feeling another wave of nausea, nodded. “We will hold this good doctor to account.” She vowed.

The lock clicked open, and the Nauts spilled out of the cage, tears in their eyes. Their profound gratitude, however, was cut short by the sound of approaching guards. Four of them burst into the area, weapons drawn, ready to quash the uprising.

Síora, Vasco, and Kurt moved as one, before the other could react, a whirlwind of deadly precision. Kurt's zweihander sliced through the air with brutal efficiency, while Vasco's shortsword danced between the gaps in their armour, Síora's spear found its mark each time. Within moments, the guards lay defeated, the sound of metal clashing with metal still ringing in the air, heavy with the scent of blood and metal. Kurt spat on the ground beside the fallen guards.

“Just a little more patience, we still have to release the other prisoners.” Arline said, distributing potions to the wounded prisoners.

Aphra stopped with her hand in her pouch, frowning. “If they leave through the city, Hikmet guards will arrest them.” She said.

A Naut man, lean and worn but with a spark of resilience in his eyes, pointed towards the deeper recesses of the cave. “They brought us through the caves. There is a tunnel out of the city behind the gate.”

Arline nodded. “Come with us.”

The journey deeper into the cave was straining. Each cage they stopped at revealed more of the horror, more victims of unspeakable acts. Some prisoners were missing limbs, some were so emaciated, so devoid of strength, they had to be carried. Arline and Lefroy, faces strained with the effort and the horror of what they witnessed, helped supporting the feeble bodies of the freed prisoners.

Ahead, Vasco and Kurt acted as the spearhead of their grim procession. Each encounter with a guard ended in swift, brutal silence. An arc of justice cutting down any who dared stand in their way. Bringing up the rear, Aphra and Síora maintained their vigilance, ensuring no one was left behind, their eyes ever watchful for any trailing threat.

After what felt like an eternity, but was only half an hour, they had cleared the prison. But victory was a hollow concept here. They had freed those who remained, a mere two dozen souls, a terrible shadow to the hundreds that lay cold and lifeless in the pit they had passed. The sight had etched itself into Arline's memory. Her face, pale as a spectre’s, mirrored Lefroy's own ghastly expression. The sickness that clawed at her insides wasn't just from the stench or the sight; it was the raw, unfiltered evil they had unveiled. The weight of what they had witnessed would haunt them for years to come.

But there was no time to mourn, no time to process. There were lives to save, and monsters to punish.

As they approached the gate, a simple mechanism of chains and pulleys standing between them and the freedom of those they had just liberated, Arline made a quick decision. “Vasco, Síora, will you escort these people outside? We need to go back an arrest the culprits, before they flee.” She said.

Síora nodded. “Bring justice to our people, carants.” The fire in her eyes suggested she wished to do that herself.

“Smart move to not have me there.” Vasco muttered under his breath in agreement with Síora’s sentiments. “We will see you back at the embassy.”

Arline shared their sentiments too. The churning in her stomach mixed with hot ire. As they parted ways, Arline cast a glance on the remaining group, unsure if restraint was a trait shared among them all. Perhaps one of them had it in him – she turned to Lefroy.

“Lord Lefroy, I count on you to keep your head cool. I am not sure if the rest of us can.” She murmured, her voice cold with the simmering fury.

Lefroy blinked in surprise. “Of course, my lady.” He assured.

They emerged from between the cages into the open cavern, running straight into the guards they had locked out earlier. They had managed to break through, their aggression unbridled as they launched an assault. Without hesitation, Aphra began firing her rifle, the sound echoing ominously through the cavernous space, accompanied by the occasional burst from her grenades. Lefroy moved with precision, picking enemies one by one, his rapier a blur.

Arline unleashed a tempest of magic, her powers manifesting in a flury of elemental fury. Firebolts and ice shards flew from her fingertips, lightning crackled through the air, and roots sprang from the ground to ensnare their foes. She manipulated the very air around their enemies, drawing it away to leave them gasping. All this she did while darting among her foes, her sabre slicing through the chaos. Beside her, Kurt, a force of nature unto himself, was a whirlwind of destruction, his movements relentless and precise, his blade cutting down anything that dared to stand in their way.

The conflict left them breathless. Lefroy wiped his blade clean, his hands shaking slightly. Arline only now realized the past weeks had already significantly desensitized her to violence. She looked at the bodies of the guards, and no pity sparked in her, her anger was only fuelled.

They moved along, finally reaching the building. As the door swung open, four guards lunged towards them with drawn swords. Arline, brimming with Power, unleashed a Storm, freezing all the assailants in Stasis, before any of them could raise alarm. She wanted to hurt, cause suffering, but her companions, efficient and ruthless, finished the job with swift strikes of their blades.

They burst into the first room on the right. Amidst tables cluttered with notebooks, glassware and medical instruments, two scientists stood, shock and fear etched on their faces.

“Who are you? You have no right to be here!” One of them exclaimed.

Arline responded with a flare of Power, roots bursting through the wooden floor from the ground to ensnare the woman, while a menacing flame danced in her palm, inches from the captured scientist’s face. “I have come to free your prisoners and put an end to all the horrors that take place here.” Her voice was a venomous whisper.

The woman paled; her eyes wide. “Oh… Please…” She squeeked. “I knew this would happen eventually. This all went too far.” Her feverous pleading mingled with heavy breathing of the other scientists, who cowered behind the table. “Doctor Asili… He… he lost his mind a long time ago… But what are you going to do with us?”

Arline wanted to squeeze the life out of her. “Arrest you.” She spat. “Then I expect you will be sentenced.”

“No, please! We only followed the Doctor’s orders!” The woman begged.

“You could have left Zahide.” Aphra interjected, her voice composed, but the curl of her lip betraying her contempt.

“Aphra?” The other scientist asked, daring to look from behind the table. “We tried to stop him, but he is the director of the lab!”

Arline scoffed, her patience thinning. “You could have reported it to the governor. That is, if he really did not know.” She grimaced.

“He threatened to destroy our lives!” The ensnared woman cried. “We could not… Please, don’t lock us up.”

Arline, extinguishing the fire with a flick of her wrist, maintained her stern demeanour. “You can say all of this in court. It is up to them to judge you.”

“They will want to make an example of us! We’ll not see the light again.” The man said, his voice cracking under strain.

They had tortured and kill hundreds and still only think of their own fate. They might well have been bullied into staying here, but they chose their careers over lives and Arline had no sympathy for them. “You should have thought about that before helping that monster.” She hissed. “Bind them.”

Kurt and Aphra complied, securing the scientists with ropes and gags, ensuring they couldn't cause further harm. They led them out of the room, away from the instruments they could use to free themselves.

They moved into the next chamber. It was a holding cell, though no prisoner drew breath within its confines. The bodies, arrayed in morbid finality, their lifeless eyes staring into nothingness in the dim light. The air hung heavy with the scent of recent death, the corpses not yet claimed by decay.

“Lock them here.” Arline ordered, her voice hard as flint. The scientists’ eyes bulged with horror, their bodies trembling uncontrollably as Kurt and Aphra secured them to the bars. After ensuring the door was locked, Arline extended her hand reaching to the Source, as she snuffed out the torches, engulfing the room in darkness, leaving the scientists with the silent witnesses of their own atrocities. She hoped nightmares would plague them to the end of their days.

The next room they entered was another laboratory, though a macabre gallery of torture devices and instruments of pain laid out with sterile indifference belied the scientific purpose. Arline caught a slight stiffening in Kurt's posture, a physical recoil from the ghastly reminders of what she assumed were traumatic memories. Forgetting her own anger for a split second, she frowned with concern. As she gently touched his arm, he jolted before his gaze met hers, a flicker of relief his eyes. With a silent nod, Arline turned back to the nightmare before them, her stomach churning as her imagination supplemented the scenes that could have happened here. Trying to look at nothing but the desk full of notebooks, she allowed herself a small gratitude for sparing  Vasco and Síora the sight of this place.

Her hands trembling, she opened one of the journals. Its pages were filled with cold, detached descriptions of unimaginable cruelty upon the native and Naut captives. A few pages were illustrated with detailed sketches indicating which body parts were amputated on some of the living subjects to test their resistance, and sectional drawings of the dissected parts of other subjects. The graphic content, devoid of empathy, made Arline's stomach churn with revulsion, her knuckles going white as she clenched the notebook. Arline secured the book, a tangible record of the atrocities committed within these walls.

Relieved to leave the ghastly sights of the torture chamber behind, they ascended the stairs to the last unexplored room. Kurt pushed the door open to reveal an elderly man, perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties, a traditional turban on his head, presided over the space from behind a large desk. His security detail, alert and tense, had their weapons at the ready, mirroring their tense stances. The Doctor, his gaze sharp and calculating, regarded them with a disquieting calm.

“Aphra? What a surprise to see you here!” He smiled. “You finally came to your senses?”

“Senses…” Aphra’s voice trailed off as she visibly struggled to respond.

Asili's attention shifted to Arline, his gaze unsettlingly warm. “Who is this person? You are a very beautiful specimen… When I think of the power flowing through your veins!” He mused, his voice tender, a disgusting sweetness of a passionate lover that made Arline’s skin crawl. Lefroy's sharp intake of breath cracked like a whip; Kurt's deep, threatening growl filled the room with a promise of impending violence.

Arline tasted bile mixed with scorching heat of anger, Power crackled around her. “I am the legate of the Merchant Congregation and I am here to put an end to your crimes.” She strained to control her fury.

Asili stood, the guards twitching ever so slightly. “My crimes?” He asked, incredulous or feigning innocence. “What are you talking about? My work was for the good of humanity!” He insisted, frowning in indignation. “Don’t tell me you’re crying over some savages? The survival of our species requires sacrifices!”

Arline, seeing white, took a sharp breath. “Do you feel no remorse for what you have done to all these people?!” She demanded.

With a wave of his hand, Asili dismissed her. “Remorse is an unnecessary obscurity of the mind. A good scientist must detach himself from it as soon as possible.” He said. “Even so, it was only savages for the most part!”

Arline's eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with disdain. “I am well aware of your despicable exploitation of legal loopholes. And what, pray tell, do you say about the Nauts imprisoned here?”

Asili leaned back, the tension of the room flying over his heads. “They are known to be immunized too. I wanted to check the reality of such a statement. To be precise, this is not the case; they are actually more resistant, but not completely immune.” He explained, his tone devoide of emotion. He then turned to Aohra again, a predatory smile on his lips. “Come on Aphra, my dear student! Will you let these narrow-minded inquisitors decide my fate? Are you not also devoted to science and truth?”

Aphra recoiled as if struck, her voice quivering with revulsion. “Science and truth do not excuse your lack of humanity. I am ashamed of having been taught by you and that I didn’t warn Burham that you had gone mad. If I had, we could have prevented all of this.” Her voice broke with sorrow.

A shadow of malice passed over Asili's features as he narrowed his eyes. “You disappoint me so much, Aphra… A second time! When I think what I wasted trying to teach you science!” He spat.

Arline stepped forward, movement mirrored by Kurt as if he were tethered to her. “We learned everything we wanted to know. This laboratory will close, and you will answer for everything you have done.” She declared, her blood boiling, calling her to action.

A smirk curled the corner of Asili's lips. “You think so?” He turned sharply to his guards. “Guards, seize them!”

The guards lunged forward, unleashed like hounds from the leash. Kurt's blade clashed against one, sending sparks flying, while Arline’s sabre parried another with a deft twist, her movements fluid and precise. She enveloped the third assailant in a cocoon of Stasis, rendering him immobile as a statue. Kurt, a relentless force, engaged two simultaneously, his zweihander a blur of deadly precision. Lefroy, with the elegance of a dancer, skewered the ensnared guard with his rapier, his eyes cold and calculating. Aphra, her face a mask of focused rage, discharged her rifle, the bullet finding its mark with a thud.

Arline, channelling her fury, unleashed a barrage of shadow missiles, each one striking its target with devastating accuracy. Asili recoiled with a cry, surprise and pain etched on his face, as the dark energy pummelled him. Arline subdued the guard before her with a swift, fatal strike of her sabre. Only one of Kurt's adversaries remained standing, but not for long; Arline summoned a wave of searing flames, engulfing him in an inferno of retribution, his screams cut short with Kurt’s blade.

She turned to Asili, who, in a desperate scramble, had drawn a firearm. Her sabre moved quicker than thought, slicing through the air to sever his hand from the weapon. He howled, clutching the bleeding stump to his chest as she kicked him to the ground, her sabre now a whisper away from his neck.

Asili's eyes, filled with fear and disbelief, met hers. “Stop! Think of my knowledge… all that I have accomplished… that can never disappear!”

Even now he remained arrogant. He deserved no pity. Arline yearned to kill, as she never did before, her sabre pressing against his flesh, a droplet of blood emerging like a ruby warning. She took heavy breaths, her mind racing, calculating if she can afford to break the law for justice. Lefroy’s hand, steady and calming, rested on her blade. “He is not worth it, Excellency.” He said softly. “The law will deal with him.”

Arline, with effort, retracted her blade. “You will answer for your crimes in court.” She said, meeting Asili’s wide eyes.

Asili smirked, a grotesque shadow of his former arrogance. “But I’ll be out soon! My colleagues will understand the importance of my work!”

Arline silenced him with a strike of her sabre's hilt against his face, his head snapping back. “We shall see about that.”

As Aphra and Lefroy bound him, and tended to his wound, Kurt gently rested a hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing, Green Blood.”

She met his eyes. Storm was still brewing in them, mirroring the tempest inside her. “I know.” She whispered. “I hate it.”

He nodded. “We will both feel better when he hangs.”

Arline nodded in response. “We need to transport these butchers to prison.” Arline said, raising her voice for the others to hear. “Kurt, do you know guards we can trust here?”

 “Yes, I have some old comrades in mind.” He assured.

Arline then turned her attention to Lefroy. “Lord Lefroy, would you be willing to remain in Hikmet as our envoy to ensure the proceedings are conducted fairly?”

“Naturally.” Lefroy responded, his voice steady and gaze determined.

“I'll stay as well.” Aphra said, her demeanour shadowed by the enormity of the betrayal. She gestured towards the scattered papers that littered the desk, her face contorted in disgust. “I must testify against them.” She managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank you, both.” Arline let out a deep breath. “Await reinforcements and then join us at the embassy. We will confront Burham together.”

With the roles assigned, Kurt and Arline began the sombre task of leading Asili away. His defiance broken, his eyes wide. They descended the stairs to collect the weeping scientists, whose faces were streaked with fear and regret, before exiting into the Hikmet night.

The city streets, usually lively and warm, now felt alien and cold. The chill that ran down Arline’s spine, however, wasn't from the evening breeze but from the sting of the atrocities they’d uncovered. Passers-byes cast curious, somewhat wary glances at their grim procession toward the coin guard barracks.

Despite her deep-seated fears about the moral compass of Hikmet’s guardians, Arline remained outwardly composed, clinging to Kurt’s reassurances. Within minutes, the grim task was done, and they watched as a contingent of guards departed for the laboratory, hopefully to preserve the scene of countless tragedies.

The embassy was a buzz of activity when Arline and Kurt arrived. Vasco and Síora, already present, quickly briefed them on the successful transport of the freed victims to the port, where a ship was going to carry the natives to safer lands, far from Hikmet’s prying eyes and dangerous patrols. Their condition warranted such caution; returning to their villages was not an option. In a few minutes, Aphra and Lefroy arrived, and united, the group was ready to confront Governor Burham.

Despite the late hour, Arline’s demand to see the governor was met without hesitation. Her voice carried the weight of authority, and the bloodstains marring her attire were a warning the palace staff heeded. They marched towards the governor's chambers, a silent force propelled by the need for justice.

Governor Burham’s initial irritation at the untimely summons quickly dissipated upon laying eyes on the group. His face softened into a mask of concern as he took in their dishevelled and bloodied appearances. The usual barriers of protocol crumbled under the weight of their silent accusation. The fire crackled, a solitary sound in the standoff between them.

Without a hint of cordiality, Arline’s cold voice cut through the stillness. “I have been to Asili’s laboratory and what I discovered was abominable.” She said. “Hundreds of poor souls tortured, victims of horrifying experiments. There were so many dead that a pit had been dug to burn the bodies.”

Governor Burham's face paled, the colour draining as if the shadows around them leached into his very skin. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly, his eyes widening in horror or disbelief – or perhaps both. “How horrifying… I cannot believe it.”

Arline's gaze upon him sharpened, dissecting, analysing every micro-expression, every quiver of his voice. Though nothing they had unearthed so far suggested his direct involvement, the seeds of doubt were sown deep. She trusted him as much as a snake in one's bed.

“The natives were not the only victims of these crimes,” She continued, her tone icy. “There were also a number of Nauts.”

Burham recoiled as if struck, his shock genuine or well-feigned. “Nauts?” He echoed, his voice a blend of disbelief and alarm. He straightened up, trying to reclaim some semblance of authority. “Pardon me for doubting you, but do you have proof of what you are saying? And have you brought Doctor Asili to me so he may answer these accusations?”

Arline's patience wore thin like the wick of a candle burnt too long. With deliberate slowness, she fished out the notebook she had taken from the site – a damning chronicle of nightmares made real. She thrust it forward, her jaw set firmly, a clear challenge in her fiery gaze, incensed that he dared to question her integrity. “Yes, we captured him.” She said, controlling her voice.

Burham, visibly taken aback, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a hand subconsciously smoothing the luxurious fabric of his robe as if to comfort himself. “Really?” He murmured, more to himself than to her, a desperate attempt to grasp the fraying edges of the situation. “Very well… I will ensure that he is judged as quickly as possible.” He managed, his voice steadier but still laced with unease. “How can I repay you?”

“First, by allowing my representative to take part in the trial proceedings.” Arline said. She stood firmly, her gaze unwavering as she continued. “What we saw merits justice. And I fear the accused will find a great many defenders among his fellow savants.”

Burham shifted uncomfortably, the apprehension clear in his eyes as they flicked away from Arline’s penetrating stare, only to return, compelled by the force of her presence. “It is a rather novel request,” he conceded with a measured tone. “But granted, I shall inform the prosecutor.” He paused, his fingers tapping a discordant rhythm on the arm of his chair. “Let us remember that the madness of a man should not cast a shadow upon the greater sum of his work. His research is perhaps our only chance of discovering the remedy.” He attempted a weak smile that faltered under her indignant gaze. “You have… other requests?”

The thinly veiled defence of the indefensible sparked a growing fire within Arline, her anger mounting at his attempt to salvage the unsalvageable. “We may call them requests if you wish to retain an illusion of control, Excellency.” She said, her voice cold, her words slicing through the room's warmth. “I request that you refrain from demitting office, for now.”

Burham face flushed with indignation. “Excuse me?” He spluttered, disbelief and anger intermingling in his tone.

Arline maintained her practiced calm, though her hands clenched involuntarily into fists at her sides. “Whether you knew about this atrocity or not, it had happened under your nose, governor. You ought to resign your position.” She stated, her voice resonating with unwavering authority. “But the Congregation is willing not to follow this up with your superiors on the continent if evidence shall support your innocence.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “Consider it a personal favour.”

Burham's anger flared visibly with his nostrils, his composure slipping. “You dare threaten me?” He demanded, his voice rising.

Arline narrowed her eyes, her gaze piercing through him like a lance. “Threaten? I offer clemency, Excellency.” She countered, her tone unyielding yet laced with an icy politeness.

Burham scoffed, his facade crumbling as he struggled to regain some semblance of control. “Really. And what does this clemency cost?” Sarcasm didn’t suit him.

Arline met his challenge head-on, her voice steady and clear. “Only that you do not forget we are allies. Again.” Her response was pointed, and he flinched as if it stabbed.

Burham sat back, his jaw clenched as he briefly considered his limited options. “Anything else?” He asked, trying to feign indifference.

“That is all.” Arline stated, closing the notebook with a definitive snap that echoed through the room. Without another word, she turned on her heel and left, her departure leaving a trail of tense silence in her wake. Governor Burham remained seated, staring into the flickering flames, as the door clicked shut behind her companions.

They made her way back to the embassy, their footsteps echoing hollowly in the quiet streets. The physical remnants of the day's grim discoveries were washed away under the warm water. But the horrors she had seen were not skin-deep, etched into the fabric of her soul, an insidious stain no amount of water could purify. As she sat in her bathtub, arms wrapped around her legs, the water mingling with her silent tears, she knew the cruel images would be her unwelcome companions in the dark, manifesting into nightmares that would haunt her sleep. The weight of the untold stories, the silenced voices, and the unbearable pain she had witnessed pressed down on her, restraining her breathing, a silent, oppressive force that promised no forgetting.

Chapter Text

Chapter 26

The present discourse is but a glimpse into the manifold studies and inquiries embraced within the annals of our esteemed journal. The compendium of knowledge herein is an invaluable trove, beckoning those dedicated to the pursuit of truth and understanding to delve deeper into its pages, to foster their enlightenment and expand the boundaries of human understanding.

—  “The Malichor: An Elucidation of its Malevolent Nature and Remedial Pursuits”, Editor’s Preface to: Proceedings of the Bridge Society for Improving the Natural Knowledge, Nashodan, 1-Ha, 210 (1321).

_______

The journey back to New Sérène was marked by an oppressive silence, the shadow of their recent findings in Hikmet lingering like a dark cloud overhead. The usual camaraderie and banter that characterized their travels were conspicuously absent, replaced by shared, unspoken reflections on the inhumanities they had witnessed.

Arline saw that Kurt tried to offer silent support, personally tending to her needs in place of the servants and hesitantly reaching out with a tender touch of her arm near the campfire in the evenings. She appreciated it, but the short gushes of warmth only left her shuddering from the cold that lingered.

Arline found little solace in sleep; the past two nights had been restless, marred by vivid nightmares that jolted her awake, bathed in sweat and gasping for breath. Each time, she found herself alone in the cold embrace of her dark tent, the silence amplifying the rapid beating of her heart, against her ribcage like a caged bird desperate for escape. She longed for the comforting embrace of another, for soothing assurances that everything would be well. A craving for a time when maternal gentle touch and soothing whispers could dispel the terrors that haunted her dreams. Yet now, thoughts of her adoptive mother brought no comfort, tainted as they were by betrayal and loss. Her mind wandered to her birth mother, imagining her trapped and alone, in a cage akin to those in the laboratory, adding layers of pain to her already burdened heart.

Arline longed to see Constantin, whose companionship she missed dearly. His mere presence had always been a balm to her spirit, and she found herself quickening her pace with eager anticipation, driven by the desire to find reprieve in his warmth.

As they approached the city, it was already late afternoon, and the streets of New Sérène unfolded before them, bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun. The city's thoroughfares were bustling with life, a stark contrast to the solemnity of their group. Merchants hawked their wares with boisterous calls, children darted between stalls playing their evening games, and townspeople moved about, tending to their daily routines, unaware of the dark realities beyond their peaceful existence. The lively chatter and laughter that filled the air seemed almost foreign, a reminder of the normalcy they had temporarily left behind.

Arriving at the embassy, Arline's sense of urgency left no room for pleasantries or the offered refreshments. Her mind was singularly focused, driven by an impatient need to see Constantin, to assure herself of his well-being and share the burdens of her heart. With a polite but firm refusal, she expressed her desire to go straight to the palace. Kurt nodded in understanding and accompanied her without hesitation or another word.

Constantin was not in his usual audience chamber. An attendant informed them that His Highness was indisposed and could be found in his private quarters.

Arline's skin prickled with concern at the news, a sensation that seemed to crawl along her spine and settle as a knot in her stomach. The attendant's choice of words, "indisposed," echoed ominously in her mind. Kurt's expression, a frown creasing his brow, mirrored her own worry. They shared a brief glance, an unspoken agreement passing between them, before ascending the stairs to Constantin's apartment.

With a soft knock, they entered, the sight that greeted them stoking the flames of Arline's concern into a blazing inferno of fear. Constantin was not confined to his bed, but the state he was in suggested perhaps he should have been. He looked every bit as she had last seen him, if not worse. His once vibrant complexion was replaced by a pallor that rendered him ghostly, his skin stretched taut over sharp cheekbones, giving his face a gaunt appearance. Dark circles, like bruises, marred the area beneath his eyes, speaking volumes of his suffering. His breathing was heavy, laborious even, as if each breath was a battle in itself. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Arline took in the sight of him. She felt a surge of emotions; concern, sadness, and a fierce protectiveness.

As Constantin caught sight of Arline, a semblance of his usual joy illuminated his pallid features. “Cousin!” He exclaimed with his characteristic enthusiasm. “You could not pick a better time! I have been taken with jitters, like a cat on a midday roof!”

Arline mustered a smile, her heart heavy with concern, as she tried to adopt Constantin's light-hearted manner. “What are you waiting for with such anticipation?” She asked.

Constantin eyes sparkled with mischief. “I took your advice, you see? I have summoned one of these crows!” He motioned towards a figure in the room, a doctor whose face was obscured behind the beaked mask. “He has been examining me for nearly an hour, I just barely escaped a purge!” He continued, a tremble detectable in his laughter. “But I was given the mandatory bleeding…” Constantin shuddered visibly at the memory. “I so hate their little knives…”

“And so then, our venerable Doctor,” Arline said, hiding her concern. “What is the verdict?”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the doctor turned slowly towards them. With deliberate movements, he lifted a vial to the light. The round flask was filled with a dark, thick liquid that caught the dying sunlight in a macabre dance. Arline's heart lurched, her breath hitching in her throat as a wave of cold dread washed over her. A haunting echo of the past flashed before her eyes—the black blood of her mother.

Beside her, Kurt stiffened, his body tensing as if bracing for a blow. Constantin's facade of joviality shattered, his face turning ashen as he stared petrified at the vial, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and realization.

“It… the blood is black?” Arline whispered, her voice barely audible, a tremble running through her. All sounds in the room seemed to fade to a hum, replaced by ringing in her ears.

Constantin remained frozen, his gaze fixed on some distant point, unseeing, unreachable. Arline, panic rising like bile, knelt before his chair, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders. “Constantin? Is this your blood? Constantin…” She shook him gently, but he remained unresponsive. “Answer me! Constantin!” Her heart pounded in her chest, the ringing in her ears rising painfully high. “Stay with me! Constantin! There is a chance he is in error, it might be something else…”

With a force that belied his weakened state, Constantin pushed her aside and stood up, stumbling forward. “I am going to die…” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with a terrifying certainty.

“No!” Arline protested, her voice cracking with pain, her heart breaking in her chest. “No, Constantin…”

Constantin began to pull at his hair, his face contorted in a grimace of terror. “I will die! Like your mother!” He cried, his voice high. “And the others on the continent. I…” He shook his head, his eyes wide as he stared at her. “I am dying! I… I do not want to die! Not so soon! It is so… Cousin, I…”

Arline, put her own fear aside for the moment, and pulled him into a tight embrace, trying to impart some sense of security, some thread of sanity in the unravelling chaos. “Constantin, I am here… pull yourself together!” She commanded with a fierceness born of love and desperation.

“Out!” Arline's voice rang clear and authoritative, cutting through the heavy air of the room. “Everyone out! It is an order!”

The doctor and the servants filed out of the room, their movements quick but their postures hunched with the weight of the unfolding tragedy. Kurt lingered at the door, throwing concerned glances back at the pair, his face etched with a deep frown. Finally, with a one last look of worry, he closed the door, leaving Arline alone with Constantin trembling in her arms.

After a few torturous moments Constantin began to calm, his body relaxing slightly as he drew in a few steadier breaths. The rigid lines of panic softened in his face as he drew back slightly to look at her. “Thank you, cousin…” He murmured.

Arline, maintaining her gentle demeanour, sought to reassure him. “There now, are you better?” She asked softly, her hands fondling his hair.

Constantin's gaze dropped, a shadow passing over his features. “I do not know… You will not leave me, will you?” His voice was tinged with a vulnerability that tugged at her heartstrings.

“I am going to find a cure, I promise you!” Arline declared with a conviction she hoped to believe herself.

Constantin, extracting himself from her comforting embrace, fixed her with a piercing look. “Did you not promise the same thing to your mother?” His words cut through her like a cold blade, leaving her wincing as if physically flogged. “You know I will be dead before you find one…” His voice trailed off into a whisper laden with resignation.

Arline fought back the surge of her own fear, striving to maintain a facade of confidence. “Do not say that! I will succeed. I have already some promising trails to explore…” She attempted to infuse her voice with hope, for his sake as much as her own.

Constantin turned away from her, moving to stand before the fireplace, his gaze lost in the flickering flames. “I do not know, cousin… the tidings are so awfully dire…” He said. “I am afraid… So afraid!" His voice broke and he swallowed hard.

Arline stood beside him, taking his hand in a silent show of solidarity. After a moment, Constantin attempted to muster a semblance of his usual spirit, offering her a weak smile as he patted her hand in a feeble gesture of reassurance. “I doubt the reason for your visit was to console me in my tragedy.” He said, attempting to divert the subject. “Tell me, what brings you here?”

Arline shook her head gently. “It can wait… it is nothing that cannot be dealt with later…” She reassured him.

Constantin, sinking back into his chair, insisted weak. “But please… please. Whatever it is, it will take my mind elsewhere.” In his eyes, there was a pleading for distraction, a desperate wish to escape, if only momentarily, the dark thoughts that plagued him.

Arline hesitated, torn between the need to respect his wish and her reluctance to burden him further. “You should get some sleep.” She said instead. “I will stay with you, just like old times." Her voice was steady and soothing.

With patient care, she helped him undress, her movements gentle and motherly, replacing his formal attire with comfortable nightclothes. As he settled into bed, she tenderly tucked the covers around him, ensuring his comfort. Her hand brushed back his hair, a gesture filled with a sisterly affection in the silent chamber. Settling on the side of the bed beside him, she began to sing softly, her voice carrying the melody of a lullaby their governess used to sing when they were children.

Under the moon, Lunévienne’s gaze,
Rest, my child, in the night’s soft embrace.
Stellindir's stars guide you through haze,
In dreams, sail the skies, serene, endless space.

The Lady of Night wraps you in her calm might,
A guardian’s love in the silent, starlit night.
Her children watch from their heavenly height,
Guiding you softly until the dawn's first light.

The night, a cradle, in the Lady’s caring arms,
Wrapped in secrets and magical charms.
Yet fear not the dark, nor be alarmed,
For in this quiet, you shall not be harmed.

In the sea of stars, let dreams be your guide,
With Stellindir's spark, no need to hide.
Lunévienne’s silver light by your side,
Until the dawn, where new hopes reside.

So lie down, my dear, let sleep’s tide rise,
Beneath the watchful, starry skies.
For the land of dreams, close your eyes,
Till the Lord of Light awakens the sunrise.

The familiar, comforting tune filled the room, weaving a tapestry of memories and safety around them. Constantin's eyes, reflecting a fleeting peace, gradually closed under the gentle spell of her song, his breathing slowing into the rhythm of sleep.

The gentle melody had soothed Arline too, but she still felt the cold grasp of despair lurking within, waiting to emerge. Making sure Constantin's breaths were deep and even in the clutches of sleep, she slipped out of the room, leaving behind the serene facade for the tempest that awaited outside.

Kurt was still there, pacing the vestibule with restless energy, his footsteps a silent echo against the stone floor. His eyes, filled with concern, immediately found hers as she emerged. He approached her swiftly, and she reached out; without a word, they wrapped their arms around each other in a desperate embrace. Arline's composure shattered, tears streaming down her face as she buried herself against his warmth. Kurt's touch was gentle yet firm, his hand moving soothingly across her back, his fingers threading through her hair. As she wept, he leaned down and placed a tender kiss atop her head.

“I cannot lose him.” She whispered, the words barely escaping through her sobs. Kurt could only repeat the hollow comforts she herself had offered Constantin, words that felt empty against the reality they faced.

Arline pulled away slightly, her voice breaking. “I need to speak with Síora about this other healer, the Tierna mentioned. I must find him.” She declared, determination seeping through the cracks of her broken façade.

“I will go, Green Blood. You can stay with him.” Kurt offered immediately.

 “No.” She whimpered. “Do not leave me alone.” She pleaded, clutching at his arm. The thought of facing Constantin with a constant mask of bravery on her own gripped her throat with fear.

 “Then I will stay.” He promised, hugging her closer to his chest. “Síora and the others will manage without us.”

“Thank you.” She whispered back. They remained locked in the embrace; Arline listened to the steady rhythm of his heart. Slowly, her tense muscles relaxed, and her breaths came easier, in sync with his.

Kurt held her with a grounding firmness, unwavering. Only when she began to ease back, her composure stitched back together piece by piece, did he reluctantly let his arms fall away from her.

“Let's go home.” He said gently, the depth of his voice soothing. “He will understand you need to rest, too.” Kurt had already instructed the servants, ensuring their immediate departure back to the embassy. She nodded in silent agreement, accepting the arm he offered for support.

Together, they made their way back. Upon their arrival, Síora immediately pledged to set out in search of Catasach, understanding the gravity of her need without another word being exchanged. Vasco and Petrus too offered their assistance, even though the malady that has befallen Constantin was not once named. Arline thanked them, tears threatening to flow once more, as she allowed Síora to guide her to bed. She was pained to be parted from Kurt even for a moment while she changed, but soon he was back at her side, holding her hand. Síora, in response to Kurt’s soft admission of lack of musical skills, began to sing a native lullaby, her voice soft and lilting, weaving a melody that spoke of unknown assurances and promises.

The lullaby, foreign yet strangely comforting, washed over Arline in soothing waves, leading her towards the peaceful shores of sleep. In the blend of Síora's song, the steadfast presence of Kurt’s warmth, and the safety of her own bed, Arline found the semblance respite her soul so desperately needed, her thoughts gradually untangling as she drifted into a much-needed rest.

End of Part One: The cure

Chapter Text

Part two: the curse

Chapter 27

In the presence of the One God, all that was known to me turned pale, engulfed by His Radiant Light.

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:2.

_______

Kurt's heart thudded against his ribcage as he made his way across d’Orsay Square, the chill of the night seeping into his bones. The command that had been handed down to him made his head spin and stomach churn, making each step feel like wading through molasses. His mind was a whirlwind, thoughts tangled and knotted, but his military training kept his movements precise and his senses acutely sharp.

The deserted d'Orsay Square, usually bustling and full of life during the day, now lay silent, a ghostly expanse that echoed his solitary mission. He advanced with purpose, the soft sounds of his footsteps barely disturbing the night's stillness, shadowed by his four silent wardens, who were to ensure his loyalty.

Kurt gestured to them, a command to stay their distance. “Wait here.” He whispered, his voice barely a ripple in the cool night air. “I can get in and out.” With a moment’s hesitation, they nodded. He didn’t have much time.

He approached the embassy, the building standing silent and imposing in the moon's soft glow. His hand found the key, a token of trust she had bestowed upon him without hesitation. A bitter thought crossed his mind – he must have failed her as a teacher if she learned to trust a mercenary.

Inside, the mansion was cloaked in slumber. The quiet was almost tangible, heavy with the breaths of those lost in dreams. Servants lay in their quarters, unsuspecting. He knew Síora and the others were miles away, in Catasach's village, leaving him free to roam without question, without prying eyes.

His boots made no sound on the plush carpets as he ascended the staircase, each step taken with meticulous care. He slipped into her bedchamber, his movements stiff. The flicker of dying embers casting long shadows across the room. She lay there, a serene expression on her face, momentarily untouched by the tumult of the past few days. He knelt by her side, taking shallow breaths to avoid inhaling her scent. It engulfed him anyway, honey and earthy spices. He didn't deserve the privilege to see her like this. It would be too easy to slit her throat; how could she not see.

He whispered to wake her, and she jolted awake, sitting up, the air crackling with her magic as she instinctively reached for it. A flicker of pride reached him through the dense storm of emotion. “Hush—” He managed, gesturing to his lips, before her spell froze him in place.

She conjured her globe of light, and, as recognition dawned on her, she raised her covers to her neck, her eyes wide. “Kurt!” She cried softly, piercing the quiet of the room. “What in the Chaos are you doing here?”

She released him, the crackle of energy dissipating, leaving an awkward stillness. He quickly covered the globe of light she conjured with his rough hands. “Hush, Green Blood.” He repeated. “We have little time and none to lose.” His murmur vibrated with urgency.

Her lips parted, as she searched his face. “What are you talking about?” She whispered, leaning in slightly. Blood’s price, was she really thinking what he thought, she was thinking?

Kurt’s jaw stiffened even as his heart skipped a beat. “The commander of the Coin Guard is here in New Sérène at this very moment.” He explained with haste. “He’s preparing a coup d’état. In the three cities of the island, our men are going to eliminate the governors and their entourage. I have been given an order to eliminate you and Constantin.”

She sprang from the bed, the chill of the room clashing with the heat of her sudden panic. The scant coverage of her nightwear registered in his tormented mind against his will. Finally, she narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Her penetrating gaze felt like a cold knife between his ribs, yet a grim satisfaction settled over him at the same time. She saw the mercenary at last. Finding him in her bedchamber in the middle of the night was not enough to question his motives, really?

The suspicion vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by… shame? She covered her face. “Forgive me,” She mumbled, letting her hands fall back to her sides. “I… for a moment I expected another blow.”

Kurt’s back straightened as he rose to his feet. “I announce I’ve been sent to kill you, and you apologize to me for taking it personally?” He asked, his tone strained with a mixture of disbelief and pain, the kind only raw honesty could inflict. It was incomprehensible, her unwavering trust in him, a mercenary, a man taught to follow orders without question.

“If you were going to obey your order, I would be dead, not having this discussion.” Arline responded with calm certainty. “Thank you, I will not forget this.” She added, her voice breaking ever so slightly. “Is the commander waiting for your sign?”

Kurt let out a heavy, resigned sigh. “Yes.” He confirmed. “But they are watching me. There are four downstairs, they will check on me soon. We will need to eliminate them before we go to the palace.”

“Why have you not gone to Constantin first?!” Arline demanded, her voice rising in alarm as she began to dress in a hurry. Kurt quickly turned back, but the brief glimpse of way too much leg as she pulled on her breeches etched into his memory.

He knew the answer but would never admit it. “It would be logical to eliminate the backup first.” He lied stiffly, a shield to protect both of them from the truth he couldn’t bear to confront.

“Are you absolutely sure they will wait for you?” She pressed, her voice dropping back down to an urgent whisper. As she spoke, the soft rustle of linen whispered through the air, her nightgown fluttering gently to rest upon the bed. Another manifestation of her trust.

Kurt shifted uncomfortably, feeling a flush of heat over his skin despite the circumstances. “They will, as long as we don’t raise alarm.” He managed to say, his voice rough with the strain of suppressed emotions. “We will have to be discreet.”

A brief pause filled the room, charged with anticipation, before Arline announced she’s ready. The sound of her sabre's belt being fastened was a clear, metallic click in the quiet.

The hush of the embassy enveloped them as they descended the stairs, shadows merging into the dim light. Kurt gestured to Arline with a pointed look, a silent command that was swiftly acknowledged with a nod.

Silently, they positioned themselves, Arline to the left and Kurt to the right. With a swift, coordinated move, she unleashed her magic, freezing the two guards in an electrifying grip. There was no sound but the thud of their bodies as they fell, their breaths caught in a permanent gasp of surprise. Arline’s face contorted in a grimace of regret.

“They chose their path, Green Blood.” Kurt murmured, struggling to muster any warmth in his voice. “Back door.” He added, gesturing to the corridor.

They found Jon and Frank guarding the exit, just as expected, and prepared to repeat the grim task. Only this time, as Arline recognized the guards, she froze mid-motion, staring in horror as Kurt ended Frank’s life with a sweep of his blade. Jon reacted in a blink of an eye, lunging with a desperate swing. Kurt, with practiced ease, parried the blow meant for Arline, his counterattack swift and final. Jon collapsed, his lifeblood seeping into the earth, his final gaze locking with Arline's.

“Why, Jon?” The question left her lips in a haunted whisper, her body sinking to her knees beside him.

“Orders are orders.” He panted, coughing blood. His words left a bitter taste in Kurt’s mouth. Arline trembled as she slowly rose to her feet as the light in Jon’s eyes blinked out. She looked at Kurt, really looked at him, the realization dawning in her eyes. “Kurt, why are you disobeying your orders?” Her voice wavered as she asked.

He met her eyes. “I’ve known you both for a very long time.” He said. “Too long. I’ve come to know you, to respect you…” His voice trailed off and he averted his gaze as the biggest admission of them all could not roll off his tongue. “And I've never reneged on a contract.” He added, quickly, finding her eyes again. “These orders go against all that I am. A cold-hearted mercenary, definitely, but never a traitor.”

Her eyebrows knitted together in an expression he could not quite decode. “You are a good man.” She breathed. Her words were soft, but they struck him harder than any blade could. In that moment, covered in the blood of friends and foes alike, Kurt felt nothing but a deep sense of disquiet.

Kurt's stomach churned with nausea as they navigated the shadowy path through the gardens toward the palace, his footsteps leading, with Arline's silent presence a constant just steps behind him. The order he received was a disgrace – breaking it was not the issue, nor was mutiny, the next point on his agenda after he made sure Arline and Constantin were safe. The true burden was the stark realization that the order had been given at all. For years, Kurt had held fast to the belief in the honour code of the Coin Guard. It was this code that lent meaning to his existence, that separated him from a mere blade for hire, that was a beacon in the darkness of the evil he knew. But Torsten’s orders had laid bare a bitter truth: to many within the Guard, the code was mere lip service, a façade that crumbled when tested.

Torsten, and those like him who tarnished the Guard's honour, would meet their end by his hand, but he wasn't sure anymore if he believed eliminating these corrupt elements would truly cleanse the Guard. It seemed it would merely pave the way for others, those whose allegiance was solely to coin, not to code. For years, his loyalty had been his anchor, but now Kurt realized that his faith in the institution he served was irrevocably shattered. The uniform had betrayed him, and he betrayed it in return.

They slipped through the servant's passages, towards Constantin’s private chambers. As they entered Constantin's bedchamber, bathed in warm candlelight the servants left unextinguished, Arline moved quickly, her concern palpable in the briskness of her steps. She hastened to his side, her hands gently shaking his shoulder, her eyes scanning him for any sign of distress. Seeing him unharmed, she released a heavy breath.

She shook her cousin. “Constantin, we need to move.” She implored, her voice low and urgent, cutting through the stillness. “There is a coup d’état under way.”

Constantin bolted upright, his eyes widening in disbelief. “What?” He demanded, his voice hoarse from sleep, confusion etched deeply into his brow. “This is madness! How?”

Kurt felt the bitterness he'd been harbouring erupt uncontrollably. “How?” He echoed harshly, unable to hide the scorn in his voice. “You’ll go down as easy as plum pie and cherry wine. Standing behind every one of you is one of our men. You have entrusted us with your security.” He spat out, the words leaving a sour taste in his mouth. “You are completely at our mercy.”

The room felt silent; Constantin's face drained of colour, fear taking root in his eyes, while Arline's expression twisted in pain, a deep sadness replacing her initial relief.

“All that liberty, so close to power, it went to their heads.” She said softly, her voice tinged with melancholy. “It would have happened sooner or later.”

Kurt felt a sharp pang at her words. She was right, of course, their freedoms and positions of trust had been grossly abused.

She shook her head, turning back to Constantin, her back straightening. “Constantin, we need to get you to safety.”

“We must protect my advisors.” Constantin protested. “I want to—"

“To join in?” Arline finished his sentence, her tone incredulous as she regarded him with a frown of disbelief. “Look at your condition! It is out of the question, we are taking you somewhere safe.” Her voice, firm and unwavering, left no room for negotiation, echoing in the tense silence that followed.

Constantin grunted, a deep sound of dissatisfaction rumbling from his throat. “As you've left me no choice… There is a hiding place in the cellar.” He said, wrinkling his nose, his body tense, betraying an underlying frustration.

Kurt rubbed his forehead. “If you want to keep your allies, Your Highness, you also need to warn them.” He added.

Constantin met his gaze, nodding slowly. “Correct. We cannot let them fall into the hands of these traitors.”

“I will find the means to send them a message.” Arline assured. “Kurt, do you know where the conspirators are?”

“The most urgent matter is to get our hands on the commander and his three lieutenants.” He paused, his jaw tightening, the lines of his face hardening as if the words themselves were distasteful. “The others are doing nothing but following orders. If we cut off the heads, they will fall into rank.” His voice dropped. He could excuse the youths, but many officers had chosen to blindly follow the order, too. They needed a lesson.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “We’ll certainly have to fight some traitors at Torsten’s behest on our way to the cellar.” His eyes met Arline's, his brows furrowed. “Stay on your guard.”

Arline gave him a firm nod, then turned back to Constantin. “Stay behind us, Constantin. You are in no condition to fight.”

“Sir de Courcillon is just next door, we must go get him immediately.” Constantin insisted, putting on a robe.

Arline hesitated, her eyes darting between Constantin and Kurt, the door to the vestibule and the door to the servant corridor. “Very well.” She conceded with a heavy sigh. “We must hurry, before the Guard can act.” She urged, drawing her sabre.

Their footsteps echoed softly against the marble floors as they hurried through the shadowed vestibule. It was eerily silent, a foreboding calm before the storm. Exchanging tense glances, they proceeded with caution to Sir de Courcillon's quarters. Without bothering to knock, they entered, the door creaking in the stillness.

 “Lord de Courcillon!” Arline’s voice was low and urgent as she approached the bed. The old professor stirred, feeling for his glasses on the bedstand. “The Coin Guard is plotting to assassinate the governors and their entourage. Follow me. We are taking you somewhere safe.” She continued.

“So, they have finally done it.” Sir de Courcillon mused, more to himself than to his would-be rescuers, rising from the bed with a heavy grunt of his years. “Such proximity to power is a terrible temptation. It was only a question of time before they succumbed.”

“We should have paid more attention to your lessons,” Arline said assisting him. “Both of you,” She added, giving Kurt a quick glance. “We might have been able to avoid all this.”

The professor turned his gaze to Kurt as he donned his robe. “Ah, Captain Kurt. You have chosen us?” His tone was tinged with a mix of surprise and approval.

The word ‘us’ echoed mockingly in Kurt's mind. The ‘us’ — those who had always set themselves apart from him, who viewed him merely as a tool for their protection and their games, never as an equal. The entitled people in power solely because of generational wealth. Despite everything, his honour demanded fighting for their safety, betraying his own roots. But he shook off the burgeoning resentment. This was not about class struggle; Torsten's coup was a play for power, not justice. Despite his personal grievances, Kurt knew where his loyalties should lie — not with Torsten’s tyrannical ambitions but with the flawed order of the present; he expected no gain.

Kurt forced a terse smile, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm that did little to mask his underlying bitterness. “I will come for my raise later.” He retorted, the jest falling flat in the charged atmosphere. “We’d better be off. Now!” His last word cut through the room, a command that brooked no argument.

Back in the vestibule, the calm shattered like glass against stone and the storm came at last, as they stumbled upon Torsten's men. Six guards stood between them and safety, six against the two of them, protecting the elderly and the sick. Arline and Kurt exchanged a look before they moved in unison.

Arline transformed into a tempest. With a flick of her wrist, flames burst forth, engulfing the clothes of one assailant, his screams piercing the air. Almost simultaneously, she summoned a charge that ensnared another guard in a prison of contorted muscles, his body a statue of shock. A third guard met a sharp shard of ice, that materialized from thin air, impaling him with a thud that echoed through the grand hallway. In the same movement Arline engaged the fourth guard, blades’ ringing.

Kurt, shadowed her movements, covering her flanks. He dispatched the guard ablaze with a swift, merciful strike, then his blade found the weak spot in the ice-wounded guard's defence. As he engaged the remaining two, his sword danced with theirs, a deadly ballet of metal and might. In a blur of motion, Arline dispatched her opponent with a dancer’s grace, then, turning, she ended the frozen guard’s stasis with a final, flowing movement, completing her deadly dance.

Kurt downed one of his adversaries, leaving only one. The last guard, young and wide-eyed, was overtaken by terror, realizing his imminent fate. As he fell to a veteran’s relentless assault, Kurt felt a pang of sympathy for the fallen youth, a mere corporal caught in the tide of betrayal.

Kurt's sombre reverie was broken by a tingling awareness of Arline's gaze on him, her eyes filled with concern and unspoken questions. With a conscious effort, he eased the tension from his body, the remnants of battle slowly fading from his stance.

”Let’s go.” He murmured, his voice a low command tinged with weariness.

Arline’s frown deepened, but she nodded. They continued, moving towards the servant's corridor. The path to the basement was silent and unguarded, a welcome reprieve. Kurt checked the perimeter and scrutinized the shelter. a modest room bathed in the gentle glow of an oil lamp, offered scant comfort with its solitary cot and a plain desk standing guard by the wall.

Arline gently guided Constantin to the bed, her hands supportive. “Constantin, promise me that you will stay here until we secure the city.” She implored firmly.

“Do I even have a choice?” Constantin's voice carried a mix of irritation and resignation. “Here I am consigned to my quarters like some broken old maid.” He grumbled.

Arline's voice softened. “Like someone ill, Constantin. Someone who is dear to me.” Her fingers gently brushed his hair back from his forehead. “And the city would not survive your loss.”

With a heavy sigh, the hint of stubbornness in his posture deflated. “You have such a way with words.” He conceded with a weary smile. “Very well, I promise to stay here, obediently awaiting your return.”

Arline smiled, and she leaned forward to kiss his cheek, a gesture of farewell and reassurance. Then, turning to Kurt, she said with determination “Let us go then!”

“And cousin?” Constantin's voice followed them. “Watch out for yourself. You are dear to me as well.”

Kurt unconsciously nodded in agreement. “She won’t be harmed.” He vowed. The night ahead was shaping up to be a tough one, full of unknowns and threats lurking in the shadows. Part of him—the protector, the guard—wanted to keep her safe in the shelter, away from the impending chaos. Yet, he knew better. She had the mettle to confront whatever came her way, alone if necessary. But as long as he was standing, she wouldn't have to.

The sentiment was as forbidden as it was fervent. Kurt, bound by duty as her guard, found himself caught in the crossfire of a feeling he had no right to harbour. Love that he dared not speak its name, a love that could compromise the very protection he was sworn to provide. But in the quiet depths of his heart, where duty and desire collided, he knew his resolve would never waver. No matter the cost, he would stand by her.

Kurt and Arline emerged from the secure shelter. Each step they took was measured, their senses heightened for any sign of danger as they moved with a purpose that brooked no delay. Two more advisors nestled within the sprawling palace and Lady Morange in her secluded mansion awaited their intervention.

Half an hour of weaving through the darkened corridors and streets, and confronting two dozen of Torsten's lackeys, they still had one more stop at the pigeon post – warnings to the other cities needed to be sent – before they could confront Torsten.

Word of their resistance, of the coup's failure, would inevitably reach the commander. The thought spurred Kurt on, his movements becoming more deliberate, his strikes more forceful. His mind raced, every second that ticked by was a second too long, his heart pounding against his ribcage. Each minute they spent in sending the messages was a minute Torsten could use to regroup, to slip through their fingers. With every lackey they dispatched, Kurt's thirst for vengeance grew, a burning desire to see justice served.

As they released the pigeons into the night, the wings beating against the silence, the crisp night air did little to soothe Kurt's simmering tension. As they approached the barracks, the grip on his blade tightened, an almost imperceptible itch in his palm — a blade’s thirst that needed to be quenched.

“The commander must be in his upstairs quarters, preparing the attack.” Kurt whispered, his voice a low rumble of contained fury. “We should try to reach him discreetly.”

Arline, her focus sharp as the blade she wielded, nodded. “Do you know where the three lieutenants you told us about are located?”

Kurt's mind raced through the layout of the barracks. “Ludger is an instructor, he'll be in the right wing of the barracks.” He said. “As for the other two, they'll be at the tavern. Olga and Werner are in charge of the Guard's... uh, ‘secondary’ activities, in the basement.”

“I see.” Arline frowned. “Our priority should still be to stop Torsten. We will worry about the others later.”

Kurt agreed silently. His desire for the lieutenants to face punishment was strong, but Torsten was the linchpin; his downfall was paramount, for Arline’s safety and for Guard’s honour.

They ascended the stairs, moving with a stealth that belied their urgent purpose. The dim corridors of the barracks were eerily silent. Kurt was glad that the recruits were ordered to stay in their dormitories, they held no responsibility and Kurt preferred they bore no consequences. As they neared the commander's office, their path was unexpectedly barred. Lieutenant Ludger, his posture rigid with authority, drew his blade. “What are you doing here?” He demanded. “Who let you in? I demand an explanation!”

Arline’s back straightened. “It seems that your men are a little distracted this evening, Lieutenant. It is understandable, with all that has been going on. You and your commander are under arrest.”

“But… What is this?” Ludger's confusion quickly gave way to recognition, and then to outrage. “I recognize you, you’re the governor’s emissary. And Kurt? You had your orders!”

Kurt scoffed. “Sorry, but forced to betray someone, I decided it would be the less likable of the lot.”

“Traitor!” Ludger spat. “Soldiers! Ready weapons!”

Five soldiers materialized from the shadows, their weapons drawn, forming a semi-circle around Kurt and Arline. Kurt's eyes narrowed, his senses heightened. Beside him, Arline's stance was almost relaxed, poised, a predator ready to strike. Their attackers, emboldened by their superior numbers, advanced with a menacing synchronicity.

Without a word, Kurt lunged forward, his blade singing a deadly arc through the air. He met the first soldier head-on, his sword clashing against the man's with a spark of metal. Arline, meanwhile, summoned the raw energy of her magic, her fingers tracing patterns in the air. A burst of flame shot towards two soldiers, forcing them to stagger back, their coordination broken. Capitalizing on their disarray, she wove ice from the moisture in the air, sending shards flying like deadly arrows. One found its mark, embedding in a soldier's shoulder, eliciting a grunt of pain.

Ludger, enraged by the resistance, charged at Kurt, his sword aimed with deadly intent. He parried Ludger's attack and countered with a swift strike aimed at the lieutenant's side. Ludger barely deflected in time, the shock of the near miss igniting fear in his eyes.

As Kurt engaged Ludger, Arline dealt with the remaining soldiers. Her blade met one soldier in a clash of wills, her speed surprising her opponent. With a swift kick, she unbalanced him, her sword finding the gap in his armour. As he fell, she spun, catching another soldier with a magical blast of concussive force that sent him sprawling.

Kurt and Ludger measured each other in the confines of the narrow corridor, as each sought an advantage. Ludger was skilled, but Kurt's resolve was ironclad, fuelled by a need for justice. With a feint and a thrust, Kurt broke through Ludger's defence, his blade pressing against the lieutenant's throat.

The remaining soldiers, seeing their leader bested, hesitated; two of them paid for it with their lives, as Arline and Kurt both used the moment to their advantage, their movements synchronized like clockwork. The remaining two attacked with a desperate frenzy, the rush of fear lending them extra strength, but within a few breaths their bodies fell to the floor next to their comrades. What a waste, Kurt thought, shaking his head.

Without a moment to lose, Kurt and Arline hastened further down the dimly lit corridor, their steps echoing with urgency. The door to the commander's office loomed before them; they burst through the door, only to be met with emptiness. The room was devoid of life, an anticlimactic silence enveloping the space where they had expected to confront Torsten.

“Shit! We’ve arrived too late.” Kurt hissed, fist clenching at his side.

“Do you know where Torsten could have gone?” Arline pressed, moving to the adjacent room, blade at the ready. Her brows knit together as she found nothing of interest.

“No,” Kurt muttered, surging towards the desk that dominated the room. “But we’ll certainly find some information about it in these papers.” His words were punctuated by the sound of papers being shuffled. The dawn's early light began to seep through the windows, casting a soft glow on the scattered papers.

Arline quickly joined him. Their search was frenetic, a chaotic dance of hands flipping through documents, discarding the irrelevant, and zeroing in on the potentially useful. Then, Kurt's hand paused, his fingers closing around a letter that bore the mark of Lieutenant Werner. A contingency plan. A ship waiting in the port in case things went south, and a ten soldier squad poised to meet him outside the barracks.

“Torsten is a snake, but he’s clever.” Kurt spat, his eyes scanning the letter once more as if to memorize its betrayal. “Apparently, he suspected I would refuse to follow his orders. And he was prepared to leave this place.” The words left his mouth with bitterness.

Arline nodded, looking at the letter over his shoulder. “He must have been told about our attack on the ghost camp, and drew his own conclusions. He knew you better than you thought he did.”

“We must catch up to him. He cannot get away with this!” Kurt was already moving, grinding his teeth.

With no time to waste, they hurried back down the stairs, their movements swift and sure. As they emerged into the dawn, the first light painted the world in hues of gold and crimson, a new day breaking over the city, though it did little to ease the hard lines of Kurt's face. They rounded the corner, and halted abruptly. There, in the flesh, stood Torsten, his presence commanding despite the early morning disarray. Two of his lieutenants flanked him, and ten guards stood at the ready, their loyalty to Torsten palpable in their stance. Torsten, a large man in his forties with a bald head that gleamed under the dawn's light, exuded an air of authority gone awry.

“The Guard, we’re moving out. Break camp! We are no longer welcome here.” Torsten's voice boomed, his orders slicing through the morning stillness. Then his gaze landed on Kurt, and his eyes narrowed, a sneer twisting his lips. ”And so… You have chosen your whore over your brothers.”

Kurt’s lip curled, bearing his teeth, as his hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of his sword. “Mind your tongue, Torsten, or I’ll cut it before your court martial.” He growled; his stance was predatory, every muscle coiled and ready to spring into action. “And none of these lowlife pelfs are my brothers.”

Torsten laughed, a sound devoid of humour, cold and contemptuous. “These snake-oil merchants defy us by sending their watchdog. Let’s show them what Guards are made of!”

With no more words to waste, the space erupted into violence. Torsten hastily put on his helmet and his men advanced, a unified front of betrayal and misguided loyalty.

Kurt met the first guard head-on, his blade a blur of steel that sang with a deadly song. Arline, not a step behind, summoned her power, the air around her crackling with the energy of her magic. She unleashed a barrage of elemental fury, locking five in stasis with a furious bellow. Fire and ice danced from her fingertips, a whirlwind of destruction aimed at the heart of their enemies.

Torsten, for all his bulk and bluster, moved with a surprising agility, his own blade drawn as he sought to engage Kurt directly. Their swords clashed, a symphony of metal that rang out over the sounds of battle. Kurt pressed forward, the rush of righteous anger flowing through his veins and fuelling his blows.

The lieutenants, skilled in combat, proved formidable foes, but Arline's magic was relentless, her spells weaving a protective barrier around her and Kurt even as she struck at their adversaries.

“You're running out of energy, drink a potion!” He called out, but she was one step ahead of him, already uncorking a vial with her teeth.

The fight was chaotic, a maelstrom of violence that left no room for doubt or hesitation. The guards, loyal to a fault, fell one by one, overwhelmed by the fury and determination of the duo they faced. The combat between Kurt and Torsten reached its climax, their swords clashing with the sound of thunderous fury. Kurt matched Torsten blow for blow, their dance a deadly game of power and precision.

Arline was a force unto herself, her mastery over the elements a spectacle of raw, unbridled power that turned the tide of battle. Her manipulation of the air itself to suffocate her enemies was mercilessly effective, her enemies clawing at their throats as they gasped for breath that would not come. Fire bolts tore through the ranks, leaving chaos in their wake, while lightning crackled and ice shards flew, responding to her call. The ground betrayed those who stood against her, roots ensnaring and the earth itself opening to swallow the unwary.

She drank from potions that shimmered with magic, each sip a promise of more devastation to come. She moved through the enemy ranks with the speed of lightning, a blur of motion that left her adversaries bewildered and terrified. They could not touch her; the air around her repelled those who she didn’t cut.

She was a goddess of war incarnate. The display of power was awe-inspiring, even to Kurt, who found himself distracted by the sheer force of Arline's will. This lapse allowed Torsten a momentary advantage, his blade slicing deep into Kurt's thigh. The wound was severe, blood flowing freely, painting the ground with evidence of their struggle.

Arline's fury at the sight was a tangible thing, her roar of rage echoing off the stone as she turned her full wrath upon Torsten. A maelstrom of elements descended upon him, fire, ice, and lightning bending to her will. Kurt, seizing the moment, rolled away and downed a bitter draught of a healing potion.

Torsten, overwhelmed by Arline's onslaught, was brought to his knees, defeated but defiant to the last. “Come here, you pathetic dog!” He spat at Kurt, venom in his voice.

“The game is over for you, Commander.” Arline declared, her blade at Torsten's throat, her voice cold with finality.

The remaining soldiers – only four of them remained standing – witnessing the fall of their leader, laid down their arms, their will to fight had evaporated. Arline's vines, extensions of her will, wrapped around them and Torsten, securing them in a grip as unyielding as iron. Kurt, his strength returning with the potion's efficacy, moved to secure Torsten with a rope.

“Are you alright?” Arline asked, her gaze intently searching Kurt's for any sign of unspoken pain.

“Yes, you?” He returned the question, scanning her frame with mirrored concern.

“Yes.” Arline's response was simple, but her body told a different story. Kurt couldn't help but notice the subtle tremble of her muscles, a sign of her exhaustion that she could no longer hide. Her skin, usually vibrant, was pale now, a canvas for the sweat that dotted her brow and cheeks. A part of him ached to reach out, to offer comfort with a touch, but another recoiled from such gestures.

Together, they turned their attention to the task at hand. With Torsten and his accomplices in tow, they made their way to the prison downstairs. The jail was a grim place, its air thick with despair and the echoes of past confinements. As they entered, Kurt's glare was all it took to silence the jailers, a silent assertion of their authority that left no room for challenge. The jailers' eyes flicked to Torsten, their once-commander now reduced to a prisoner, and understanding dawned on them.

The prison, unsurprisingly, was full. Major Sieglinde and her loyalists, confined behind bars for standing against the coup, looked up at their arrival. Without delay, the pair set about freeing them, a reversal of fortunes that saw the loyalists released while Torsten, his lieutenants, and the complicit jailers were secured behind the very bars they had intended for others.

As the last lock clicked shut, sealing the fate of those who had betrayed their oath, Sieglinde’s hands clasping his in a gesture of solidarity and gratitude. “I’m glad to see you Kurt.” She said.

Kurt shifted his weight. “Don’t tell me you believed my ruse.” He muttered, his thoughts raising as his nausea returned.

Sieglinde's response was immediate, her grip tightening reassuringly. “Never.” She stated simply.

Arline frowned, looking between them. “A ruse?” She asked.

Kurt tensed at the question, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he grappled with the distaste of his own deception—a lie designed to gain Torsten's trust, no matter how repugnant the words had felt in his mouth.

Sensing his discomfort, Sieglinde swiftly came to his rescue. “Your Excellency, please, accept my apology and my thanks for helping Kurt lock our shameful element behind bars.”

Arline, her expression softening, nodded in acknowledgment. “The latter was a pleasure. We will talk about the former another time.” She replied, her tone indicating that while the immediate crisis was averted, the conversation was far from over. “I need to see my cousin. Kurt?”

“Right behind you.” Kurt nodded, grateful for the shift in conversation.

As they made their way back to the palace, the rising sun cast long shadows on their path. Arline broached the silence with a question that Kurt had hoped she gave up on. “So, how did you convince Torsten you were on his side?”

The question plunged Kurt into a momentary silence, his footsteps faltering as he was thrust into a memory he wished he could erase.

The barracks loomed oppressive around Kurt as he faced Torsten, trying to keep a neutral face. Torsten, with a calculating gaze, had laid out his demand: the assassination of Kurt's charges. Kurt had feigned agreement, knowing he couldn’t hope to come out of this alive if he challenged the scumbag alone – and then, no one would be there to warn her.

Torsten narrowed his eyes. “And can I be sure you like me more than your legate?” He asked with a nasty smile.

Kurt's response was measured, every word a dagger cloaked in velvet. “With due respect, Commander, You’re not my type.” He said. “But luckily for you, I’m not her type. So, I’d like to have her as a reward, preferably while she’s still breathing.” The words felt like bile in his throat; he was surprised they managed to go through.

Torsten's laughter was a jarring sound, filled with amusement and a dark delight. “You dog! I don’t suppose you’re a sharing type?”

Kurt's reply came through gritted teeth, a battle for composure fought and won by the narrowest of margins. “No, I’m quite possessive.” Kurt despised the lie. Not because of any particular dedication to truth, but because it revealed how quickly his mind had crafted something so vile, leaving a bitter aftertaste he couldn't shake.

Shaking away the memory, Kurt felt the sting of self-loathing anew. His reply to Arline was terse. “I asked for a reward. He believed it.”

Arline's gaze lingered on Kurt, reading him as she could, but she chose not to delve deeper into the conversation about his deception. Instead, she reached out, her fingers lightly grazing his arm in a gesture of concern. “Are you quite well?”

The touch, meant to comfort, only served to heighten Kurt's tension, his body reacting as though the gentle contact scorched him. “I’m fine. I’ll be better when he’s drawn and quartered.” He said, his voice a mixture of grit and barely concealed anger. Arline shivered at his words, her hand falling to her side.

Together, they proceeded to the shelter to check on Constantin and his advisors. The reunion was marked by expressions of profound gratitude from the saved – Constantin thanked Kurt twice.

“If Your Highness is looking for a means to translate his gratitude, gold is a present that is always appreciated.” Kurt quipped, the comment a thin veil over his foul mood. This default to mercenary humour, a defence mechanism honed over years of service, did little to mask his strained sense of self from Arline, who raised her eyebrow.

“I imagine that you shall name a new commander?” Constantin inquired, missing the exchange.

“Yes.” Kurt nodded. “I will discuss the matter with loyalist officers, but I think I know who will be elected.”

Constantin’s lips pressed into a line as he regarded him. “I hope it is someone whom we can trust.” He said. “We do need soldiers, but loyal soldiers above all.”

Kurt exhaled a heavy breath. “We are well aware that the Guard’s reputation has been tarnished. We will not make the same mistake twice.” He assured, shaking his head. “Sieglinde is solid and loyal. I have fought beside her.”

Constantin gave him a weak smile. “You have my complete trust, Kurt. You have amply earned it.”

Arline, unable to stifle a yawn, reminded Kurt of her need to rest. Her hands, still trembling from the night's exertions, betrayed her exhaustion, her skin pallid against the morning light. Kurt offered to stand guard while they slept. Though Arline agreed reluctantly, Kurt knew her acquiescence was more for Constantin’s benefit than her own.

As they disappeared behind the door to Constantin’s quarters, Kurt was left in the quiet of the vestibule, his company now the tension that clung to his shoulders and the self-loathing that gnawed at his conscience.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28

His Divine Glow pierced my being, ice tearing my skin and fire in my heart, burning away my mortal self. The Earth trembled beneath, and the winds of heaven raged while shadows quivered and all verdure around me bloomed, a miraculous manifestation of His Splendour.

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:3.

_______

Kurt stood vigil before the mansion, his footsteps silent against the dew-kissed grass, pacing the perimeter under the cool embrace of the night. The air, fragrant with the sweet perfume of night-blooming flowers mingled with the distant scent of chimney smoke, had become a familiar companion of the past few nights. This had become his routine since the coup, the responsibility of the night watch his alone, save for Lieutenant Wilma, whom he trusted enough to patrol the other side of the house.

The aftermath of the coup had left behind a trail of duties that needed attending to, a welcome distraction that helped Kurt keep the gnawing disgust at himself at bay. Yet, in the quiet moments, his thoughts inevitably wandered to Arline. He had maintained a deliberate distance from her, a self-imposed exile driven by a turmoil he couldn't, or perhaps wouldn't, fully understand.

Síora and the others had returned, bringing with them Catasach, the healer whose skills were desperately needed. Arline had scarcely left Constantin's side, and as much as Kurt was worried about her, he was glad it gave him an excuse. He couldn't face her, not yet. But as he stood alone, the night air crisp against his skin, he realized that the lie he told Torsten — a vile, necessary untruth to ensure her safety — wasn't the true source of his torment. No, it was deeper, more profound.

For years, he had endeavoured to instill in her a cautious distrust for mercenaries, for people like him. And now, after the coup, he feared she had finally seen the truth of his words.

The irony of his desires was not lost on him. He had always wanted her to recognize the vast divide between them, to see him and his kind for what they truly were. And yet, now that she might have seen that truth, now that she might carry the disillusionment he had always hoped to place between them—for her protection, he told himself—it left him hollow, aching.

Why did acknowledging this gap, this separation he had always deemed necessary, wound him so deeply? A heavy sigh escaped him, fogging in the night air. Was it because, despite everything, a part of him had hoped she might see beyond the tarnish and grime, to believe that some semblance of honour could exist even in a mercenary's heart?

He paused in his tracks, his gaze lost to the darkness that seemed to swallow the light around him. The answer was as clear as it was unwelcome. It hurt because despite everything, despite the walls he had built and the distance he had enforced, he cared for her opinion more than he dared admit. He valued her respect, not just for the soldier he was, but for the man he aspired to be beneath the armour and the scars.

The realization struck him with the force of a physical blow, leaving him momentarily breathless. As he resumed his patrol, the chill of the night seemed to seep deeper into his bones, the mansion's walls felt more imposing. She had always been kind, and he knew she would continue to be so out of the goodness of her heart, perhaps even her misplaced affections, but the coup exposed just how wrong he was for her.

His solitude was broken by the very face that haunted him when he closed his eyes. Arline approached him, bringing hot tea and a blanket. She gave him a small smile, though her brows were knitted together in concern.

“You cannot take every watch, Kurt.” Her voice was soft, a balm and a torment at the same time. “You need to rest.”

“Most loyalists are assigned to the palace.” Kurt responded, his voice coming in hoarsely. “Somebody must keep you safe.”

Arline's smile and frown deepened in equal measure. “I have learned my lesson.” She said. “I have installed a small bell at my door. I will not be surprised by any more night visitors.” She attempted humour, a strained echo of their once easy banter, leaving Kurt with a weight in his stomach.

She sat herself on the steps, and patted the space beside her with her hand, an invitation for him to join her. Kurt found himself torn, an internal battle raging within him. One part, starved for the closeness she offered, yearned to bridge the gap; another, scarred by recent events, feared the vulnerability that closeness demanded.

With a heavy sigh, yielding to the part of him that couldn't bear to reject her kindness, he seated himself beside her. As soon as he did, Arline draped the blanket around their shoulders. Kurt tensed as her hand lightly brushed against him, it felt like a spark capable of igniting a fire he wasn't sure he could control.

They sat in silence, the shared warmth between them doing little to ease the charged atmosphere that enveloped them.

Arline let out a heavy sigh, breaking the silence with a truth that had been looming between them. “You have been avoiding me.” She stated, her voice low, tinged with a sadness that made Kurt's heart tighten.

Kurt remained silent, unable to formulate a response, his gaze fixed on the darkness ahead.

Arline's voice was hesitant when she spoke again, her words slow and careful. “Do you regret the choice you had made?” She asked, her eyes searching his face for an answer.

Kurt turned to her, confusion and surprise etched on his face. “Regret?” He repeated, a sharp pang of pain accompanying his words. “You can’t think that.”

“I know disobeying orders could not have been easy for you.” She continued, her voice barely above the night’s ambiance. “Do you resent me?”

The question hit Kurt like a physical blow. “Resent you?” Kurt's voice was laced with disbelief, the notion so far from his truth that it left him momentarily breathless. “Disobeying this order was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Arline’s. brows knit tightly together. “Because… you have known us for too long? Because you have never broken a contract?” She echoed his earlier words.

Kurt's jaw tensed, the muscles working painfully as he grappled with the implications of her words. They were not lies, but neither were they the full truth. Now, it seemed he had made her believe she was merely a duty to him, a contract. Perhaps it would be simpler, safer, to let her continue believing that. But the thought of her harbouring ill will towards him was unbearable.

Kurt's voice was gentle, yet it carried a depth of emotion he rarely allowed himself to show. “I have never broken a contract,” He admitted, his voice low, his words measured and sincere. “But I would for you.” The admission hung in the air between them, a confession of the depth of his regard for her, of a loyalty that transcended duty or obligation—a loyalty born of something much deeper.

Arline’s breath hitched as his words sunk in. “Kurt, why did you come to my aid first?” She asked, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion.

Kurt found himself repeating the earlier lie. “I told you, it would make sense to eliminate the backup first.” He said, his voice hollow.

“You did.” She whispered. “But why did you really come to me first?” She pressed, holding his eyes, unwavering, seeking the truth that lay buried beneath layers of duty and self-preservation.

Kurt's gaze turned pleading, silently begging her to not force him into a corner, to not demand the confession that he feared would unravel him. “You know why.” His voice broke with pain, a tacit admission of the feelings he could scarcely admit to himself.

Arline's breath caught again at his response. “I would like to hear it.” She insisted, her voice barely above a whisper, reaching out to touch his face in a gesture of intimacy.

“Don’t.” Kurt barely managed, a reflexive response to the flood of emotions her touch unleashed.

Arline withdrew her hand, a flicker of hurt crossing her features at his rejection, leaving an ache in the space where her warmth had been. Feeling the void left by her withdrawal, Kurt was overcome by a surge of need. He took her hand back, pressing a kiss to it before holding it against his thundering heart. Her eyes widened in realization, her lips parting.

“Sweet Excellency, I’m a Coin Guard, I have no right.” He reminded, his voice hoarse.

Arline edged closer, her voice soft and sure. “I am aware. And I give you the right.”

Kurt was frozen, the forces of duty and desire waging war within him, pulling him in opposite directions, leaving him immobile, caught in the eye of an emotional tempest. “You have a position to uphold.” He managed to say, his voice strained as if each word was a battle.

Arline moved even closer, her proximity, her warmth, was a magnetic force drawing him in despite the turmoil that threatened to tear him apart. “There are more important things.” She murmured, her eyes dropping to his lips.

“Not me.” Kurt protested weakly. “You deserve better than this.” He whispered, the words barely escaping his lips, a feeble defence he hardly wanted to make.

Arline scoffed gently, her breath a warm caress against his skin. “Better than someone who always makes me a priority?” She asked. “I think not.”

Kurt's response was almost inaudible, a last vestige of his resistance crumbling away. “Someone who can give you a future.”

“I make my own future.” Arline whispered back; her breath mingled with the scent of honey and spice that enveloped him, intoxicating, overwhelming.

She was so close now, their noses almost touching, her lips parted, her head tilted up in silent invitation. The warm scent of her filled his lungs, overwhelmed his senses, drawing him closer with a force that felt beyond his control. Their noses brushed, a feather-light contact that sent a jolt of electricity through him, and she sighed against his skin, igniting a fire in his belly that threatened to consume him.

The force that had been pulling him away snapped, vanished as if it had never been. Overwhelmed by desire, he closed the last of the distance between them, capturing her lips with his. A soft moan escaped her, a sound that fuelled the fire within him, and she kissed him back with a passion that matched his own, her hands finding their way into his hair, pulling him closer.

The world around them faded, leaving nothing but the heat of their embrace, and the taste of her lips. He breathed her in, consumed by a blaze of emotion, his hand cradling her face tenderly, while the other slipped around her waist to draw her even closer.

He jolted to his feet as if burned, his eyes wide with shock as they landed on Arline's concerned face. The sudden absence of her warmth left him shivering, the cool night air biting at his skin. A wave of self-loathing washed over him, stronger and more bitter than before. The realization of what he had done, what he had risked—her reputation, her standing—gnawed at him. How could he, her protector, have allowed himself to forget his duty, even for a moment? If somebody had seen… His eyes darted to the dark windows of the embassy.

“Forgive me.” His voice choked, the words feeling inadequate, even undeserving of forgiveness.

Arline’s hands, still lingering in the air, reaching out to him, fell away. “There is nothing to forgive.” She insisted, her voice breaking with hurt as her frown deepened.

“Yes, there is! You are just… feeling lonely, you don’t…” Kurt's voice broke, his words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to rationalize, to distance. “And I… used it.”

“Stop it.” She said sharply, her voice barely above a whisper, but the command cut through him, silencing his excuses. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, a sight that made him want to take it all back, hold her, feel her warmth again.

But he could not. That was exactly what had happened, Kurt realized. In his vanity, he had entertained her affections, encouraged them even, all for entirely selfish reasons. She was a lady of noble birth; she owed him nothing. The responsibility had been his to remain vigilant, to uphold the boundaries dictated by their positions, and he alone had failed spectacularly. Disgust with himself bubbled up, a thick, choking sensation that left him struggling for air.

“Please go home.” He said finally, his voice hollow, unable to meet her gaze, a final bid to protect her from further disgrace and himself, from the temptation to cross lines that should never be blurred.

After a pause that stretched into an eternity, Arline did. She turned and walked away, leaving him alone, the cold night air his only companion as he succumbed to the waves of self-pity that crashed over him. Alone with his thoughts, his regrets, and a treacherous longing that still clawed at his heart. Kurt stood in the silence of the night, a solemn witness to the cost of a moment's weakness.

Chapter Text

Chapter 29

Falling to my knees, torrents of tears streamed down my face—an anguish born of mortal inadequacy and a joy borne of witnessing the Absolute Truth.

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:6.

_______

Arline woke with a sense of weariness that seemed to permeate her very bones as the chill of the early morning nipped at her skin. Tears, shed in the solitude of the night, had dried on her cheeks, marking her journey to sleep, a restless voyage punctuated by wakefulness and a heart heavy with conflicting emotions. The memory of Kurt's soft lips against hers, the warmth of his embrace, and the intoxicating scent of him stirred a tumult within her—a flutter in her belly and a constricting knot in her throat. The stubborn fool! His actions spoke of deep-seated feelings, a mutual understanding of the bond they shared, yet he pushed her away, a martyr to his perceived sense of duty.

He had been right about one thing: she was indeed lonely. The weight of her quest for a cure, the facade of positivity she maintained for Constantin's sake, the fear of losing her cousin, and her own struggles with her identity and the expectations placed upon her by her uncle—it was a burden she carried alone. Yet, with Kurt, she felt a semblance of solace, a sharing of burdens that eased the weight on her shoulders.

As she wrapped her arms around herself, the cool silk of her nightgown provided little comfort against the swirl of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. The thought of facing him now quickened her breath and sent her heart racing, her skin flushed with a mixture of anticipation and shame. Today, they were to leave, duty beckoning with its inexorable call. She dreaded leaving Constantin behind, yet her only hope lay with En on míl frichtimen. Catasach, whose wisdom and concoctions had brought some relief to Constantin, had endorsed her undertaking the Trial of the Waters—a test to prove her intentions pure enough to commune with the god of the island. The looming awkwardness that awaited her and Kurt added another layer of anxiety to her already burdened heart.

Descending the stairs, Arline's steps were hesitant, her mind preoccupied with the day ahead. Spotting a note in the vestibule, an unexpected sight so early in the morning, set her nerves on edge. Her fingers, trembling slightly, reached for the parchment as she recognized Kurt's handwriting, addressing her with the formal title ‘Her Excellency, High Honourable Lady Arline De Sardet,’ and a surge of annoyance cut through her worry. The formality of the address, so at odds with the intimacy they had shared, seemed a cold and impersonal barrier, an unwelcome reminder of the distance Kurt had imposed between them. With a deep breath, Arline steeled herself, unfolding the note. The paper felt stiff in her hands.

Your Excellency,
I am writing to formally request that I be released from my duties as your guard. It is with a heavy heart that I acknowledge my failure to uphold the standards expected of my position. Understanding the gravity of my actions, I am prepared to accept any consequences or punishments deemed appropriate. My foremost concern has always been, and will continue to be, your well-being and security.

I await your decision and am ready to facilitate a smooth transition to ensure your continued safety with a successor of your choosing.

Respectfully,
Captain Kurt

As Arline stared at the letter, her world ground to a halt. She felt her legs weaken beneath her, a sudden lightness threatening her balance, compelling her to sit as her breath came in heavy, uneven gasps. She read the letter again, and then once more, the initial numbness slowly replaced by a cascade of emotions—hurt feelings quickly giving way to an inferno of fury.

Propelled by this fury, Arline leaped to her feet. Forgoing any announcement or search for an escort, she snatched her hat and marched outside, her steps echoing like thunder over the stone pathways leading to the Coin Guard barracks. Each step carried the weight of her anger, her determination unwavering as she navigated the streets with a singular focus.

The early morning air, crisp and cool, seemed to snap against her cheeks, an invigorating contrast to the fire burning within her. With each step towards the barracks, Arline rehearsed what she would say, each word a sharpened blade aimed at the heart of the man who had scorned her.

The training hall, bustling with activity, fell into her sights—a place where discipline and duty reigned. Yet, as she stormed in, her presence commanded immediate attention, her fury palpable. Her eyes, alight with an indignant fire, fixed unyieldingly on Kurt. The clang of metal and the grunts of exertion faded into silence, as she made her way through the ranks of soldiers who parted before her like the sea before a ship's prow.

“A word.” Arline demanded, her voice cutting through the din of the hall with the sharpness of a blade.

“Excellency, please—“ Kurt began, attempting to interject a semblance of protocol into the volatile moment.

“Wrong word.” Arline interrupted. “Everybody out. Now.” Her command left no room for discussion. The hall, filled with Coin Guards and trainees, turned to Kurt, seeking guidance in the face of her authoritative demand.

Arline's voice, laced with impatience and authority, pierced the tense silence. “Do you really want me to repeat myself?” She challenged, her voice a dangerous low, signalling that her patience was wearing thin.

Kurt sighed. “Do as Her Excellency asks.” He said, his voice carrying the weight of an order, albeit reluctant.

One by one, the hall emptied, the Coin Guards and trainees filing out with quick steps, leaving Arline and Kurt alone in the suddenly quiet space. The echo of the departing footsteps served as a backdrop to the tension that now filled the room, a tension born of unresolved emotions and the precipice of a confrontation long in the making.

Arline brandished the letter with a fury that seemed to set the air itself ablaze. “Give me one good reason why I should accept this.” She demanded, her voice sharp as the letter in her hand fluttered like an ensnared bird desperate for escape.

Kurt was rigid with resignation, his gaze skittering away from the intensity of her eyes. “I failed my duty, Excellency.” He insisted.

“Oh, why do you not challenge yourself to a duel, you absolute idiot?” Arline retorted sharply, her frustration finding an outlet as she summoned Fire to her fingertips, the letter igniting and disintegrating within her grasp, a dramatic punctuation to her refusal of his self-flagellation. “If this is your only reason, your request is denied.” she declared, her voice carrying the finality of a verdict passed down by a judge unwilling to entertain appeals.

Kurt’s jaw worked before he continued. “Excellency, I must face the consequences.” His plea was laced with defeat.

“You must, or must I?” Arline’s voice rose. “Is my punishment to lose your friendship?” Her voice cracked, betraying the façade of strength as she turned away, a desperate bid to hide the tears that welled in her eyes.

In the heavy silence that followed, Kurt’s low voice was loud as a thunder, breaking the charged stillness. “You will always have my friendship.” His response was hoarse, choked with emotion.

Arline, unable to resist, looked back at him. His face was softened, etched with pain and concern—the face she had come to love. That realization, that acknowledgment of the depth of her feelings for him, tore through her with a pain more intense than any physical wound. In his eyes, she saw the reflection of her own torment, a shared agony born of circumstances that conspired to keep them apart even as their hearts yearned for closeness.

“Then why are you doing this?” Her question was a sorrowful cry. “I will let you go, Kurt, if you tell me that you cannot stand the sight of me. If you tell me that I have hurt you, and deserve to be hurt in return. But if your only reason to go is self-pity, I will not allow it.” She said, her palms, balling into fists on the sides of her doublet. She met his eyes. “So look me in the eye, and tell me that you want to go, or stop this foolishness this instant.”

“This was never about what I wanted.” Kurt’s voice was barely audible in the large hall, his face contorted in pain.

“No, it never was.” Arline sighed, a note of resignation softening her voice. “It was about what I wanted, and I am sorry.”

Kurt looked as if he had been physically struck, his eyes wide with shock as he opened and closed his mouth again. “You… you think I rejected you?” He forced out at last.

“Oh, but you did, Kurt.” Arline said, a sad smile painting her lips. “I care not for the reason. I only hope to at least go back to the way things were.” She insisted, though the vision of the endless longing it would bring knotted into a weight in her chest.

“Can we?” Kurt whispered, his brows knitted together.

“Can we not?” She challenged. “Can we let go of the one good thing in our lives?” The question of the absurdity of forsaking the bond they shared, the mutual support and understanding that had become their sanctuary stirred something in him, a storm of emotions passing behind his eyes.

“No.” He said simply after a moment of pause.

Arline let out a breath with a nod. “Good. Now get a hold of yourself, we leave in an hour.” She commanded, her authority reasserting itself, a clear directive that left no room for further discussion.

With that, she marched off. Though still angry and hurt, Arline felt a weight lift from her shoulders. The fear that had clenched her heart, the dread of facing the future without Kurt's steady presence, had dissipated. In its place, a newfound determination took root. They might still be bruised, but she felt fortified by the knowledge that their connection, however challenged, remained unbroken.

○●○

The journey to Dorgred was awful. The party—Arline, Síora, Vasco, with Kurt and Wilma serving as their sole guards—travelled light, foregoing the trappings of their usual entourage in favour of speed and agility in the mountain region. No servants attended them, no carriage creaked behind, and Arline only now realised how much easier her life was with their attendance. Although everybody around has fallen in with the servants’ usual responsibilities of bringing drinking water, gathering firewood, cooking and setting up camp, Arline insisted on taking part, and her palms now bore new callouses, minor burns, and the occasional splinter.

Dorgred, a small yet significant area named for its proximity to the heart of Teer Fradee, the ‘doors of the heart,’ was a place where the physical beauty of the world seemed to mirror the spiritual quests that led pilgrims and seekers to its shores. Nestled around a serene mountain lake, the place was a sight to behold. The lake, mirror-like and tranquil, reflected the towering mountains and the verdant foliage that surrounded it.

Their destination was the village of Dorhadgenedu, a place of reverence among the clans of the island. It was here, in this ‘door of renewal,’ that the kings of all clans would gather, where the fate of the island was deliberated upon by those chosen to lead. The Vogelaíg credeis clan, the Guardians of the Heart, held sway here, their lives dedicated to the protection of the island's most sacred sanctuary and the oversight of the Trial of the Waters.

The air between Arline and Kurt was laden with tension, the aftermath of their confrontation still simmering beneath the surface. Arline, though wounded by the recent strain in their relationship, found her thoughts predominantly occupied by Constantin, his well-being a constant shadow upon her heart. The black veins that became visible through the thin skin around his eyes already, stark against his pallid skin, played on a loop every time she blinked. Episodes of cold, gripping fear would wash over her without warning, causing her breath to catch and heart to race—a response that inevitably drew Kurt's concerned gaze. However, his presence now felt distant, his furrowed brow and softly spoken inquiries were the only reminders of his presence, far from a comforting embrace they once shared. Now, he maintained a respectful distance, his hands hesitantly by his side, at odds with what she needed of him.

She sought solace in the companionship of the gatsíd kitten Síora had gifted her, a creature both fearsome and endearing with its long, sleek black fur, piercing yellow eyes, that seemed to hold depth beyond a normal cat, tufted ears that twitched occasionally, and formidable dentition— two rows of sharp teeth. Vedmé, as she had named the kitten, had become a source of distraction and, in its own way, a comfort amidst the loneliness in the absence of Kurt’s easy companionship.

Carrying Vedmé in a pouch fashioned from a long scarf, mimicking the native custom for nurturing their young, Arline practiced sensing the kitten's Ether, a meditative exercise that offered her a respite from her worries. This was her third day of endeavouring to discern the delicate variations in the kitten's anatomy through the Power, a skill that demanded patience and sensitivity. While the distinctions between skin and fat had become discernible to her, the nuances of muscle remained just beyond her grasp.

The kitten, for her part, seemed to enjoy the attention, purring with her eyes squinted with contentment, as Arline scratched her chin, or the place just behind the ear. The day’s travel would be rewarded with meat and play with a feather in the evening.

As the village drew closer, the reality of what awaited her—the Trial of the Waters and the potential to meet En ol míl frichtimen—loomed over her, but the kitten still made her smile.

As they rounded the curve of the serene lake, the village of Dorhadgenedu finally came into view, nestled amidst the rugged beauty of Teer Fradee. Dismounting from their horses, they felt the stiffness of the long ride give way to the relief of solid ground beneath their feet. Vasco, most unaccustomed to the rigors of extended horseback riding, grimaced with every movement, awkwardly stiff. Wilma took charge of the horses alongside him, allowing Arline, Síora, and Kurt to proceed unencumbered into the heart of the village.

The village was alive with the bustling of its inhabitants, predominantly warriors, who cast wary and curious glances towards the newcomers. The trio navigated through the heart of the village, the earth beneath their feet well-trodden and firm, leading them to the largest dome where they hoped to find Glendán, the chief of the village. They were met by two imposing guardians of the entrance, their stance unwavering and eyes sharp.

One of the warriors stepped forward, extending a hand in a clear gesture to halt, his voice authoritative as he blocked their path. “Diwed!” He barked. Arline knew that word – ‘stop’.

She adopted her diplomatic smile. “Hello, I am Arline De Sardet, legate of the Merchant Congregation. May I enter?”

The warrior tilted his head to the side. “Good day, legate.” He said, his voice polite. “No, this building is closed to renaígse.” He added, more firm.

Síora took a step to stand beside Arline. “I am Síora, daughter of Bládnid, daughter of Meb. My mother, the mál of the Gaís Rad, was a member of the council.” She said.

The warrior's expression softened, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. “All here remember. Andevaurshd tír se! She was a courageous mál.” In the native sign of respect, he touched his fist to his lips, and then to his chest. “But you are not mál in her stead and you do not carry her seal.”

Síora bowed her head in acknowledgement. Arline presented the seal they had been given. “Here is the seal of doneigad Catasach of the village of Wenshaveye.”

The warrior's eyebrow arched in surprise, his gaze shifting from the seal to Arline's face, as if seeing her for the first time. “And so you are a trusted friend of the great healer? He must see your true face and find it worthy. Enter, you are the first renaígse to receive such honour, welcome.” He conceded, stepping aside to allow them passage.

They stepped inside the structure. Glendán, the leader of the clan and the head of the Teer Fradee council, was a man in his late fifties or early sixties, marked by deep creases that mapped his face. His clean-shaven face accentuated the stern set of his jaw, while his short grey hair framed a face that had seen many seasons change. On his head, he sported impressive créaga, a sign of his deep bond with the land.

“I give you warm greetings Glendán.” Arline gave him a small bow, the seal of Catasach held out before her. “I am Arline De Sardet, Legate of the Congregation of Merchants.”

Glendán’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he measured them. “Your merchant congregation sways me very slightly from my path,” He began, his voice a low rumble that filled the dome. He examined the seal closely. “But you are a carants of Catasach.” He said, taking it into his hands. “What brings you here?”

Arline took a deep breath. “I seek a remedy.” She confessed, the urgency in her voice barely contained. “My cousin, as well as many other people on our island, suffer from a terrible sickness. We think that only En ol míl frichtimen can help us find a cure.”

Glendán’s eyebrows shot even higher. “Really? And Catasach sent you to see me?”

“He told me that the only way to meet with your god was to come and see you. You would judge our worthiness.” Arline said with a nod.

“Judge your intentions…” Glendán mused, stroking his chin with a deep thoughtful frown. “Yes, that I can do. But you would have many trials to pass.” He warned. “For the path you seek to follow has only been tread a very few times, and you are the first renaígse to set upon it.”

“I understand, and I wish to be tried.” Arline felt a knot tighten in her stomach as she declared her intentions.

Glendán noded slowly. “We must begin where everything begins. The trial of water. It will show us the reflection of your soul.”

“What must I do?” Arline asked, thankful for the chance and eager to start, despite the nerves gnawing at her.

“You must go to a cavern, Coucadarg, alone and unarmed.” Glendán instructed, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet of the room.

“That’s not happening.” Kurt murmured under his breath, furrowing his brows.

Arline shot Kurt a look of frustration, her patience thinning against his protectiveness that she had always welcomed. “Yes, it is.” she countered, her voice sharpening with irritation. “Please continue, Glendán.” She added taking a steadying breath.

Glendán subtle smile smiled accompanied his nod of approval. “You must pass through and then you must tell me what you saw.” He continued.

“What I saw? Will I receive a vision?” Arline hoped to at least receive some information about the nature of this trial.

“The trial will test your strength and courage, the deepest wishes of your heart and its deepest fears.” Glendán explained, his gaze holding Arline's with an intensity that pierced through to her core. This didn’t really explain what awaited her, and a shiver ran down her spine in anticipation and fear. “You must choose your path.” The mál continued. “Come now, show us your true face and return purified by the waters of the cavern.”

Guided by Glendán, their footsteps whispered against the earth as they ventured towards the river, joined by curious villagers and warriors. The rustle of leaves and the gentle flow of water unusually not giving solace to the tension in Arline’s shoulders. There, nestled within nature's embrace, lay the cavern entrance, veiled by an intricate web of roots that formed a barrier, alive yet yielding to those who knew its secrets. Glendán approached the pedestal before it, placing a seed upon it. With a quiet rustle, the roots began to part, an ancient door revealing its path.

“Remember, the simplest solution is not always the best. I hope you will prove that you understand the spirit of our people and our island.” Glendán gave his last instruction, gesturing to the entrance.

Arline, her hands betraying a slight tremble, unfastened her belt, removing the sabre with movements that were more forceful than necessary, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of the sheath. She extended it towards Kurt. He accepted the weapon, careful of his fingers not brushing against hers. His eyes, clouded with concern, bore into hers, searching, perhaps for reassurance or a sign of faltering.

“Be careful.” He said, finding none, his voice hoarse. Her eyes meeting his, unyielding to the quiet plea, steeled. In sharp movement, she nodded and turned to Síora.

Arline gently untied the scarf that cradled Vedmé. Handing over the scarf and its precious cargo to Síora, she met her friend's gaze, as she offered an encouraging smile.

With a determined nod to Glendán, signaling her readiness, Arline stepped forward into the cavern's maw. The cool air of the passage caressed her face, a contrast to the warmth of the sun she left behind. Casting one last glance over her shoulder, she saw the roots converge once more, sealing her path. The silhouette of Kurt, rigid against the backdrop of daylight, imprinted itself in her memory, as she ventured beyond his reach.

The roots closed behind her, shrouding her in the cavern's embrace, a damp scent of old rocks and nocturnal vegetation enveloping her. Ahead, the path wound into darkness, so Arline conjured her trusty globe of Light. She stepped forward, her steps echoing off the stone. She didn’t venture far. The path culminated in a vast, still pool of water that reflected the sparse light.

With a moment of hesitation, she peeled away her outer garments, her movements deliberate, revealing her pale skin against the dark, looming shadows. Remaining in only her shift, soft corset and underbreaches, with a deep breath, she plunged into the embrace of the cold water, its chill wrapping around her like a cloak.

Below the surface, her tiny source of light cast eerie shadows against the cavern walls. The water stretched deep and wide before her, revealing a labyrinth of tunnels that branched off in all directions. A knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach at the thought of choosing a path without guidance, the risk of running out of air a constant shadow at the back of her mind.

Surfacing, Arline gasped for air, the cold of the water biting at her skin. The trial was of the Waters, she reasoned, perhaps channelling Ice would reveal a path or offer some semblance of guidance. But when she reached for it, extending her senses and her will, nothing new responded. She let go of the frost she was holding, Power slipping through her fingers like the water itself.

She attempted to channel Fire, half-expecting nothing to happen, but she was still disappointed.

Resigned to the daunting task before her, Arline steeled herself. She would have to explore the tunnels one by one, relying on her own resilience and the faint light she could muster. Each breath she took was a reminder of the precious time slipping away, a silent countdown echoing in the cold, watery depths. If only she could somehow store the air in an underwater dome divers used.

She blinked. She could not store air, but she could channel it. With a determined push, she dove once more into the darkness, weaving a bubble of air around her face. Wincing, she took a hesitant breath. The bubble almost disappeared entirely, but she inhaled no water, it would work. With her heart a steady drumbeat, she channelled more Air, replenishing her bubble with tiny beads that refracted the silver light, pulled from above the surface.

The first two tunnels Arline explored were dead ends, the oppressive darkness and claustrophobic confines pushing her to the edge of her resolve. But it was in the third tunnel that her trial truly began. There, in the shadows, scales shimmered in the dim light as one of the giant venomous lizards, a Lewolan, launched itself towards her.

Panic surged through Arline as she attempted to outswim the creature, but it was swift. She felt the sharp pain of its teeth sinking into her thigh, the poison burning through her veins like wildfire. She gasped, the air bubble around her face dwindling rapidly as her breathing became erratic with fear and pain.

In desperation, she reached for Ice once more. With a focused thought, she conjured a shard of ice, impaling the creature, while the water around her bit with newfound frostiness. The Lewolan writhed in agony before sinking into the depths, leaving a trail of blood that mingled with her own. Arline's heart pounded in her chest, her vision blurring as the poison coursed through her body. Her healing potions were safely stored in her pouch on her belt, and beyond her reach, just as healing magic still was. Time was running out. If she didn't complete the trial soon, she would succumb to the venom, her life slipping away in the cold embrace of the cave. Panic clawed at her, the cavern walls seeming to close in on her. She was suffocating, both from the lack of air and the weight of her predicament. Desperately, she channeled Air again, her magic pulling tiny pearlescent globules from above her, replenishing her precious air bubble.

A stream of bubbles caught her eye, a trail pulled with her Power from another tunnel. With every ounce of strength left, she propelled herself towards it, the promise of escape urging her on.

She emerged in another cavern, her body trembling from exertion, poison, and fear. Blood clouded the water around her, and dizziness washed over her, each beat of her heart a drum of pain. Was the venom beginning to paralyze her, or was it the blood loss that weakened her? Arline dragged herself onto the cavern's edge, her breaths shallow and rapid. She lay there for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts, to stave off the encroaching darkness that threatened to claim her consciousness.

Arline shivered, the chill of her damp undergarments, clinging to her body, penetrated deep into her bones, exacerbating the weakness that had already claimed her body. She longed for the warmth that a simple spell could provide, but her energy potions were left behind, too. Magic, now a luxury she could ill afford, remained unused as she struggled to conserve what little strength she had left.

Her gaze wandered, taking in her surroundings. She sat on the cold stone of a cave unlike any she had ever seen. Mirrors surrounded her, but these were no ordinary reflections of silvered glass. They were blocks of ice, each one holding a different reflection, though not all mirrored the reality she knew. All wore her face, and each reflection bled from the thigh, their blood seeming to seep through the surface of the mirrors and mingling with hers on the cavern floor, intensifying her dizziness. Perhaps it was the poison coursing through her veins that twisted her perception.

Each icy façade bore a slightly altered reflection of Arline: one without her distinctive face mark, wearing simple commoner clothing; another dressed in native hemp fabrics, adorned with multiple créaga, signifying a deeper bond with the island than she currently possessed; a shadowed figure with menacing red eyes, stirring a deep sense of wrongness; one had no horns and was donned in regal crown and rich attire, another was visibly pregnant...

Arline felt a shiver run down her spine. She scrambled to her feet, breathing heavily with exertion. Desperate to dispel the illusions, Arline tried channelling light and shadow, but she couldn’t feel a thing. The reflections, were locked behind the ice, or were not a product of magic, they remained untouched by her power.

Uncertain and growing increasingly faint, Arline approached the mirror that most closely resembled her current state—dressed only in her undergarments, a singular horn upon her head. As she reached out to it, she hesitated, her hand hovering just inches from the cold surface. The reflection mirrored her fear, an overwhelming terror that seemed to amplify as she drew nearer.

She stumbled back, and a different emotion washed over her as she drew near another mirror, contempt. Her lips parted in surprise as she stood face to face with the crowned Arline who narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose as if faced with a displeasing smell. Prime Arline moved along the array of mirrored selves, meeting a maelstrom of emotions: viciousness from the shadow Arline, blissful ignorance from the unmarked Arline, anger from the one adorned in native attire, and a fierce protectiveness from the pregnant figure. Each reflection stirred something within her, a recognition, a sense of kinship, even with the ones she did not like.

Then, she found one that brought her a semblance of peace amidst the chaos. This version also bore proud branching créaga, yet she stood, in simple undergarments like her own. When had calm last graced her life? Drawn to this reflection, Arline reached out, longing, and with a touch, the ice yielded, swallowing her whole.

She tumbled forward, her knees hitting the hard ground with a jolt that ran up her spine, a thud echoing through the silence of the cavern. She saw white from the pain as more blood oozed from her flesh. Arline looked around, realizing she had passed through the mirror into another area. Her body was weak, the poison's toll evident in her shaky limbs and the laboured rhythm of her breaths.

A thick mist enveloped Arline, damp against her skin, its tendrils swirling around her, shaping and reshaping into ephemeral forms. The silence of the cavern was abruptly pierced by the sound of footsteps, unmistakable in their approach. Her heart leaped with a fleeting sense of relief as Kurt's figure emerged from the mist, a source of comfort in this trial. Has it ended? Has she passed?

The comfort was fleeting. Other shapes materialized from the fog—dozens of guards, rifles poised, emerging like spectres from the swirling white. Scrambling to her feet, weakness clawing at her limbs, Arline's voice was a mere whisper, strained with confusion and the effort of standing. “Kurt! What is… What’s going on? Is there something wrong?”

Kurt's response was guttural, tinged with a roughness she had never heard before. “Coin Guards! The time has come.”

Arline blinked in confusion. “But… What is this?” She strained, stopping in her tracks.

“Ready arms!” Kurt’s command cut through the mist, sharp and clear.

“Kurt, what are you doing?” Fear gripped Arline, a cold vice around her heart.

“Aim!” Was his only response, cold as the frigid air around them.

“Stop that…” Arline barely whispered as her breath caught. “Now!”

Kurt's gaze met hers, a tumult of regret swirling within his eyes, a stark contrast to the unyielding command in his voice. “Sorry, Green Blood.”

The reality of the situation crashed down on Arline, a realization that clawed at her mind with sharp, disbelieving fingers. Another coup, Kurt's betrayal—none of it made sense. He had stood by her, chosen her over the rigid structure of command that had defined his life. The guards remained motionless, rifles aimed in impending doom. Yet, within her, a voice screamed in refusal. Kurt would never betray her, not now, not after everything. Not even after rejecting her. Her head shook in denial, a vehement refusal to accept this nightmare as truth.

“Fight with honor!” Arline's voice cracked with desperation as she called out.

Kurt fixed his gaze on her, giving a subtle nod to the guards. With a flick of his wrist, their rifles were lowered, as all eyes turned to their Captain. With a flourish, Kurt drew his sword, the metal singing as it left its sheath. “En garde!” He comanded. “I said draw!” He barked as she didn’t react.

Arline found a sabre now buckled at her side, though she faintly remembered giving it to Kurt. She drew it, her grip unsteady, the world tilting around her. Her heart pounded in her ears, a frantic rhythm that matched her spiralling thoughts.

Kurt advanced, his attack swift and precise. Arline barely managed to parry, her movements sluggish, her body betraying her with its weakness. She had always relied on her speed to level the playing field against Kurt's raw strength. That, and her magic. But now, as she reached for her Power, hoping to tip the scales, she found him inexplicably immune to her spells.

Confusion and fear tangled within her, making her hesitate. Was this reality? She felt his blade biting into her flesh, blood warm and slick on her thigh—a wound she was sure she already bore. She was too slow again, Kurt cutting her once more, sending a sharp pain shooting through her leg, threatening to buckle beneath her, even though the arc of his sword intended the blow for her neck.

Dizzy, Arline made an impulsive decision. She allowed Kurt to strike her again to find an angle, an opening to counterattack. As his blade sliced through her thigh, she twisted with the last of her strength, her own blade singing through the air to meet his hands.

Kurt's sword clattered to the ground as he recoiled from her strike. Seizing the moment, Arline spun around, her movement fuelled by the rush of the duel. She pressed her blade to his neck, the cold steel fogging from his breath. Her breath was ragged, her body trembling from the exertion and the pain.

“Stop it, Kurt!” She begged, her voice breaking under the strain of her emotions, a desperate cry that echoed in the cavern's depths.

Kurt pushed her away with raw strength, ignoring the blade that grazed the skin on his neck. In a shift, he grabbed her gun—an object she didn't recall having before this moment. How did it come to be there? The question vanished as quickly as it arose, swallowed by fear. Kurt freed himself from her grasp and aimed the weapon directly at her.

Tears streamed down Arline's cheeks as she faced him, disbelief and despair mingling in her gaze. “You were defeated! You have no honour!” She cried out, her voice choked with sorrow.

Kurt's face twisted in pain. “I agree with you.” He admitted, his voice a low, strained murmur. “But I did train you well, at least there's that.”

“The student surpasses the master, and you cannot bear it.” Arline accused, her stomach churning with nausea.

A sad smile touched Kurt's lips, a fleeting expression of warmth in the cold, harsh reality of the cave. “You are wrong.” He said softly. “I am proud of you. Truly.”

Before Arline could react, Kurt turned the gun to his chin. The shot rang out, a thunderous sound that shattered the world around her. “No!” Arline screamed, her voice a raw, torn cry of denial.

Kurt's body collapsed to the ground. Arline rushed to him, her body convulsing as she dropped to her knees. Her hands shook as she cradled his head, untouched, though blood coated her fingers. His face was locked in an expression of sombre serenity. She wept, her sobs echoing in the cavern as she desperately tried to summon healing magic, but to no avail.

They were alone, the guards dissipated into mist. Time became a blur as Arline clung to Kurt, her grief overwhelming her senses. Slowly, the mist began to clear, taking Kurt with it, though the blood remained on her hands. Confusion and exhaustion battled within her as she crawled toward the sound of rushing water, her movements sluggish, driven by instinct more than thought. As she passed through the waterfall, cold water cascaded over her, drenching her anew, washing her tears away.

She was in the sky, floating, carried by the wind. She was cold. She was high up and it was getting colder and colder, her blood was freezing in her veins. She was falling to the ground and spun slowly, the sun warming her as she raced toward the earth. She bounced, and rolled, taken in by the bubbling current of a creek.

The relentless flow of the waterfall brought her back, as she pushed forward, her heart still heavy with loss and her mind reeling, on the edge of consciousness. Through the haze, she recognized the experience as a vision from the spirit of the island, she had one before from the lightning-struck tree.

The ground beneath her trembled with a thundering step. She focused her gaze with effort. There, in the heart of the large cavern beyond, stood a Nádaig. Humanoid in stature, yet encased in a spiky carapace. Four tentacles, each armed with rows of lethal, spike-like teeth, writhed menacingly around its maw. The air thickened with the scent of the sea, an overpowering briny odour that filled Arline's nostrils and clouded her senses.

She could not hope to defeat it. She was going to die. “Please, I come in peace.” She pleaded, a voiceless whisper as her vision blurred, the edges of her consciousness fraying. Feeling herself teetering on the brink of oblivion, she slumped to the ground, and then, darkness claimed her.

Chapter Text

Chapter 30

His Voice reverberated, shattering the fabric of Time: “Arise, Matheus, I absolve thee of thy transgressions.”

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:9.

_______

Kurt paced back and forth in front of the cavern's exit on the other side of the rock formation, ominously sealed by a massive boulder. His boots scuffed the ground, kicking up small clouds of dust with each turn. Periodically, he would stop, shifting his weight from one leg to the other in a futile attempt to find a moment's rest, only to resume his pacing moments later. The leather of Arline's sheath creaked under the tight grip of his whitened knuckles.

An hour had passed since she had disappeared into the cave. To Kurt, it felt like an eternity. Glendán had warned that the trial might stretch for many hours, but such knowledge did little to ease his mind. The mere thought of having stayed behind in New Sérène sent shivers down his spine. He would have imagined the worst at any moment, a cruel echo of the current helplessness that gnawed at him. He imagined Arline facing untold dangers alone, her safety hanging by a thread, and it was almost more than he could bear.

He chastised himself silently, his mind racing with regret. He should have found a way to follow her, to be by her side rather than standing here, powerless, relegated to waiting. Her insistence on complying with Glendán's instructions had felt like a necessary part of the ritual at the time, but now, it felt like a mistake. Glendan has lead them away from the entrance, and now, an entire village had congregated at the exit, their collective gaze fixed on the cave, anticipating the emergence of the foreigner who dared to undertake their sacred trial.

Síora cast occasional glances in his direction, her eyes trying to convey reassurance. For Kurt, the only true reassurance would come with Arline's safe return. His gaze returned repeatedly to the inscrutable boulder, as if by sheer force of will he could make it move and reveal Arline, triumphant and unharmed. The waiting was torture, each second stretching into an abyss.

The ground beneath their feet trembled, a deep, resonant vibration that sent Kurt’s heart racing. With a rumbling that echoed through the air, the massive boulder that had sealed the cave's entrance shifted, and from the darkness of the cave, a figure emerged. It was a Nádaig, its formidable form outlined against the dim light. Kurt's hand instinctively went to his sword, the metal singing as it was drawn from its sheath.

Síora's hand on his arm halted him, her sharp gaze urging restraint. He hesitated, his eyes fixed on the Nádaig as it stepped into the open. Kurt’s eyes widened in shock, and he sheathed his weapon with a loud click, as he realized the creature was carrying Arline in its arms.

A visceral fear clutched at Kurt's heart, squeezing the breath from his lungs as he took in the sight of Arline's motionless form. Her red hair, vibrant and full of life, now hung limp and wet, plastered against her pale face. She was dressed only in her soaked undergarments, the fabric, torn and stained with blood, clung to her left thigh. Without a second thought, Kurt rushed forward, driven by a desperate need to reach her side.

The creature, surprisingly calm, met his advance without aggression, its eyeless gaze locking onto him as it gently laid Arline down. Kurt dropped to his knees, gathering her into his arms, her skin shockingly cold to the touch. Yet, as he embraced her, he felt the faint stir of breath, a subtle sign of life that flooded him with relief so potent it felt as if he was breathing for the first time since she'd disappeared into the cavern.

Síora knelt beside them, her hands glowing with the warm light of healing magic as she whispered of the venom coursing through Arline's veins—a poison that threatened to claim her life had she remained untreated any longer. Fear tightened its grip on Kurt's throat once again, the realisation of how close they had come to losing her a sharp pang in his chest. He hastily removed his coat, draping it over Arline's trembling form in an attempt to shield her from the cold and preserve her modesty, his cheeks flushing as he realized the extent of her exposure.

The Nádaig, its task seemingly completed, vanished back into the depths of the cave, leaving them in a tense silence broken only by the sound of whispers. Kurt brushed Arline's hair away from her face, noticing the unnatural purple hue of her lips, the cold, or the poison's toll.

“Glendán!” Kurt called out. “We need to take her some place warm.”

“Follow me.” Glendán instructed, leading the way back to the village.

Carefully, Kurt lifted Arline into his arms, her body light yet immeasurably precious in his hold. Síora remained by their side, her hand clasping Arline's as she continued to channel healing magic. Together, they made their way back to the village, the villagers parting to allow them passage, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and concern.

As they moved, Kurt's gaze remained fixed on Arline's face, the woman he had sworn to protect, the woman he loved, the woman whose fierce love for her cousin had led her to face the trial of the waters. Silently, he vowed to stand by her side through recovery and beyond, to never again seek defection, as he did a few days ago. She alone was brave enough to face him, just like she was brave enough to face the unknown in the cavern.

Síora broke the silence, distracting him from the overwhelming wave of feeling that rose on the horizon. “Glendán, what could have happened to her?” She asked as Arline’s lips regained some of their colour.

“I do not know.” The elder said, his face etched with deepened creases. “Only that your friend has passed the trial. She may see En ol míl frichtimen, if the High King agrees to take her to the sanctuary, as only he is allowed there.” He paused, a shadow crossing his expression. “But he disappeared several months ago. Since then, we have not heard from him.”

Kurt took a sharp breath, tensing with barely contained anger. “You mean to tell me you sent her to risk her life for nothing?” He hissed.

“Nothing?” Glendán replied, unflinching under Kurt's glare. “You are a true renaígse, Bod airní. By passing the trial she has become one of the people.”

“A clan may welcome her to the family?” Síora asked and Glendán nodded.

Kurt ground his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that, but that is not why she came here. She came to meet your god.”

“I warned her.” Glendán said. “Her voyage is far from over. It seems another trial on her path is to find Vinbarr.”

 Kurt's arms tightened around Arline, a physical restraint against the impulse to lash out at Glendán for his indifference. “Where?” He demanded in a sharp bark.

Glendán met Kurt's fiery gaze with a calm of experience. “We do not know. He has not contacted any of the council máli. Perhaps you could try asking his clan Vegaíg Awelas in the village of Wenshavarr.”

In Kurt's mind, the image of Arline waking to the news of yet another delay, another hurdle on her path to saving Constantin, was a painful projection. He could almost hear her voice, laden with urgency and fear for her cousin, and it twisted something deep within him. His jaw clenched, with a storm of worry and anger that raged within his heart.

Kurt carried Arline to the hut they had been offered, a sanctuary of warmth and safety provided by the villagers. Once there, Síora suggested she would assist Arline in changing out of her wet, blood-stained garments. Kurt found himself relegated to the world outside the hut, a world where he could do nothing but pace back and forth, lost in his own tumultuous sea of thoughts until Síora finally called him back in.

Inside, he found Arline resting on the low bed, her appearance significantly improved from the dire state in which she emerged from her trial, her skin no longer carrying the pallor of near-death. Síora, standing beside the bed with a healer’s calm, touched his shoulder. “She's out of danger now, just needs to gather her strength.” She assured him with a confidence that eased a weight from his shoulders.

“She has that in abundance.” He murmured, a stiff smile flickering at the corner of his mouth as he released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

With a promise to bring Vasco and Wilma to the village, Síora left, and Kurt found himself alone with Arline. A fleeting concern for propriety brushed his mind, but the thought of leaving her side, of not being there should she wake or need him, quashed any doubts. He couldn't bear the distance; how did he ever convince himself that he could?

Settling himself on the floor beside her bed, Kurt gently took Arline's hand in his own, relieved to find it warm against his touch, and he leaned against the wall of the dome. The position was uncomfortable, but Kurt hardly noticed. His gaze lingered on Arline's peaceful face, before closing his eyes.

Gradually, the rhythm of her breathing, steady and sure, lulled him into a state of half-awareness. The earthy scent of the hut's thatch and burning wood offered some semblance of peace, but proximity to Arline, knowing she was safe, was all the comfort he needed. His body sagged against the unyielding wall, and he drifted off to sleep, his hand still holding Arline's.

○●○

Kurt jolted awake, snapping his eyes open, with the sound of his name, a whisper laden with emotion that tugged at the very core of him. Arline was awake, her fingers tightening around his hand with a strength that belied her recent ordeal, her tears glistening in the dim light of the hut. His heart raced as he leaned closer, the distance between them collapsing under the weight of her distress. His hand reached out, instinctively, to caress her face, his fingers brushing away the tears on her cheeks, forgetting all the reasons he had told himself to maintain a distance.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice a soft rumble, heavy with concern.

“Nothing, I just had a bad dream.” Arline managed to say, her voice a fragile thread of sound. She pulled his hand closer, pressing it against her cheek as if to anchor herself to the reality of his presence.

“It’s over now.” Kurt reassured her, his thumb moving gently over her skin, a soothing gesture, he hoped.

She nodded, her gaze locking with his with emotion so deep, the world outside seem to dim as he drowned in it. That look, raw and seeking, reminded Kurt of the blurred lines they were navigating, of the boundaries he had tried so hard to uphold. Yet, as much as Kurt wanted to retreat, to re-establish the distance that propriety demanded, his vow to stand by her side overrode the impulse to run. He couldn't, wouldn't, defect from her side, not now, not ever. Reluctantly, he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What happened in there, Green Blood?” He asked hoarsely, his heart heavy with the knowledge that whatever she had faced, it had shaken her deeply.

Arline shook her head, a tremor running through her. “You died.” She whispered, the words barely escaping before being caught by a sob.

Kurt frowned, worry knotting in his stomach. What awful vision was she shown? “I’m here.” He stated simply, a declaration of his unwavering presence.

“You are.” Arline agreed, choking back tears, her voice catching on the acknowledgment of their reality.

Arline's sudden movement to sit up, her arms encircling Kurt's neck in an embrace, surprised him. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, her wooden horn inadvertently pressing against his chin, a discomfort he promptly dismissed. His breath hitched as her scent enveloped him, stirring a whirlpool of emotions deep within. He pressed her closer, as if he could physically fill the void in his chest that had been there for years. His hands roamed her back, feeling the warmth and softness of her through the light native fabric she was wrapped in. Despite the heat that coursed through him from his racing heart, the embrace felt right, natural even, echoing the comfort and familiarity of when he had held her in the wake of Constantin's grim diagnosis. Without a second thought, he pressed a gentle kiss atop her head, mirroring the tenderness of that previous moment. She responded with a sigh that vibrated against his skin, a sound laden with weariness and relief.

“How am I here?” Arline's voice was muffled against his shoulder, her words carrying a weight of confusion and disbelief.

“A Nádaig brought you out, and Síora healed you.” Kurt explained, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions.

“Did I… fail?” The vulnerability in her question made Kurt's heart clench in worry.

“No. You can meet with the spirit.” He assured her quickly, eager to dispel her fears.

“But?” Arline's voice was soft, but her intuition was sharp as ever, sensing the hesitation he had barely managed to conceal.

Kurt exhaled a heavy sigh, his hands continuing their comforting motion across her back. “But the High King must take you there, and we must find him first.” The words felt like a weight, a new hurdle he put on her already fraught journey.

Arline's breathing hitched again at the news. Kurt's hands remained steady; she held on to him with a desperate strength.

“We will, together this time.” His whisper brushed against her hair.

Arline's response was a hushed breath against his skin, a whisper so faint he might have missed it if not for their closeness. “Kurt, he has two months, at the most.”

“We will find this High King sooner, I’m sure of it.” He assured with a conviction born of necessity rather than certainty. The underlying fear of being wrong shadowed his features, a silent storm brewing inside.

“How can you be?” She demanded, refusing to accept platitudes.

Kurt paused, searching for the right words, his brows knitting together in thought, for an answer that could offer her the solace she sought. “Glendán said the trial makes you one of the people of this island. And this spirit looks out for them, right?” He offered, her desperation for hope getting to him.

Arline was silent for a moment, processing his words. “Will it look out for Constantin?” Her voice was small, vulnerable.

“You will look out for Constantin.” He murmured. “And I will look out for you, that I promise.” There was no hesitation in his voice, only a deep, unwavering commitment.

Arline’s hands tightened around his neck. “Are you not going to run away?” She asked with the same vulnerability.

Kurt took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of duty. “No. It’s a… liberal interpretation of my role, but this much I can offer you.” His voice was raw and his heart ached with the admission, so insufficient in the face of the deep love he had for her.

Arline gently pulled away from his embrace, yet her hands remained in his for a moment longer, seeking the truth in his eyes. “You are more than your role, Kurt.” She said, her eyes reflecting the fierce love back at him, impossible in its beauty.

He frowned, flinching under her gaze that threatened to undo him. He ached to believe her, to embrace the vision she had of him as something beyond his duty, to be worthy of her, but decades of his reality screamed in opposition. How could he aspire to more when his entire existence had been defined by his ability to guard and defend?

She sighed and shook her head slightly, disappointment dimming the heat of her conviction, an emotion he was better equipped to deal with. “It is good to have you by my side, Kurt.” She said anyway, her voice soft. “This trial…” She paused, a shudder coursing through her as the memories assaulted her anew. “Oh, it felt so real. I held you in my arms, there was blood on my hands. It was horrible.”

Kurt squeezed her hand. “I hate that you had to go through this alone.” His voice betrayed his frustration.

A shadow of sadness passed over Arline's face, her gaze dropping. “I had to do it.” She insisted.

“I know.” Kurt mustered some gentleness back into his voice. “Just please don’t do that again.”

Arline managed a small smile, a flicker of humour lighting her tired eyes. “I will try.”

“You should rest now, Green Blood.” He said, his hand unwittingly shooting up to caress her cheek. When did he become so… tactile? He used to tense when touched. He would have to watch himself with people around.

Arline leaned against his palm, her smile widening as she nodded. “Will you stay?”

“As long as you wish.” He murmured.

He resettled himself on the floor beside her bed, resuming the gentle tracing of circles on her palm. The rhythmic motion gradually lulled Arline back into sleep. As her breathing evened out and her grip on his hand relaxed, Kurt leaned back again, allowing himself to drift into the peace of restful slumber again.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31

How I complied, I know not, for His Command resounded again: “I have chosen thee to serve My beloved creation, humanity. Behold, I grant thee My most cherished endowment, a fragment of the Power that shaped the Chaotic Abyss whence All sprang.”

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:10.

_______

The weary party entered New Sérène as dusk painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. The gates loomed above them, a familiar sight that once brought comfort now seemed lost on Arline. Her silhouette seemed particularly forlorn against the backdrop of the city she had left with hopes now dashed. Her steps, once determined and brisk, now carried a weight of defeat. The shadows under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights, her complexion had taken on a pallid hue, and the way her clothes hung more loosely hinted at weight lost in worry. Kurt watched her, battling his own rising fear that her condition bore a haunting resemblance to Constantin's initial decline. He clung to the thin reassurance that her native blood, and a bond with the island, shielded her from the Malichor. Despite this, his concern barely waned; she was burdened, emotionally and physically, by the enormity of her task.

As they dismounted and left the horses behind, without a word to the rest of their party, Arline set a brisk pace towards the palace, her determination cutting through her fatigue. The palace, illuminated by torches and lanterns, stood as a beacon in the evening's gloom.

The commotion that greeted them upon entering the palace was unexpected, especially at such a late hour. The clamour of voices, the rustle of silk and brocade, the air thick with the scent of perfumes and the underlying tension of unrest. Arline quickened her pace, her movements rigid with urgency as they approached the audience chamber.

The chamber was abuzz with activity, a throng of nobles gathered in what seemed to be a heated debate. Lady Morange's voice rose above the din, her tone sharp and demanding as she sought explanations that seemed forthcoming from none.

“Lieutenant, I demand an explanation. Tell us what is going on!” Her voice echoed off the high walls. “We have not heard anything about Lord d’Orsay’s condition in spite our inquiries. We are extremely worried!”

Kurt felt his muscles stiffen as if struck. Constantin was still his charge. Arline, propelled by desperation and duty, wove through the crowd with a force that saw nobles and dignitaries alike stepping aside, making a path. Kurt remained a step behind, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of trouble, ready to intervene should the need arise. Yet, his focus remained fixed on Arline, his stomach tight with worry.

“And then all of the sudden one of his guards appears,” Lady Morange jabbed an accusatory finger at Corporal Logan. “Shaken and on his own, though he is part of his retinue.” She spat.

Lieutenant Myca rose his hands in a calming gesture. “Please, allow me the chance to shed some light, my lady.” He said, his voice steady, though his eyes darted around the room, widening as he saw Kurt. Kurt narrowed his eyes in return. He really can’t be in two places at once, he asked to accompany Arline because Constantin was supposed to stay in New Sérène!

“Your soldier is nothing more than a coward for abandoning His Highness!” Lady Morange continued her tirade, her voice was a whip-crack in the charged air. Arline winced at her words, and the tie in Kurt’s stomach tightened.

“What is going on?” Arline demanded as they reached the centre of the group. Lady Morange exhaled with relief at the sight of her.

Lieutenant Myca was less enthusiastic. “This soldier has just reported in.” He explained stiffly, offering a short nod. “He is asking for reinforcements. He believes that Lord d’Orsay has been attacked.”

Arline’s head snapped to the corporal, her jaw set and her eyes narrowed. The soldier shifted his weight under her gaze as she cut the distance between them, coming inches away from his face. “He believes?” She repeated, her voice low and dangerous, despite her smaller frame. “He ran here without full knowledge of what happened firsthand?” She pressed, simmering with rage. Kurt stepped forward, measuring Myca with a similar stare.

Corporal Logan swallowed hard. “I… I was sent on patrol far from the camp…” He stammered, leaning back from Arline. “But I heard screams… from men and from beasts. I wanted to return to camp but then heard a deafening sound! Grinding… like a landslide! I thought then it would be best just to go and get help…”

Arline’s body tensed with every word, her palms balling into fists at her side. Kurt felt an urge to offer a reassuring touch, something he could not do with so many noble witnesses. A heavy silence fell over the room, Arline’s gaze on the soldier unfaltering, assessing.

When she spoke again, her voice was controlled, authoritative. “Thank you, Lieutenant, you are dismissed.” She said, stepping away from the trembling corporal, her eyes meeting Myca’s. “I would like to have a discussion with this man alone.”

“Yes, sir! Uh… Ma’am.” Myca stumbled over his words as he made a hasty retreat. Kurt’s gaze followed him out, unimpressed. He would have a word with him later.

Turning to Lady Morange Arline adopted a polite, if strained, smile. “My lady? Could you lead these fine people into the hallway, if you would be so kind?” She asked.

“Certainly.” Lady Morange gave her a short nod. “I deplore this embarrassing turn of events, but know that you have my full support in all circumstances!” She announced, turning sharply with a swoosh of her gown, shepherding the assembly out, her commands crisp and authoritative. Kurt echoed her instructions, directing the flow of people. As the doors closed behind the departing crowd, Kurt moved swiftly to Arline's side, his hand brushing against hers as he stopped. Together, they faced the guard, who now seemed smaller, sweat beading on his forehead under Arline's unwavering gaze.

Arline took a deep breath, her posture straightening as she prepared herself for the information that would come next. “In the interest of avoiding a general panic… Tell me precisely what happened.” She commanded.

The guard shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering under Arline's steady scrutiny. “Your cousin ordered us to escort him beyond the town limits, the islander convinced him to go on some journey to Magasvár.” He explained. Kurt grunted with frustration. Perhaps he should be grateful that the prince bothered to take retinue at all, he was known for cutting the leash after all. But the fact he was not here to accompany him gnawed at him with guilt.

Arline's brows furrowed in response, a frown creasing her forehead. “By islander, do you mean Catasach? The doneigad that came here to treat his affliction?” She pressed, her voice betraying a hint of surprise Kurt shared.

“Yes.” Logan nodded. “A strange bird, missing more than one feather, if you ask me, milady.” He added, shifting his weight again. “I was ordered to set up patrol along a small path, rather far from the rest of the company. I was to protect our perimeter from anyone wandering along. According to the islander, it was the only access point to their planned destination.” He recounted, his gaze clouding. “I did my rounds for quite some time, not a soul came along. But then I heard cries a ways off, and I went running to help.” His gaze focused back on Arline, pleading for understanding. “I heard an enormous crashing sound, like an avalanche of rocks, so then I turned right back around.” His eyes darted to Kurt, as if he hoped he would support him. He wouldn’t.

“And you ran all the way here?” Arline asked, apparently incredulous at the guard's decision to abandon his post at the first sign of trouble, a sentiment, again, shared by Kurt.

“I had a horse. I rode until it couldn’t run no more, then I ran myself the rest of the way, milady.” The corporal defended himself.

“Why did you not go and look for yourself?” Arline demanded, frowning in annoyance. “To see if they had been buried by a rockslide…” Her voice trailed off, the implication of her words causing her to tremble with fear for her cousin's safety. Kurt reached out to comfort her again, his hand brushing against her in a silent reassurance that she was not alone in facing the uncertainty and fear.

“What? Alone?!” Logan cried. “What could I have done? It seemed of greater urgency to go and get help!” He insisted, even as his face went red.

Arline's expression twisted into a grimace. “I am having trouble deciding if cowardice or intelligence got the better of you.” She said, her voice a mixture of contempt and disbelief. “But that is a question for your superiors.”

Kurt, his features set in a hard line, shook his head slightly, the motion barely perceptible. “I’d wager the first.” He responded to the call, his voice his voice low but carrying a sharp edge of conviction. “But if he didn’t run, Green Blood, we wouldn’t know what happened.”

Their eyes met, Arline's burning with an intensity of raw anger, yet she acknowledged his point with a terse nod. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she inhaled deeply, seeking a semblance of calm amidst the storm of her emotions.

“Do you know precisely where the company was when you heard these sounds?” She demanded turning back to the guard.

“No, not precisely, I hadn’t gone there.” He responded, his voice faltering under her probing gaze. “But I could show you where I was posted. The islander said they were following the path, but he was quite a ways ahead when I lost sight of them.”

Arline shook her head, frowning. “My cousin was quite weak. Do you know why he decided to follow the doneigad?” She asked, massaging her temple.

The guard looked earnest, eager to provide whatever information he could. “His Highness was feeling much better, the potions that he was drinking must have been potent.” He hurried with his observations. “I wasn’t privy to their counsel, I haven’t the beginning of an explanation for the expedition. But your cousin was all full of enthusiasm and ordered that we set out as quick as we could make ready.”

Arline sighed heavily. “That sounds like him…” Arline murmured, her voice laden with a weary resignation. “What sort of mess has he gotten himself into again…”

“I am sorry, milady, but I don’t know anything else that I could tell you.” The corporal said, evidently eager to be away.

“Dismissed, soldier!” Arline agreed, turning away. “Looks like I am going on an expedition.” She added as if to herself, her voice hard as steel, though resonating with tiredness.

Kurt quickened his pace to catch up with Arline, his brow creased with worry that etched deeper lines into his face. “Green Blood, it’s far, we won’t get there quickly, and you need to sleep.” He urged, his voice a blend of concern and command.

Arline continued her determined march, unshaken. “I will not be able to sleep, Kurt.” She said, her voice steady, betraying no sign of the tumult within.

“Take a sleeping potion. Please.” Kurt pressed, his plea softening into a gentle request. “I’ll send the guard now, and we can follow on the morrow.”

She paused at the entrance of the palace, turning to face him, her brows furrowed. “If they are buried by a landslide… every moment counts.” She breathed, her voice a whisper of fear and desperation.

Kurt nodded. “I know, but you can’t remove boulders alone, anyway. The guard will go immediately with spare horses and orders to push fast.” His logic, delivered with calm assurance, began to wear down her resistance. His plea seemed to reach her, her rigid posture softening ever so slightly as she hesitated, considering his words. Seeing her hesitation, Kurt stepped closer, his hands reaching out to gently squeeze her shoulders, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that demanded attention. “You won’t help him if you collapse.” He said, his voice low and pleading.

Her gaze softened. “Very well.” She conceded. “Hurry. I will not take the potion before I hear that help is on the way.”

Kurt released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, relief flooding through him. Then, almost without thinking, he reached up, his hand cradling the nape of her neck, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

Turning on his heel, Kurt hurried towards the coin barracks, his steps quick. Only when he reached the bottom of the staircase did he pause, the realization of his impromptu act of intimacy hitting him like a cold wave. He glanced back, finding Arline still standing at the entrance, suspended in surprise.

“Hang me.” He muttered under his breath, chiding himself for his newfound carelessness. He was behaving like an unseasoned youth, not a soldier on duty! He was unable, however, to regret the comfort it may have brought her. With a shake of his head, he continued on his mission, the urgency of the situation propelling him forward despite the turmoil in his heart.

Kurt's steps echoed through the barracks as he issued commands for a rescue squad. The air was thick with the scent of leather and the soft clatter of armour being donned in haste. In the midst of organizing, Commander Sieglinde approached, extending a letter. “It's from our contact in San Matheus.” She said, her tone indicating the importance of its contents, likely concerning Major Herman, as he requested.

Not now. The thought blazed through Kurt's mind, a fierce rebuttal to any distraction. Constantin’s safety and Arline’s well-being, overshadowed every other concern. He pocketed the letter without a glance, a silent promise to address Herman's issue later.

He raced back to the mansion. Upon entering the vestibule, he found Arline pacing, a restless energy in every step. Síora, Vasco, Lady Eloise, and even Petrus formed a quiet assembly.

Upon hearing of the squad's departure, a visible weight lifted from Arline's shoulders. She downed the sleeping potion with a grimace. A maid stepped forward, whispering that a guest room had been prepared for him at Arline's insistence, echoing her demand that he, too, should rest.

Kurt watched as Arline was led to her bedroom, her steps slow, the potion already drawing her into slumber's embrace. With a deep, weary sigh, Kurt acquiesced to Arline's demands. The prospect of sleep in a soft bed was suddenly appealing. He followed the maid to the guest room. As he lay down, the events of the day replayed in his mind, but the thought of Arline, safe and resting, offered a sliver of peace.

○●○

The journey to Magasvár, not far from the campsite of the scholar expedition that Aphra once accompanied, was tense, marked by the heavy silence of the group and the anxiety radiating from Arline. Her complexion hadn’t improved since they left Serene; worry lines etched deeper into her face.

As they were greeted by the advance guard, the first slivers of hope—that perhaps they might find Constantin safe—dissipated like mist in the morning sun. The guards reported back with grim faces. Their initial fears of a landslide were unfounded; instead, they stumbled upon a battlefield. The earth was scarred with the remnants of a violent encounter. Bodies lay broken and charred, large, burnt boulders littered the ground, and trees were shattered and scorched, unmistakable evidence of native magic at work. In the midst of the devastation, there was no trace of Constantin and Catasach. The only conclusion to be drawn was that they had been taken. Or at least one of them was.

Arline shuddered at the news, her breath hitching, and blood draining from her face. “Could Catasach have set a trap?” She whispered, her voice quivering with the strain of sick worry, her eyes pleading for answers with Síora.

“How could you even think something like that?” Síora said, firm with conviction. “He is a healer, he brought comfort to your cousin.”

“Perhaps he only did it to gain our trust…” Arline shook her head, her hand clutching the hilt of her sabre. “With Constantin captive, he now has leverage to apply to the colonists and force them to accept his conditions.”

“The tracks lead to place of native cult, milady.” Lieutenant Myca interjected before another sound escaped Síora. “A cave with a stone circle. Perhaps the islander wanted to conduct some… ritual.” His implication hung thick in the air.

“Couwis.” Síora remarked, missing the tension, a spark of realization in her eyes. “A cave of knowledge, there is one nearby. It isn’t a place of cult, but rather of… anchoring? A place where doneigada perform a ritual to become sin ol menawí. These places are charged with great energy… Perhaps Catasach wanted to use it to bring relief to your cousin?”

“In any case, they were finished with the ritual, or they never started it.” Myca stated. “The place is undisturbed. It's possible our soldiers perceived the islander as a threat to His Highness and intervened, or another group of natives wielded those boulders.“

“No one would have attacked Catasach.” Síora countered, her arms folding defensively across her chest.

“Perhaps they would if he defended my cousin?” Arline frowned in confusion. “In truth, I have no idea what to think.”

“We have seen something like this in this region already, Green Blood.” Kurt reminded, his voice gentle despite his own worry.

Arline looked at him, her frown deepening, before she nodded. “We must see the doneia egsregaw.” The steel in her voice did little to mask the underlying fear, the trembling that seemed to seize her every now and then.

The party set out for Deren’s territory, the clan leader who had previously denied them audience. Arline led the way, her posture rigid with determination, yet the fatigue of sleepless nights and constant worry making each of her steps heavier that the previous one.

As they neared the encampment nestled amidst the remnants of bygone colonial aspirations, they were met by two native guards, vigilant and imposing, who stood as guardians at the makeshift gate.

“Kwé es sí, renaígse? Do not take a step further!” The command was as sharp as the tip of a spear pointed at them.

Arline, undeterred and upright, responded with authority. “My name is Arline De Sardet. I wish to speak with your mál.”

The warrior scrutinized her, suspicion etched in the narrow of her eyes. Recognition slowly dawned upon her. “You are the renaígse on ol menawí! You are known here, you are the one who liberated the lions…” She trailed off, her demeanour softening ever so slightly. “And the one who liberated our people from their prisons.” She added with a dose of reluctance. “They have returned to us. You may enter.”

A sigh of relief escaped Arline as they were granted entry, a subtle tension unwinding within her. She nodded her thanks and stepped forward into the camp, following their guide. Kurt trailed behind, his senses alert for any sign of deceit. The warriors' readiness to engage, their bodies tense and poised for conflict, followed them with silent, watchful eyes as they were led towards a structure on the camp's western fringe.

As the woman gestured to the door, Kurt placed a reassuring hand on Arline's shoulder, signalling for her to wait as he entered the building first, his hand resting on his sword's hilt. Inside, he immediately came face to face with another warrior, taller than him, as the islanders tended to be, and more imposing. The air crackled with tension as the warrior glared down at him. “Diwed!” He barked. “What are you doing? Who let you pass?” He demanded.

Arline appeared at his side. “Your men.” She stated plainly. “We are here to parley with your chief.”

The warrior's expression twisted into a grimace. “Parley?” He sneered giving Arline the glare, disbelief and disdain mingling in his voice. “With renaígse? You truly believe that…”

“Leave this to me.” A woman’s low voice cut in as she stepped from behind her guard, her presence commanding attention. Her long hair, gathered in two low ponytails, were a beautiful shade of flaming orange – like Arline’s – rare on the continent, common here.  “I want to know what they have to say.” She added, and the warrior obediently stepped back. The chief regarded them with a hint of curiosity before her eyes stopped on Arline. “I know you. It is you who freed the prisoners. What do you want, renaígse?”

Arline met Deren's challenging stare without flinching, her jaw set. “I have passed the trial of the Waters, I am no longer renaígse.” She declared.

Deren's expression shifted as she processed Arline's words, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Has a clan claimed you?”

“No.” Arline admitted, her patience fraying.

“Then you walk among us as lugeid blau, an outsider still.” Deren concluded, folding her arms.

“Very well.” Arline cut to the point. “It is on behalf of the lugeid blau that I come. To speak to you about my cousin’s capture and the massacre of his escort.”

The warrior bristled with indignation. “You dare come here and accuse us of taking him?” He spat out, his hand inching towards his weapon. “Let me throw out this renaígse and her ilk, Deren! May they receive this punishment for their arrogance.”

Arline, summoning all the composure she could muster, adopted a tone of diplomacy that Kurt recognized well. “I know that you see us as your enemies, but we are not here to harm you.” She said with a deep exhale. “I only seek to find the man I consider to be my brother. As well as the man who was protecting him, Catasach, one of your greatest doneigada.”

Deren held up a hand, silencing the warrior's protests. She considered Arline for a long moment, her gaze piercing. “No doneia egsregaw would attack Catasach.” She echoed Síora’s earlier conviction. “We do not have your cousin and we do not know what happened to him.” She added. “As for Catasach…” Deren's voice trailed off for a moment, gathering a somber tone. “Andevaurshd tír é! He died from his wounds.”

Arline tensed at her words. “What happened?” She asked, her voice strained with fear.

“That night we heard the sounds of a terrible combat; the ground shook all the way to our homes.” Deren recounted, her eyes clouding at the memory. “We went to see, but we arrived too late. The last breath of Catasach had returned to the wind when we arrived there…” He voice fell in sorrow as she spoke. “And many of the renaígse were dead… We could do no more.” She added. “We carried the body of the doneigad and brought it here.”

“He gave his life to protect Constantin?” Arline murmured, her voice breaking. “May he rest in peace.” She touched her fist to her lips and then to her chest in the native gesture of respect. “This request may surprise you, but we would like to see him.”

“Why?” Deren’s guard challenged, suspicion lacing his words. “What do you want to do with him, renaígse?”

“Examine him,” Arline sighed. “To find clues who killed him.”

Deren considered her request for a long moment before nodding. “You may see him.” She agreed. “But if you desecrate his body, you will pay for this offense with your life.” She added, her voice turning to steel.

As they navigated through the camp under Deren's lead, the scrutinizing and unwelcoming gazes from the natives prickled at Kurt’s skin. Deren's guard’s gaze burned into him as he followed them. They entered a tent, set apart from the rest, which held the sombre atmosphere of mourning and loss.

The sight that greeted them was gruesome. Catasach’s corpse retained the signs of a bludgeoning, there were large bruises all over it. Kurt could see no wounds that could be attributed to a blade or a musket shot. The major wound was found on the chest, which was crushed by something tremendous, to the degree that the skin was torn. The ribs were in pieces and the organs punctured. The edges of the wound were singed, and the smell of burnt flesh still lingered in the air. There was a powdery spot on his wound, as if from ash or dusty gravel. Catasach bore the brunt of this attack or incredible force, Kurt would venture to say it was inhuman. He could only imagine one thing that could have inflicted such a wound. It was as if an enormous burning stone hit right in the centre of the chest.

Síora’s breath hitched at the sight. “Andevaurshd tír é!” She whispered.

“Catasach…” Arline's voice trembled with grief. “I hate myself for having suspected him… Forgive me,doneigad, to have doubted your loyalty.” She whispered, clutching the amulet at her neck.

Kurt reached out to squeeze Arline's hand. Their eyes met, her eyes wide with a void of fear. “I… fear the worst for Constantin.” She confessed, her voice almost completely lost to the wind.

Ignoring their audience, and with a tenderness belied by his metal gauntlet, Kurt cupped Arline's cheek. “Whatever force took him, it chose to abduct rather than to kill. Hold onto hope, Green Blood. We will find him.” He murmured, his voice soft but urgent, trying to convey nothing by calmness. Her fingers tightened on his armoured wrist, her rapid breaths slowing as she held on.

Deren's scoff broke the brief respite. “You’ve learned so little, you’ve learned to fear. Your instincts should have been enough!” She chastised, her gaze piercing. Kurt’s jaw tightened as he fought an urge to silence her.

Arline winced away from Kurt’s hand, measuring Deren with a frown of incredulity. “Are you not even concerned, or angered by what happened to Catasach?” She cried, her voice raising high.

Deren folded her arms. “We’ve grown accustomed to the loss of lives, relentless attacks and incessant treacheries…” She said, but then shook her head with a sigh, her voice growing softer. “All the same, there is truth in your words. This attack is out of place.”

“The power to call volcano fires could only be that of a guardian, no simple man wields mountain fire…” Síora whispered. “But I can’t imagine a Nádaig behaving like this. It is not their way! They may attack careless hunters or warriors, true, but to attack Catasach?”

Deren nodded slowly, her expression turning contemplative. “Guardian and doneigad would never attack one another.” She agreed. “There is a ritual that might help us… anatelas fer…”

Arline looked at Deren with a new interest. “Anatelas fer? The last breath?” She asked.

Deren nodded. “It is a ritual that only a person with a powerful bond to both spirits can perform. It allows the doneigad who chants to relieve the last moments of an on ol menawí.”

Arline's eyes widened with realization. “We have heard the legend… About a woman relieving the death of her lover. It is real?” Her voice and her posture grew stronger as hope reignited. “That would allow us to at least see the face of his assassin!”

“If what I heard is true, yes.” Deren confirmed. “To my knowledge only one doneigad still knows the ritual. Tierna harh cadachtas. She is the woman in the story.”

“The Tierna?” Arline echoed, blinking in surprise. “We must ask for her help…” She breathed with an urgent plea.

“You are quick to ask another to put her mind in danger for your own concerns.” Deren cut, grimacing. “Imagine the pain of the wounds of another shaking your body as the cold of death crushes your beating heart? This is what you must ask of the the Tierna harh. It is the price she must pay for performing the ritual.” As Deren scolded Arline, Kurt saw her spirit crushing again, her shoulders slumping, her brows knitting together in sorrow. The story said the woman who performed the ritual was forever changed by the pain of the experience, and Kurt knew Arline would be reluctant to ask this of anyone. But as much as he felt a pang of sympathy for Mev, he was determined to make the request.

“We will make her see our purpose, Green Blood.” He promised. “We will learn the fate of Constantin.”

With Deren’s reluctant permission—and the accompaniment of one of her representatives as a sign of this begrudging allowance—Kurt carefully lifted Catasach’s body. As he adjusted his grip, ensuring respect and care with every movement, they left the camp, now bound for Vígshádhír, the dwelling of Tierna harh Cadachtas, where perhaps answers lay.

Chapter Text

Chapter 32

“Take this Divine Essence and bestow it upon thy brethren. Serve them well. But shouldst thou defy, conceal this Power, or seek to elevate thyself using it, My Wrath shall befall thee.”

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:13.

_______

With a full day's journey behind them, the weary party with a small guard, arrived in Vígshádhír. The transportation of Catasach's body on a massive Andríg led by Deren’s warrior Roran, made Arline rue the decision against a carriage. Sustained by a mixture of sleep potions and Kurt's unwavering support, she managed to get some shuteye and maintained her pace. The villagers of Vígshádhír met their arrival with mixed reactions, ranging from warm welcomes to sceptical glances.

Wasting no time, Arline led the way to Tierna’s home, propelled by a feverish worry for Constantin. “Hello, Mev.” She greeted, her voice betraying the fatigue she fought so hard to conceal.

Mev, framed by the doorway, regarded them with a narrow-eyed gaze. “Renaígse, why have you come here again?”

Arline’s response was a soft exhale, a prelude to the plea she had carried over miles. “I have come to ask you for help.” She said, trying to muster her practiced confidence, suddenly insufficient in the face of the harrowing experience she was about to ask of the doneigad.  

Mev’s frown deepened at the words, to creases appearing between her brows. “My help?” She echoed, gesturing them to sit. “You still seek the remedy for the sickness on your island or are you looking for something else?”

“My cousin has been taken,” Arline explained, her voice calm despite the storm inside. “And I have been told that you could help me.”

Mev blinked in surprise. “Truly? In what way?”

With a deep, steadying breath, Arline braced herself for the request she dreaded to make. “By performing the anatelas fer on the body of Tiern Catasach.” She stated, her voice quivering slightly, the words heavy with the knot in her throat.

Tierna’s drawn eyebrows turned down, her shoulders drooping. “Catasach is dead?” She murmured in a hoarse voice. She let out a heavy breath. “Andevaurshd tír é! This is a great tragedy. He was a good man, perhaps the best of us all.” She paused for a moment, looking down before she met Arline’s eyes again. ”How did this happen?”

“He went with my cousin to couwis in Magasvár and they were attacked.” Arline said. “My cousin has disappeared, and Catasach suffered terrible wounds. We examined him and it seemed as if he had been struck by molten rock…”

Mev’s eyebrows shot up. “Fire of the Earth?” She croaked. “Only the Nádaig meneimen have the power to wield it. But none of our own would have attacked Catasach.” She insisted, echoing other natives’ sentiments.

Arline nodded sharply. “This is why we need your help. We want to understand and to find who is responsible.” She said.

Pondering, Mev pinched her lower lip between her fingers. “And you will avenge the dead as you have avenged my wound in the past.” She murmured, as if to herself. “Very well renaígse, I will help you.” She agreed with a sigh. “I also wish to gain understanding.”

Relief washed over Arline with a warm wave, though it didn’t quite take the weight in her stomach. “Thank you, Mev. I understand that the process is a harrowing one. Please know that I would take the burden if I could.”

“Our island wails in suffering, many sin ol menawí have died.” Mev mused in response, her eyes clouding as she looked over Arline’s shoulder. “The anatelas fer may kill me, but at least I will know. Where is the body?” She asked, meeting Arline’s gaze again.

“We have brought it with us. One of Deren’s warriors watches over it in our camp.”

“Then we must not delay.” Mev declared, rising to her feet. “You and Síora will act as my voglendaig.”

Síora bowed her head. “You honour me, Tierna harh.”

As they retraced their steps back to the camp, the hustle of setting up had not yet subsided. The four guards that had tagged along were busy securing the tents and preparing the site. Under the watchful eye of Deren's warrior, they carried Catasach's body to a quiet, undisturbed part of the surrounding area, under the thick canopy of the forest.

“Can you tell me how this ritual is performed?” Arline broke the silence, her mouth slightly dry from nervousness.

Mev turned to her. “I have heard you passed the Trial of the Waters, renaígse.” She said instead.

Arline blinked, taken aback by the change of topic, and the speed of the news between clans. “Indeed. I wish to speak to En ol míl frichtimen.” She confirmed. “But finding my cousin is my only concern right now.”

Mev nodded. “During the trial, have you received a vision from the island?” She asked, her gaze unblinking.

Arline shivered at the memory. “I… believe I did. I do not remember it very well, I was injured and distressed when it came.” She said, her voice wavering slightly as she remembered the awful illusion of Kurt’s betrayal. Her eyes darted to him, a steadfast companion, looking at her with the lately ever present frown of concern. She felt her chest swell as their eyes briefly met.

“What I am about to do is similar.” Mev brought her back to the present. “I will connect with the island, and it will show me what Catasach saw, as he was connected to it too – just as rain is connected to it.” She explained.

Arline felt another chill running up her spine. “En ol míl frichtimen can see through the eyes of sin ol menawí?” She asked, unsettled by the prospect.

“Yes.” Mev answered, her tone one of explaining the obvious. “They are Tír Fradí in all and everything, the wisdom of their people, the gentleness of their rivers, the strength of their volcano. They are the essence of all life, all magic, they are the spring.”

Arline felt a sense of déjà vu, recalling similar sentiments expressed about the Enlightened by a Thelemite priest. The mages called him The Source, and though their doctrines did not advocate for nature worship, they emphasized that all creation bore His divine essence.

“I think I understand, Tierna harh.” She said, nodding slowly. “But I was asking about the technical aspects. What will you do and how are we to help you?”

“The ritual requires channelling four elements at once.” Tierna revealed, adopting a patient tone. “Mostdoneigada can only channel three. I can manage alone,” She continued, surprising Arline with the extent of her skill. “But the ritual will distress me.” Her voice dropped with a sudden weight. She swallowed. “It will be easier if the two of you link with me and help me channel.” She said. “Have you ever linked with anyone before?”

Arline’s brows furrowed in confusion. “No.”

Síora stepped in with an explanation. “It is a way for our minds to connect and join our Power together.” She explained. “I will initiate the link. Once we are connected, you will only need to sustain the link by channelling Life and Spirit.”

The idea of mentally connecting with another made Arline shudder. Her mind raced with the memory of the Ombrégeurs' forbidden skill, a mind blast that could shatter the sanctity of one's thoughts, damaging the victim’s mind, a crime deemed so heinous it warranted death by fire. But that skill used Spirit and Force, not Ether. Seeking a source of strength, her gaze found Kurt, who watched her with concern etched on his face. As their eyes locked, he reflexively gave her a forced smile; it wasn’t convincing, but she appreciated the effort.

“These are also the elements I need you to channel in my direction.” Mev said. “I will weave them with Time and Space.”

“Time magic?” Síora asked, apparently astonished. Arline remembered her cautioning against its use.

“It is dangerous.” Mev agreed. “That is why most doneigada never learn it.”

Roran carefully positioned Catasach's body on the soft grass, choosing to reveal only his face while the remainder of his form remained shrouded. Arline silently appreciated this gesture; the sight of his injuries was something she wished not to confront again, especially given the time that had passed since his death.

Mev gestured for Arline and Síora to take their places by her side. Kurt, maintaining a respectful distance, remained vigilant, his gaze fixed on Arline, his posture tense with concern and readiness, a small comfort for Arline’s nerves.

Síora, taking Arline's hand gently, prepared to bridge their minds. “I will weave the link.” She murmured. “Once you feel it, Channel Life and Spirit in my direction. Do not worry, I will be respectful.” She reassured, her tone imbued with a sincerity that eased some of Arline's trepidation, but another shiver ran down her spine.

With her sharp nod of agreement, the ethereal caress of Síora's Power enveloped Arline’s senses, a welcoming embrace vastly different from the intrusive assault she had feared. Clutching her amulet like a lifeline, she apprehensively allowed Ether and Spirit to flow from her, tendrils seeking out Síora’s open presence.

Her apprehension melted into a startled gasp. As their Power merged into one, Arline was plunged into a bewildering dual perception; she could see Síora as before, yet she also saw herself through Síora’s eyes—pale and wide-eyed.

The warmth of their clasped hands was magnified, felt with a doubled sensitivity that sent shivers cascading through both of her bodies. Arline was awash with Síora’s emotions—grief, a fresh pang for Catasach, and an older, more raw pain for a lost mother; warm care and affection for Arline herself; a vibrant undercurrent of Power. It was disorienting, overwhelming, yet undeniably poignant, making her heart—or hearts—flutter in tandem, while her breaths, drawn by two sets of lungs, quickened in sync.

“Easy, carants.” Síora whispered, and Arline heard the sound with two pairs of ears, felt the words vibrating in her mouth. “This takes some getting used to.”

“I thought…” Arline’s own voice echoed back to her altered, unfamiliar. “It would be… mind reading.” She managed, her voice laced with awe and a hint of fear. She realized Síora could sense her feelings, too, and a hot wave of embarrassment tingled her skin as she unwittingly looked at Kurt.

“We now share sensations, not thoughts.” Síora explained, a smile in her voice. “It is possible to share thoughts if you weave Spirit in a different way. But that is very intimate.”

Arline found it hard to even imagine a connection more intimate than this. “I can see that.” She breathed.

“Are you ready?” Síora asked, her gentle voice in contrast to the concern Arline sensed through the link.

Arline took a deep breath. “Mev,” Her voice trembled. “Will we experience the death of Catasach with you?” She whispered.

“I do not know.” Mev said, her voice heavy.

Arline’s tense nod was a sign for Síora to extend her weave to Mev. Their world expanded in an instant, the boundaries of their shared consciousness stretched to encompass another soul. Through Mev’s eyes, the sombre visage of Catasach came into sharp focus, the wave of her grief, new and old, crashing over her determination, standing form like a lighthouse in the storm. The raw edge of Mev’s fear cut Arline like a blade with the rush of terror sending a shiver across her own flesh.

Mev drew a real blade across her palm. Arline hissed, the sensation so vivid it was as though the knife had sliced into her skin, too. Síora winced beside her, mirroring her reaction. The warmth and wetness of Mev’s blood seeped into Arline’s senses, droplets falling in a morbid anointing onto Catasach's still form.

Mev’s heartbeat thundered, a rapid drumroll under her skin that Arline felt as if it were her own, as she weaved the elements with those pulled from the Chaos by Arline and Síora, enveloping the dead with Power.

“A to ol komfrangawí e brandí olei hanememen, ades da ma jarmam!” Mev chanted with a rasped voice. “Ber e vridenan ta hanemó kwa ta grefem a linkwíd dam da renaw de ta jodous.” As Mev’s fingers brushed against Catasach’s cheek, Arline felt the roughness of his skin against hers. “Lémat... De ta hauan kloisám. De ta lugedon veilám. De ta ragam buleidám. De ta tamenam rélaidám. A de ta lámam kantábeidám... En anatelam fer frág t'angom.”

Arline’s breath hitched as her vision was consumed by a sudden blinding light. She found herself standing in a dense forest, her body bruised and battered, each movement a jolt of pain. Thick white tendrils of smoke coiled upwards, carrying the suffocating stench of fire and death. The acrid smell burned her throat, making each breath shallow and laboured. Bodies were strewn across the ground at her feet, their blood soaking into the damp earth beneath coats of blue and silver.

“Catasach!” Constantin's terrified voice cut through the chaos, sharp and desperate. Arline’s head snapped around. “Help me, please!” His words cracked with fear. There he was, weak and trembling, crawling on all fours, his eyes wide, haunted by terror.

Arline dragged herself toward him, her heart pounding in her chest, each step sending waves of agony shooting through her side. Her vision blurred as she collapsed next to him, her body too battered to hold her up any longer.

“Show no fear!” The words that came from her lips were not her own; they carried the rasped authority of Catasach. “I do not think he means you any harm!”

Constantin’s voice trembled, barely a whisper. “Who… what is this... this monster? Why is it attacking us?”

“I don’t know.” Catasach’s voice rang through her again, strained and ragged. “I don’t understand... It’s as if it seeks you out! It wants you!”

Without warning, a force struck her, violent and unyielding, sending her flying several feet. Pain shot through her limbs like bolts of lightning, her body skidding against the earth. Dizzy and disoriented, she looked up to see a man towering over her, his eyes cold, devoid of mercy. His robes marked him as a Tiern, and the twisted créaga that protruded from his head gave him an ominous aura.

“You never should have done that, Catasach.” His voice, a low, dangerous murmur, carried the weight of accusation. Though he spoke in Yech Fradí, the meaning of his words struck her as if they were her own language. “To save one alien, you’ve put us all in great peril.”

Fear crawled up Arline’s spine. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she scrambled backward, her palms slick with dirt and blood. His gaze never wavered.

“His spirit is different. He receives badly. You’ve woven the bond of the death bringer.”

Arline opened her mouth to respond, but Catasach’s voice never had a chance to come. The sky above erupted with fiery brilliance, and a boulder, blazing red-hot, hurtled toward her. Excruciating pain consumed her as it collided with her torso, tearing through her body. She looked down in horror at the gaping hole where her chest had been, her body convulsing violently. She wanted to scream, but there was no breath left in her. Only agony—raw, all-consuming agony.

Then, in an instant, it all vanished. Arline’s eyes snapped open, and she gasped for air as if surfacing from a drowning depth. Panic clawed at her, and she scrambled frantically, pushing away hands that gripped her, desperate to stand, her mind still trapped in the nightmare.

“Kurt?” she croaked, her voice ragged. His face was contorted with fear, and as she recognized him, the tension in her muscles released, leaving her trembling and weak. She sank back against him, her body quivering as reality slowly anchored her back from the horrors she had just lived through.

Beside her, Síora reached out to Mev, only to be pushed aside as the Tierna regained her balance, a hand clasping over her mouth as if to contain the storm of emotions threatening to spill forth, and she drew laboured breaths. When she finally spoke, her voice was a mix of disbelief and horror. “I cannot believe it… He has returned!”

“Who has?” Arline urged, scrambling to her feet with Kurt’s help, her mind racing.

“Vinbarr,” Mev exhaled, sending a chill through Arline’s body. “The High King. We thought he was dead. He disappeared months ago.”

Arline blinked, trying to make sense of the revelation. “Is he the attacker?” She demanded. “And what of Constantin? What happened to him?” Her plea trailed off as a storm of emotions choked the words in her throat. Have the natives declared war on the Congregation? Her head spun and she grasped Kurt’s arm, fighting the fog around her vision with rapid breaths, her mouth moving, but no sound beside low whimpers forming.

Mev shook her head, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I don’t understand any of it, renaígse!” Her eyes snapped to Arline, two dark embers simmering with emotion. “What did Catasach do? Why would Vinbarr kill him for it!” She spewed, her hands tugging at her créaga.

Arline, taking deep breaths to steady herself, brushing against the rough wool of Kurt’s sleeve with her fingers, grounding herself and finding solace in its familiarity. Although she has just experienced death of another, Mev has experienced a death of a friend, she reminded herself. “I… I am sorry. How are you feeling?” She managed to say.

Mev let out a long sigh. “Leave me now, I am very tired.”

Arline’s jaw tensed from the dismissal, but she knew how much she owned the woman. “Thank you Mev, you have helped us greatly.” Her voice came in automatic, not conveying the gratitude she truly felt.

“Do not thank me,” Mev barked in annoyance. “I have not done this for you, but for Catasach.” She sighed again, her voice taking on a sombre note. “In order to satisfy my curiosity, I betrayed my king. You will find him, and confront him no doubt. All that remains for me to do is pray that I have done nothing that cannot be fixed.”

“Then let us both hope for Constantin’s safe return.” Arline murmured, dreading the alternative. Leaning on Kurt for support, Síora on his other arm, they navigated her way back to the camp, exhaustion and nervous nausea clouding her senses.

As they reached the camp, Arline paused, taking in a deep, steadying breath. She glanced towards the fading light, the sun's last rays casting long shadows across the ground. There was still time, albeit little, to press on, to edge closer to Wenshavarr—Vinbarr's home, where she hoped to unravel the mystery of his whereabouts and perhaps uncover the fate of her cousin.

“I think we should move,” Arline said, her voice low lacking firmness in her desperation. “If we make it a few miles closer to Wenshavarr, it will give us a head start come morning.”

Kurt studied her face, deep creases appearing in his forehead, his lips pursed. Arline could almost feel the objection he debated voicing. He didn’t. “We'll break camp now.” He said, helping her and Síora sit down under a nearby tree. With one last glace, he turned to issue orders to the small contingent of guards that had accompanied them. His movements were efficient, each action precise, driven by the same fervour that fuelled Arline's urgency.

With a few grunts of discontent, tents were quickly dismantled, and provisions were gathered with efficiency borne of practice. Kurt, directing the efforts, cast frequent glances towards Arline, ensuring her comfort was paramount.

Arline closed her eyes and leaning back against the sturdy trunk. The cool bark pressed against her skin, a fleeting escape from the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She was tired, so very tired, but the thought of finding Constantin, of bringing him home safe, propelled her forward.

Once the party was ready to move, she rose with Kurt’s help, her legs steadier now, bolstered by the brief rest and his unwavering presence beside her. His hands, strong and sure, practically lifted Arline into the saddle, a fleeting flutter stirring in her—a brief, stolen moment of warmth in the chill of her dread; but as quickly as it came, the sensation dissolved into the ether, her thoughts once again ensnaring around the singular, consuming worry for Constantin. And then, with the last of the day's light guiding their way, they set out once more, their path leading ever onwards, towards Wenshavarr and the answers that awaited them there.

Chapter Text

Chapter 33

Mute in my reverence, I was naught but a flame devouring my essence. I cannot recall my reply, but tears flowed unabated. 

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:16.

_______

The region of Steiger falág, The Rocky Steps, the village of Wenshavarr was nestled, was an austere, rugged landscape at the foot of the mountain range that spanned the middle of the island, dominated by the huge volcano in its heart. The red streak of flowing lava could not be that distant here, but it was hidden behind the towering rock faces. The air was already thinner, and the air was cooler, as if the time turned back a month or two. The emerald surface of the lake of summit meltwater mirrored the azure sky in a mesmerising play of colour. The air was filled with a fresh scent of damp soil and verdant life, and the flutter of wings and intertwining songs of vibrant birds. The Vegaíg awelas, known as wind weavers, led a life of monastic meditation here, making the feathered fabrics favoured by the doneigada for their ritual attire.

The splendour of the scenery was lost on Arline. She sat hunched in her saddle, periodically clutching her stomach, or tracing the contours of an amulet that was supposed to bring luck—a luck that felt desperately out of reach. With the constant nausea of worry, she barely managed to eat for the last two days. Her bloodshot eyes burned from insomnia and tears shed in solitude; any sliver of rest she found came only when she was curled against Kurt by the fire's comforting embrace. His warm hands offered a brief respite from the cold that had taken root in her fingers, his gentle reminders to drink water a balm to the dull ache in her throat. He was her only anchor in the sea of despair. Though she clung to hope they would find Constantin, the stress of the search would surely drown her without Kurt’s support.

The moment they crested the rocky shoulder of the mountain, an unsettling mix of noises reached their ears. They were still far from the village, yet they could hear a buzz of campsite activity, punctuated by stertorous screams. Kurt's hand snapped up, a silent command halting their advance. His frame stiffened, every muscle coiled like a spring, as he strained to listen. His breath came sharp and quick, and his eyes fogged with a now familiar distance. “Torture.” He hissed.

Arline’s lips parted as the realisation jabbed at her mind like a white-hot rod. She dug her heels into her horse's side, but Kurt’s hand caught the bridle with a firm grip.

“Let me scout ahead.” He rapped, his recent warmth replaced by steel. Arline nodded in agreement, dismounting alongside him, and handing the reins to one of the other guards. Síora materialised beside them and without a word exchanged, Arline weaved a veil of shadowstep around them. The trio vanished from sight, swallowed by the shadow’s embrace as they moved towards the source of the screams.

Surveying the scene from an elevated vantage point, the splash of the Alliance's vibrant attire captured their attention first. Among the gathered figures—ten in total, four were bristling with armour and weapons, the others wore civilian clothing. The gruelling sounds came from the edge of the camp. There, a native woman sat bound to a stake, her dark skin marred by the violence inflicted upon her. Paint mingled with the blood seeping from a laceration on her forehead, unravelling the pattern to reveal a dark circle under her eye. Her split lip, the swelling that contorted half of her face, and the partial state of undress laid bare the brutality she had endured—evidence of bludgeoning and whipping marking her skin. Through her pain, she spat blood defiantly at two men who loomed over her.

“She’s been enduring this punishment for hours, blow upon blow, through gritted teeth…” One of them complained, as if this inconvenience had ruined his day.

The other one scoffed. “A truly savage beast we have here. Do we even know if it speaks our language?”

Arline simmered with rage, her blood boiled in her veins, her hands itched from the Power already rippling through her skin, resonating with Síora’s. Her loud huffs voiced into a growl as another figure approached them – a figure she recognised. It was the leader of the scholar expedition they had released from Deren’s camp, the one whose dissecting gaze upon Arline's face mark had once driven her to an impulsive decision of splitting their party that put Kurt in danger. A white-hot wave of hatred washed over Arline at the sight of her.

“Leave us.” The leader commanded, gesturing at the other so-called scholars. She stood over the native woman, her back turned to them. “You will eventually tell us how you found your way into that grotto. Your defiance is only prolonging the inevitable.” She mused. In the next moment, she seized the native woman's throat with a cruel grip, choking her without mercy.

“These monsters!” Síora hissed. “Come, we must set her free!”

Kurt’s sword grated over his sheath in response, as he locked his eyes with Arline’s and gave her a terse nod. With discipline just barely containing their fury, they made their descent, storming into the encampment as though it belonged to them, every hand poised on a weapon.

“Halt!” An Alliance soldier demanded as he unsheathed his sword, his stance defensive. “Who are you?”

“But I recognize this face!” A scholar seated near the fray snapped his book shut, his eyes widening in recognition. “Lady De Sardet! What a pleasure to see you again!” He exclaimed with an air of surprise, oblivious to the storm brewing around him. “What good wind brings you?”

His words drew the leader of the expedition closer. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, inevitably snapped to Arline's face, locking onto the distinctive mark.

Arline grimaced. “Civil pleasantries?” She said, her voice laced with contempt. “After a good day of torturing women? You disgust me.”

The leader raised her eyebrows, opening her arms in a defensive gesture. “Believe me, we would never have reached such extremities if she had told us what we wanted!” She said in a conversational tone. “You see, we have been studying these… beings that show, like you, such strange marking on their bodies.” Her eyes drilled into Arline with morbid curiosity that irked her. “We call them metamorphs… And we seek to learn through what process they metamorphosize.”

Arline's lips curled in a grimace of disgust and disbelief at the leader's explanation. “Oh yes, I have seen the work of one doctor Asili.” She retorted, her voice low from the barely contained rage. “We are awaiting his trial.”

The mention of Asili caught the leader off guard, her eyes widening as she hurriedly distanced her group from him. “We are not working with Asili. We were conducting our own research in the field.” She insisted. “We heard talk of a cavern of knowledge. The savages hide all of their knowledge within them, and certainly all the secrets that interest us… We discovered one here... But are unable to enter. This woman,” She gestured dismissively at the captive. “She knows how to enter, but as you have witnessed, she refuses to tell us how!” Her tone carried a note of incredulity, as if the refusal of cooperation from a tortured captive was a bewildering anomaly.

Arline's response was a derisive scoff. “If I refuse to invite you to my home, will you force your way inside?”

The leader, unfazed, merely rolled her eyes. “Please, Lady De Sardet, this is a false equivalency, and a fallacy of relevance.” She said. “Just think! To know we are so close to understanding such fascinating phenomenon, and to be able to do nothing… Let’s just say that it has made us… aggressive.”

Arline was on the edge of aggression herself. “It is extremely regrettable. Free her!” She commanded, setting her jaw.

“Lady De Sardet has a soft spot for the savages…” One of the scholars interjected with undisguised disdain. “But surely she understands the price of knowledge.”

“She won’t tell you anything!” The leader protested, missing the mark, or ignoring it. “Let us handle this; she will give in at some point.”

Arline was so, so tempted to become the judge and the executioner. With effort, she took a deep breath. “Have you already forgotten all that you owe me?” She spat. “Without me you would all be locked away in Deren’s jail, or likely even dead. I took you for sages, doctors…” She added, looking over them one by one, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “But you are nothing more than a gang of skin flayers… I regret not leaving you there.”

The leader’s lips parted in shock, her mouth opening and closing again, struggling for words. “It is true,” She stammered at last. “That we indeed owe you our lives, but… All this knowledge! Ripe for the picking…”

“No knowledge justifies treating anyone this way.” Arline cut, drawing her blade half way, observing the leader with cold, narrowed eyes. “Let me reiterate. Free her now, or see me rectify my earlier actions.”

“Ugh. Free her now.” The woman barked, gritting her teeth. “We shall leave. Nothing more holds us here.”

Arline knew better than to trust them. With her nod, Kurt hurried towards the native, cutting her bondage. “Come with us, we can escort you to Wenshavarr.” Arline offered. The woman regarded them warily, her gaze sharp and calculating under the shadow of her brow. Her eyes flickered across the landscape, searching for an escape, for any sign of deceit.

“I vouch for these people.” Síora assured. “I am Síora, daughter of Bládnid, daughter of Meb, doneigad of Gaís Rad.”

Reluctantly, the woman approached them with caution step. Together they put distance between their group and the scholars. With a gentle touch, Síora chennelled her healing magic into the woman’s wounds.

“How are you feeling?” Arline asked as soon as Kurt gave her a nod, assuring her they were safe.

“Better now.” The woman said. Her voice, low and rich, resonated with a pleasant timbre. “Those renaígseare absolute monsters! But who are you? You, too, are a renaígse, why have you freed me?” She demanded, narrowing her eyes at Arline.

Arline pursed her lips. “Those… scholars are abominations to their name.” She said. “They deserve a worse fate. But unfortunately, I am a diplomat.” She added with a sigh. “Arline De Sardet, legate of the Lugeid Blau. What is your name?”

“I am Céra, daughter of Bévin, daughter of Cílen, warrior of Vegaíg Awelas.”

Síora's voice lifted in surprise. “Céra? You are Rí Vinbarr’s minundhanem?” She asked, giving Arline a pointed look.

Céra's posture stiffened, her wary eyes scanning the faces around her before she confirmed. “I am.”

Arline felt a sudden rush, a cocktail of anticipation and anxiety that made her heart skip. The very loved one of the high king they came looking for, hoping for clues! “You are?” Arline pressed, her voice tinged with an urgency she couldn't mask. She leaned in, her eyes burning with a mixture of hope and desperation. “Do you know where we can find him? I came looking for him.”

Céra’s wary eyes turned weary. “I wish I knew where he was right now…” She said, her voice laden with profound sadness that seemed to age her beyond her years. “He bid me farewell weeks ago and he has not returned. I waited a long time and then I came here.” She looked into the distance, her jaw setting with determination. “To enter the cave of knowledge.”

Arline frowned. “You believe that this is where he is hiding?” She asked, hope flickering in her heart.

“No.” Céra cut her enthusiasm short. “But he came here often before he disappeared… I’m hoping to find answers.” Her eyes snapped back to Arline. “What do you want with him, renaígse?”

Arline couldn’t tell her she wanted to bring Vinbarr to justice for killing Catasach and kidnapping her cousin. She needed the woman’s help and couldn’t afford to alienate their only lead. She grasped at a reason that was not quite the lie, even if it was outdated after what had happened recently. “I… have completed the Trial of the Waters. I wished to ask him to take me to the sanctuary.”

Céra's eyebrow arched, a flicker of respect—or perhaps surprise—crossing her features. “You are full of surprises, renaígse.” She said. “You saved me, and so I must help you as well. You may come with me. Couwis is further north.”

With those words, a renewed vigour took hold of Arline, her heart thrumming with anticipation. They reunited with the rest of their party and followed Céra, whose resilience shone through her brisk pace, even in the aftermath of her ordeal.

As they neared the cavern's mouth, Arline fell into step beside Céra, mirroring her determined stride. “Why protect the entrance to the Cavern at the risk of your own life?” She asked, curiosity scratching at her even through worry.

“Couwis are truly sacred places.” Céra said. “Only the doneigada and their voglendaig have the right to enter.”

Arline’s eyebrow arched. “But you are not a doneigad, is that right?”

Céra’s jaw tightened. “I am not, but I must enter in spite of everything.” She locked her eyes with Arline, her gaze steely. “Remind yourself that this honour is immense and show respect.” She implored.

“Put your fears to rest, we have not come to defile this sacred place.” Arline assured. “Síora is a doneigad, and I am her voglendaig.”

The entrance to the cave was protected, like many others, by root doors that responded only to the right seed placed at the pedestal. Arline hoped Céra came prepared. “How do we enter?” She asked.

“I have seen Vinbarr do this many times.” Céra murmured, as she produced the seed from her pouch, and with a sure hand she placed it on the stump. The roots slid away with a whisper over the rocky ground, revealing the way in, bathed in the eerie green hue of raw Lightstone.

Leaving the guards and the horses behind, They moved cautiously, the silence of the cave amplifying their soft footsteps. The corridor opened into a vast cavern, the green light insufficient to dispel the shadows within. Arline and Síora conjured Light, casting bright beams into the darkness. To the right, a flat wall caught their attention.

Before them stretched a fresco, more vibrant and alive with colour than any of the native paintings Arline had seen before, as if the paint had only just dried. It depicted a crowned man, Vinbarr, no doubt, striding through the skies toward the volcano. And on the volcano, a face—the spirit of the island, as she saw in other paintings. Arline felt a thrum of awe at the sight, and despite never seeing a similar scene, she immediately understood its significance. She could almost hear a call of the Volcano to this man.

Céra's fingers lingered on the fresco, her touch tender, as if she could bridge the distance between her and Vinbarr through the cold stone. “My heart did not betray me…” She whispered, her gaze fixed on the depiction of Vinbarr's ascent. “Vinbarr has readied himself to join En ol míl frichtimen.”

“To become a Nádaig?” Arline whispered back. “Did he not tell you?”

Céra let out a long, quivering sigh. “As the years passed, my minundhanem grew more and more distant to me…” She confessed, the corners of her mouth twitching downward in a shadow of grief. “I thought at first it was due to his status and the invasion of the renaígse. But now I see that he was hearing the call…” Her voice broke under the weight of her emotions. “He had no choice but to answer it… Oh, Vinbarr, why did you not share this with me!” The ache in her voice pulled at Arline’s heartstrings and chilled her blood.

The fear, the uncertainty, the sense of inevitable parting that loomed over her own future—it all resonated deeply. She would one day hear this mysterious call, she would too have to answer. The choice of how to answer the call, as Síora had assured was hers, provided little comfort against the thought of leaving behind a life unfinished, of being torn away from her loved ones, grappling with the price she had to pay for her borrowed edge.

Céra, with her youth barely touched by time, was perhaps in her forties, and she already bore the heavy mantle of loss. Maybe Vinbarr was older, but the unseen countdown perchance ticked faster for Arline than she was promised. The vision of wounding of those she was to leave behind before her time sent a shiver of dread through her.

She instinctively looked to Kurt who stood a step behind her, watching her with deep lines of concern etched onto his face. It was nonsensical to dread leaving him behind, when they have not made any promises to stay together, yet in his eyes she saw the same fear reflected. But there was more. A spark of something, a resolve she had rarely seen in him.

Síora broke the moment with a gentle offering of solace for Céra. “It is a difficult thing for loved ones to reconcile.” She said, her voice soft and echoing through the dimply lit cavern. “Perhaps he believed it will be easier for you to believe he was returned to the Earth, not that his body remained.”

“Perhaps.” Céra agreed hoarsely, her hand falling away from the painting. “If so, he was wrong. I am proud of him. I only wish I knew.”

Céra led them onwards, her back straight but tension evident in the tightness around her eyes. A ladder took them to the higher cavern, where they were greeted by an older painting, the colours muted by time. It depicted a man, mid-transformation into an enormous bird.

“Is it a Nádaig?” Arline asked, not recognizing the creature.

“Nádaig meneimen.” Céra nodded, her voice still heavy. “Vinbarr was also bound to the mountain. It is no doubt the path he has chosen to follow.”

Arline’s heart skipped a beat as the connection clicked into place—the same being that Mev mentioned, capable of commanding the very fire of the volcano. The very fire that killed Catasach. Yet Vinbarr was still human in Mev’s vision. Did increased power precede the transformation?

Arline frowned, questions bubbling up. “If I understand correctly, the doneigada metamorph differently according to the place they are bound?”

“Yes.” Síora confimed.

“Is it a slow process?” She pressed, looking back at the picture.

“For some it takes years.” Síora said. “For others it might take place the very moment the doneigadsurrenders to En ol míl frichtimen.”

Céra sighed softly. “I hope only to have the time to bid him farewell.” She whispered.

Arline’s gaze lingered on Céra, witnessing the strength it took to stand in the face of such uncertainty and find acceptance. Arline could not accept the dwindling time she had with Constantin, not when he has fallen sick with the Malichor, and not now. If she were to lose him, she would have to accept not just her heartbreak, but her failure.

Kurt’s voice, a soft anchor in the swell of her introspection, gently drew her back to the present. “Green Blood.”

She blinked, the haze of her worries briefly clearing as she registered their solitude—Céra and Síora had moved ahead, their forms swallowed by the shadows of the cave complex. “Oh. I was lost in thoughts.” She said. “We should catch up.” She murmured, her voice a soft echo against the stone walls.

Kurt nodded, his brows knitting together in concern. “Wait.” He whispered as she turned back. He pointed to a stone on the cavern floor. It wasn’t just any rock; it stood out, alien in its surroundings, as if deliberately placed there. Arline watched, a thrum of curiosity pulsating through her, as Kurt carefully unearthed a shell box concealed beneath. She leaned in as he presented its contents – a seed of an unknown plant. It probably opened another sanctuary. Arline gently took it between her fingers, then placed in in an empty vial in her pouch.

With the box back in its place, they pressed onward, their footsteps a soft symphony against the stone. The next cavern they entered bore another ancient mural. It depicted a doorway carved into the mountain itself, guarded by a circle of stones and two altars. One altar bore the painting of a flower, a clear representation of a seed needed. The other altar remained a mystery, a blank canvas awaiting the knowledge that only a master could impart.

That, or a pair of astute grey eyes. She looked into them again, giving Kurt a praising smile. “Now we only need a door it opens.” She said. The creases around his eyes deepened, as he reciprocated the smile, filling the heavy void in her chest with a bit of warmth.

Arline blinked away before she got distracted again, although Kurt’s face was a much more pleasant distraction. They pressed forward, trailing Céra and Síora through the ancient corridors. The path led them past heavy stone doors with a lifted bar, to reveal yet another painting. On this one, there was a sacred site, a circle of raised stones with the face of the volcano looming behind. And there was path that lead there, a guide for those on the quest to transform into a guardian of the mountain.

Síora’s voice broke the silence. “With that we should be able to find Vinbarr.”

Arline’s heart latched onto the hope Síora’s words offered, yet a knot of worry remained steadfast in her stomach. The possibility of seeing Constantin again was within reach, but so too was the fear of what they might find.

“I just hope there is still enough of him left to answer us!” She said. “And that Constantin is with him, still alive…”

“Who is Constantin?” Céra’s sharp voice demanded. “You said you wanted Vinbarr to take you to Credhenes.” She barked, narrowing her eyes at Arline.

Arline blinked, caught off-guard by her own mistake. She forgot Céra was still there. “I do…” She scrambled for composure, her words tumbling out in a rush. “But… I also learned from the Tirena harh cadachtas that… he killed Tiern Catasach and took my cousin, Constantin.”

Céra took a step back, her face contorted in shock. “Tierna told you that? None of what you say makes any sense.” Her breath hitched, and her eyes, wide with disbelief, flickered with the shadows of the cave as she took another step back. “Why would Vinbarr kill Catasach? I… I don’t understand. My head spins… I need to breathe fresh air.” She continued backing away hesitating between fight and flight.

Kurt mirrored her tense stance, moving after her but Arline’s words halted him. “Leave her be. She needs space.” Kurt reluctantly stepped back to her side, frowning. Céra seized her chance, disappearing with a swiftness born of desperation.

“I have a feeling we shouldn’t have let this woman leave on her own…” Kurt warned, his voice a low murmur. Arline met his gaze, the weight in her stomach growing. He was rarely wrong trusting his instincts.

“Céra is upset, and I do not think that she trusts us.” Síora agreed, stepping toward where Céra vanished.

“She thinks we want to kill her lover. It is understandable she wishes to be away from us.” Arline’s insistence was a thin veil over her own doubts. She followed Síora. They did not make ten steps before the ominous sound of stone grinding against stone echoed through the cavern, the finality of the sound murmuring like a cruel laugh at her expense.

They raced back, panic lending speed to their steps, the heavy doors that marked their entryway were now locked, sealing them within the ancient walls.

Arline's heart stuttered. “Oh, Pathfinder’s star!” Arline cursed, feeling stupid as her blood rushed in her ears. Panic fluttered in her chest, a caged bird seeking escape.

“The guard will be suspicious if she comes out alone, they will come find us.” Kurt assured, even as his expression darkened.

“If the root door remains open!” Arline cried, pacing. The sense of entrapment closed in around her, tangible as the cold stone walls.

Síora took a deep breath. “Theese cavers usually have more than one entrance. We just need to find it.”

Kurt nodded, moving closer to one of the walls, his fingers tracing the outlines of the stone, searching for any anomaly that might offer them release. Síora joined the search, her movements methodical as she canvassed the opposite wall, her lips moving in silent conversation with the spirits of the place, seeking guidance or assistance. Arline moved to the third wall, calling upon Earth and Space, the earthy scent of damp soil and minerals mingling with ozone and a subtle metallic tang as the taste of salt and spice filled her mouth.

Time stretched, each second a weight upon Arline's shoulders, the pressing need to find Constantin, to confront Vinbarr, to unravel the mysteries that had led them to this point, all converging into a singular drive to escape the stone prison they found themselves in.

“Here!” Kurt's voice cut through the tense silence. He had found something behind the wall with the fresco, a small crevice, hidden from casual observation, that might just be their salvation.

As Kurt worked at the crevice, Arline weaved her elements into the wall, searching. Her hand finding his in the dark, their fingers intertwining briefly.

The sound of shifting stone soon rewarded their efforts, a sliver of light piercing the darkness. With a collective breath, they moved forward through the hidden door into the final cavern. They squinted against the bright light. The exit was high above the ground, but it was an escape.

Kurt acted without hesitation, methodical, his hands steady as he secured a rope around a rock, his muscles taut with the effort. His brow furrowed in concentration, and he tested the rope's strength with a firm tug, ensuring their safety.

Satisfied, he handed the other end to Síora. She embraced the rope with the ease of one who had faced the island's heights before, and she tied it around her legs and her middle. Her descent was swift, her body moving with the grace of a leaf on the wind. Kurt watched over, his hands steady on the rope, though she clearly did not need it.

Next, it was Arline's turn. The touch of Kurt's hands on her thigh, as he secured the rope, brought an expected warmth to her cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Grab anything you can hold on to, I will lower you bit by bit.” His instructions were a gentle rumble in the quiet. She nodded, her nerves soothed with definite trust in him.

The sharp edges of the rocks bit at her ungloved hands, her grip hampered by the slickness of sweat. Each slip tightened the rope's hold, and came with a concerned, “alright?”. Her heart raced, but Kurt’s vigilance tethered her, and his strength kept her safe. Once her boots touched the ground, a sigh of relief escaped her, a silent thank you carried in her glance.

With Arline safely below, Kurt prepared for his own descent. She observed his movements; the ease with which he navigated the rocky face, unassisted and even burdened by his armour, stirred something in Arline. She bit her lip, as her imagination proposed other uses for those strong, capable hands. She shifted her weight, taken aback by this reaction, in the midst of her turmoil.

When Kurt's boots finally met the ground with a soft thud, he straightened up, a bead of sweat trailing down from his brow. He swiped it away with a quick motion, his eyebrow arching in silent inquiry as he caught Arline's gaze. She turned her head away hastily, her cheeks prickling with heat.

As they rounded the corner, they saw their guard embroiled in a desperate battle against the living roots, hacking away with swords that gleamed under the descending sun. Yet, for every slice that severed the tendrils, two more sprang forth in their place, a relentless dance of magic and nature's resilience.

“She took us by surprise, sir!” One guard blurted out as soon as he saw them, the strain in his voice betraying his frustration and fear of reprimand. “We pursued, but she outran us.”

“It is alright, soldier.” Arline assured, before Kurt barked his discontent.

“She would reach the village by now.” Síora stated, her voice cutting through the tension. We should follow the path indicated in the cave.”

Nodding in agreement, Arline felt the urgency to find Constantin eclipsing any other concern once more. Guided by Síora's keen understanding of native cartography, they ventured forth.

Before long, they stood before another cave entrance, a mountain passage veiled in shadows. It was clear from the outset that their horses would find no passage here; the way was meant for those on foot, a narrow path winding into the heart of the mountain, towards the sanctuary.

One soldier was tasked with staying behind, while three others joined their party, their steps echoing in the cavernous tunnel. The air grew cooler as they advanced, and weariness settled into their bones, but Arline’s feverish determination propelled them forward, until Kurt’s gentle recommendation turned into a command. Sleep. They made camp in a small alcove, the flicker of their makeshift torches creating a temporary haven against the pressing darkness. They would spend the night in these depths, the weight of the mountain over them, the sounds of unknown creatures scaping at the stone their uneasy lullaby.

Chapter Text

Chapter 34

Awakening in my abode, my body bore no scars or signs of toil, and the knee that once ailed me was made whole. Renewed and invigorated, tears flowed anew. 

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:17.

_______

As the end of the tunnel approached, a beam of sunlight cut through the darkness, guiding them to the exit. The roaring sound of a river filled the air, and water seeped from the cave's mouth, turning the path into a slick, treacherous route. Arline stepped into the daylight, squinting against the bright glare, a sigh of relief escaping her lips as the fresh, open air replaced the stale, damp cave atmosphere.

The mountain air was thin but crisp, a thin veil that seemed to cleanse the lungs. They made their way upstream, guided by Síora’s instructions. A magnificent deer, its coat gleaming in the sunlight, stood by the water's edge. At their approach, it startled and bounded away with grace, disappearing into the thicket.

They pressed on, following the winding path north. As they made away from the river, they stumbled upon an ominous sign—an ashen feather, longer than any human arm and stained with blood. Vinbarr’s transformation had already begun, time was slipping through their fingers. They quickened their pace, their pace dictated by Arline’s racing heart.

As they advanced through the breath-taking landscape, the untouched splendour of nature unfolded around them in vibrant hues and textures. Stone steps, weathered and moss-covered, hinted at human presence but did little to mar the wild beauty. Leaves shimmered in a kaleidoscope of colours, from the deepest greens to the fiery oranges, reds, and even purples. Flowers in a myriad of shapes and shades dotted the landscape, their fragrances mingling in the air, a natural perfume that was both invigorating and soothing. Vines and plants unfamiliar to the lower regions draped over rocks, formed lush, green curtains, enveloping the mountains in life.

For Arline, the marvels of nature failed to provide solace. Her mind was a tempest of fear, each step forward fuelled by an urgency that tightened her chest and quickened her breath. Her eyes darted ahead, scanning the path for signs of those large feathers, for any clue that might lead them to Vinbarr and, ultimately, Constantin. With every breath, a mix of the crisp mountain air and the scent of wildflowers, she steeled herself against the rising tide of panic, pushing on with a resolve that left little room for admiration of the world around her.

Arline's heart thudded painfully against her chest as they rounded the corner to be confronted by Céra and four imposing warriors flanking her, weapons drawn. Kurt and the guards immediately answered with the sound of steel leaving the sheats. Despite understanding Céra's stance, a profound ache resonated within Arline, a yearning for a peaceful resolution to a confrontation she had hoped to evade.

Céra's eyes were slits as she blocked their path. “You should not have come this way, renaígse. I will not let you near Vinbarr.” She declared, her voice hard as the mountain itself.

“Céra, we must see him!” Arline cried, a pit in her stomach growing. “We do not have a choice. Nobody needs to get hurt! We have saved you!” She remainded, pleading.

Céra's features twisted into a grimace. “In spite of your friendship with these monsters.” She shot back, setting her jaw. “You helped me and I thought I had to help you in return. But I learned that this was madness.” She continued, the hand on her spear tightening. “Vinbarr has heard the call and answered. Even if it breaks my heart, he has done what is right, he maintains the balance. No one must stop him. I am his minundhanem; it is now my duty to defend the path he treads…” Her voice trailed off as she lowered her stance. The air thickened with the impending clash.

“His path led him to kill Catasach, and now he holds my cousin captive.” Arline’s voice cracked with emotion. “I am sorry Céra, but no one will keep us from passing.”

Céra bore her teeth. “Aitmu!” She barked. The ground beneath their feet seemed to pulse as the warriors jumped to attack.

The clearing erupted into chaos as the clash commenced, the air thick with the sound of steel and the crackle of unleashed magic. Kurt, with the weight of his zweihander, engaged Céra in a dance of death. Her agility with the spear made her a formidable opponent, matching his every move with a finesse. The other three guards engaged two remaining warriors.

Arline and Síora faced two sin ol menawí, their magic potent and challenging every spell they cast. Arline struggled to weave her magic as one of the on ol menawí adeptly unravelled her elements before she could even weave them. Síora, though managing slightly better, found her opponent nearly as challenging. Anger surged within Arline, a fierce blaze fuelled not just by the delay, but the senseless violence and, most acutely, by Vinbarr who precipitated this tragedy.

Síora, on her part, was locked in her own struggle, her magic clashing with that of her opponent's in a spectacle of light and shadow. She fought valiantly, but the native's prowess presented a formidable challenge, pushing her to her limits.

Her frustration boiling over, Arline took up her sabre, weaving through the battlefield with grace and ferocity. She issued a sharp command, and one of the guards came to her aid, focusing their combined efforts on the spell-dispelling native. With his  fall, the balance shifted; the remaining caster, unable to unravel their spells, quickly succumbed alongside the others.

In a matter of minutes, the violent symphony reached its crescendo, leaving all five opponents crumbled on the rocky ground. Crimson tainted the serene natural scene. Panting and hearts racing, they stood amid the aftermath, the weight of their victory tempered by the cost at which it had come.

Arline moved toward the dying Céra, her eyes brimming with tears. This confrontation, now ending in tragedy, was a path she had hoped to avoid. Kurt stopped her in her tracks, gently turning her face toward his, compelling her to meet his gaze instead of witnessing the final moments of Céra's life. In his eyes, grey as the cold steel with which he was used to taking lives, she found a mirror to her own pain, the storm of guilt and sorrow that threatened to engulf her, the regret he rarely showed, an understanding. It was an offer to bear the weight of this heinous act in the name of love for Constantin together.

She surrendered to the gesture, closing her eyes to shut out the scene, her tears escaping their confines to trace warm paths down her cheeks. Her breathing came in short, uneven gasps. Beside them, Síora's whispers in Yech Fradí softly broke the silence, her words woven with Ether and Shift. But there was no miracle of healing to follow; only a solemn acceptance of the inevitable as Céra's breaths ceased.

“I took her pain.” Síora whispered, her voice laden with a profound sorrow that resonated with Arline's own.

Arline opened her eyes to find Kurt’s softened. She nodded in thanks, a stiff gesture not reflecting the storm of her feelings, and they both turned to Síora. “I am so sorry Síora.” She whispered back. “I did not want this.”

Síora’s gaze locked with hers. “I know.” She said softly, before her eyes steeled. “But now am I to kill my king?” She asked.

Arline’s backed curled under the weight of her words. It was not an accusation, but Arline felt the burden of this decision. “I do not want that either.” She murmured, the pain in her voice mirroring the ache in her heart.

Síora nodded. “But you will do it to save your family. Or avenge it.”

“You can stay behind.” Arline offered, her voice soft, giving Síora the choice she herself so desperately wished she had.

Síora paused, closing her eyes. “Thank you, carants.” She broke the silence after a moment. “But choosing to do nothing will not change anything. I must choose a side. And I cannot choose the side of a man that killed Catasach.” She said, her voice unsteady. “I am with you, and I trust you.”

“Thank you.” Arline sighed. “Andevaurshd tír ent.” She added, finally facing the death she sown.

“Andevaurshd tír ent.” Síora echoed.

Their prayer lingered in the air as they left the bodies behind. The trail of bloodied feathers led them through the verdant underbrush, leading to the root door with twin pedestals. Síora recalled the exact plant depicted in the ancient mural within the cave of knowledge, and she plucked the corresponding seed. Arline, cradling the seed Kurt had unearthed, approached the pedestals. As the seeds were gently placed, the root door responded, acknowledging their right to pass with a gentle rustle of the roots sliding away, revealing the sanctuary hidden beyond. Without a moment's hesitation, they rushed through the short cave, emerging into a clearing on a cliff’s edge, where the world seemed to open up before them.

There, amidst the tranquillity and grandeur of nature, stood a grey-haired man, not a beast, his head crowned with large antlers. His arms were raised, orchestrating the movement of rocks with an unseen force, each stone rolling towards a growing pile at his feet. But it wasn’t the spectacle of his power that caught Arline’s breath in her throat—it was the sight of Constantin’s grey, lifeless face peeking from the pile, his body half-buried under the weight of stones, that ignited a firestorm within her.

A torrent of relief and fury washed over Arline simultaneously. Relief, because there he was—her cousin, the boy she had raised as much as loved, his presence a flicker of hope even as her fear ignited anew. With it came a surge of fury, fierce and consuming, directed at the figure before them. This man who had chosen such a monstrous path, dared to endanger Constantin.

Her fists clenched at her sides, the nails digging into her palms through the leather of her gloves as she fought the urge to launch herself at the High King. Kurt placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, a silent plea for caution. Síora, too, stood tense, her gaze locked on the scene before them.

The guardian seemed oblivious to their arrival, absorbed in his task, a conductor focused solely on his symphony of stones. But the air around them was charged, waiting for a spark to ignite the inevitable confrontation.

Arline's voice, rich with fury, broke the tense silence. “King Vinbarr! Why! Constantin did not do anything, he has never sought to wrong your people in any way!”

Vinbarr’s eyes snapped open, locking onto her. “Like a worm he burrows!” He hissed, rocks still circling the air around him. “You are so naïve! You cannot see with my eyes!” Vinbarr stepped forward, drawing his longsword. “En ol míl frichtimen saw the wound… from atop the volcano… He warned me of the danger! Fed by bitterness, driven by desire! Taking without giving! He will be the end of us all!”

Arline felt a chill run down her spine. “You have gone completely mad!”

“Teged!” He spat. “You are too blind, too renaígse to understand!”

More stones rose into the air. Anger coloured Arline’s vision red. “Leave him!” She demanded.

Vinbar hurled the rocks at her, the air whistling with the sudden rush. Arline slid across the ground, feet first, protecting her face with her hands, weaving Force to repel the attack. Despite her efforts, the jagged edges of the rocks grazed her.

Kurt and the guards charged forward, a furious cry on their lips. Before Arline regained her footing, they delivered a quick succession of cuts, Síora’s magic covering them with a veil of an ethereal shield. In mere moments, Vinbarr found himself overpowered, forced to his knees, a defeated figure surrounded by his assailants.

Arline approached, Spark crackling in the air around her with a threat of violence. “That’s enough! Free him!” She commanded, her eyes ablaze with fear and fury.

“I cannot…” Vinbarr’s voice, weakened and gasping, trembled. “Oh source of life…”

Arline's grip tightened around Vinbarr's throat, a surge of electrical power coursing from her hands into his body, making him shudder violently under the shock. “Free him!” She repeated, her voice a whip through the air.

A gust of wind blasted them backward, and Vinbarr unfurled his black wings, a majestic span of at least six yards that shadowed the ground beneath. Arline's heart skipped a beat at the sight, a mixture of awe and terror seizing her. Vinbarr's smile was brief but loaded with satisfaction, his eyes narrowing in malice.

“Damn it!” Arline cursed, channelling Spark and Force to weave a lightning bolt aimed at his heart, striking Vinbarr squarely. The three guards accompanied with an array of shots. Vinbarr staggered, but as he took to the skies, his silhouette became a dark smudge against the stark blue of the sky, his form began to shift dramatically—his limbs elongating, claws sharpening, his frame growing to monstrous proportions as his clothes tore apart. Before their eyes, Vinbarr completed his transformation into one of the smaller Nádaiga, a being of the air and flame, a master of the skies and the volcanic might below.

Arline watched in abject horror as a flaming boulder, summoned from the sky by the Nádaig, crushed one of the soldiers, extinguishing his life in an instant. Her scream was a raw shred of terror, seeing as Kurt escaped death by mere inches. The surviving guards braved forward, their blades shimmering under the sun, firearms echoing sharply as the creature descended, its claws ready to rend flesh from bone. Síora's attempts to ensnare the beast were futile, its strength and speed beyond natural.

Arline became a storm of shadow missiles, lightning bolts, fire, and ice, each cast with frantic urgency. The creature's gaze locked onto hers, and a chill of premonition coursed through her. Its leap towards her was a blur, its claws embedding in her flesh on her back with a pain so acute it tore a gasp from her lungs. Kurt’s blade found its mark in the Nádaig before it shot into the air once more with a speed of lightning.

Arline tasted the distinct sour taste of Light on her tongue, and a feeling of ethereal warmth; scent of citrus mingled with ozone and metal—that trick took weaving Light and Space. She harnessed those elements, weaving them into a path, and zipped across the clearing with supernatural speed, wide-eyed with shock. Exhaling heavily, she repeated the dash, her sabre slicing through the creature before retreating in a flash of light.

Arline sent another flurry of fire bolts, singing the Nádaig’s feathers, but they kept regenerating. Síora provided additional magical fire, supplemented by two guards’ gunfire. The creature responded in kind, hurling molten rocks from the sky, streaking across the sky like comets intent on devastation, impervious to Force shields Arline tried to summon. They scattered like chess pieces across this vast board, kept moving to avoid becoming targets for the boulders Vinbarr summoned. Their shadows danced wildly across the terrain, elongating and contracting with the shifting sun, as if the very earth beneath them was alive with tension. Heart hammering in her throat, Arline’s eyes darted to where Constantin was buried, then to Kurt, dodging the raining death. The open clearing offered no respite, no shield against the fury unleashed from above. Fear and anger tore from her throat as she exploded with magic once more.

For every attack they mounted, the Nádaig retaliated with terrifying ferocity. Blood painted the ground beneath them as each dash and dive was a gamble against fate. Kurt was a whirlwind of steel, his blade finding its mark time and again, even as the creature’s retaliatory strikes left him battered and bruised. Exhaustion clawed at Arline, a potion bought her a moment but at a steep price; the creature’s claws left deep, ragged trenches in her skin, the pain a white-hot brand. Blood spilled from her cheek, her neck, and her chest with dizzying speed.  

She hasn’t practiced healing on people yet, but she really didn’t have a choice now. Stumbling into a clumsy roll, she weaved Ether and Shift, imagining the skin, muscle and blood vessels becoming whole. Warmth spread through the wound, leaving behind an itch on her skin, and a ghost of a deeper dull pain. It was a clumsy, imperfect fix, leaving her weak but alive — she fixed the largest artery, but she missed the smaller veins, she would have some internal bleeding, hopefully not robust enough to endanger her. She stumbled to her feet and, with the Nádaig’s decent, had to make her lighting dash again, towards a cluster of boulders, using them as a brief shield from Vinbarr's aerial assault.

The battle raged on, each of them pushing past their limits. The creature's once formidable speed began to falter, its regeneration unable to keep pace with the onslaught. Its feathers were scorched away, leaving it grounded, vulnerable, yet the power of the volcano still answered its call. The ground became a mosaic of impact craters, each one a testament to the narrow margins by which they evaded destruction. They moved with the rhythm of relentless fury, a dance of life and death between the fire descending from the skies that stretched time thin. Arline's heart pounded in her chest, as she fought the fog veiling her eyes, each beat a drum of war as the soldiers’ firearms echoed, a desperate symphony against the creature's wrath. The air, thick with the scent of scorched earth and blood, vibrated with the macabre melody of their desperate fight for survival.

 Kurt and the guards pressed the advantage, their weapons finding flesh, as Arline’s ice shards pierced the creature’s body and Síora’s vines ensnared the creature in a final, desperate gambit. Kurt’s blade delivered the ending blow. Vinbarr’s desperate roar resonated with the crash of his summoned boulders. The ground trembled with the impact, a last wave of destruction ready to avenge the guardian’s fall.

Arline's steps were heavy with exhaustion and relief as she carried herself forward to where Constantin lay partially buried beneath the stones. A shroud of numbness enveloped her, all sound a distant hum in her ears. She fell to her knees beside him, her movements driven by a force she could barely comprehend. Constantin sat motionless, his body curled into itself, arms wrapped around his legs, frozen—in stasis? His eyes were closed, his features etched in tranquillity or resignation, it was impossible to tell.

Tentatively, almost reverently, Arline reached out to embrace him. The moment her arms encircled his frame, his body became limp, crumbing in on itself, his lips parting slightly as if on the cusp of drawing breath. She was struck by the chill of his skin—cold, lifeless, terrifying.

“Constantin!” Arline's voice broke, laden with desperation and hope. “Wake up, please, I beg you! Hang on, we are bringing you home to get you healed.” Her plea died in the air, a fragile sound against the oppressive silence.

Clinging to consciousness, she studied his face, tracing the progression of the sickness through the maze of black veins that marred his once vibrant complexion, now turned a ghastly shade of grey. And there, amidst the ravages of illness, sat the mark of the bond with the island. Catasach's desperate act, a bond that had transformed Constantin into on ol menawí; an act that angered Vinbarr, pushing him to the brink of war. The realization hit Arline with the force of a tidal wave, sweeping away the last vestiges of her strength. The world tilted, her vision blurred, and darkness claimed her as she passed out, cradling Constantin in her arms, her heart aching with love and fear.

Chapter Text

Chapter 35

The visage of the Enlightened eluded memory, yet the sensations of cold, fire, and brilliance lingered, as did His Decree. 

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:19.

_______

     Arline fluttered her eyes open, squinting against the sunlight, disoriented, the memory of the brutal battle still echoing in her mind like a haunting melody. As her vision cleared, she realized it was Kurt's steady arms around her, his fingertips caressing her cheek. The comfort his presence usually offered now felt hollow, overshadowed by her desperate need. Constantin has been taken away from her. She stirred, panic rising in her stomach, as tried to push Kurt away, claw her way back to her cousin’s side.

“Constantin” She whispered, looking around.

Kurt’s grip loosened and she managed to sit upright. “He’s alive, Green Blood.” Kurt murmured hoarsely, his voice urgent with worry. “Síora is tending to him. Take it easy, you lost a lot of blood.”

But Arline barely heard the words, her focus tunnelled on the figure lying motionless under Síora's careful ministrations. Crawling over to them, Arline's heart thudded painfully against her ribcage. She took Constantin's cold hand, the touch sending a jolt through her.

“He is in deep sleep, carants.” Síora said, her voice week with exhaustion. “But he is uninjured.” Her words should have brought comfort, but the grimace that flickered across her face told Arline all was not well.

“What, what is it?” Arline demanded, her voice frantic, eyes scanning Constantin's passive features.

Síora let out a long breath. “Chaos lingers in him.” She murmured.

A shiver ran down Arline's spine, the implications of Síora's words settling like lead in her stomach. The Malichor. Catasach must have believed the bond would cure him, was he wrong? Was this all for nothing? Her thoughts spiralled, the weight of their desperate journey, the battles fought, and the blood spilled coalescing into a moment of crushing doubt.

“It lingers,” Síora continued, putting her hand on Arline’s shoulder. “But… His body seems healthy, carants. I do not understand.”

Arline's brow was creased with worry as she hovered near Constantin, her voice tinged with feverish urgency. “Why is he not waking up?” She asked, emotions threatening to choke her.

“I believe Vinbarr gave him a strong sleep potion.” Síora responded with a soothing tone. “He might sleep some time.”

“But will he wake up?” Arline's voice cracked slightly, betraying her fear.

Síora hesitated a moment. “I see no reason why he shouldn’t.” She said, frowning. “You almost didn’t wake up, carants.” She added, her voice tinged with concern. “You tried to heal yourself, but you reconnected your blood vessels incorrectly. It could have been fatal if the battle had drawn on.

Her words barely made an impression on Arline; her focus was tunnel-visioned on Constantin, but then a ragged breath from behind her snapped her back to the moment. Turning slightly, she saw Kurt looking utterly haunted, the weight of his worry etched deeply into his features. Her heart softened at the sight of him, understanding too well the toll her brush with death could have taken on him. Extending a hand towards him, she whispered with a faint smile, “Hey, I am still alive.” The same words he had reassured her with after their first harrowing encounter with a Nádaig.

Kurt's response was immediate and tender; he moved closer, taking her hand gently in his and pressing a kiss to it. His simple gesture brought a surge of warmth that slightly eased the chill of fear in her heart. Arline pulled him closer, tugging gently on Kurt's hand, then pressed her lips against it, mirroring his gesture of affection. A surprise that flickered across his face softened into a silent acceptance. Her gaze drifted back to Constantin, her expression hardening with a renewed focus on her cousin’s still form.

The day waned as they retreated from the cliffside sanctuary, leaving the echoes of conflict behind. As they traversed the rugged terrain, Kurt supported Arline, whose steps faltered under the weight of her own swirling thoughts. Two guards, with methodical steps, carried Constantin on a makeshift stretcher, their faces etched with the fatigue of battle and burden.

Síora lingered back at the sanctuary, honouring Vinbarr with pre-burial rites—uncommon for a Nádaig, yet she felt compelled to pay respects to the newly transformed king. As twilight deepened into night, she returned to the campsite—a spectral figure moving quietly through the darkness, her face a canvas of sorrow that mirrored Arline’s own conflicted emotions.

Sitting by the newly kindled fire, Arline couldn’t shake the gravity of her choices. She had ended a native king’s reign to save her cousin. She could never regret it, but the act was irrevocable, and the price was high, steeped in a bitter irony. She had sought Vinbarr’s aid to reach the sanctuary, to petition En ol míl frichtimen for a cure to the Malichor—a plague upon not just Constantin, but all her people. Yet, in her pursuit, she had strained, possibly severed the fragile threads of diplomacy between the Congregation and the native tribes. Some diplomat she was! She quickly abandoned her attempts of reasoning. Her hands, meant to broker peace, had instead wielded the forces of war. Lefroy's words haunted her; he would have remained composed, detached. But then, Constantin was not his blood.

As night cloaked their camp in a blanket of cool air, Kurt gently urged Arline to rest. They settled near the fire, arranged in a protective semi-circle, their heads toward each other, gazes lost in the leaping flames. Their hands lay inches apart, the space between them an illusion for the outside world. Sleep tugged at Arline's consciousness, a reluctant surrender to a night that promised little peace.

She was jolted awake by the sound of a familiar voice—a voice she had longed to hear amid the turmoil of the past days. Scrambling to her feet, she realized Kurt was no longer by her side; instead, his laughter mingled with that cherished voice, emanating from across the camp.

There, under the dawning light, stood Constantin, his posture firm despite his thin frame. His skin had shed its ashen hue, now glowing with a healthy peach undertone. The sinister black veins had softened to a less ominous brown, weaving across his skin with the vine-like mark of their shared bond with the island. He wasn't the sprightly youth she remembered, but the vitality in his stance spoke of a remarkable recovery.

His grin widened as he caught sight of her, spreading warmth through the chill of the morning air. “My fair cousin!”

Without a moment's hesitation, Arline sprinted across the camp, her heart pounding with a cocktail of relief and joy. She threw her arms around his neck, and in a display of newfound strength, he lifted her off the ground, spinning her in a joyful whirl that made her dizzy with happiness.

“Oh, Constantin! I thought I lost you!” She exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion as he set her down, holding her at arm's length to better see her face.

“I knew you would save me!” Constantin laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief and gratitude. “Thank you, cousin. Without you I would be dead thrice, would I not? Or is the fourth time? Unless of course… If we start counting the time you stopped me from climbing the ramparts of Sérène, we would be up to five times now!”

“How do you feel?” Arline pressed, the knot of worry still present in her stomach.

“Remarkable!” Constantin exclaimed, his voice robust and clear. “I have not felt so well since we left the continent! Nothing ails me. I can breathe normally, my eyesight cleared, I feel no pain—I am like new!”

Arline shook her head, still processing his transformation. “It is unbelievable, you feel no pain whatsoever?” She questioned, her gaze scrutinizing. “And your complexion…”

Constantin let out a sigh. “I have not even taken a look at myself, is the improvement visible?” He asked, his voice softening with concern.

“I would not go that far…” Arline murmured, examining the convex brown veins giving his face an eerie texture.

Constantin recalled a grin to his face. “Do we finally bear a resemblance?”

“Rude.” She managed to retort. “How is it that… What has happened?” She asked, furrowing her brows.

“Do not make that face!” Constantin chuckled, brushing off her concerns with a wave of his hand. “It is merely a major miracle! Come now! I am going to tell you everything!”

As they moved to the fire, Arline's eyes were pinned on Constantin, tracking his every movement with an intensity born of relief and lingering concern. He settled beside the flames with an ease that would have been alien a few weeks prior. She followed suit, sinking down next to him, while Kurt hovered nearby, sending her reassuring smiles. The warmth from the fire did little to thaw the chill of recent events, yet the glow of hope kindled anew in Arline's heart as she listened to Constantin's voice, filled with a youthful vigour that had been missing for too long.

“We have been waiting for your return, I knew you would do everything in your power… I have always trusted you! But Catasach feared that I would not hold on long enough…” He began his tale. “He spoke to me about a ritual that would help me. I was excited about it, and in spite of all that has happened, I do not regret following him! We went to the ancient site, a place full of magic. I followed his instructions, and all of the sudden…” His pupils widened with the memory, a shiver visibly running through his body. “What an incredible sensation! I felt better than I ever felt, cousin!” He wet his lips, his fist tightening on the bedding. “Like a wave came through me, as if the power of the island was running through my veins! It was marvellous…” He whispered, his gaze distant. “Is that how you always feel, cousin?” He added, looking back at her with a smile. “And now I am on ol menawí, like you!”

“On ol menawí?” Arline repeated with surprise. “Casatach taught you the language?”

“Just a few words.” Constantin admitted with a sheepish grin. “He wanted me to learn, to understand, but we had so little time. He said he would teach me after I am bonded.” The corners of his mouth turned downward. “Alas, we had even less time after. Cries came to our ears… And beasts jumped all over us…”

Arline caught her lower lip between her teeth, frowning with concern. “It seems that Vinbarr has targeted you specifically, did he say anything to you?” She pressed.

“I was still very weak and most of the time he whispered in his own language.” He murmured, his expression darkening slightly. “It seemed that he was speaking to someone, and following orders. But there was no one other than us, cousin! The crazy madman must have been hearing voices!”

A shiver ran down Arline's spine at his words. Vinbarr had claimed that En ol míl frichtimen had instructed him to act. Could there be truth in such madness? Why would the god of the island single out Constantin? She remembered Duncas's words about the role of the doneigada—to oversee sin ol menawí and decide on breaking the bond if deemed unworthy. Another shiver coursed through her—could breaking the bond now reverse Constantin's miraculous recovery? Would it kill him? Would the natives demand such a thing? She clenched her fists. She could not allow that to happen, no matter what.

Arline’s gaze locked onto Constantin’s, her brow creased with concern. “Do you have any idea why he did not kill you, like the others?”

Constantin shifted uncomfortably, his eyes reflecting the flicker of the fire. “No… No, not really…” He sighed. “It seemed like he was trying to tell me something though… He spoke about isolating me from the world, that I could not ‘return to the earth’… It made absolutely no sense.”

Arline’s jaw tensed at the words. Mev heard Vinbarr say that Constantin’s spirit was different—and now this spirit belonged to En ol míl frichtimen, to be returned to him upon Constantin’s death. Why was Vinbarr so worried? Was it simply because Constantin was renaígse?

Constantin’s voice pulled her away from her sombre reverie. “But are you not happy that he let me live?” He asked, his voice weak.

“Do not speak foolishly, of course I am…” Arline snapped, more sharply than intended. “I just want to understand!”

“It is best if we forget about it!” Constantin suggested, as usual, trying to dismiss the gravity of their situation with a smile.

Arline shook her head, her voice low and tense. “I do not know if we can, Constantin. We killed the High King. This could mean war with the natives.”

Shock rippled across Constantin’s face, his earlier joviality fading fast. “But… Their High King kidnapped a governor! They must know that his death prevented war!” He insisted, evidently struggling to see another point of view.

Arline sighed, rubbing her temples. “They are proud people, Constantin.” She said. “And Vinbarr… he seemed to believe he was acting on En ol míl frichtimen’s will.”

“But you had to encounter the god of the island, did you not?” Constantin frowned. “How was En ol míl frichtimen?”

Arline closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping. “I… passed the trial, but the only one who could guide me to the sanctuary is dead…”

Constantin’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh no… Do not tell me…”

“Yes.” Arline confirmed, her voice barely a whisper. “Only the High King can open the sanctuary. I am certain they are going to name a successor… But my reputation among the natives will undoubtedly suffer.”

To save Constantin, Arline might have inadvertently sacrificed the continent. To preserve the life of one dearly loved, she had potentially endangered thousands grappling with the Malichor. And yet, Constantin's fate remained uncertain—was he truly cured, or merely stabilized? The possibility that she might still lose him after all gnawed at her.

Could she have made any other choice? The answer was a resounding no, echoing through the hollow chambers of her conscience. She would do it all again if needed. The blood of Céra and Vinbarr forever stained her hands, a nauseating reality. Realizing that she would spill even more blood without hesitation to save her cousin twisted a knot of sickness in her stomach.

○●○

The return to New Sérène was a cautious journey, with the party's spirits lifted by Constantin’s surprisingly robust recovery. Despite the traumatic events, his condition appeared stable; the advance of the Malichor seemingly halted. Arline remained vigilant, her eyes seldom straying from him, shadowed by a worry that refused to dissipate. Reluctantly, after observing his sustained well-being, and a doctor’s positive judgement, she conceded to resume her duties, leaving Constantin in capable hands of Lady Morange, willing to take over her fussing. As a weak substitution for her presence, she left him a collection of essence stones from Síora to explore magic on his own.

Reunions marked their return—Vasco, refreshed from his time with fellow sailors, sported a new tattoo, Father Petrus informed Arline he thought of a way to outmanoeuvre the Mother Cardinal, and Vedmé, who had been under Lady Eloise’s doting care, seemed to have grown overnight. At the embassy, urgent correspondences awaited her, reminders of duty waiting for no one: a letter from Aphra beckoned them to Hikmet for Doctor Asili’s impending trial and a matter that required her attention before it commenced; another from Governor Cornelia requested the Congregation's intervention in a native affair. Yet, these demands paled beside Arline’s dread of delivering news of the High King’s death to Glendán.

Fortunately, the initial meeting with the native elder was free of conflict; Glendán acknowledged her intentions during her Trial of Waters, and believed her she wished to avoid the conflict. He confirmed a new High King would be chosen by the next full moon, with Derdre, Ulan, and Dunncas as likely candidates. Arline planned to meet each, hoping to secure a promise to access the sanctuary, should they ascend. Dunncas seemed a reasonable ally, but Derdre’s antagonism towards the renaígse could be problematic. Arline never met Ullan, but Síora said, he was sly and honey-tongued, and she advised he was not to be trusted.

For now, Arline took solace in the fact that her burdens were hers to bear, sparing the Congregation any fallout from her actions. Most importantly, she cherished the newfound hope in Constantin's recovery, promising him more days under the sun— a precious victory amid the tumult of their recent trials.

Arline found herself increasingly reliant on Kurt's steadfast presence. He gently insisted that she was shouldering too much and needed a break—despite ignoring his counsel, he remained a constant pillar of support. Kurt himself was hardly one to take time off, seldom stepping away from his duties for more than a couple of days. When Arline pointed out this irony, a shadow seemed to pass over him, a fleeting storm that hinted at deeper troubles. He quickly masked it with a forced smile whenever she probed, insisting nothing was amiss. Arline appreciated his attempt to shield her from further worries, yet the mystery of his discontent only fuelled her anxiety.

They probably need to talk. This unspoken tension hung between them, a reminder of the evolving intimacy that had long surpassed friendship, despite their insistence to make nothing of it. It was clear they harboured deeper feelings for each other, feelings that needed to be acknowledged and addressed. Kurt had previously chosen duty over his heart, imposing on them both the societal expectations that Arline had long since decided to defy. If he harboured any regrets about those decisions, it was up to him to confront them. Arline, caught between hope and restraint, knew that any step forward would need to be his to make, a gesture of commitment she both longed for and feared might never come.

As the twilight embraced Hikmet, the city's lights flickered to life, casting an amber glow on the streets as Arline and her party made their final approach. Upon their arrival at the embassy, they were met by Aphra and Lord Lefroy. Lefroy, maintaining his composure as always, extended his formal sympathies concerning Constantin’s health and recent tribulations. Surprisingly, he also commended Arline on her diplomatic prowess which, he noted, had preserved the Congregation's neutrality despite the recent tensions with the High King.

Arline couldn't help but find irony in Lefroy's newfound support, especially at a moment when she was questioning her own decisions. His praise felt misplaced; during the crisis, her thoughts had been solely with Constantin, not the broader political implications. She wrestled with guilt, aware that her uncle, the Prince, might not have viewed her actions as favourably if they led to war, even though Constantin was his son.

Aphra seemed restless, her eyes darting towards Arline with an urgency that was hard to miss. Tea was served, the clinking of porcelain a gentle backdrop to polite conversations. Kurt, perceptive as he was, noticed Aphra's unease and sat in his favourite chair near the fireplace tense, as if ready to spring to action.

Time trickled by until Vasco, picking up on the same tension, declared his intention to retire for the evening. His departure was the cue for Síora and Lefroy to excuse themselves as well, leaving Arline, Aphra, and Kurt alone in the softly lit room. Kurt shifted slightly, giving them space yet staying within reach.

With the room finally cleared of others, Aphra leaned forward, her expression serious. “De Sardet, there's something you need to see before the trial tomorrow.” She began, her voice low but insistent. She produced a journal out of her pocket, extending it to Arline. “I found this among Asili’s documentations. Governor Burhan wanted to hide this from you to avoid a political hiccup, but you deserve to know.”

Frowning, Arline opened the journal on an indicated page, her jaw tensing as she immediately spotted her name. As she began to read, her expression tightened, the colour draining from her face as realization dawned and horror seeped in.

“Dahommaah, 2-Avv, 210 (1321)

Verily, the arrival of Legate de Sardet presents a most auspicious occasion for our inquiries. Witnesses of discernment attest that her notorious nevus bears a striking resemblance to the markings spoiling the countenances of the so-called On ol menawi, the indigenous metamorphs of the isle of Teer Fradee. These shamans, renowned for their arcane arts of healing, are known to possess a remarkable immunity to the Malichor. It remains an enigma whence the Legate hath acquired her mark, yet if the royal lineage hath discovered a means to access the same mystical arts as the native shamans, it may portend a promising remedy for the dread malady.

'Twould be of exceeding interest to ascertain whether this immunity doth extend to Legate De Sardet. 'Tis well known that the Legate's mother hath recently succumbed to the ailment. Doubtless, Princess Livie's affliction did not arise from the foul humours of another, forsooth, but rather by the hand of Fate, perchance through tainted victuals or impure waters. Thus, 'tis not improbable that the daughter hath already been exposed to the contagion.”

Arline's fingers trembled as she held the worn journal, the pages felt heavier than they looked. With each word, Arline’s stomach twisted, a cold shiver tracing her spine. The clinical detachment in the text, the way her very identity was reduced to a subject of curiosity—it was not just invasive, it was vile.

“Yet, perchance the Legate hath fortuitously avoided such exposure, and thus doth remain unscathed. 'Twould be most expedient to confirm this conjecture through a premeditated exposure, whereby the Legate and a suitable control, the Governor d'Orsay, her next-of-kin lacking the telltale mark, shall partake of the plague orally on the appointed day.”

Arline felt a nauseous anger bubbling within her, mixed with a burgeoning sense of detachment from reality. This could not possibly be. Her breath came in sharp gulps as she read on.

“Sabok, 3-Baa, 211 (1322)

Anon, it hath come to pass that the contaminant was indeed administered to both subject and control on the appointed day, Sab, 3-Cha, 211 (1322).”

Her hands shook as she read the damning confirmation of her and Constantin’s unwitting participation in Asili's experiment. Tears of rage and helplessness welled up in her eyes, blurring the ink on the pages. Kurt materialized at her side, kneeling before the couch she sat on, his eyes darting between her and Aphra. Arline commandeered his hand and held onto it with all her strength, blinking the tears away to read further.

“Dovvommaah, 1-Pan, 211 (1322)

In due course, the control hath displayed the typical early symptoms of the Malichor after the passage of 9 days from incubation. Yet, the test subject remaineth free from such affliction.”

The words struck her like physical blows, each sentence a slash to her sense of security. Her heart raced, thudding painfully against her chest. How dare he do such a thing?! And why?!

“Sevvommaah, 1-Baa, 211 (1322)

And lo, the test subject hath not shown any symptoms for six weeks, beyond the established incubation period of the plague. It is thus concluded that the test subject doth indeed possess a natural resistance to the dread Malichor. To verily ensure the full measure of the subject's immunity, it is imperative that these experiments be replicated aught less than twice more, with due intervals betwixt each trial. Howbeit, these findings must needs be conveyed to the mainland, whereupon appropriate measures shall be taken to safeguard the arcane knowledge of the royal lineage, under the wise counsel of Al Saad.”

A hollow laugh escaped her, tinged with disbelief and sorrow. The journal slipped slightly from her grasp as she fought the impulse to hurl it into the fire. The realization that Asili’s cold, calculated poison had brought her cousin to death’s door ignited a furious blaze within her. She felt a primal urge to hurt, she wanted Asili not just brought to justice, but to suffer excruciating pain.

Arline’s gaze met Kurt’s, a storm of emotions conveyed in a single look. Her hands shook with an uncontrollable fury, her voice choked by the swell of anger that tightened around her throat. She passed the journal to Kurt, her eyes hollow, lost in a storm of wrath.

His grip tightened around the aged paper, his jaw clenching as his eyes scanned the contents, the muscles in his arms tensing with barely controlled anger.

“I’m sorry, Green Blood.” Kurt murmured, his voice a mix of sorrow and disbelief. “I never thought someone would try to kill him that way…”

Arline's response was only a silent, seething glare into the void, her mind racing with thoughts of retribution.

“I am very sorry De Sardet.” Aphra echoed, her voice gentle. “I did my best to ensure this trial happened, so he faces justice. He was a respected scholar, but I am confident he will be executed tomorrow.”

“I want him to suffer.” Arline finally croaked out, still staring into nothingness. “Burhan… he wanted to hide this?”

Aphra shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing in the documents I found suggests that he was implicated in any of Asili’s… experiments.” She assured. “But poisoning a governor and a legate could be interpreted as a prelude of war… That is why I kept this from Lefroy. You should decide what to do with this information.”

Arline's gaze locked onto Aphra, her eyes icy. “You think my commitment to peace might withstand a personal trial.” She stated, her voice cold, the words sour in her mouth.

Aphra tensed in response. “I think nothing, De Sardet, beyond your right to know and act as you see fit.” She countered.

After a moment, Arline's tone softened slightly. “Forgive me.” She mumbled. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Now please excuse me.”

Arline needed to escape—from the journal, from Aphra, from any decisions, and from Kurt’s gentle touch—from everything but her own rage. She needed to burn alone. She retreated to her bedchamber, where she continued to stare blankly at the flickering flames, lost in the blaze of her fury.

Chapter Text

Chapter 36

He unveiled to me the Genesis of All: a singular Radiance amidst eternal Chaos, sculpting the void into Elements. 

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:21.

_______

In the dim glow of the drawing room fire, Kurt sat alone, his frame rigid in the armchair, the quiet of the night bringing no respite from his thoughts. Though he had refreshed himself briefly in his bedchamber, he could not sleep. Despite the comfort of the room, a cold shiver traced his spine, and a wave of nausea coiled tight in his stomach. He had finally read Sieglinde’s contact’s letter—Hermann had secured passage on a ship leaving San Matheus in just thirteen days. The urgency to confront him, prevent his escape gnawed at him, yet both his duty and his heart anchored him firmly by Arline's side. She needed him; her burdens were too heavy, especially now, with the weight of her recent horrific discoveries.

Someone had poisoned the governor under his watch. Though he knew logically that he couldn't have foreseen the contamination of an inoculation they all drank, the helplessness of that realization did little to assuage his guilt. And the thought of Arline, targeted by the same insidious plot, ignited a fierce rage within him, far surpassing any sense of professional failure. If Arline weren’t naturally immune like the natives... The vision tightened his chest, constricting his breath.

His eyes, haunted by the day’s revelations, stared into the flickering flames, reflecting the turmoil inside him. How could he protect her from threats so sinister, so hidden? The notion that he could have lost her to such a treacherous attack was unbearable. He clenched his fists, feeling the rawness of his emotions—anger, fear, frustration—all intertwining into a silent fire.

With the quiet crackle of the fire, the soft patter of footsteps broke the silence, drawing Kurt’s gaze towards the doorway. Arline appeared, the dim light casting her in an almost ethereal glow. She was clad in a flowing nightgown and robe, her feet tucked into slippers, her hair cascading freely down to her waist—a vision of domestic intimacy that he should not be allowed to see. His heart ached with a strange kind of longing.

Arline pulled her robe tighter around herself as she noticed him. “Oh, Kurt.” She murmured, her voice carrying a mix of surprise and concern. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Kurt replied, his voice low, matching the quiet of the room. “You?” He asked, knowing the answer.

She sighed, a tired sound. “I was going to make myself chamomile tea. Do you want some?” She forced a weary smile.

“Let me fetch that for you.” Kurt offered quickly, standing up, eager to do something helpful. He suspected she was unfamiliar with the workings of the kitchen stove.

She nodded her thanks, and he disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, he found her curled up in the opposite chair, her bare feet tucked under her, hands wrapped around her legs, her fiery hair tossed over one shoulder. They shouldn't be alone like this, propriety whispered, but his protective instincts overruled any such concerns.

He placed the teapot and cups carefully on the table between them, ensuring a safe distance remained. “How are you holding up, Green Blood?” He asked once he resumed his seat, his voice barely above a whisper.

Arline’s gaze was fixed on the dancing flames. “Beheading is a mercy he does not deserve.” She murmured, her voice drained of emotion.

“He doesn’t.” Kurt agreed. “But at least he’ll be dead, never to hurt anyone again.”

Arline shook her head slowly, the shadows playing across her face. “He might not even be convicted.” She said, her voice growing thick with loathing and tears. “If I will not see Asili executed lawfully, I will kill him myself, diplomacy be damned.” She vowed, closing her eyes and taking a deep, ragged breath.

Kurt nodded slowly, feeling a deep understanding wash over him. He too had lived with the spectre of Hermann’s deeds looming over him. Some monsters did not deserve the air they breathed, and by allowing them to live, others were put at risk. “And I will help you.” He promised. “But let’s not plan it just yet. Revenge is not a satiating dish.” He added, feeling a bitter taste on his tongue.  

Arline looked at him, frowning. “Do you mean Rolf?” She asked quietly, her tone warmer.

Kurt let out a heavy sigh. “I never wasted time thinking about Rolf.” He began, his voice tinged with fatigue. “What he did, running that camp, demanded justice, but ending his life did not… quell my thirst for revenge. Neither did Torsten’s punishment.” He paused, gauging her reaction before deciding to unveil the burden that had been weighing on his mind. He hoped she might understand, given how she felt about Asili.

“But… Remember that note we found in Rolf’s office?” He watched her nod, her expression still clouded with concern. “It was signed with a name I’m familiar with. Hermann.” His nostrils flared with a heavy breath he took. “Somebody I'd hoped never to cross paths with again. He was the one who founded the camp we closed; and believe me, he has done an incredible amount of damage to the guard.” Kurt escaped Arline’s gaze for a moment, a reflex trained by shame. “I’m going to find him and make him pay for what he’s done.” He stated, looking back at her. “I know that he’s in San Matheus.”

Arline's voice was low, almost a whisper, as she responded. “This quest for revenge is not only about what happened to Reiner and the others, is it?”

“It’s not.” Kurt admitted, meeting her eyes squarely. “He… has created such a camp before.”

“I figured.” Arline murmured, her gaze softening with pity.

Of course she did. Kurt felt a flush of shame—even as he tried to remind himself that this was not his shame to carry. The smell of sweat and alcohol seemed to waft through the room, and he repeated his mantra internally: I’m Captain Kurt, a soldier in the blue-silver regiment, a former master of arms at d’Orsay court, now accompanying his Excellency Arline De Sardet on Teer Fradee; I am no longer this helpless child, it has been twenty years; they could not take my honour.

As he came back to the present, Arline was watching him quietly, offering a silent space for him to gather his thoughts. It was not pity in her eyes—it was sympathy, worry, care.

“He’s a ghost from the past.” Kurt finally said, his voice firming. “It’s time he stopped haunting.”

Arline's gaze pierced through Kurt as she nodded slowly. “Very well. You can count on me. What do you plan to do?”

Kurt was taken aback by her immediate support, then some of his tension softened into a grateful smile. “You have enough worries, Green Blood. I will handle this myself.”

“You do not have to handle anything alone.” She said, her voice soft. The warmth in her eyes was overwhelming, stirring something Kurt's chest.

What a bizarre feeling. To be… cared for? Unconditionally? By Her? How did he possibly deserve that? He swallowed, finding his voice again. “I… Appreciate that.”

Arline's lips curved into a small, encouraging smile. “So? What is your plan?” She shifted in her chair, unfurling from her tightly coiled position, crossing her legs to the side and resting on the armrest in his direction.

Kurt exhaled deeply before explaining. “Major Hermann was loyal to Torsten, but kept his head down when the coup was dismantled. He booked a place on a ship back to the continent to escape justice.” The last words came out strained, his fists tightening on the armrests. He poured tea to occupy his hands.

Arline’s eyes narrowed, the previous warmth curing into steel. “Is denouncing him not enough? He will be put to death for high treason.” She said, taking her cup.

Kurt shook his head slightly, trying not to grimace. “He has connections in high places.” His tone was flat as he spoke. “I'm sure he has many supporters. So,” His sighed. “I need to get rid of him without anyone finding out.”

Arline took a sip of her chamomile tea, the steam curling up into the dim light of the drawing room. “Or we could do the exact opposite.”

Kurt’s frown deepened. “What are you getting at?” He asked.

Arline's gaze was unyielding, the reflection of the fire dancing in her eyes. She leaned forward. “There is a group in San Matheus that can make someone disappear in broad daylight without anyone saying anything about it.” She said, her voice low.

The realization slowly dawned on Kurt, and his frown transformed into an expression of shock, his eyebrows arching. The Inquisition. She was proposing to have them burn Hermann at the stake. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, a mix of horror and satisfaction.

“Those mad Inquisitors.” He murmured, grimacing slightly. “I must say this is a horrid solution, but if anyone deserves it, it's that bastard, Hermann.”

Arline nodded. “We need only convince our good friend Aloysius.” She mused with a rather vicious half-smile. “He and his order crossed my path twice and paid the price, they will likely want to get on my good side.”

Kurt did not expect her to be this… calculated. It was slightly unsettling yet undeniably impressive. Arline had always been capable, but now, she truly was a force to be reckoned with. And she would want him—a scarred Coin Guard fuelled by a vendetta?

Feeling a surge of hope, he let out a forceful breath. “You're right. We'll need to find him though and he's been keeping a low profile since the coup failed.” He said, biting his cheek, deep in thought. “We need help. Our new commander might be able to tell us who to turn to. She knows everybody.”

“Alright then, agreed.” Arline concluded. “We shall go to her after we are done here.” She promised.

As they sipped their tea in the quiet of the night, Arline's gaze lingered on her cup, her fingers tracing the rim thoughtfully before she spoke. Her eyes were downcast, lost in the swirls of steam rising gently from the hot liquid.

“Sieglinde appears to know you well, and to have a lot of respect for you.” She remarked, her voice carrying a measured tone.

Kurt stifled a chuckle, a spark of amusement in his voice. “We fought together, that brings people closer, you know that. But I can assure you that’s all there is to it.” He paused, a light-hearted grin spreading across his face. “Actually, up until now, I've fought by your side more often than I have hers.”

Arline lifted her eyes to meet his, a flicker of amusement mirroring his own as a welcome shift from the heavier emotions of the night. “Yet you still manage to surprise me.” She said, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards.

Kurt gave her a playful smile. “I certainly hope so.” He said. “Just as you surprise me often. Finding pleasure in discovering new aspects of one another’s personality is half the fun of a relationship, isn’t it?” He watched her, an eyebrow raised.

Arline’s eyebrow shot up in response. “How fortunate Tír Fradí has allowed us the time for this exploration.” She mused, her eyes narrowing with a mischievous glint.

Kurt felt a sudden warmth that had little to do with the nearby fire. It has indeed, just as he had wished out loud a few months earlier. The old saying warned to be careful what you wish for, and now he understood why. Now, a woman he was far beneath, a woman he never dared dream of bestowed upon him an affection he felt wholly unqualified to receive; even though he had nothing to offer, even though suitors of better standing had failed at securing her favour.

She stood by his side, even after he had rejected their mutual desire for the sake of duty. The reasoning behind his decision grew fuzzier with each passing day. Life was painfully fragile, and he was squandering it. One day, he would fall in battle, and she would hear this mysterious call of the island’s spirit. She wanted him – perhaps not as deeply as he wanted her, perhaps he would just be her temporary plaything, but who said her friendship was to be more permanent? He was, after all, a simple man. Shouldn’t he seize the moments he was afforded?

Despite the stress that carved lines of worry into her features, her beauty remained undiminished—a timeless grace that he was both cursed and privileged to witness so intimately in the soft glow of the drawing-room. Every time her beauty struck him anew, he chastised himself, remembering that he had known her since she was a child, that he used to be her master of arms; he had no right to notice her in such a way. But he had indeed noticed her, truly noticed, starkly and irrevocably, three years ago when she was on the cusp of being wed to a noble lord, realizing how much he would miss her once she leaves to her new home. She had matured, matching and perhaps exceeding him in wisdom, extending her kindness and humour to a lowly guard like him. Her mind and spirit dazzled him even more than her outward appearance.

Arline’s voice snapped him from his introspection. “Have you not heard it is rude to stare?” She teased, her smirk broadening.

Kurt’s face burned as he stirred in his seat. “Apologies, Excellency, I forget myself.” He stammered.

“I like it when you forget yourself.” Arline countered in a low, seductive purr that sent another hot wave through his body, tilting her head to the side with a playful smile.

Kurt's brows knitted together, his heart thudding erratically against his chest. “What if somebody heard what you just said?” He murmured back, his voice barely above a breath.

Raising an eyebrow, Arline gestured with hand to the empty room around them. “It would not be any more damning than sitting with you alone in my nightgown.” She said, her voice rising in pitch.

Kurt exhaled slowly, his mind racing with the implication and the potential consequences she would face. “That’s true. Perhaps we should be more careful?” He suggested, frowning.

Arline blinked in surprise, her back straightening. “What are you saying, Kurt?”

Cursing inwardly, Kurt scrambled for the right words. “Nothing. We should try and get some sleep, Green Blood.” He said too quickly, his tone clipped with frustration at his own hesitance.

Arline sighed, her face falling slightly with disappointment. She slipped her feet into her slippers and stood, preparing to leave. Kurt's cursed to himself again with regret. Before she could walk away, he caught her hand, the contact sending a jolt of warmth through him. “I’m saying that if we should spend time alone… Like this again, we need to take better care to check for prying eyes and ears.” He said softly, holding her gaze.

Her face softened, a gentle smile playing on her lips as her fingers brushed his. “I have been cloaking both doors with shadowstep since you brought the tea.” She confessed, biting her lower lip in a playful smile.

His lips parted in shock and a quiet giggle escaped her as she turned, disappearing into the vestibule with a grace that left him breathless. Kurt watched her disappear, his heart drumming a fierce rhythm in his chest, warmth spreading through his body like the first rays of dawn.

Gathering himself, Kurt finally rose to clear their teacups to wash them so that no one would question in the morning which pair had used them. His mind replayed their interaction, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a welcome respite from how this evening had begun.

○●○

The afternoon sun bathed the streets of Hikmet in a warm glow, releasing the dry, earthy scent of dust mixed with the faint aroma of flowers. The Alchemist market square, usually a hub of scholarly activity, was subdued today, filled with sombre faces and whispered conversations. As Arline walked through with Aphra and Lefroy at her sides, the crowd parted seamlessly before her, like the sea before a ship’s prow. Síora followed closely behind, her vibrant native attire drawing wide eyes. Kurt with Lieutenant Wilma on one side and Vasco on the other closed their procession towards the platform where an executioner’s axe gleamed in the golden light.

At the back of the platform, Asili stood, donned in simple prison garb, his hands bound behind him. As his gaze locked onto the approaching group, Aphra froze in place.

Arline, catching the flicker of hesitation in Aphra’s eyes, tightened her jaw. “Aphra… Are you certain that you want to attend this?” She asked, her voice failing to maintain its usual composure.  

Aphra took a deep breath. “I do not want to attend, I must.” She stated, her voice calm, but there was a hint of a tremble Kurt caught.

Arline gave a sharp nod, her jaw set in a firm line of determination. Kurt understood Arline actually wantedto attend, but knew that witnessing Asili’s execution might not grant her the closure she sought. Torsten’s quartering didn’t bring back the dead, and Asili’s beheading wouldn’t heal Constantin. Instead, it would be a grim spectacle, likely to disrupt her sleep, rather than help it. It was a lesson she had to confront herself, though every fibre of his being wished to spare her the pain.

Lefroy shifted his weight looking at her. He had argued earlier that an execution was no place for a lady of Her Excellency’s standing. But Arline, with a single, sharp glance, had silenced any further protests.

As the resonant toll of the nearby clock tower marked the hour, the sound seemed to reverberate within Kurt’s very chest. Governor Burhan, his lips pressed into a tight line, ascended the few steps to the platform with measured steps. The executioner nudged Asili forward towards the grimly waiting block.

“Doctor Asili,” Governor Burhan's voice carried across the hushed square, formal and unwavering. “You have been found guilty of all accusations brought against you. In consequence, the Bridge Alliance Tribunal condemns you to death. Do you have any final words?”

Arline’s fists tightened at her sides as Asili spoke. “You treat me like a monster,” He began, his voice low, yet carting across the hushed square. “But how many times have you stayed your own hands?” His voice rose as he locked his gaze with his former colleagues. “So close to the goal, to finally find the remedy, you would have done as I! Without a single regret! What do a few lives mean when the future of all humanity hangs in the balance? You are nothing more than idiots, incompetents; and you Burhan,” Asili snarled, his head snapping to the governor. “You are the greatest hypocrite of all! You know that I am right!”

A murmur rippled through the crowd at Asili’s accusation, and the air crackled around Arline as she drew her magic. Kurt stepped forward, placing his gauntleted hand gently on her shoulder. Without looking, she covered his hand with hers, the gathered energies dissipating beneath the reassuring weight of his touch.

Burhan’s face contorted into a grimace. “Executioner, earn your pay!”

With a practiced movement, the executioner kicked the back of Asili’s knees, forcing him down. “You know that I am right.” Asili repeated in defiance, his voice muffled as he was pushed firmly onto the block.

The crowd drew in a collective breath, a suspended moment of silence enveloping the square. The executioner’s axe, lifted high, catching the light before descending in a swift, merciless arc. The dull thud that followed was met with a cacophony of gasps, cries, and subdued murmurs.

Arline’s body recoiled under the impact, her muscles tensing as Kurt’s hand remained a grounding force on her shoulder. As the crimson stain spread below the block, her face drained of colour, and with a sharp intake of breath, she turned away. Kurt felt the urge to pull Arline into a protective embrace, but the public setting held him back. Instead, he offered his arm, a formal gesture laden with unspoken support. “Let's get you out of here.” He murmured, his voice low and steady.

Arline accepted his arm, and together they began navigating their way through the dispersing crowd towards the embassy. Her voice was a faint whisper against the murmur of the square. “He felt no remorse to the end.”

Kurt nodded in agreement as they walked, his gaze fixed ahead. “Monsters never do.”

Arline’s voice was tinged with a wistful hope that seemed to make her smaller, more vulnerable. “I thought… I hoped he would be haunted by what he did.”

“That he would be sorry?” Kurt's voice softened as he spoke, understanding her longing deeply. He himself had waited many years for an apology that never came, for a sign of remorse that was never shown. Arline nodded in response, her eyes distant.

Feeling the weight of her disappointment, Kurt squeezed her hand that rested gently on his arm, offering a silent gesture of comfort. He searched for the right words, but in the face of such a deep and complex pain, sometimes silence spoke louder. They continued their walk in quiet solidarity, navigating the harshness of the world together.

Chapter Text

Chapter 37

With His Light, He birthed the Sun and stars, then veiled Shadow into the night. He created Time and Spirit, animating Illuminated entities, each bestowed a fraction of His Divine Essence. 

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:22.

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Arline lay awake in the early hours before dawn, her sleep fractured by recurring nightmares of Asili's execution. His severed head haunted her dreams, leaving her skin clammy with cold sweat upon waking. Yet despite the nightmares, she couldn't regret having witnessed the beheading. That gruesome sight was not just for her—it was for the hundreds of natives, the Nauts, and most crucially for Constantin, who remained blissfully unaware of the true source of his Malichor. She harboured that secret, a heavy lever against Governor Burhan, to be used if necessary.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a pale glow across the room, Arline decided it was futile to try sleeping any further. The golden hue of early morning in San Matheus bathed the room in a soft, diffused light, beckoning the start of a new day. With a resigned sigh, she slid from the sheets, feeling the cool floor beneath her feet, invigorating her resolve. Perhaps starting the day early would grant her a sense of purpose, dispelling the ghostly remnants of her unsettling dreams. She straightened her back, stretched her limbs, and prepared herself mentally and physically to face the day's challenges.

One more bastard needed to pay the blood price. Hermann’s ship was scheduled to depart in a week, and they were going to cut his escape short. Kurt has been a coil of tension and impatience. His movements grew sharp, his presence, though still comforting, now carried an air of emotional withdrawal, his mind clearly preoccupied the closer they neared their objective. Arline respected his need for solitude, focusing on training with Vedmé, honing her healing skills to avoid the near-fatal errors of her past.

The journey brought them to New Sérène for a brief stopover en route to Saint Matheus. There, Arline checked in on Constantin. His condition was stable and his well-being only improved, thriving under his newly awakened powers, marked by the small créaga sprouting on his head. Síora had mentioned that such growths were typically more pronounced and rapid in males.

The visit also yielded strategic support: Commander Sieglinde not only blessed their endeavour to capture Hermann but also issued orders for the prison guards in San Matheus to assist them. She extracted a promise from Kurt: after this, no more vengeance. How many years had Kurt lived shadowed by this unresolved vendetta? Now, as they edged closer to closing this chapter, Arline hoped they could both find peace, free from the ghosts, as the New World promised.

Arline descended the stairs to the breakfast room. The morning sun streamed through the window, casting long, golden beams across the room where Petrus was already seated. The smells of freshly brewed coffee and baked bread filled the air. The old man looked up with a gleam in his eye, and rose from his chair with a theatrical flair, greeting her. “Ah, my child, this is a little early for someone your age, isn't it?”

Arline, taking a seat across from him, replied with a weary smile. “Father. I woke early and thought it better to start the day, especially with what we have planned.”

Looking pleased with the prospect of another day filled with intrigue and strategy, Petrus leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Before the others wake, perhaps you will entertain a discussion about my plan for leveraging what we've learned about the Mother Cardinal?” He said before she could take her first sip of coffee.

Arline sighed. “Do tell.” She prompted, bracing herself for what she anticipated to be another of Petrus's elaborate schemes.

Petrus's eyes twinkled with mischief. “We will have to take part in a fight in the arena and we must make sure that the odds are high. To do this, we'll have to face a champion. This will lure her in.”

Arline’s fork paused mid-air, her expression one of alarm. “You do not expect me to fight in the arena!”

“Of course not, my dear,” Petrus chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. “That is hardly a place for someone of your stature. But perhaps your friend Kurt would be willing?”

Arline bit her lip, the idea of sending Kurt into unnecessary danger sitting uneasily with her. “Kurt! I am quite certain that is above his pay grade.”

Just then, Kurt walked in, a questioning look on his face as he caught the tail end of their conversation. “What is?”

“Father Petrus's plan for gaining leverage over Cornelia involves you fighting in the arena.” Arline explained, her tone flustered and her brow furrowed.

Kurt, taking a seat next to her and smirking slightly, replied. “Ah. You could always give me a raise.” He joked, pouring himself a cup of tea.

Arline arched an eyebrow, amusement mixing with exasperation. “I am not your employer, Kurt, and I am rather fond of the current shape of your face.”

Kurt's grin broadened, his eyes sparkling with humour. “Well, I'm flattered, Green Blood, but you know I'm risking my pretty face for you every day.”

“For my protection, not for some frivolous game.” Arline retorted, her voice carrying a mix of irritation and affection.

Kurt shrugged, his demeanour casual but eyes sharp. “Does the political advantage you gain in this game make you safer?”

Petrus giggled, unable to contain his excitement. “Indeed, it would put both her and the governor in a position of advantage. And raise or no raise, you can keep the profit.” He added, winking at Kurt.

“Deal.” Kurt said, clinking his teacup against Arline's in a mock toast.

Arline pressed her lips together tightly, narrowing her eyes as she regarded both men. “The risk is they will bet against him.”

Petrus nodded, his fingers tapping on the table as if to punctuate his next words. “That may be the case, but the highest bests are based on the exact time of the defeat.”

Arline’s brow furrowed. “I see.” She murmured. “We are going to make the Mother Cardinal believe that Kurt will lose at a specific time?”

Petrus nodded with a sly smile. “And by doing so, you’ll win something bigger than a fight.” He said, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Arline leaned back in her chair. “This will make her lose a considerable amount of money.”

“Exactly. I’ve even taken measures to make sure her usual moneylender is unavailable.” His smile widened. “Without knowing it, she will come to me looking for gold in order to place her bet.”

Arline shook her head, her lips curved into a wry smile. “And she will be at your mercy. Is this how you settle scores in Thélème?”

“This is how all scores are settled, my child…” Petrus said, looking her in the eyes. “Unless it’s on the battlefield, but that’s much dirtier. So, what do you say?”

Arline paused, reflecting on how, for Kurt, it always seemed to boil down to fighting. “It is a complicated plan, but an effective one.” She admitted. “If you really want to do this, Kurt... Let us put it in motion.”

Kurt gave her a reassuring smile over the roll he was spreading with butter. “I did some fighting in the arena before I became the master of arms. And since you keep me on my toes, I don't think I'm too rusty.” He added with a grin.

“Excellent!” Petrus exclaimed, clapping his hands together in satisfaction.

Arline sighed, resigned. “Very well. But first, we deal with a certain Major.” She reminded.

“Of course, of course.” Petrus replied, nodding.

At the mention of Hermann, Kurt's humour dissipated like the morning mist outside, replaced by a steely determination that tightened his jaw and narrowed his eyes. They finished their breakfast in a subdued silence, and were ready to depart before the rest of their companions stirred.

The streets, usually bustling with the vibrancy of traders and affluent citizens by day, lay relatively dormant. The golden hues of dawn played across the cobbled pathways and plain linen clothing of early risers from the lower strata, those whose livelihoods demanded they rise before the sun, their quick steps echoing softly in the cool air. Only the sounds of distant carts and the occasional clatter of a lone horse broke the calm. Faint murmurs of awakening drifted from the open windows of bakeries, the scent of fresh bread mingling with the scent of the sea, and the lingering dampness of the night.

Arline, Petrus, and even Kurt, stood out among the workers as they walked briskly towards the headquarters of the Ordo Luminis. They arrived just as the members were preparing for morning prayers. Unlike other orders that usually attended the mass of the Ordo Sanctos in the grand shrine, the Ordo Luminis preferred a solitary approach. Petrus requested to speak with Inquisitor Aloysius, and a deacon, in quiet, measured steps, led them to his office.

They were ushered into the dimly lit office where the morning light barely filtered through heavy drapes, where Aloysius sat at a cluttered desk, a barely concealed grimace on his face. “Lady De Sardet… And Father Petrus too.” He said flatly. “What brings you here?”

“We have come to discuss something that concerns you.” Arline opened, taking a seat across him, even though he did not offer.

“Really?” Aloysius leaned back, his hands folded in front of him, an air of intrigue about him. “I’m listening.” He said, though his voice carried a note of scepticism.

“We would like to draw your attention to a man who has confessed to terrible crimes.” She continued, her gaze locked with Aloysius's calculating eyes.

Aloysius raised his eyebrows high in surprise. “Has he professed heresy? Venerated one of the demonic creatures worshiped by the savages?” He asked, his voice sharp. Arline fought the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of ‘demonic creatures’, the existence of which she has already disproved.

“Not exactly.” Kurt interjected, as if he read her mind. “He's responsible for many deaths and was one of Torsten's supporters.”

“Who, as you know, was planning to overthrow your governor and take her place.” Arline added quickly.

“These truly are crimes,” Aloysius mused, steepling his fingers. “But they have nothing to do with the Ordo Luminis. It is a matter for the Ordo Iuris. You should denounce this man to our governor. I'm sure she'll be happy to have him drawn and quartered.” He suggested.

“Unfortunately, this man has friends in high places.” Arline said, leaning in. “I doubt that we will be able to convince the Mother Cardinal to act against him.”

Aloysius scoffed in disgust. “Politics… the curse of our society.”

“However,” Petrus interjected smoothly. “Overruling an ordained priest could indeed be interpreted as a heresy.

Aloysius narrowed his eyes. “And what do you stand to gain from this, Bishop?” He asked.

“Justice.” Petrus replied with a sly smile. “We are all servants to the Enlightened, and His highest representative here is the Mother Cardinal.”

“And I am sure,” Arline added, leaning back with a faint smirk. “It would serve as a potent reminder of your Order’s crucial role in maintaining the structure of the mageocracy.” She said, locking her eyes with the inquisitor.

A brief grimace flickered through his features before he sighed. “I approve of your quest for justice, and I will help you as much as I can.” He said, an undertone of annoyance not entirely concealed in his voice. “I can't have your man publicly arrested without raising too many questions. But, if you arrange for him to come to one of our jails discreetly, I'll make sure justice is delivered. The felon will receive the punishment he deserves on behalf of the glorious Enlightened!”

Arline controlled her smile to not reveal too much of the triumph she felt. “May He always keep you in His divine blessing, Aloysius. You will soon find this man in your jail.” With that, she rose from her chair and turned to leave, noting the relief on Kurt’s face.

As they left the headquarters of the Ordo Luminis, the streets of San Matheus began to stir under the early morning sun. The air was brisk, carrying the promise of the bustling day ahead.

“Now to find the bastard.” Kurt said decisively, his voice carrying a sense of urgency as they walked. “We should head to the barracks and enlist the help Sieglinde promised.”

They made their way through the city, the barracks looming into view, already a hive of activity. The sounds of recruits in morning training echoed through the air, a rhythmic pounding of feet and clashing of equipment, punctuated by the shouts of drill sergeants, that filled the atmosphere with a sense of disciplined chaos.

They bypassed the bustling training grounds, heading straight for the quieter interior of the barracks and down to the prison in the basement. The cooler, hushed corridors of the lower levels felt a world away from the noise above. They approached the corporal on jail duty who snapped at attention noting Kurt’s captain insignia.

“Captain? What can I do for you?” He asked.

“Are you Jordin?” Kurt responded with a question.

“Yes, sir.”

Kurt handed him a sealed letter. “Here’s a letter from Commander Sieglinde to you.”

The corporal's expression shifted to surprise as he took the letter, breaking the seal with a flick of his wrist. He scanned the contents quickly, his eyebrows rising slightly as he read. After a moment, he looked up, his previous reserve giving way to a more thoughtful demeanour.

“Hmm… I wasn't expecting that.” Jordin murmured, more to himself than to them. “Even though I never really liked the major, he is well-respected.” He met Kurt’s gaze squarely, handing him back the letter. “The commander has asked me to do all I can to assist you in your mission, so what can I do for you?”

“We are looking for the major; we know that he was posted here.” Arline said with a polite smile.

The corporal’s brow furrowed. “Yes, and officially he still is, but I haven't seen him for some time.” He replied, his voice even. “Following the coup, he was probably expecting us to go after him. The only people he may have told about his hiding place are his lieutenants.”

Kurt's voice was sharp as he asked, “Hammond and Kat?”

Jordin's eyes widened slightly at Kurt's familiarity with the names. “Yes, sir. Those two are his henchmen.”

“I see.” Arline murmured. “Well, we will just have to go and interrogate them. Where can we find them?”

“They are both instructors, so you should find them in the training hall right now.” Jordin waved his hand to the ceiling.

Kurt leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “If we bring Hermann to you, can you make sure he ends up in an Ordo Luminis jail?”

The corporal blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. “Do you want to condemn him to the stake? That's a bit extreme.” He said, shaking his head. “Listen, I can lock him up but you'll have to find a way to keep my men from seeing him.”

“Why is that?” Arline asked, tilting her head to the side.

Jordin shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “All the guards in the city know the major. If they see him brought here, they'll want to know why. And they will surely take it out on the Inquisition, which could end badly.” He explained.

Kurt nodded, his fingers drumming on the table. “You're not wrong, Corporal. What do you suggest?”

The corporal hesitated for a moment. “If you bring me some sleeping potions, I could put the whole lot of them to sleep.” He suggested. “When they wake up, they'll be ashamed of having slept through their watch, but that's better than spilling blood.”

“Perfect!” Kurt said, punctuating the statement with a slam of his palm on the table. “And then?”

“When you have your man, let me know and I'll do the rest.”

Kurt nodded decisively, and they ascended back up to the barracks' main level. As they walked, he briefed Arline. “Hammond and Kat are being transferred to the continent along with Hermann.” He explained, his voice low but clear in the busy corridor. “Our contact was able to identify the ship they are leaving on through their names. Hermann, however, was booked under a fake.”

Arline's brow furrowed in concern. “Are they not culpable in the attempted coup?” She asked.

Kurt huffed in frustration. “They were with Hermann when it happened, and away from here. It’s likely they were in Torsten’s camp, but we have no solid evidence to prove their involvement.”

Arline felt a chill of unease. It was unsettling that even after a thorough cleaning up, the Coin Guard still harboured corrupted elements. She voiced her concern in a hushed tone, aware of the walls around them. “How many more like them?”

Kurt stopped, turning to look her directly in the eyes. “None in your or Constantin’s guard, Green Blood; that I can promise.” He assured in a firm tone.

Arline knew the truth of his words; their guard was comprised only of those loyalists who had refused Torsten’s orders and had been locked up during the coup. That immediate circle was secure, yet she pondered the broader implications for those who patrolled the streets, influencing the lives of ordinary citizens.

“I do not question your competence, Kurt.” She reassured him softly, noting the concern etched on his face.

Kurt nodded, a faint smile breaking through his earlier frustration. “I know.” He murmured. “Sieglinde is doing what she can. There are many a guard to question, but court-martials of the known traitors took precedence, for now. Don’t worry, we will fix this.”

Resolved to address one issue at a time, Arline squared her shoulders. “Alright. Let us question those two lieutenants, then.” She said.

They entered the training hall, where the pungent odour of sweat permeated the air. The sharp commands of two lieutenants, a dark-skinned man and a pale woman with distinct, angular eyebrows, echoed off the walls as they shouted orders to a group of recruits.

“Soldiers!” Kurt’s voice cut through the chaos. “Everyone outside, that’s an order!”

The recruits stopped in their tracks, looking at the source of the command. One hesitated. “But uh, Captain, with all due respect, you're not in our regiment.” He protested.

Kurt narrowed his eyes, his voice growing colder. “What is my rank, soldier?”

 “Uh, captain.” The recruit stumbled over his words.

“That’s right.” Kurt said. “Green Blood, what does that mean?”

Arline, slightly amused by the exchange, chimed in smoothly. “I believe that the rank of Captain of the Guard counts regardless of regiment, unless the soldiers are under orders of a superior officer.”

“Is there a major in sight?” Kurt hissed.

The recruit twitched under his gaze, his eyes widening. “Sorry, Captain, I didn't mean to disobey you!” He quickly motioned to the other recruits, and the group hastened out of the hall.

With the recruits gone, Hammond, the darker-skinned lieutenant, crossed his arms, leaning casually over the stone wall. “You’re far from your regiment, Captain.” He said. “What do you want?”

Kurt’s cold gaze locked onto him. “We’re looking for Major Hermann. I was told you’d know where to find him.”

Kat, the woman with sharp eyebrows, narrowed her eyes. “The major? He must be on a mission somewhere.” She hummed with a defiant smile.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Lieutenant.” Kurt’s sharp voice cut the air. “I’d be sorry to see you arrested as an accomplice.”

“Listen, Captain, we really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hammond insisted. “As for your threats… you’re not our superior, you’re not part of your regiment.” Kurt’s hand inched toward the hilt of his sword, his body coiling in tension.

Arline stepped forward. “Yet we are here with your new commander’s blessing.” She scoffed. “The major is accused of treason. You had better tell us where to find him.”

“Lies!” Kat sputtered. “The major is a righteous man. We’d give our lives for him!”

That was enough to snap Kurt’s patience. With a swift motion, he drew his sword, the motion immediately mirrored by the two lieutenants. “Really? Let’s see you do it!” He barked.

The training hall echoed with the clash of metal as Kurt engaged Kat. His first strike was swift, a test of her defences, which she parried with equal speed. Arline had sprung into action as well. With a fluid motion, she cast Hammond into a stasis field, freezing him mid-stride. The spell held him captive in an invisible grip, his body suspended in time as Arline drew her sabre and bat away his sword, keeping him on point.

As Kurt pressed forward, Petrus, always one to seize an opportunity, launched a shadow missile that Kat narrowly dodged. The distraction, however, caused her to falter, and Kurt's blade sliced across her shoulder, leaving a stark line of red against her pale skin.

As Kat winced, her movement hampered by the wound, Kurt capitalized on her vulnerability. With a quick, practiced motion, he swept his sword up and pressed the cold steel against her neck. The sharp edge was a clear promise of danger, compelling her to stillness.

Kurt took her sword and the room fell silent. Kurt and Arline stood, weapons drawn, their adversaries subdued but the air still thick with the potential for more violence. Kurt's voice carried a final edge of authority as he addressed the subdued lieutenants. “So, are you finally ready to tell us where we can find Hermann?”

“We'll never tell you anything!” Kat spat, even as er eyes flashed with fear.

“Stop!” Hammond cut, his voice shaky, the strain of the moment etching deep lines across his brow. “You might be ready to die for him, but I'm not.” He swallowed hard, his eyes darting between his captors and his fellow lieutenant. “He's in a warehouse eight, on the port.”

Arline frowned. Did he have friends among the Nauts, too? “What do you want to do with these two, Kurt?” Arline asked.

“Lieutenants, you're under arrest.” Kurt declared without hesitation.

They escorted the pair down to the jail, Kurt leading the way with a firm grip on Kat’s shoulder. Arline followed, pushing Hammond with her sabre between his shoulder blades.

“These two go to a regular cell.” Kurt informed the corporal. “Obstructing an investigation, attacking a superior officer, potential involvement in the coup.” With the former lieutenants securely locked away, Arline and Kurt with Petrus in tow left the barracks. Outside, the early morning air was crisp, a gentle breeze coming off the sea.

“We should get Vasco; his help might be useful if the warehouse is in Naut territory.” Arline suggested. Kurt nodded in agreement.

They returned to the embassy, where they found the rest of their companions post-breakfast. Briefly explaining the situation, they enlisted Aphra’s and Vasco's aid, sending her with sleeping potions to Jordin, and headed with him towards the port, where the salty air mingled with the shouts of dockworkers. The port was a hive of activity, with crates being loaded and ships preparing to sail. Seagulls cried overhead, circling the masts of ships that bobbed gently in the water. The scent of salt and fish filled the air as they navigated through crowds of sailors and merchants. With Vasco’s lead and Arline’s shadowstep, they sneaked between the warehouses until the one denoted ‘eight’ loomed before them.

The dim interior of warehouse eight was punctuated by the flicker of hanging oil lamps, that swung gently with the breeze that slipped through the cracks in the aged wood. Half a dozen guards, all uniformed and burly, were scattered around a rickety table, engrossed in a game of cards. The sudden entrance startled them, cards fluttering to the floor in a disordered heap as they sprang to their feet.

Kurt's eyes instantly fixed on a man who stood apart from the rest. He was in his late forties, perhaps early fifties, with downturned eyes shadowed by heavy bags, his clean-shaven face marked by sagging skin that spoke of weary years.

“Here he is!” Kurt snarled, his voice cutting through the thick air of the warehouse.

Hermann sprung up, his expression one of bewildered recognition. “What the—Kurt? It’s been so long. How did you find me?”

Kurt's hands tightened around the hilt of his sword, his muscles tensing visibly. The air around him seemed to charge with his rising anger. “Does that really matter, Major?” He replied, his voice rising with a desperate edge. “You’re finally going to pay for all your evil, your treachery, and your schemes.”

Arline stepped forward, her presence a calm counterpoint to Kurt's seething rage. “Come with us, Major Hermann.” She said, her voice steady and authoritative.

Hermann's response was a sneer, his teeth bared in defiance. “If you think I'm going to give up without a fight, you're wrong! Soldiers, seize them!” His sharp command filled the room filled with the sound of shuffling feet and the clinking of weapons as it set the guards in motion.

The warehouse echoed with the clash of steel as the group descended into chaos. Kurt, his eyes fixed on Hermann, surged forward, only to be intercepted by three guards. His movements were fluid and precise, a dance of anger and determination as he parried and thrust, but the guards were relentless, blocking his path with coordinated defence.

Arline reacted swiftly as the other three guards charged at her, weaving Spark and Ether into stasis that froze two attackers in place, the familiar tingling sensation and sweetness on her tongue as their bodies suspended in an unnatural pause. With her other hand, she drew her sabre, clashing against the third guard, who engaged her with a heavy broadsword, his moves powerful but slow. They danced around the central aisle, their swords clashing, with Arline deftly dodging behind wooden beams and using them as leverage for her swift counterattacks. Her opponent, growing desperate, fired a pistol, the shot echoing loudly and missing narrowly as Arline zapped with a lightning dash, surprising her opponent on the other side, weaving elemental magic—fire bolts, lightning, and ice shards flew from her fingertips, her control over the elements now as instinctive as breathing. She thinned the air around her enemies, their gasps for breath becoming laboured under her magical assault.

Hermann, seizing the opportunity, joined the fray, aiming to overpower Kurt with numbers. However, Vasco leaped into the melee, his shortsword likely laced with poison, adding a dangerous edge to each strike. Petrus, not far behind, unleashed a barrage of shadow missiles and dazzling light projectiles, forcing the enemies to duck behind the scattered crates for protection. His assault splintered the crates and broke the glass oil lamps, a cacophony that inevitably could draw the Nauts attention.

Kurt and Vasco, back-to-back, each engaged two guards, their blades singing a deadly tune against the guards, their movements synchronized with lethal precision. Vasco’s blade moved like a viper’s strike, disarming one guard of his gun, which clattered across the wooden floorboards. Kurt’s swordplay was aggressive, each strike meant to disable or disarm. Using a thick wooden beam for cover, he parried a sword strike before retaliating with a swift, precise cut across his opponent’s arm. The guard cried out, dropping his weapon. His body hit the ground with a heavy thud with Kurt’s next arc. In response, one of Vasco’s opponents jumped to aid Hermann, leaving the other to face the sailor alone, who faltered under the relentless assault. With his last cry, Vasco engaged the guard that escaped him. Kurt’s lips curved into a smile as Hermann realised he’s on his own.

A stray fire bolt ignited a nearby crate, the flames licking upwards, threatening to engulf the warehouse, fed by the broken oil lamps. The air thickened with smoke, stinging their eyes and clotting their lungs. Visibility dwindled, shadows and light playing tricks on their vision. Arline, realizing the potential disaster of the spreading fire, conjured ice and fire simultaneously, manipulating the elements to form a burst of water. The oil sizzled violently under the sudden deluge, scattering smaller flames that skittered across the damp floor.

She quickly dispatched the guard she battled with a well-placed ice shard, her sabre finding the gaps in his armour with practiced ease. As the two guards she had immobilized stumbled from their stasis, disoriented, she engaged them both. Her blade moved in harmony with her spells, a deadly ballet that left little room for her opponents to counter. But her energy waned. She reached for her belt, pulling out a vial of bright blue liquid—a magic potion. Downing it, she felt the familiar surge of energy coursing through her veins, her fatigue momentarily forgotten as she reengaged with renewed vigour.

Arline managed to set one of her adversaries ablaze with a fire bolt. His screams pierced the cacophony, drawing too much attention. Quickly, she sucked the air from around him to silence his cries. A follow-up blow from Petrus's missile knocked him to the ground, lifeless. The other fell quickly to his own terror that Arline used without mercy, her blade finding the spot between his helm and his breastplate.

She jumped to Kurt’s side. He accepted her help, synchronizing his steps with hers.

Vasco's remaining opponent rolled over a low crate, finding the dropped pistol on the ground. The shot resonated with Vasco’s cry, freezing Arline’s blood in her veins. He stumbled behind a crate, uncorking a healing potion with his teeth as he put pressure on his calf. The gunman’s too-confident advance was cut short by Petrus’s assault.

“Vasco?” Arline called, her eyes still fixed on Hermann.

“I’ll be fine.” Vasco grunted in response. “It’s just a graze.”

Hermann, realizing his isolation and imminent defeat, faltered, his weapon clattering to the ground as Kurt's sword sliced through his defence, wounding his hand. The warehouse fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of the victors and the defeated Major, and the crackle of residual flames. Disarmed and defeated, Hermann looked around at the determined faces surrounding him, his resolve crumbling.

“No! What?” He snarled.

“You shouldn't be surprised.” Kurt said, his voice still coloured with a shade of madness. “After all, I owe my talents to you.”

Arline’s eyes darted to Kurt, brows furrowed in concern. “Let us lock him up. The inquisitor will do the rest.”

“The inquisitor?!” Hermann barked out, his tone rising in panic as Petrus secured his bonds.

“Oh yes,” Kurt murmured, the weight of his zweihander making his arms tremble slightly. “You will burn at the stake.” His frenetic smile reflected in Hermann’s wide eyes.

“My men will come for me.” He whispered, his face draining of colour.

“I’m afraid your lieutenants are already in jail.” Petrus said. As he pushed Hermann to the floor, Arline sheathed her sabre and gently touched Kurt’s arm, prompting him to do the same.

He hesitated. “We should wait for the nightfall, not to draw attention.” He said eventually, looking over to where Vasco sat. “Sailor, can you hold the bastard at gunpoint? I might shoot.”

“Sure,” He hissed, pulling his pistol out of the holster. “But I could use some help with the damned bullet.”

Arline knelt beside him, examining the wound both with her eyes, and the Ether tendril she used to penetrate the layers of his body. The bullet had lodged itself deep in the muscle, fortunately missing any critical nerves or blood vessels. “It is straightforward enough for Kurt to handle.” She concluded, her voice calm.

With a heavy sigh, Kurt sheathed his sword and took off his helm, then pulled out the tools from his pouch.

Arline grasped the gun, holding it more as a prop than a true weapon due to her notoriously poor marksmanship. It was her magic that would truly hold Hermann in check should he attempt any mischief. Vasco clenched his coat between his teeth as Kurt set to work on extracting the bullet, his fingers trembling noticeably. Arline knew that his shakiness stemmed not from the sight of blood, but from Hermann's presence. She had underestimated the depth of Kurt's scars, scars that Hermann seemed to tear open anew. Her heart ached for him; she found herself glancing at Kurt frequently, and occasionally, her hand reached out to brush his shoulder in a silent gesture of support.

Hermann caught the exchange, his initial surprise morphing into a vile smile that slithered across his face. The sight of it made Arline's skin crawl.

Kurt finally pulled the bullet free, and Arline leaned over to tend the wound. Summoning Ether and Shift, she focused on healing the injury, guiding the magic with careful precision. It was her first fully successful attempt at such a complex healing, and a small, triumphant smile played on her lips as the tissue knitted together under her touch. She handed the gun back to Vasco, who murmured his thanks with a nod of relief.

Turning back to Kurt, she found him offering a strained smile, his jaw set tight with tension. Arline's expression shifted to one of concern as she observed him. She lingered by his side, her frown deepening, wondering how best to offer him comfort without overstepping the boundaries he often set for himself.

Hermann's sneer deepened, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re the legate of the Congregation. The very one that made Kurt betray us.”

Kurt's head whipped back toward Hermann, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth ground audibly. “She didn’t have to make me do anything.” He spat out. “Taking down Torsten was a duty; taking you down is a pleasure.”

“Pleasure,” Hermann echoed with a nasty smile. “Oh, it will be a pleasure when my men free me, and I make you watch as I use her every—“

The words cut off sharply as Arline, struck motionless for a mere second by shock and indignation, suddenly saw Kurt lunge at Hermann. In a blur of movement, Kurt pressed his blade to Hermann's throat, his face contorted with rage.

"Kurt!" Arline cried out, her voice a sharp crack in the tense air.

She rushed forward, her hand reaching out to press against the cold steel of Kurt's sword. Hermann's dark laughter echoed through the warehouse, unnervingly calm even as a few drops of blood began to bead beneath the blade's pressure.

“He wants you to kill him now.” Arline murmured softly, her words barely audible over Hermann's laughter. “He prefers it to burning alive.”

Gradually, the wild fury in Kurt's eyes dimmed as they focused on Arline's. With a visible shudder, he relaxed his grip, allowing Arline to carefully lower his blade. She let out a long, slow breath of relief. Then, with a swift pivot, she swung her fist, connecting sharply with Hermann's nose. The sound of cartilage crunching was followed by Hermann's surprised cry of pain.

“For political reasons, we need you alive.” Arline hissed, leaning in close to the stunned man. “But make no mistake, we do not need you whole. The inquisitors will not mind a couple of extremities missing.”

As Hermann croaked to spit in her face, Arline channelled Force, repelling the spittle back onto his own cheek. She grimaced at the sight.

“Gag him. She ordered sternly. “Keep him under control.”

Petrus moved quickly, securing Hermann's mouth with a cloth to stifle any further provocations. Arline pulled a visibly shaken Kurt away from Hermann, leading him up the creaky wooden stairs to the upper level of the warehouse. The sparse area offered a reprieve from the tension below. Kurt began to pace the rough planks, his movements sharp and erratic.

“Perhaps we can just gut him right here.” Kurt muttered, his voice thick with fury.

Arline winced at the suggestion. “The Guard would be in political trouble.” She reminded, keeping her voice calm.

“To hell with the Guard!” Kurt exploded, his usual discipline fraying at the edges.

Arline reached out, placing a gentle hand on his forearm, grounding him with her touch. “You do not really think that.” She said softly.

Kurt stopped pacing and turned to face her, his eyes intense and filled with torment. He swallowed hard, struggling to articulate his thoughts. “What he said—" Kurt began, his voice a whisper.

“Was disgusting but ultimately aimed at you.” Arline finished for him, guiding him to sit on a nearby crate.

A flash of pain crossed Kurt's features as he sat, the muscles of his face tense with inner conflict. His eyes unfocused. “Yes. It hit a weak spot.” He whispered hoarsely, his gaze slipping away from her.  “Hermann... occasionally came to visit us at night...”

Arline's lips parted in horror as she absorbed his confession. Her breathing quickened. She felt a surge of protective rage, her thoughts darkening with thoughts of vengeance, of disposing of a particular extremity. She stepped closer, her hands reaching up to cradle his face, forcing him to look at her. “He will never do that to anyone again.” She whispered fiercely, a hard edge to her voice.

A storm seemed to brew in Kurt's eyes, and his hands moved up her arms to her elbows, as if torn between pushing her away and pulling her closer. Arline made the choice for him, pulling him into an embrace, pressing his head against her chest. One hand caressed his back while the other ran through his damp hair.

Kurt inhaled sharply against her, then let out a rugged breath, his arms wrapping around her waist. Arline stepped closer, fitting herself between his legs, allowing him to squeeze her more tightly. She rested her cheek against the top of his head, the sweat unnoticed as she continued her soothing motion, offering a haven in the storm, providing a silent reassurance that she was there, unconditionally.

They remained entwined in each other's arms for a long, quiet moment, their breaths syncing in a comforting rhythm. Eventually, Kurt's arms unwound from around her, and he leaned back slightly, creating a small space between them. Arline stepped back, maintaining her hold on his hands.

“I’m sorry for losing my composure down there.” Kurt murmured. “I’ll feel better when this matter is over.”

Arline shook her head gently, doubting that the end of this ordeal would magically mend the deeper wounds that troubled him for so many years. “It is alright.” She reassured him, her tone soft and understanding.

Kurt exhaled deeply, then met her gaze with an intensity that sent an electric current through Arline’s body. “Thank you, Green Blood.” He said, his voice low. “Thank you for helping me as I go through all this. I’ll never forget it.”

Arline offered him a tender smile and sat down on the crate next to him, squeezing into the small space so she could lean against his shoulder. The coldness of his pauldron pressed against her cheek. Their intertwined hands rested on his knee.

“Any time, my friend.” She echoed the words he had offered her not so long ago.

He responded by resting his cheek gently on top of her head, and they remained in that shared silence a moment longer. Arline’s stomach broke the quiet with a loud grumble. Kurt let out a soft snicker, the sound a gentle break from the tension, and he fished some dry rations from his pouch. “Looks like we'll be here all day.” He commented as he handed her a portion.

They descended the stairs together, returning to where Petrus and Vasco kept watch over their captive. As they approached the lower level, Kurt's posture stiffened, the proximity to Hermann reigniting his tension, though noticeably less severe than before. They joined their companions, sharing the rations and taking up their vigil once more, keeping a wary eye on the restrained, until the night enveloped the city.

Chapter Text

Chapter 38

They beheld in awe as He willed Earth into existence, infusing it with Space and Force to harbour His subsequent creations. Fire and Ice imbued the Earth within, Air and Lighting enveloped it. 

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:24.

_______

Kurt stood near the front row of onlookers at the main square, his gaze fixed intently on Hermann as the condemned man was secured to the stake. The flames had not yet been lit, but Kurt felt a burn deep within him—seething hate and anticipation in a volatile mixture. This was a moment twenty years in the making, a cathartic release that was long overdue. Yet, as he stood there, the relief he had imagined felt overshadowed by a profound exhaustion that seemed to seep into his bones. For the last decade, he considered the matter shelved, dusting it and reopening old wounds tired him.

The night had been restless, spent on jail duty with Corporal Jordin while the regular guards lay unconscious, their drinks laced with sleeping potions. Vasco and Aphra had bolstered their numbers, guarding against any last-minute attempts to rescue Hermann, but the anticipated assault never came. Kurt was grateful for their solidarity, especially given that he had offered them little in the way of explanation; only Arline knew had an idea of what Hermann represented to him.

She stood beside him now, even on this grim occasion. She always did. How did he deserve that? He remembered how shaken she was at Asili’s execution, and her empathy for the lives twisted and torn by his cruelty; he worried now for her well-being, witnessing another harsh end.

“You really don’t need to stay with me and watch this.” Kurt murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, rough with emotion.

Arline responded with taking his hand firmly in hers, her grip warm and reassuring even through the leather of her glove. “I know.” She said simply.

Kurt looked at their intertwined hands, momentarily losing himself to the sensation, forgetting the grim reality of the square around him. The memory of Arline's embrace back in the warehouse enveloped him anew, its warmth dimming the sharper edges of his other emotions. In her arms, he had felt a sense of safety so profound it harked back to his earliest childhood memories, cradled in his wet nurse’s arms. A wave of embarrassment flushed through him at the thought. He was a grown man, a soldier no less, whose role was to provide safety, not to seek it. Yet in sharing his darkest memories and most guarded secrets, he had found in Arline a soothing, unwavering support. Could life truly be like this? Could he genuinely walk hand in hand with his sweet excellency through whatever came their way?

His reverie was abruptly shattered as Inquisitor Aloysius called attention to the proceedings, his voice cutting through the crowd to read aloud the invented heresies attributed to Hermann. A cold shiver ran up Kurt’s spine, a chill that Arline’s closeness couldn’t dispel. Instead, it was the seething rage bubbling in his stomach that seemed to burn away the cold, fuelling a fiery resolve as he fixed his eyes on the man tied to the stake.

As the torches were lit and the flames began to crackle, igniting the kindling at Hermann’s feet, Kurt felt Arline’s thumb trace a line over his hand, a reminder of her presence. The flames began to lick upwards, and Hermann’s curses escalated into frantic, incoherent shouts. Kurt's breathing quickened, his body tensing with an overflowing rage. Hermann's verbal abuses soon turned into screams of agonizing pain, piercing the heavy air of the square. Kurt’s grip on Arline’s hand tightened unconsciously, seeking some anchor in the turbulence of his emotions, that threatened to douse his inner fire. She squeezed back, grounding him.

Horror and an unwelcome twinge of compassion began to seep through the cracks of his anger. Kurt wrestled with these feelings; he wanted to hate, to revel in Hermann’s demise. This man has tortured him, humiliated him, violated him, left scars on his skin and on his soul. Memories assaulted him: the coppery taste of blood, the stale scent of sweat, the grasp of unwanted hands. These recollections mingled with the heat radiating from the flames, but instead of fuelling his rage, they quenched it, leaving a hollow nausea in its wake.

The reality dawned on him—Hermann’s pain did not erase his. Screams of agony brought him no satisfaction. His rage, much like his past shame, offered no peace. Justice had been served, and Hermann would never harm another soul; Kurt’s duty was fulfilled. Now, it was time to find peace elsewhere, far from the echoes of the past.

But he already has. Kurt's gaze shifted from the flames to Arline. He noticed her body rigid with tension, yet her eyes, soft and attentive, were fixed on him rather than the gruesome spectacle before them. As he found them, the tightness in his muscles eased. The screams died, drowned out by the relentless roar of the fire, and soon, the acrid stench of burning flesh wafted through the air.

Frowning in concern, Kurt reached into his coat, pulling out a handkerchief, offering it to Arline as a shield to the awful smoke. As she accepted it with a nod, he hesitated, debating his gesture. A real gentleman would escort her out of here, and not subject her to his deranged vengeance. Kurt took one final, liberating glance at the stake where Hermann's figure was now just a silhouette against the flames. It felt as if he was leaving an old, heavy part of himself behind in the fire. Turning to Arline, he offered his arm, an invitation to leave this place and its morbid memories behind.

Arline accepted his arm, her eyes though tinged with sadness, carried a warmth that bolstered him. Without words, they stepped away from the square, the crackle of fire receding into background.

As they put distance between themselves and the square, Arline lowered the handkerchief. “Kurt? Are you alright?” Her voice softly broke the silence.

Kurt mustered a half-hearted chuckle, forcing levity into his tone. “Yes, better than ever!” He might have been exaggerating a little. “You cannot even imagine how much I hated that piece of filth.” He added with a lower voice.

“I cannot.” She agreed gently. “But if you ever want to tell me, I am here.”

She really was, ready to carry his burdens with him. Her constant, unwavering support was something he had never known before. Throughout his life he had been guarded about his past, careful to project an image of indifferent strength. Even with Sieglinde's prior knowledge, after he was brought into her care following the dismantling of the elite camp, it had taken him ages to open up. But it was a long time ago, in another life, when the scars had still been wounds, and proximity was a threat of pain, rather than a promise of relief.

“It's something I'd rather forget...” He murmured. “Believe me, I'm glad that my memories went up in flames along with that bastard.”

Arline frowned, but her gaze was still soft, and her scepticism remained unvoiced. She was trained in seeing through a façade people put forth, and she saw right through him.

Kurt shook his head. “Perhaps not the memories.” He conceded with a sigh. “But I do feel lighter.” Light enough to finally see clearly. With her touch, a warmth unlike any other steadied his heart. In her gaze, he found a new definition of safety—one not built on solitude but on shared strength. She would not scorn his vulnerability.

“I was just a kid then,” He said before doubt creeped in. “But I was sent to an elite camp... Although one must say that I was gifted for my age.” He tried to muster a humorous smile, but it turned into a grimace. “This is when Captain Hermann took charge of me... You already know the story. We were beaten almost every day, we hardly slept,” Kurt took a deep breath to steel himself. “He humiliated and violated us at every opportunity. The same treatment as Reiner, Wilhem and the others... The only difference is that I survived.”

The soft pressure of her hand on his arm intensified, as her fingers brushed his sleeve. “I am so sorry you went through this.” She murmured. “And I am so proud of you, Kurt. That you had become one of the strongest, and the kindest people I know.”

Kurt forced a smile, a defence mechanism against the vulnerability threatening to overtake him. “You don’t mind that I’m damaged goods?” He asked, half-joking, half-terrified.

Arline's smile was warm, filled with affection and devoid of pity. “I only mind that you have suffered, Kurt. Besides,” She added, glancing at him with a teasing smile. “I believe you are a wholesome package.”

Kurt exhaled slowly, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He believed that she did. She accepted him, even cherished him, though she saw the whole broken picture. He could hardly understand how, but he thanked his lucky star.

They reached the embassy, the heavy doors closing behind them with a solid thud. Arline paused, turning to Kurt with a hesitant smile as she handed him back his handkerchief.

Kurt stared at it with a frown. “Keep it. Please.” He murmured, the words barely above a whisper. He was aware of the implications of such a gesture at court, yet unsure of his place in such rituals.

Arline’s eyes widened in surprise. The moment felt loaded, charged with an intensity that made Kurt's heart race. Damn, he really picked a terrible moment, didn’t he? “Kurt, do not let me overinterpret your gesture.” She said, her smile forced as she navigated the tension.

Kurt exhaled fighting the urge to shift his weight. Whatever would he do if she weren’t so bold? He cleared his throat. “If my gesture comes too late, I apologize for my presumptions, Excellency. But you are not overinterpreting it.” He said, his voice low and tense.

Arline's eyes narrowed, a playful smile curving her lips. “If your gesture does not come too late, do you not owe me an apology as well?” She challenged. “For being a stubborn fool, perhaps?” Her tone was light as she made the suggestion.

A hint of smile crept onto Kurt’s lips. “I do.” He conceded. “I beg your forgiveness.”

“For?” Arline pressed, tilting her head slightly.

Kurt laughed, tension melting away under the wave of warmth. “For being a stubborn fool.” He complied.

Arline smirked and slipped the handkerchief into her pocket. “You shall need to work for forgiveness.” She said with a theatrical edge to her voice. But just as she said it, Arline stepped closer and kissed his cheek. The brief contact left a trail of heat on his skin, a burning sensation that seeped into his chest, planting a seed of joy. Kurt touched his cheek, the spot where her lips had been, and watched her with a mixture of awe and affection as she escaped up the stairs. Now, how the hell was one to court a noble lady in secret?

○●○

The evening had settled over the city, drawing out the less savoury characters into the lamplit streets. Kurt followed Arline and Petrus, his hand on the hilt, eyes inspecting every shadow. They were on their way to meet with Candy Cane, a notorious figure whose involvement in the arena's underground dealings could swing the odds in their favour in the elaborate scheme to leverage the Mother Cardinal. Kurt wasn’t too thrilled Arline insisted on meeting the mobster herself, especially without additional numbers. He didn’t doubt she could fend for herself, but the idea still made him nervous. She was dressed the part of a wealthy patron, and the heavy walking skirt was not a good match for a fight, should it come to that.

As they approached the dimly lit alley leading to the Coin Tavern, Arline paused turning to him with a furrow in her brow, a flicker of hesitation crossing her features. “You know, Kurt, there really is no need to go through with this.” She said, her voice carrying a mild protest. “I can manage just fine without having to blackmail Cornelia.”

Kurt chuckled lightly, the sound mingling with the distant clamour of the taverns. “Maybe, but Constantin could probably use a little extra loyalty from Thélème, especially with the... botanical additions he's about to sport.” He replied, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Arline’s hand jumped to the small protrusion of her own horn concealed within her hair, hidden from the public eye beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Kurt's gaze followed the motion, a softness touching his expression. He had grown rather fond of that horn; it was something he witnessed only during their most intimate moments.

Perhaps his fondness also stemmed from its representation of her formidable power, a reminder of who she was beyond the diplomacy and decorum. Or maybe, he mused with a private sheepish smile, it was because it featured prominently in the more daring fantasies that warmed his cold nights. He quickly banished that thought, focusing on the task ahead.

“The fight is already on the board, and I’d rather not be known as the coward, you know? Have a little faith, Green Blood.” He said with a teasing smile.

Arline rolled her eyes. “I have full faith in you.” she protested in a tone of mock exasperation. “Oh, but a fist fight? You will have to take some blows, and I hate that.”

“I’ll be sure to chug a potion before you see me, so my face remains pretty.” He replied with a wide grin, to which she gave him a flat look. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Let's make sure Constantin has all the support he can get.” He added and they resumed their walk.

Kurt's mirth faded as he resumed a vigilant scan of their surroundings, his eyes darting between the dark alleys as they approached their destination. They found Candy Cane, a man with a face tireless of thought, leaning against a wall near the coin barracks, his bulk accentuated by a Coin Guard uniform that seemed to mock the very essence of what Kurt stood for. Four men flanked their leader, and Kurt noted with a trained eye the presence of three additional figures lurking nearby.

Arline stepped forward, her voice polite yet carrying an undercurrent of authority that contrasted sharply with the rough ensemble before them. “Good evening. Are you the one they call Candy Cane?”

Candy Cane's eyes narrowed as he sized them up, his gaze lingering on Arline in a way that made Kurt's fist itch. “Who are you?” He grunted.

Petrus stepped in. “This is Lady Arline De Sardet, legate of the Merchant Congregation.” He introduced her.

Candy Cane let out a low whistle, a smirk playing on his lips. “A legate, no less. I imagine in these cases the one accompanying you is the famous Petrus?” He added, betraying a surprising sharpness in his eyes.

“You seem to be very well-informed.” Petrus smirked, clasping his hands behind his back. “Well then. You know me, so you also know I’m quite clever, and that my ideas are always fruitful.” He said, wasting no time. “I thought of a little scheme that could make us all very rich.”

“They do say that you are devious, perhaps too much so for your own good.” Candy Cane mused, leaning back as if to appraise Petrus's proposal. “Go on.”

Petrus gestured towards Kurt. “My friend here loves the glory and sand of the arena.”

“Kurt has quite a reputation among the guard,” Arline chimed in. “And soon he will be taking on the champion.”

Candy Cane’s measuring gaze returned to Kurt with a mild interest. He scoffed. “Yeah, I’ve seen the odds. Everyone expects him to lose within a minute. So what?”

Kurt bristled silently at the mention. Despite his lack of ambition, the notion that he would falter so quickly was insulting. He might not have been an arena champion by trade, but he was a seasoned soldier, experienced on the battlefield and decorated for his skill. The bookmakers and the gamblers were in for a rude awakening.

Petrus leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if to share a confidential secret. “Let us suppose that our champion is a little less… aggressive than usual.”

Candy Cane's eyes narrowed, the gears clearly turning in his head as he weighed the possibilities. “If the fight can last at least five minutes, an informed bettor would win the jackpot.”

“And I’d keep a little of my pride.” Kurt's lips quirked into a half-smile, a hint of mischief in his tone.

“Organizing this will entail some costs for me.” Candy Cane countered, his arms folding across his chest. “It's better to add a bonus. Without the bonus, there's no deal. If you pay me in advance, you won't be tempted to play any tricks. So, get your wallet out.”

Unfazed, Arline drew a heavy pouch from her pocket, counting twenty-five copper coin holders, each a stack of ten gold Tal—a hefty sum, nearly a third of Kurt's annual income. He would pay that back with his winnings. “If this seals our deal? Here, take it.” She said, extending the money toward Candy Cane.

Candy Cane’s greedy smile widened as he poured the stacks of coins into the palm of his hand, counting in silence. “Excellent!” He nodded as the clink of metal stopped. “Don’t you worry now. Everything will be fixed for the fight. I think that one of my special clients will also be interested in our little arrangement.”

Arline gave him a demure smile, pocketing her holders. “Be careful not to tell too many people, we do not want the odds to drop too low.”

“I know what I’m doing, lady.” Candy Cane retorted with a dismissive snort. “Come after the fight.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Cane.” Arline said, turning away. Kurt followed, casting a wary glance over his shoulder, keeping an eye on the smirking thugs. He needed to remember every face; after they have done a number on Candy Cane, this sullen bunch would come after Arline.

They made their way back home—funny, how Kurt started to think of the embassies as home, a notion that had never crossed his mind during his days at the d'Orsay palace. Tomorrow evening he might be sore from the fight, but tonight still held the promise of a pleasant ending. They planned to spend it in the drawing room with the others, a prospect that surprisingly, he now looked forward to. Perhaps Arline would play her harp. Her treatment of him as an equal might have messed with his head. Tea drinking and poetry listening were far from his usual pastimes, yet here he was, finding relaxation in the very activities he had once scoffed at. What a dainty sap he was turning into, he mused with a self-deprecating chuckle. Maybe the upcoming sweat and bruises of the arena would snap him back to reality.

Or maybe, it would simply add another layer to this odd sensation of wanting more from life—something deeply fulfilling that he had only just begun to allow himself to want.

Chapter Text

Chapter 39

He then created Ether and conceived all flora and fauna. Completing His Devine Symphony, He united Ether with Spirit to sculpt us, and endowed us with Change to do as we choose.

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:27.

_______

Arline perched on the edge of her bed, her fingers tracing the coarse weave of a plain linen handkerchief. On her nightstand, a bouquet of flowers filled the room with a sweet fragrance—clusters of delicate petals shaped like stars, their vibrant pink hue reminiscent of the dusky sunsets over the island. Her maid, Cristy, had brought them that morning, her smile as bright as the blooms she carried. A small note accompanied the bouquet.

I hope you don’t mind me recruiting C for this little scheme. — K

Arline's heart had fluttered upon seeing Kurt’s familiar handwriting, each bold stroke of the ‘t’ endearing. She had tucked the note carefully between the pages of her journal, where it lay beside an older, equally cherished message from the day she realized her heart was no longer her own.

He was indeed courting her. The handkerchief in her hand was devoid of the fanciful embellishments typical of courtly love—no lace, no trimmings, not even embroidered initials—a clear sign it was from a world different than hers. It was a simple, honest token, much like Kurt himself. Yet here he was, embracing her rituals as his own. The thought of Kurt, out of place in an ornate doublet, on a formal call for a quarter of an hour or mingling during a ball, brought a wistful smile to her lips. It was an amusing image, his solid, warrior’s frame wrapped in the trappings of a courtier. She had fallen for a man of simple origins, not a lord, and she accepted all that entailed. Yet when she saw him smile as she played the harp the previous evening, she could almost believe there were no barriers between them, no need for secrecy.

Her joy was a respite from the ever-present worry for Constantin. Something to selfishly look forward to. But this evening brought with it a wave of concern that tempered her recent happiness. Kurt was to face the champion in the arena, a spectacle of violence for some fleeting political advantage, and she was to watch him get hurt. She sighed, tucking the handkerchief into her pocket and picking up a small grass wreath from the nightstand. Crafted like those traditionally given to knights and sportsmen during the Eclipstice events for luck and favour, she hoped it would bring Kurt the same protection.

Arline descended the stairs with a sense of trepidation, her steps heavy, her mind elsewhere. The vestibule buzzed with the low murmurs of her companions, most of the party was already gathered, ready for the event, even Lord Lefroy, who surely found little appeal in the night's uncivil proceedings. Kurt had departed earlier, seeking solitude in the training hall to warm up before the fight.

The arena was a cacophony of noise and a whirlwind of activity, the scent of dust mingled with the acrid tang of sweat pervaded the air, which was heavy and stifling with the heat of the crowd. Despite her efforts to blend in with a nondescript outfit, Arline felt conspicuously out of place, her stature as the legate making her presence here borderline scandalous. The press of the crowd was relentless, and despite the protective presence of Petrus and Lieutenant Wilma flanking her, each accidental brush of damp skin against her made her skin crawl with discomfort. The longing for the seclusion of a private box flickered through her thoughts, an unattainable luxury that made her feel foolish for even considering it.

Passing the bouncer with a nod, they stepped into the area reserved for the combatants. There, in the dim light of the prep area, Kurt stood, taking a long drink from a waterskin. Shirtless, his skin gleaming with sweat. Arline stopped dead, her breath catching, as her eyes unwittingly traced the path of a streamlet of water that meandered down his neck, across the dark hair on his muscular chest to the sculpture of his stomach, and disappeared into the waistband of his breeches. Her cheeks flared with heat, her heart thudding erratically.

Aphra's soft giggle snapped Arline out of her trance, drawing Kurt's attention. His gaze found Arline's, his smile bright and disarmingly familiar. The simple joy in his expression did little to cool the blush that had spread to her neck. As he approached, the ambient noise seemed to fade, and the words of four languages tangled into an incoherent jumble in her head.

Petrus clasped Kurt's hand firmly, giving it a shake. “Ready?” He asked, his voice brimming with excitement.

Kurt nodded. “Ready.”

Aphra, who had seen Arline working, with a knowing smirk, nudged her with her elbow. “De Sardet has something for you.” She hummed.

Arline felt another wave of heat as Aphra's comment threw her into the spotlight. She fumbled slightly as she reached for the wreath she'd woven. “Yes, well.” Her voice was quieter than intended, her throat dry. “I know you are going in unarmed…”

Her gaze traced the lines of Kurt's arms, the play of shadows emphasizing the strength in them, and she swallowed hard, clearing her throat awkwardly. “But, uh…” Extending the wreath towards him felt suddenly ludicrous without a lance to place it on, a quaint symbol in the gritty reality of the arena.

Kurt's grin cut through her hesitation, his eyes twinkling as he took the wreath from her hands and placed it around his wrist. He took her hand and bowed his head, his lips brushing her skin in a kiss that sent her heart into a wild rhythm. “Thank you, Excellency. With your favour I’m a victor already.” Kurt’s voice, laced with a playful undertone, only deepened her disarray.

Petrus raised an eyebrow at the exchange. “Don’t get too comfortable, we still need you to win.”

Kurt patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, old fox.” He said lightly. “You should take your places in the locale now, it starts soon.” With a firm nod, he ushered them toward the crowd, but Arline hesitated, motioning for the others to give her a moment. Petrus gave her another suspicious glance before moving away.

Kurt's expression softened as he turned back to her, a warm fondness in his eyes that made the bustling noise of the arena fade into the background.

“Please be careful.” She murmured.

Kurt smiled. “I am always careful, Green Blood.” He reminded with a low voice.

“I know.” She sighed. Arline bit her lip, her nerves fraying. “I just… I am terribly weak-willed, and I already forgave you, you see.”

His laughter was soft, filled with affection. “In that case, there’s something I need to tell you.” He said, his eyes searching between the lines of worry on her face.

Her eyes widened, and she quickly held up a hand. “Do not you dare do it now!”

Kurt's grin widened. “I’m not a complete fool.” He assured her. With a final, reassuring squeeze of her hand, he turned and walked towards the arena, leaving Arline to catch up with the others.

Before she moved, Arline's breath caught in her throat as she glimpsed Kurt's back for the first time—a tapestry of thick, crisscrossing scars, remnants of brutal lashings. The satisfaction she had felt at Hermann's death resurged, bitter and sweet. As Kurt jumped into the arena, the organizer's voice boomed through the crowd, drawing her attention back to the imminent fight.

“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” The man bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Briscard, the undefeated champion of three years, has won forty-two fights in his illustrious career, and eighteen men have never walked out of this arena!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, a roar of excitement that filled the arena with a barely contained energy. Arline's stomach churned with the thought that some of those fights had ended in death, what a brutal entertainment.

“Tonight, he is challenged by Kurt, a captain of the Guard, who has not felt the sand of the arena for over a decade. Will the royal master of arms be the one to dethrone the champion, or is he royally screwed?” The organizer's tone turned jesting, inciting laughter and a smattering of boos from the crowd, with only a few scattered cheers of support.

Arline bristled at the mockery. As she hurried to her group, they squeezed through the throngs to find a spot from which to watch. Every shout and jeer from the crowd pricked at her, an unpleasant contrast to the usually respectful salutations she was accustomed to in the court. They made their way to the front, Arline’s gaze fixed on Kurt as he prepared for the fight, her hands clenched tightly on the metal net separating her from him.

 The two men shook hands with mutual respect. As the organizer signalled the start, Briscard, a hulking figure began with a series of heavy test swings, each blow packed with the potential to end the fight if it connected.

Arline watched, her eyes wide with a mix of concern and admiration, as Kurt, leaner and more dexterous, dodged each attack. His movements were fluid and reactive, like those of a martial artist, a stark contrast to the powerful style of his opponent.

Kurt’s usual combat style involved heavy, two-handed weapons that relied more on brute strength than finesse. She had rarely seen him like this, an agile dancer in the sands. They have never wrestled, it would hardly be appropriate. The vision sent an unexpected thrill through her, causing her to bite her lip.

Briscard landed several solid hits, each one sending a jolt through Arline. Kurt's lip split under the force of a particularly brutal punch, his cheekbone reddening and swelling almost immediately. Despite the blows, Kurt managed to retaliate effectively, his quicker, more precise movements allowing him to manoeuvre around Briscard's bulk and score critical points. In a swift motion that drew gasps from the crowd, Kurt executed a complex maneuver, locking Briscard in a painful hold that seemed to dislocate the larger man's arm. The crowd roared in approval as Briscard grimaced in agony.

Driven by the rush of his pain, Briscard swung a heavy, desperate punch into Kurt's stomach with his good arm, knocking the wind out of him. Kurt winced, the impact doubling him over, but the tide had turned significantly in his favour. Seizing his moment, Kurt swept Briscard's legs, toppling the giant to the ground and securing his neck with his leg in a chokehold. The cheer from the crowd was deafening as they watched the struggle.

The screams from the audience reached a fever pitch as Briscard's struggles weakened, his body going limp under Kurt's relentless pressure. Kurt held the position for a few more agonizing seconds, ensuring the victory was undeniable, before releasing him and standing up, his chest heaving with exertion.

Arline could barely contain her emotions, relief and pride overwhelming her as Kurt was declared the victor. Her gaze was locked on him as he regained his breath. Despite the violence, the sight of him standing victorious stirred a deep admiration in her, her worries momentarily forgotten in the flush of his success.

Arline rushed towards the preparation area, Wilma immediately on her tail, her heart still pounding from the intensity of the fight. She reached Kurt just as he climbed from the pit, his face lit with a triumphant grin that softened the harsh lines of injury. Without hesitation, she reached up, her hands gently cupping his battered cheek. Her fingers tingled with the flow of magic, the warm glow seeping into his skin, knitting the flesh back together and soothing the swelling. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt that his teeth were still intact—regrowing teeth was beyond her abilities.

“I hated every second of that.” She confessed, her voice trembling slightly from relief.

Kurt tested the movement of his jaw and offered her a lopsided smile. “I don’t have any plans to repeat it.” He assured her. “Thank you.” He added, pointing to his face.

As Wilma shook his hand with a grin, the rest of their party converged around them. Petrus’s face alight with excitement. “Not only did we just place Cornelia in my debt, son, but you also won just in time for me to win a nice sum in the bet.” He declared, barely containing his glee.

Arline looked at him, her eyebrow arching in disbelief and amusement. “You placed a bet?”

“Obviously,” Vasco chimed in with a smirk. “Aphra and I did too.”

Kurt’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he turned to Vasco. “Well, you're welcome, sailor, you are buying.”

Vasco’s laughter boomed through the room, and he clapped Kurt on the back with a hearty gesture of camaraderie.

Kurt wiped the sweat from his body with a rough cloth, methodically removing the sweat and grime from the fight. Arline couldn't help but steal glances at the firm lines of his torso, a flush creeping up her cheeks as she entertained the thought of seeing his body again. The wreath she had given him was still clasped around his wrist. With a final adjustment of his shirt, they were ready to head upstairs to the tavern. It was another place she typically avoided, deemed inappropriate for someone of her stature, but tonight she would make an exception. Tonight, they would celebrate together, a small rebellion against the norms that so often confined her. Her eyes lingered on him, anticipation for the evening's festivities mixing with a deeper, more personal anticipation.

○●○

The group returned home in high spirits. Arline, having braved a single ale, decided that her foray into commoner rituals would end there; the bitter taste was not to her liking. Síora, sampling it for the first time, commented that it reminded her of a similar beverage made from local grains by her people. To her amusement, Lord Lefroy seemed genuinely to enjoy the tavern's rowdy atmosphere, at one point even joining Vasco in belting out sea shanties. His usual stern demeanour was replaced by a rare, unguarded joviality.

Kurt, the hero of the hour, was showered with drinks, but he passed most of them along, keeping only a pint or two for himself. His gaze often found Arline, warm and lingering, adding a soft glow to her cheeks.

As they entered the embassy, Arline, concerned for Kurt's well-being after the physical toll of the fight, insisted he eat something substantial. As she gently guided him toward the dining room, she caught Petrus's sharp gaze following them. Her heart skipped a beat; Petrus's look was too observant, too keen. Biting her lip in mild frustration, she realized that Petrus had likely surmised more than she wished. The last thing she needed was for him to assume the role of chaperone. Determined to maintain their privacy and not ready to confront such scrutiny, Arline quickly plotted how to deter Petrus's well-meaning but unwanted oversight.

She turned to Vasco with a quick, strategic plea. “Vasco, I believe you were hungry too? Stay with us?”

Vasco paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his features before it was replaced by a knowing smile. “Ah, yes, the tavern food doesn’t sit well with me!” He announced, playing along with her cue perfectly.

Their ruse seemed to work as the rest of the group bid them good night and drifted towards the stairs, leaving the trio in the hallway. Vasco shot Arline a subtly amused glance while Kurt raised an eyebrow in question.

As they entered the dining room, Vasco continued in a teasing tone. “Right, so what are we having?”

Arline crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look. “Thank you, Vasco. You can go now.” She said, her tone light but firm.

Vasco snickered, not at all offended, and gave them a casual wave as he exited. “Enjoy your evening then!” He called out, leaving them alone.

Arline turned to face Kurt, who wore an amused expression, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You wished to tell me something.” She said, her voice playful yet expectant.

He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “For a moment there, I thought you wished to be alone with the sailor.” He teased.

Arline met his gaze with a coy smile, feeling mischievous. “Scheming to be unchaperoned with a man? What are you accusing me of, Captain?”

He chuckled softly and shook his head. “Only of being too generous with me.” There was a pleasing hint of admiration in his voice. “Though perhaps you could simply give me a sign in the future?”

Arline's mind sparked with intrigue. “The future? Contemplating future prospects, are we?”

“Yes.” He said, pulling out a chair for her to sit. “For the first time, I feel free to do so.” His voice was tinged with resolve she had rarely seen in him.

“And? What does it entail?” Arline asked, narrowing her eyes in a playful but probing gaze as he sat beside her.

Kurt's shoulders tensed, his usual confidence wavered as he searched for the words. “I haven’t made out the specifics yet,” He confessed, his gaze lingering on hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. He wet his lips. “But there are few important things in my life…” He hesitated, escaping her gaze. Arline's heart quickened in response, heat coursing through her veins, and the air crackled with anticipation.

“And now it seems the proud warrior can’t find the right words. Such a fool.” He muttered, frowning to himself.

Her heart pounding in her chest, Arline warred with her breeding, which demanded she remain demure. Tired of the game of chess they had been playing, and with her uncle half across the world, in this new land, it was time to abandon the stifling social conventions of the old world.

“Kurt, I do hope this is not some foolish mercenary jest about gold, and that you allude you wish me to be a part of your future.”

Kurt looked to her, his eyes a maelstrom of feelings. “I still can’t believe you would want that.” He murmured. “Find interest in someone like me.” He shook his head again. “But nothing would make me happier.”

A flutter stirred in Arline’s stomach, her breath shaky with the rising tide of her feelings. “In that case, let us establish that sign as a knock on my door.”

Kurt’s lips parted in shock. “Excellency…”

She stopped him, putting a finger to his lips and he stared at her, astonished.

“If your only objection pertains to my reputation, I implore you to remain silent.” She said, trying to sound composed, despite her growing embarrassment. “If your affections are indeed engaged, as I suspect they are, do not shield me from my own desires. If I am mistaken in my assumptions, tell me so at once, and I shall cease my foolishness.”

Her finger dropped and she breathed heavily, staring at his chest, unable to look him in the eye. Surely, she could not be mistaken. Had he not, in essence, admitted to choosing her over the chain of command? Had he not implied she is one of the most important things in his life, just now? Sudden doubt, absent just moments ago gripped her heart.

“You are not mistaken, Excellency.” He said softly. Her eyes darted up, meeting his, and she found herself lost in their warmth and sincerity. “You have my affections.” He confirmed in a rasped voice. “But you must know I never dared to have any intentions behind them.”

For a moment Arline could hear nothing but the roaring pulse of her blood in her ears. Slowly, he reached out and took her hands in his. The shock of touching his skin jolted through her anew. His palms were hard and calloused, but his touch was soft and tender.

“I was your master of arms for a very long time, and you were very young then.” His voice was hoarse, as if words scraped against his throat. “You have grown up, and I… eventually developed these feelings, and loathed myself for having them.”

Arline's eyes widened in surprise. She had never fully considered how his former role might haunt him, especially given his own past, where boundaries had been so cruelly violated. She parted her lips to speak, to offer some solace, but he pressed on before she could gather her thoughts.

“And regardless of the past,” He continued. “Someone like me is not allowed to declare someone as graceful as you even the most honourable intentions. Nor could you accept such a proposition, if I did.” He paused, furrowing his brows. “But now… Excellency, you know I can’t offer you anything beyond my vow of devotion.” Kurt murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But I am yours if you wish it.”

Arline's breath caught in her throat as she gazed into Kurt's eyes, her heart overflowing with love and longing. Hers. Vow of devotion. Such promises, made under the silent watch of the stars, felt as binding as those sworn in any chapel. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she touched his cheek, feeling lightheaded as the world whirled around her.

“My dear, dear Kurt,” She whispered with a quivering voice, as he apprehensively leaned into her touch. “Your vow suffices for me.” Her voice broke as she contemplated the profundity of the moment. “I never anticipated you would presume to make a proposal of matrimony.” She bit her lip, embarrassed. “I know we cannot engage in a liaison within the bounds of propriety. I have determined that I hold no regard. I greatly desire it nonetheless. Will you come to me tomorrow?”

Kurt's lips curved into an unsure smile as he cupped the hand on his cheek with his own, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I will.” He whispered. “And I cannot wait.”

A soft chuckle escaped Arline, her eyes sparkling with delight. “I am not one to advise patience. You may kiss me now.”

The smile on Kurt’s lips widened as he closed the distance between them, and he inhaled sharply as they found hers. His scent enveloped her, and her lower belly tingled as if with a sudden motion. His free hand grabbed the edge of her chair, and he dragged her closer. Arline giggled against his lips, then bit him gently, prompting another sharp intake of breath. He let go of her hand and wrapped his around her, pressing her against his body, the heat of his body seeped through her dress, making her shiver with anticipation. His tongue met hers and a soft moan escaped her. He purred in response, sending her mind reeling. Kurt’s hand rose to cradle her neck, his touch delicate, as he slowly, reluctantly, ended the kiss, leaving her breathless. His eyes, alight with happiness, met hers, and he smiled, his fingers brushing her skin. He leaned back in, kissing the tip of her nose, then her forehead; a pleasant wave of warmth spread through her, at odds with the fire inside.

“I almost convinced myself I imagined that previous kiss.” He whispered against her skin.

She scoffed lightly. “That is because you are a stubborn fool, as we already established.”

Kurt’s laugh was low and warm, resonating in the small space between them, his breath warm on her face. “Well then, let's ensure this one isn’t left to imagination either.” He said, his voice deep and filled with a tender amusement that caused her heart to flutter once more.

He leaned in again, his lips brushing hers softly, confirming the beautiful reality. His hands were gentle, cradling her face as if she were something precious. Arline melted into the embrace, her arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Do you believe it yet?” She whispered back, her words muffled against his lips. Kurt pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers, then nodded, his eyes briefly closing as if to memorize the feel of her nearness.

Arline caught his hand as it trailed away, her own smile mirroring his joy. “You do not look like you do.” She mused. “But there is more to come.” Arline's lips curved into a mischievous smile, and she gently pushed against his chest, stepping back to put a slight distance between them, still holding his hand.

“Scandalous.” He murmured with a chuckle. He squeezed her hand once more before reluctantly letting go.

With one last lingering look, Arline stepped back. She touched her lips, still tingling from his kiss, and turned towards the stairs, her steps lighter, her spirit buoyed by the certainty of his affection and the promise of a future crafted by their own design. As she ran up the stairs, she was a changed woman. Whatever society might decree, whatever consequences might follow, the felicity she had just experienced was worth the sacrifice.

Chapter Text

Chapter 40

The Dark One, once one of his Luminars, grew envious and resentful of His creation, for the Illuminous beings were borne solely of Spirit. In a fury, he opposed the Enlightened and wielded his Power to shape the Elements into plagues: unleashing devastating storms, floods, meteors, quakes, eruptions, wildfires, and pestilence to annihilate us.

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:30.

_______

Arline, Petrus, and Kurt made their way through the city under the noon sun, which cast a bright, shimmering glow over the bustling streets of San Matheus. Arline moved with a spring to her step, her spirits lifted by the memory of last evening and the thrill of the clandestine. She tried to focus on their mission, to not let her gaze wander too often to Kurt, who followed just a step behind. Every time she allowed herself a quick look, she found his eyes already on her, sparking a rush of warmth and anticipation for the evening to come.

Kurt's expression carried a soft glow, the subtle signs of strain from the previous days seemingly washed away, making him appear years younger. The faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth whenever their eyes met added a gentle, almost boyish charm to his usually stern demeanour.

They navigated through the bustling corridors of the governor’s palace, greeted by guards who stood alert and respectful attendants. They were ushered through ornate hallways filled with the portraits of past Pontiffs and tapestries depicting the history of Thélème, each step bringing them closer to Governor Cornelia's study.

The room presented a contrast to the vibrant light outside. The study was bathed in the soft light filtering through gauzy curtains covering large windows that looked out over the manicured gardens. It was a place of gubernatorial chaos, with piles of documents claiming every surface, lined with shelves of books and the air was tinged with the scent of ink and parchment. Cardinal Cornelia awaited them, her posture rigid with the air of someone burdened by the weight of her office, or perhaps by the weight of the last evening’s setback.

“Lady De Sardet! And you, Petrus. What can I do for you?” Her voice was smooth, a polished veneer barely concealing her surprise at their visit.

Kurt, unacknowledged as usual, positioned himself beside the door, directly opposite Cornelia's own guard. Arline and Petrus took their places across from the governor. Petrus leaned forward, a sly smile playing on his lips. “We have come to offer our support. We have learned that the arena was cruel to you.”

Mother Cardinal blinked in surprise, her well-practiced composure slipping momentarily as she processed his words. “How do you know that?” She asked sharply. A slight twitch of her mouth betrayed her realization of their ploy. “Oh, I see. You tricked my informer.” She said, a mixture of admiration and irritation colouring her tone.

Arline turned her head slightly, sending a warm smile towards Kurt, acknowledging his role in their scheme. “We just let him believe that Kurt would lose.” She clarified with a gentle tone.

Petrus, now fully embracing the role of the provocateur, crossed his arms and leaned back slightly. “You owe me a handsome sum.” He stated bluntly.

Mother Cardinal gave him a flat look, her initial surprise evolving into a grudging respect. “All of this just to make me spill the beans, am I right? I didn’t expect you to play this kind of game, Your Excellency. It is true though that with such a teacher…” She trailed off, nodding towards Petrus.

Petrus chuckled. “Oh, come on, Cornelia. You excel at this game.” He retorted.

Mother Cardinal sighed. “It’s true. And I also know when to admit defeat.” She grumbled. “What do you want from me?” She asked, her voice now holding a note of weary resignation but also a hint of curiosity.

“We will not use what we know of you, nor what you owe us, so long as you act loyally towards the Congregation,” Arline’s voice was steady, as she maintained eye contact with the Mother Cardinal. “Is that clear?”

Cornelia raised an eyebrow, her expression a mixture of amusement and scepticism. “Is that what you’re expecting?” She let out a humourless chuckle. “Ah, but I’m sure that this sly fox,” She nodded towards Petrus. “Has something else in mind, right?” She narrowed her eyes at him, her smile turning venomous. “You hope that I’ll support you when you court the rank of Cardinal? You haven’t learned your lesson, then? Have you forgotten the abyss into which you plunged because of your ambition last time?”

Arline tensed, her calm façade slipping as she turned to look at Petrus, her intuition screaming at her. It was clear he must have had his own agenda, but Cornelia seemed to know something that Arline had not been privy to. She felt suddenly young and outmatched, a naïve child lost in the fog of political games.

Arline frowned, a small crack in her maintained composure. “Petrus, what is she talking about?” She demanded.

Petrus's face tightened, his usual confidence wavering under Cornelia’s accusatory tone. “Cornelia, you don’t have the right to use that against me, to disclose what I revealed to you that day.” He said, his voice growing quiet and wary.

“It was said under the seal of the Enlightened, it’s true.” Mother Cardinal conceded with a slight nod. “But if someone deserves to know, it’s her.” She said looking back at Arline. Arline felt a cold pit of dread forming in her stomach.

Petrus shook his head, his eyes wide. “No, please—"

His plea was cut short by Cornelia's firm tone. “Since you have no intention of speaking, I will.” She barked raising her hand. “Petrus knew your mother, child. Your real mother.”

The room seemed to contract around Arline, the walls closing in as the revelation echoed in her ears as if from a great distance. The pit in her stomach grew into a gaping void, swallowing her whole, drowning her senses. The room seemed to spin around Arline. Disbelief and betrayal collided within her, each emotion slicing deeper than the last, reopening the stinging wound of her family’s lies.

Arline's voice was barely audible, each word coming out strained. “My mother?” She echoed. “Petrus, is this true? How?”

“Be damned, Cornelia!” Petrus’s voice boomed in the small room, reverberating against the walls. He took a deep breath, attempting to regain his composure. “It’s true, I knew your mother. I used to go to the jail to give my spiritual support to the prisoners of the Prince d’Orsay. That’s where I met her.” His voice softened, tinged with a sorrow that reached back through the years. “She was alone, afraid, and exhausted… and so strange. Obviously, I had no way of knowing that she came from here. The princes kept their secrets well.”

Arline felt her breathing grow laboured, her chest tight with betrayal and confusion. “Why did you not tell me about it? You knew that my uncle lied to me, and you kept quiet?” Her voice rose, gaining a sharp edge.

“ I… I was ashamed.” Petrus stammered, the lines on his face deepening with a grimace of regret. “Ashamed of having left her to die in that dead-end pit, completely alone.”

The image of a red-headed woman with a mark of on ol menawí on her face, dying alone behind bars, resurfaced Arline's mind with devastating clarity. She jumped to her feet, the room tilting around her as a wave of dizziness overtook her. She stumbled backward, away from Petrus who rose from his chair, reaching out, his expression one of concern. Recoiling from his touch, she found herself falling right into Kurt’s steady hands. As she leaned into him, her heart pounded with a mix of emotions—anger, sorrow, and an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Kurt’s touch grounded her, the warmth of his hands on her shoulders offering strength she needed.

“Why talk to others about it, then?” Arline’s voice quivered with rising anger. “Why does she know?” She demanded, glaring at Petrus.

Mother Cardinal’s face softened with sympathy. “One evening, in a fit of despair, Petrus felt the need to share this great burden with someone.” She explained with a gentle tone.

“At the time, you were the ear of the Enlightened, Cornelia.” Petrus strained through his clenched jaw. “You have broken your vows. Oh, damnation!” He hid his face behind his hands, clawing at his skin. “It’s better out in the open.” His muffled voice came, then, his hands fell limply to his sides. “I’ve wanted to tell you about it since I met you.” He pleaded, his brows knitting together. “Now that you know, I want to do something in her memory. I will help you find your family here, on the island. The prince sent you here to use you, but I can ensure that all of this serves a purpose.” His words came in an avalanche of orison.

Arline's face twisted with disbelief. “How could I possibly believe you now?” Arline hissed, the words bitter in her mouth. “You have used me for your scheming and kept me in the dark!” She accused, her voice rising with each word.

Petrus raised his hands in defence. “I understand how you feel, my child.” He said in a paternal tone. “Let’s wait a little, until you’ve taken it all in. Time heals the wounds of the soul. We can talk when you are ready.”

Arline scoffed. He understood nothing. He used her for advancement in his career, and now he was trying to convince her she was overreacting? The nerve!

Petrus, his face flushed with anger again as he regarded the Mother Cardinal. “As for you, Cornelia, remember what we have on you. You no longer have the upper hand.”

But she was unfazed, her eyes locked with Arline’s. “Be careful, De Sardet. You now see the real Petrus, sly and opportunistic.” She said with a grimace.

“Indeed.” Arline agreed, mirroring her disdain. “It seems he has played us both. Who needs enemies with friends like this.” Her voice was cold as ice. “Excuse me, governor.”

Arline spun on her heel, bypassing Kurt who had been supporting her, and stormed out of the study, Kurt hurrying after her. Their steps echoed on the polished marble floors of governor's palace, her long strides carrying her down the majestic stairs to the main square of San Matheus. The storm of emotions tore at her from the inside as they hastened through the city. How could Petrus hide such a thing from her? How could he presume to ask for any favours with something like this on his conscience?

As they crossed into the sanctuary of the embassy, Arline, overcome by a torrent of emotions, threw herself into Kurt's arms. He stiffened, his hands hesitating before gently patting her back. ”Uh… Excellency…” He murmured, his voice laden with urgency. “Lord Lefroy, Lady De Sardet is very distressed, could you please send Cristy for tea?” He added louder.

Arline jumped away from Kurt, as she realized their audience, mortified as she noticed Lefroy standing frozen in the doorway of the drawing room, his face a mask of shock. She blushed furiously, the heat rising in her cheeks.

Kurt, struggling to maintain any semblance of composure, quickly recovered. “Never mind, I’ll go.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Arline replied weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kurt hurried through another door leading to the dining room, leaving Arline to address the still-stunned Lefroy. “Lord Lefroy, could you please help me to the study?” She asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Lefroy, snapping out of his shock, nodded solemnly and offered his arm. Together, they walked to the study. He assisted her to a chair near the unlit fireplace, where he then hovered awkwardly, unsure of his next move. ”What happened? Can I do something for you?” Lord Lefroy's voice was filled with genuine concern as he looked at Arline. Lefroy was unaware of her birth status, and it would be better if it stayed that way.

She mustered a weak smile. “I just heard some distressing news, that is all.” She assured. “I only need a moment to gather my thoughts, alone. Thank you for your help.”

He nodded, the lines of his face softening. With a respectful bow, he excused himself and quietly exited the room, leaving Arline to her solitude. Moments later, Cristy entered with a tray carrying a steaming pot of tea and a cup, which she set down with a clink.

“Thank you, Cristy.” Arline said with a sigh. “Could I ask a favour of you? Can you call Lord Lefroy’s attention elsewhere? I wish to speak with Kurt alone.”

She might have been playing with fire. Kurt has sent her flowers through Cristy, and she might be onto them. A gossip among the servants is often how a scandal starts. Arline, however, was paying her maids as well as she was paying her male servants, so perhaps she gained Cristy’s loyalty.

Cristy paused, her expression unreadable for a moment, then nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

Arline bit her lip, weighing her next words carefully. “Cristy? If we were to spend more time alone in the future, could I count on your discretion?” She asked.

A knowing smile flickered across Cristy's face, a spark of complicity in her eyes. “I am not blind, my lady. But I will pretend to be, I promise.”

Relief washed over Arline and she gave Cristy a grateful smile. “Thank you.” She would give that girl a raise.

With a swift nod, Cristy departed to divert Lord Lefroy's attention. Moments later, Kurt stepped into the room. Without hesitation, he hastened to Arline's side and knelt before her, his arms reaching out to embrace her. Arline leaned into his embrace, feeling the sturdy reassurance of his presence, her heart aflutter with a mixture of emotions.

Kurt's voice was a soothing murmur against her ear, sending a gentle shiver through her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do.”

Arline chuckled softly, despite the turmoil inside her. “It was a good save. I should have looked around.”

Kurt pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers with a frown of concern. “How are you?” He asked gently.

Arline exhaled a heavy, frustrated sigh, her shoulder slumping. “Angry.” She murmured. “I was so naïve! I knew he was sly, that he must have his own aims in this plot,” She shook her head, still in disbelief. “But to hide his knowledge of my origin, while he spread it to others!” Her voice heated in despair. “My leverage against Cornelia is useless while she has leverage on me, and he knew this! He used us both, Kurt, just like my uncle played me my whole life. I am tired of being a pawn!”

Kurt's hand came up to caress her cheek, his touch gentle, his smile small but genuine. “Yet he is less cunning than I thought he was. Crossing you was not very smart. He wants to be a cardinal? It seems he will need to stay on your good side to have that happen.” He said.

Arline took a deep breath, processing his words. She could indeed salvage this situation to her advantage, but the realization did little to soothe the sting of deceit. “He betrayed me.” She whispered, her voice thick with sadness.

Without a word, Kurt hugged her again, his arms offering a sanctuary from the world. She clung to him, her tears finally breaking free to trace silent paths down her cheeks. Kurt's presence was a balm, his gestures tender as he soothed her.

Suddenly, a knock at the door punctuated the moment, prompting them to part. With a resigned sigh, Kurt straightened and moved to stand beside her chair with the poise of a protector.

Arline whipped her tears, composing herself. “Come in.” She called.

Petrus entered. He had the audacity to claim any moral high ground by sending them a suspicious look. She narrowed her eyes, steeling herself against the wave of betrayal that washed over her anew at the sight of him. “What do you want?” She asked sharply.

Petrus cleared his throat, stepping forward with a semblance of humility that Arline found hard to trust. “My child. Allow me to apologize once again. I should have spoken to you sooner, told you what I knew, and not betrayed your trust.”

“Indeed you should have.” Arline agreed, her voice ice-cold.

“As I said, I’d like to make up for it and help you find your family again.” He continued, his fingers playing with the hat in his hands.

The word ‘family’ sounded hollow to Arline. The family she knew fed her lies. Her birth family was the family she was torn from, the family to whom she was renaígse. The thought of meeting them—if they even existed—was daunting. Yet a part of her yearned to know more about her mother.

“How do you intend to do that?” Arline asked, her jaw tight.

Petrus sighed, a sorrowful look crossing his features. “Your mother and I had trouble communicating at first, of course, but we gradually learned to understand one another. She was important in her village. Based on what I know today, I think she was a doneigad. Her name was Arelwin…”

Arline blinked in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. “Arelwin? Was I…?”

“Named after her? I believe so.” He nodded, his voice soft as he continued. “She believed so too. And it seems your adoptive mother unintentionally gave you a name with a meaning in the native tongue. Arelwin often prayed you would live up to it… I have now learned that arlín means ‘continuing’.”

Arline felt a surge of emotions, overwhelming her. Her breathing quickened, and her hands clenched involuntarily. The idea that her adoptive mother had named her after her birth mother, all the while hiding the truth, brought a flood of conflicted feelings. Why keep such a secret? She wondered silently, grappling with the mixture of betrayal and connection.

Kurt, sensing her turmoil, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, grounding her. Arline leaned slightly into the touch, grateful for his presence as she navigated the storm of revelations.

“She even gave me a pendant for you.” Petrus continued. “You were only a child, so I gave it to Princess De Sardet for safekeeping.”

Arline, her heart hammering in disbelief, reflexively touched the wooden amulet that hung concealed under her shirt. She pulled it out slowly, the familiar contours fitting into her palm like a forgotten whisper from the past. “She gave me a necklace when I went to say goodbye to her.” She murmured. “She said it was a family heirloom.”

Petrus nodded, his expression softening further. “Arelwin told me about her family. Your father… He died protecting her, I believe. But she had a sister.”

“It was such a long time ago.” Arline’s voice was hollow as emotions surged to overwhelm her once more. Kurt’s hand tightened on her shoulder. She swallowed, feeling a seedling of warmth growing through the anger and hurt. “Did my mother tell you the name of her village?” She whispered.

Petrus shook his head slightly. “No, she didn’t name it, but she described it to me.” He said. “She told me of a place by the shore lined with the bones of beached sea giants, where they carve these bones into musical instruments. Near it lies a sacred burial ground for ancient kings, and the ruins of invaders who once tried to claim the land. Síora might point us in the right direction.” He said, his tone gentle. “So, do you want to try and find out where you come from? Do you want to find your relatives?”

“Yes.” Arline breathed out, her anger momentarily dissipating. “All this is so new to me but, I suppose so, yes.” She exhaled a weighty sigh, a thread of resignation weaving through her words. “We still have to visit the candidates for the High King, and go to this Eden village where the Mother Cardinal requested my presence. I was supposed to discuss it with her.” The list of tasks was only ever growing.

“I already did.” Petrus said gently. “I will organize our departure for tomorrow, if you allow?”

“Do that. Now go.” She dismissed him, eager to have him out of sight.

Petrus hesitated, his gaze flickering between Arline and Kurt. Arline's brow furrowed slightly in irritation. “Do you consider yourself a moral authority, father?” She challenged, her voice turning into ice.

“Hardly, my child.” Petrus assured. “But I still wish to protect you.”

Arline scoffed, not comprehending his audacity. “Do not insult Kurt. He has never deceived me.”

Petrus flinched at her words, a shadow of regret crossing his features. “Very well.” With a resigned nod, he turned and left the room, his steps muffled by the carpet.

Kurt turned to her, a soft smile on his lips. ”I should go anyway, before Lefroy notices my presence here.” Kurt murmured, though he made no immediate move to leave. Instead, he reached out and took Arline's hand, holding it gently. “How do you feel? About potential family?” He asked, his voice low.

Arline let out another sigh, this one softer. “I do not know. I think I need to process this.” She murmured back.

Kurt nodded. “We can talk more in the evening.” He offered, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Arline's smirk flickered across her face, a hint of mischief softening the turmoil within her. “Talking is not quite what I had in mind.” She mused, her voice low and inviting.

Kurt's response came in a husky whisper. “Is that so?”

“Indeed.” Arline's tone was playful, as she smiled at him from under heavy lashes. “But we can talk if you prefer.”

She pulled herself up and into his arms, closing the space between them with intent. She kissed him slowly, savouring the texture of his lips, delighting in the way Kurt's hands moved with a tender urgency, tracing the contours of her back, sending ripples of pleasure through her body. His breath quickened, a soft echo to the rapid thudding of his heart against her chest.

Arline was pleased with his reactions, but she deliberately broke the kiss before she lost herself to the sensation, stepping back slightly. Her smile was both tender and teasing. “I will see you later then.” She whispered.

Leaving Kurt stunned in the study, Arline fled to her chambers to ring for Cristy with a lighter step. She pushed the day’s revelations aside, firmly focusing on the evening ahead. Tonight, their last night before they hit the road again, was destined to be memorable.

Chapter Text

Chapter 41

The Divine Might of the Enlightened protected humanity, though the trials persist as a testament to our faith.

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:34.

_______

The late evening shadows cast a hushed stillness over the manor as Kurt stood before Arline's door, his heart hammering in his chest. She had asked him to come, and he had promised he would. Now, in the quiet of the hallway, his mind raced with uncertainty. What was expected of him? He had bathed, shaved, and meticulously debated over what to wear. A waistcoat and doublet crossed his mind briefly, but he dismissed the idea with a scoff. He was no nobleman, and masquerading as one would serve no purpose. In the end, he settled for a simple shirt, hoping it conveyed respect without presumption. After all, Arline had seen him in his shirt without his buff coat before.

He hesitated for a moment, taking in a deep breath before lifting his hand to knock. The echo of his knuckles against the wood reverberated through the corridor. The sound seemed too loud, too conspicuous. He should not be seen entering her chambers. The dim glow of candlelight spilled from beneath the door, casting flickering shadows across the polished floorboards. A soft invitation drifted through the door with it, and Kurt pushed them open, stepping into the room.

She sat at her writing desk, dressed in nothing but her nightgown, bathed in the soft glow of the firelight. Her fiery hair, usually bound in braids, cascaded in loose waves down to her waist, exposing the wooden horn that was usually concealed within her locks. An intimate scene he could not believe he was allowed to witness. She was a vision of ethereal beauty, a divine windfall that left him in awe. His cheeks flushed with a warmth he had not felt in years. He felt a rare kind of vulnerability, like a nineteen-year-old lad caught in the flush of a first crush.

Arline looked up from her writing, her eyes alight with warmth and affection as she greeted him with a smile, a tender expression that eased the tension in his chest. In that moment, Kurt knew that he had made the right decision in coming here. Whatever the future held, he was grateful for this chance to be with her, even if only for a fleeting moment.

“Excellency?” His voice was soft, hesitant as she rose from her chair. “Do you… still want me to be with you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Come here, you idiot.” She reached out a hand to him and, as he took it, she tugged gently, drawing him closer, her other hand resting lightly on his chest. He drew a quick breath, inhaling her scent—honey and earthy spice, as usual, but there was a hint of elderflower. She rarely got to use perfume these days, always on the road, but it still perplexed him she should use some when meeting him.

“It will be Excellency now, huh?” She smirked, narrowing her eyes.

He gave her an unsure smile. “Green Blood seems a bit outdated.” He admitted. It was a nickname he had given her in childhood, it felt out of place in such intimate moments. And he didn’t dare use another endearment.

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Tell me, Captain,” She accentuated the word. “Throughout the years, have not you managed to learn my name?”

He grinned, the familiar banter dissolving any lingering unease, though it was quickly replaced by a different tension altogether. Gently, he cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I have, Excellency.”

“Tease.” She sighed, her body leaning into his touch. “Are you saving it for later?” She murmured into his ear. The vibration and warmth of her breath travelled down his spine in a jolt. He shifted his hold, letting go of her hand to wrap his arm around her waist. Her hand, now free, traced a path up his arm to cradle his nape.

“Perhaps I am.” He uttered with a hoarse voice, and wet his lips in tense anticipation. She visibly shivered in response, igniting a fire within him that he had long ignored.

“Well,” She said placing a kiss on his neck, sending another jolt through his body. “No time like now.”

Kurt's thoughts dissipated as instinct took over, his hands moved on their own accord, one on her waist up her back, pressing her closer, the other weaving into her hair. The warmth of her skin burned him through the thin layer of linen. She placed another kiss and he let out a long shaky breath, his heart thumping audibly in his ears. At her gentle bite, his breath hitched sharply, his fingers tightening in her hair, as he motioned her up, seeking out her lips.

He pinned her lower lip between his with urgency, eliciting a quiet moan, as she pressed her palms into fists on his shirt. She met his kiss with eagerness, their quickened breaths melting into a passionate symphony. The air between them crackled with anticipation, a dance of longing and need, seeking solace and connection. Kurt’s mind reeled, unable to fully grasp the surreal sensation of his deepest yearnings unfolding before him with rapid intensity. He felt a stirring in his loins and a growing tightness in his breeches, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment as his feelings and desires converged in a fervent embrace.

Arline’s teeth grazed his lip, then her tongue followed, eliciting a soft hiss of pleasure from him. He must have done a lousy job as her guard if she learned to kiss like that. He chuckled breathlessly, deepening their kiss as another moan vibrated against his lips, sending shockwaves of desire through his body. She started tugging at the lacing of his shirt with slightly shaking hands, prompting another wave of fire in his stomach, mingled with a flicker of panic, and crashing with a sudden front of clarity. It was her trembling hands that caught his attention. He wanted this—wanted her—but not at the expense of her comfort. He was ablaze, almost consumed by fire, but the pace of their escalating passion surpassed even his wildest imagination.

He caught her hands, putting desire on hold, and gently pulled away, just enough to study her face as her brows knotted together in concern. “We should talk about this.” He rasped, his voice rough with longing. His body still pressed against hers, fervent, impatient, but he needed to ensure this would never be something she regretted.

She closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. “Is… something wrong?” Her voice was tinged with concern as she opened her eyes, searching his face for clues.

He smiled and softly fondled her hair. “No.” He whispered. “I just want to make sure it stays that way. Are you sure you want to go any further? We don’t need to rush.” They had already ventured into forbidden territory, far beyond the boundaries her society would deem acceptable. He worried she was exceeding her own limits, whether she felt she had nothing left to lose, or if she believed he expected it from her.

Her cheeks flushed with a deeper shade, and she bit her lip nervously. “I shall like to. If you do.” She murmured back. He felt lightheaded. Her words were a balm, soothing the raw edges of his apprehensions, and a kindle to the fire inside him. Releasing her hands, he embraced her once more and traced his thumb over her lips, as if to memorize their softness. As he kissed her, she responded with a soft whimper of approval, her arms wrapping around him.

“I do.” He said. Smiling against his lips, she reciprocated, matching his slower pace. He savoured the softness of her lips, drawing her closer in a tender embrace. Their foreheads touched gently. “You should know that intimacy has often been difficult for me.” He murmured, feeling a little self-conscious. “But I do want it. Still, it’s been a while since I was with someone.”

“Oh. Are you nervous, too?” Her response was soft, a gentle tease that made him chuckle lightly. The acceptance in her tone, so free of judgment, and the genuine desire she expressed kindled a warm glow within him, feeding the fire more still.

“Yes, of course.” Kurt leaned back slightly, ensuring he could fully see her face, seeking clarity in her eyes. “Have you ever been with someone?” His voice was gentle but direct.

She hesitated a moment before whispering. “Yes. Not with a man. But I know the theory.” Her voice came in hasty and with a nervous edge. “Constantin has explained... from a male perspective.” She rambled on, averting his gaze. “And I have taken blue lace potion, if you wish to climax inside me.” She added quickly.

Kurt’s breath hitched in his throat, his eyes opening wide in shock. The vision blew up the fire in him, waking a primal urge, a desire so all-encompassing his thoughts felt thick like molasses. “Hang me, are you worried about pleasing me?” He managed, forcing his movements soft with effort, as he caught her chin between his fingers, encouraging her to meet his gaze.

Her fingers brushed his cheek lightly, a gesture so tender it contrasted starkly with the storm of emotions between them. “Well, yes.” She admitted, her voice barely a sound. Her admission, candid and vulnerable, stirred something deep in him, a cosy warmth, different from the fire that roared throughout his body.

He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m not worried about that, but for you.” He assured her. “This... it’s different for you, in many ways—physically, certainly, but also how society sees it.”

“I know.” She relaxed in his arms, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of her lips, as she nestled closer into his embrace. “I have imagined it many times.” She added, her breath warm against his ear, wreaking havoc in his barely maintained composure.

“Have you?” He rasped, tightening his grasp on the linen on her back.

“Yes,” She whispered back, her breath tickling his ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “You?”

“Oh yes.” He breathed back, as her lips brushed his ear, igniting shivers down his spine.

Her tongue traced the curve of his earlobe and he hissed, his fingers sliding into her hair. “I want you to show me.” She murmured.

“Sweet Excellency,” He had enough clear though in him to murmur back as he searched her lips. “You can change your mind at any moment.”

Their lips clashed in a feverish, unrestrained passion. Her hands slowly travelled down his torso, eliciting a quicker breath from him once more. She pulled his shirt up, and he broke away for a second to help her take it off. She tossed the shirt to the side. Her eyes, alight with a fervent hunger, roved over his scarred chest as she traced the contours with her palms. The intensity of her gaze kindled new reserves of yearning within him, and he drew her abruptly closer, his movements less gentle than intended.

She giggled softly at his urgency, then sighed deeply, as his lips connected with her neck. Her fingers interlaced in his hair, while her other hand slipped to the waistband of his breeches, guiding him towards the bed. He complied without hesitation, his steps faltering only when she manoeuvred him onto the mattress with a playful push.

 His eyes widened, and he took in the sight of her with wonder. Slowly, she raised her shift exposing her bare body, her pale skin covered with goosebumps highlighted by the dim firelight. Months on the road firmed her body with muscle, but there was an inviting softness around her belly and hips. Her round breasts dipped slightly under their weight, beckoning with an inviting tenderness, their peaks taut against the cool air of the room. Ravenous, Kurt swallowed hard, admiring her, the rapid rise and fall of her chest mirroring his own heightened breathing.

As she kneeled before him, his head spun and he shifted, sitting up to meet her, his gaze fixed on hers. “A goddess should not kneel.” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion and awe.

Arline silenced him with a gentle shush, her fingers quivering slightly as she untied his boots. She removed them carefully, her movements deliberate, and then proceeded to unfasten the knee band buckles of his breeches, liberating his stockings. Kurt’s palms dug into the soft bedding, feeling another rush of blood, as her fingers brushed his bare leg. Her eyes locked onto his, as she slowly reached to the buttons of the bulging flap, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

He reached up to caress her cheek, offering a smile that mingled reassurance with the breathless thrill of the moment. As she carefully undid the buttons, revealing his arousal, a rugged breath escaped him. He watched, his breathing heavy and laden with desire, as she gently loosened the laces of his waistband. With a cooperative tug, they worked together to lower his breeches, trembling with anticipation and intoxicating shared ardour.

She looked at him, unsure, for a moment before she took him in hand and carefully lowered herself. He growled softly, as the tip of his manhood connected with her tongue, the warmth enveloping him sending a shockwave of sensation through his body, his breath catching in his throat. As her gaze held his, intensifying the moment, he moaned, his fingers instinctively weaving into her hair, a gentle touch that contrasted with the storm of feelings raging within him. She smiled at his reaction, sending his mind reeling.

“Instruct me.” She whispered as she paused, pulling back slightly, her eyes alight with flames that consumed him.

Tempted as he was, he shook his head, running his fingers through her hair. “Not today.” He murmured, his voice husky with emotion. “Come here.”

She obliged, standing up, and climbed on top of him, straddling him with a devilish smile. His member twitched against her wetness, as his hands shot up her thighs and reverently traced the curves of her body, one hand cupping her breast. She bent down to kiss him, and his other hand squeezed her bottom, gaining a pleasing, quiet exclamation. She rubbed against his shaft, trembling, and he positioned himself to give her a better angle, his breath short, his eyes hungry. He guided her gently, and they both let out a synchronized moan as she carefully lowered herself onto him. Her warmth engulfed him tightly, her scent drove him mad, but he remained still, giving her time to acclimate.

Gradually, she began to move, leaning into him for support, her soft cries punctuating the air with each gentle sway, resonating sweetly in his ears, driving him further into a haze of ecstasy. She found a steady rhythm, and he moved with her, his hands guiding her hips, entirely captivated by the moment. As her pace quickened, her voice grew louder, and she covered her mouth to muffle the sounds, while he echoed raw. Her fingernails bit into his skin, another wave of thrill rippling through him, and he groaned with delight. Her breasts swung, tantalizing him, and he pushed himself up to catch one peak between his teeth, earning another cry of bliss. She slipped a hand down between them and started pleasing herself, throwing her head back in abandon.

“God! Kurt!” She rasped. His name echoed in his ears, shivers running up his spine. Feeling a pressure building up in his loins, he wrapped his arm around her and held her up, then thrust harder with a loud moan.

“God, yes!” She breathed out, her grip tightening on the bedpost as she propped herself up, creating space for his movements. Her other hand quickened its pace, and her body clenched around him in rhythmic pulses. They moved together towards a crescendo, both giving voice to their pleasure in a symphony of raw emotion. Electric jolts ran through his body like wildfire, he lost himself in her, surrendered to the overwhelming tide of frenzy.

“Arline.” He whispered hoarsely into her neck, her scent satiating his senses. She searched his lips and kissed him with raw passion. “Arline.” He invoked again like a prayer, peaking, filling her, trembling with the intensity of the release. Her moans rose up into a singing crescendo a second later, and she tightened around him in waves. He steadied her as she shook, offering soft kisses on her neck in silent reverence, continuing to move with her through the overwhelming tide of pleasure.

Gradually, they stilled.  She wrapped her arms around him, breathing heavily into his hair, gently caressing his back. Kurt could barely feel her touch through the thickened scars, but it reached deeper, to his very core, soothing old aches with a warmth he had not dared to expect. The privilege of holding her, brushing her bare skin with his calloused fingertips dawned on him and he squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in her hair, trying not to choke up. He let out a trembling breath. Arline ran her fingers through his hair, humming softly, then planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. As he looked up with endless devotion, more warmth flooded him seeing the tenderness mirrored in her eyes. Their lips met in a slow lingering kiss.

She shivered.

“Are you cold?” He asked brushing her cheek.

“Yes.” She smiled and pecked his lips once more. She shivered again, and as they shifted together, a small gasp escaped her when he slipped out. Their movements were gentle as they settled deeper into the covers, still entwined under the warmth of the blankets. He cradled her, and she enveloped his leg between her thighs, the blend of both their arousals running down his skin. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head, drawing circles on her back, and she purred in bliss, the sound nearly enough to make stir him once more. How did he deserve to be with her like this?

“My imagination has failed me.” She sighed into his neck.

He cackled. “In a good way, I hope?” He asked, feeling another surge of warmth.

“Yes, in a good way.” She confirmed with a light snort that spoke of her contentment. “I suppose Constantin did not know the female perspective.”

“And what is the female perspective?” He prompted, a playful note in his voice.

“I could feel the swell of your seed.” She whispered, her hips riding higher up his thigh. “It was… sublime.”

He felt his blood rushing again in quickened pulses, his head spinning. “Good God, Arline.” He breathed out, the intensity of his voice matching the rapid beat of his heart. Gently rolling over her, he gazed down into her wide, expectant eyes. “Are you trying to rouse me?”

He nibbled at her neck, and she arched her back beneath him. “Men can’t go again so fast, you know.” He murmured, his lips tracing a path lower, grazing the soft skin of her breast. She gasped in response, her breathing quickening under his attentions. “I would in a heartbeat.” As he circled her nipple with his tongue, her breaths came faster. He moved lower, his kisses trailing down her belly. “I’d lay with you again and again.” He promised, his voice a husky whisper. She whimpered softly, anticipation building as he positioned himself between her legs. “Let me fulfil you another way.”

He tasted her and it sent another rush of blood that could not be yet retained. He swept his tongue down her opening, sipping their joined fluids, then up and around her swell until she started to tremble. The melody of her moans and the rhythmic dance of her hips stoked a relentless yearning within him. Her fingers dug into his hair, and she directed him, her thighs holding him in place. He introduced his fingers, delving deeper as she issued breathy pleas that sent jolts of reverent pleasure through him. He continued his worship piously, ardently, drinking her to quench his thirst. His zeal earned him her divine blessing, as she reached the zenith once more, crying out in her consecration.

He held her in his rite as she tremored until she pushed him; then he ascended, exalted, feeling a holy elation. He wiped his lips and returned to her with a passionate kiss, her urgency pulling him flush against her feverish skin.

“Water.” She panted, and his laughter echoed softly in the room. Obediently, he retrieved a glass of water for her, and then brought over the washbasin and pitcher. The presence of four washcloths hinted at her meticulous preparation. She must have—blue lace was worth its weight in silver on the continent, here it was likely its price in gold.

“May I?” He asked. She nodded and reached out for the other one. They cleaned up swiftly before she tugged him back into the warmth of the bed. She nestled into the crook of his arm, her embrace a sanctuary. He wove his fingers through hers, relishing the weight of her against him, the soothing heat of her body, and the intoxicating scent that lingered between them. In that perfect quietude, he grasped at the perfect happiness that had eluded him for so long. He held onto this fragile treasure but, as the silence stretched, a quiet fear whispered at the back of his mind, the fear of ever losing this newfound bliss gripped his heart with its cold embrace.

“I’m almost afraid to ask…” He whispered into the quiet, breaking the stillness that had settled around them. “What happens now?”

“Now?” She asked, her voice drowsy as she searched his eyes.

“You are everything that I want.” His heart drummed in his chest, his voice thick with emotion. “Everything that I love.” Lifting herself up on one elbow, she smiled down at him tenderly, her eyes soft with affection, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Do you want me? In the future?” He asked; his heart drummed with hope as his fingers gently traced the line of her cheek.

Returning his gentle touch, she smiled. “Do you really think so ill of me that you believed I would bed you and discard you?” She tilted her head, her frown mingled with amusement. “I never thought so poorly of you.” Her frown dissolved, leaving behind an intense emotion in her eyes. “I cannot imagine my life without you. I love you, too, silly.”

He searched her eyes with wonder, his heart bursting with pure joy. “My Sweet Excellency.” He murmured as he drew her into a fervent kiss, enveloping her in a tight embrace. Laughter mingled with kisses as they rolled across the bed. “My dearest, most beloved Arline.”

“Yours.” She agreed, her voice soft. She brushed her lips against his, then settled back onto his arm. “Let us sleep now, love. We travel tomorrow.”

He sighed, pulling her in tighter. “I shouldn’t stay.”

In response, she tossed a leg over his middle, and he let out a surprised chuckle. “Nobody should see me leaving your chambers, Sweet Excellency.”

“You can sneak out through the servants’ corridor in the bathroom if you really must.” She suggested with a lazy yawn. “Cristy is in the know, she will keep our secret.” She added with a shrug, her eyes fluttering closed. “Please, stay.”

He was surprised that Arline had confided in Cristy about them, inviting scandal. He'd never been welcomed to stay before, and he'd never wanted to. But now, the thought of waking next to her infused him with a profound longing he couldn't shake. He imagined opening his eyes to find her beside him, allowing the wave of joyful disbelief to wash over him anew in the morning. With a soft smile, he agreed to her plea, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before settling in beside her. As he closed his eyes, the only sound in the room was the soothing rhythm of her measured breaths.

Chapter Text

Chapter 42

In his folly, The Dark One dissipated himself entirely, consumed by Chaos, leaving behind a Sacred Metal through which we might reach the Power.

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:35.

_______

Arline stirred from sleep to the sensation of gentle fingers tracing the contours of her back, accompanied by the soft whisper of her name. She responded with a contented purr as those fingers glided down her arm to her thigh, and warm lips lightly kissed her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open to the first rays of sunlight piercing the clouds and filtering through the heavy curtains, casting the bedroom in a muted, grey light. She turned to face Kurt, whose lips curved into a soft, tranquil smile as his hand swept back up to caress her cheek. With another purr, she melted into his tender kiss.

“I need to go.” He murmured against her lips, his hand slipping to her waist to draw her closer. “I debated whether I should wake you.” He put more vigour into the kiss, sending a shiver through her. With a soft moan that escaped her lips, she looped her leg over his hip, pressing his hardness against her belly. She purred appreciatively. He responded in kind, drawing a sharp breath, followed by a spirited grip on her buttock that made her see white with excitement.

“I am glad you woke me.” Arline gasped between quickened breaths as her nails pressed into his skin.

Kurt responded with a sound that was part chuckle, part growl—a vibration that made her abdomen tighten. “I really need to go.” He complained, his lips grazing her neck. “Before the others wake up.”

“Chaos take the others.” Arline protested with a breathless chuckle.

“Yeah.” He agreed, and his hand dove between her legs, eliciting a sharp hiss as a shockwave travelled through her body. He purred with satisfaction at the wetness he found there. His fingers danced with expertise, his lips found the peak of her breast, drowning her in sharp, sweet pangs of pleasure. His manhood rubbed against her, reminding her of the ecstasy of heaving him inside her.

“Lay me.” She let out a breathy demand, grasping at his hair. He purred again, searching her lips as he shifted their position, throwing back the covers.

Kneeling over her, he gently brushed the hair from her face, looking deeply into her eyes, her fire reflected in his, before he lowered himself into her. She cried out with thrill, drowning out his gasp. He silenced them both with an urgent kiss, setting a slow rhythm. Soft groans escaped both their lips, feeding the other with kindling for the fire that consumed them.

Arline’s legs enveloped his hips, taking him in fully, while her hands gently charted the landscape of thick scars on his back. She felt her muscles clench around him, a growing tide of bliss ready to flood her senses. Her fingers went numb, her mind blanked, her entire world reduced to the connection she and Kurt shared, to their reciprocal delight, to their hearts drumming together, to their gasped breaths mingling in the cool morning air.

“I am close.” She whispered against his lips. In response, Kurt intensified his movements, pushing deeper. Arline pressed her lips tightly to his, muffling the cries that threatened to escape as she succumbed to the mounting pressure.

She exploded with sensation, her core blazing with heat in waves, her skin tingling with electricity, amplifying Kurt’s touch. He gasped against her, becoming undone with her name on his lips, his whisper a music to her ears. Her head spun as she felt his release, pushing her over the edge once more, into a serene sea of pleasure. She was floating, submerged in softness, the pre-dawn light sparkling with bright colour, heat enveloping her as Kurt’s arms folded around her. He held her tight as another torrent took her, smiling against her lips.

He slowed as her shaking eased, the current ebbing from her body. Panting, Arline relaxed her fingers clenched on his skin, her legs trembling as she untied them.

Kurt’s hand gently brushed her cheek as he leaned back to study her face. “I love you.” He murmured, his voice a low thrum that sent ripples of warmth cascading through her. His gaze, laden with emotion, seemed to reach into her very soul, filling her with a profound warmth that lingered long after their hearts had resumed a steadier rhythm.

She closed her eyes, savouring the moment with a contented smile. “I love you, too.” She whispered, fluttering her eyes open. More light was seeping through the curtains, slowly painting the room in a warm glow. “I wish we could stay here all day.”

Kurt let out a rough chuckle, slipping out as he shifted his position to scoop her upright into a tight embrace. “Tempting. But how is an old man like me supposed to keep up with such appetites?” He asked, punctuating the question with a bite on her ear.

Her intended chuckle dissolved into a soft sigh. “Somehow you manage.” She teased.

“I’m happy to serve, my lady.” He assured, placing a small kiss on her cheek. “But I really should go now.”

Arline let out a long breath. “Alright. A rendezvous in my tent is probably not a good idea?” She asked leaning back with a mischievous smirk.

“Probably not.” Kurt agreed, mirroring her smile, brushing his fingers through her hair. With a last soft kiss, he rose from the bed, reaching for the washcloths, extending one to Arline. Arline’s eyes followed him as he picked up his clothes, admiring the contours she had imagined so many times, now forever entangled with the memory of his firmness against her body.

He caught her eye and flashed a crooked smile. “I noticed the freckles on your back go all the way down.” He said, hiding his grin in the shirt he pulled over his head.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I didn’t get a good look.” He hummed, his tone playful. Arline’s laughter echoed through the room. With a teasing narrowing of her eyes, she turned her back to him, gathering her hair to one side. The mattress dipped behind her as he returned, pressing his lips against her nape, sending a warm jolt through her body. His hands wrapped around to cup her breasts.

Her breath hitched, cutting off her laughter. “You are not looking.” She accused in a soft whisper.

Kurt’s voice, rough with desire, vibrated against her skin. “Perhaps I can look the next time, as I take you from behind?”

A shiver run down her spine, her breathing quickened along with her pulse. “Do not incite me if you are leaving.” She breathed out.

He paused, his lips ceasing their trail along her skin. “Right, sorry.” He leaned out to meet her gaze with a rueful smile. “In my defence, I didn’t do myself a favour either.”

She ran her fingers along the line of his emerging stubble. “Good. Now I want you to picture that scene every time you look at me fully clothed.” She said with a sharp, challenging smile.

His eyes widened and he swallowed hard. “Alright, I better go.” He quickly pecked her lips and jumped out of the bed. Arline moved to the opposite side with an amused smirk. Kurt hastened to dress, his eyes still hungry and fixed on her as she slipped into a shift. With one final, lingering kiss, he disappeared down the servant corridor, leaving a lingering scent of blackberry soap and leather—and memories that brought a blush to her cheeks every time her gaze fell on the bed.

○●○

The morning of their departure from San Matheus was cool and crisp, the residual freshness of the night's rain still hanging in the air. Arline found herself constantly sneaking glances at Kurt during breakfast, each look sending a thrill through her. His adeptness at pretending nothing was amiss contrasted sharply with her own distracted demeanour. At one point, his hand stealthily found her knee under the table, sparking a startled jump from her that she hastily disguised as a sneeze. Across from them, Vasco and Aphra exchanged knowing looks, their amusement poorly concealed. Aphra probably hadn’t needed to spread any gossip; Vasco had pieced everything together long before anyone else had a clue.

Now, as they journeyed onwards, the landscape around them slowly transformed. Gentle hills rolled under a heavy sky, lush from the recent rains marking the onset of the rainy season. It rained with punctual regularity each morning and evening, reshaping their travel schedules and transforming the meadows and forest patches they passed into fragrant capsules of verdant life, glistening with moisture.

As the party halted for a midday meal, Kurt approached Arline with a smile that instantly lightened her heart. She was sitting on a fallen log beside the road, pulling off her gloves when he came over with food and tea. Their hands brushed lightly as he handed her the items, the brief contact sparking a warm flutter in her stomach.

Kurt sat down next to her, their sides touching lightly. He furrowed his brow in confusion, glancing sideways at Aphra who seemed to be suppressing a knowing smirk. “Why does Aphra look like she’s enjoying a private joke at my expense?” He asked, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

Arline’s cheeks coloured a delicate pink, and she fiddled with the edge of her sleeve before meeting his gaze. “She, um, she provided the blue lace potion for me.”

Kurt blinked, taken aback. “Blood’s Price, how many people are in on this?”

“Just Aphra and Cristy.” Arline hurried to clarify, her voice a whisper. “And Vasco. He figured it out without help.”

Kurt chuckled, shaking his head in mild disbelief. “And Petrus suspects something, doesn’t he? Sweet Excellency, we’re not being very discreet, are we?”

Arline chewed on her cheek. “Yes, I know.” Arline's gaze flicked nervously around their companions. “And there is Síora... she knows about my feelings for you.”

Kurt tilted his head slightly. “She does?” He asked, his voice fanciful and soft.

“Yes.” Arline’s smile returned, though it carried a hint of embarrassment. “When we linked our minds during the Anatelas fer, she felt everything I did. And there was a moment... when I looked at you. I will ask her to keep it to herself.”

“That mind-linking sounds intriguing.” Kurt mused, a playful note in his voice.

Arline smirked. “You would need to be on ol menawí to experience it, dearest.”

 “Dearest?” Kurt echoed, the word pulling a more genuine smile from him.

Grinning broadly, Arline nodded. “Yes. Have you come up with something to replace Green Blood yet?” She asked.

Kurt considered for a moment, his smile lingering. “What’s wrong with Sweet Excellency?”

“It is lovely,” Arline conceded with a playful roll of her eyes. “But it still includes my official title. A bit formal, do not you think?”

Kurt laughed, the sound warmer than the summer air. “Well, if anyone deserves that title, it’s you.”

Arline raised an eyebrow, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “And do you want me to call you Captain in private?”

His grin broadened, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “I do like the way you say it.” He admitted, the light in his eyes matching the tease in her tone. “But ‘dearest’ has a nice ring to it as well.”

Arline's smile softened. “Well, you are. I realised that on our second day on this island.”

“Really? Was there a particular moment of epiphany I somehow missed?” Kurt asked, his tone light.

Arline shrugged, chuckling, a warm sound that mingled with the rustle of leaves. “It was rather trivial.” She said. “I was just thinking about Eleonora and my broken heart when I realized it is not broken anymore. It was beating quite steadily, in fact.” She grinned. “We sneaked down to the port that day, remember? Ended up hiding in a closet.”

A smirk played at the corners of Kurt's mouth as he nodded. “I remember.”

Arline leaned closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “In that cramped space, I had a very strong physical reaction to our proximity, and I was incredibly frustrated with how unfazed you appeared.”

Kurt let out a soft chuckle, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I've just gotten better at concealing my feelings over the years. And believe me, I've had a lot of practice when it comes to you.”

Intrigued, Arline tilted her head, a playful yet probing look in her eyes. “Is that so? And how long have you been practicing this art of concealment?”

Kurt's brow furrowed, a slight frown marking his features. “I’m not sure exactly.” He admitted, his voice low. “I first realized I cared about you more than I probably should when it hit me that your marriage would take my only friend away from the court of Sérène.”

Arline offered him a half-smile, her eyes softening. “I remember you telling me something along those lines. Of course, you did not call me a friend, then.”

Kurt nodded, his gaze drifting momentarily as he collected his thoughts. “You suggested I was like a big brother to you, so I clung to that idea for a while.” He continued, his voice tinted with a hint of ruefulness. “I worried about your well-being beyond what my job required. I felt a need to comfort you when you were grieving. And as I watched you grow older and wiser, I started noticing things I really wished I hadn’t.”

Amused, Arline leaned in slightly. “Like what?”

Kurt’s fingers brushed hers briefly under the guise of reaching for his cup. “That you are a woman.” He said with a conflicted smile. “And a beautiful one.”

Arline smirked, leaning in slightly. “At twenty-three I was nearing the end of my prime, you know, according to society.” She remarked with a playful tone.

Kurt scoffed, shaking his head. “I remember you saying that. I only just noticed that you were no longer a child.” His sigh was deep, filled with a mixture of fondness and frustration. “It took me a while, but when it happened,” His gaze was intense as he locked his eyes with hers, his voice grew softer, more intimate. “I found myself captivated by the way light played in your hair, or wondering how the mark on your face would feel under my fingers. Suddenly seeing you in men’s attire was torturous because I could see the sway of your hips, and gowns became a curse because they revealed too much of your skin.”

Listening to him, Arline's cheeks warmed, her breathing quickened, and her heart thudded with delight. The urge to close the distance between them and capture his lips with hers grew overwhelming.

Kurt smiled watching her reaction. “I caught myself wondering how far down the freckles go.” He murmured, his voice low and seductive, and Arline shivered in response. “These were all intrusive thoughts at the time.” Kurt's smile deepened, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. “And then, time passed, you stopped wearing black, and started smiling again. Then flirting, and I found myself thinking about you even when you weren't around. I nearly passed up the opportunity to come to Teer Fradee just to escape your charm.” He confessed, his tone half-joking.

Arline Arline's breath hitched, a mix of surprise and alarm. “Why did you decide to come then?”

His smile softened. "Because if I hadn’t, I would have spent every day worrying about you.” He said, his smile turning wistful. “I tried to keep telling myself it was just because I spent so much time around you. But here, I had an epiphany, and I could no longer lie to myself. I knew then that I was in love with you.”

Arline’s smile matched his, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. “Do tell.”

Kurt’s expression sobered slightly. “I’m afraid it’s not very romantic. It was after the battle of Red Spears.”

Arline’s brow furrowed, confusion mixing with curiosity; she vividly remembered her own reaction after that battle—she had vomited, overwhelmed by the violence and death.  “You will need to elaborate.”

“You tried to heal an enemy soldier.” Kurt murmured, his eyes brimming with that emotion she could never decipher. “And in his last moments, you held him, showing him the sunset. In that moment, I knew that’s how I want to go—in your arms, feeling at peace.”

Arline squeezed his hand tightly, overwhelmed by the vision. The horror of battle mingled with the warmth of his love, making her emotions swirl. “Oh, Kurt.” She whispered, not caring about the eyes and ears around them. “Let us make sure it is not too soon.”

Kurt returned the squeeze, his smile gentle but with a hint of humour. “I’m in no hurry, my Sweet Excellency.” He assured.

They shared a moment of silence, before disconnecting their hands, keeping up appearances. Arline tried to shake the morbid image from her mind, choosing instead to envision a future where Kurt grew old and grey, spending his last years comfortably seated in a soft chair after a long, fulfilling life.

“I always told myself that your flirting was just your courtly way of being,” Kurt broke the silence, his voice tinged with amusement and a hint of disbelief. “That you couldn’t possibly mean anything by it. So, when did you start meaning something by it?" His eyes glinted with wonder.

Arline chuckled. “I always found you handsome, Captain.”

Kurt grimaced slightly. “Please don’t tell me you thought me handsome when you were just a child.”

Arline gave him a flat look. “I might have been a child to you, Kurt, but I saw myself as a young woman.” Her smile softened, her voice carrying a note of sincerity. “And you were a soldier, strong, brave, and honourable—like the knights from legends.”

Kurt let out a light scoff, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Sure, because your legends are full of Coin Guards.”

The corners of Arline’s mouth curled into a teasing smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “With sufficiently tolerable manners and easy enough on the eye to be mistaken for one.”

“I refuse to believe any noble ever found my manners tolerable. Not even a child.” Kurt retorted with a grin.

Arline laughed, her voice bright. “Well, you were a little… unpolished.” She admitted with a growing smile. “Rough around the edges. You certainly lacked poetic skills.”

“And a coat of arms?” Kurt added, playing along with her teasing.

“Yes, that too.” Arline nodded, feeling affectionate. “So I dreamed of one day meeting a man just like you, only not you.” She said. “That is, until I first started flirting with you, and unlike every other man graced by my attention, you did not take that well.”

“You were fifteen!” Kurt protested, his voice a mix of incredulity and concern. “I was nearly twice your age.”

Arline's grin broadened, a playful spark lighting up her eyes. “Sixteen! And very indignant at that.” She laughed as he rolled his eyes. “You were twenty-seven, Kurt, and I had to politely accept the attentions of men far older than you.” She reminded, to which a shallow crease returned between his brows.

“After you scorned me,” She continued, still smirking. “I decided I want a man that is nothing like you. So I found myself an elegant charmer that wrote poems.” She paused, her grin softening into a reflective smile. “So perhaps there was a seed of truth in what I told you a few months back—that I was only interested in Lord Moreau to make you jealous.” Kurt snorted and she chuckled lightly, shaking her head at the memory. “I truly was immature then. We both know how well that ended. After that debacle, I was determined to become an old maid.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his voice. “And you found yourself a woman instead?”

Arline's smile turned soft, tinged with a hint of sadness. “I suppose I did. Alas, she disappointed me, too.” She sighed, a touch of melancholy in her tone. “Then I harboured hopes that I might eventually develop romantic feelings for my fiancé, but I never had the chance before the Malichor took him. It left me in very low spirits.”

Kurt’s frown returned. “I remember those days.” He said softly, his tone tinged with regret. “Seeing you so lost, I felt powerless, caught between my role and my wish to comfort you. It was a torturous kind of helplessness.”

“And yet you—more than anyone—brought laughter back into my life when I thought it lost.” Arline whispered, discreetly brushing his thigh with a soft smile. “My family failed me when I grieved.” She continued with a heavy sigh. “My mother was understanding, but she focused on the wrong things. She kept telling me I still had time to find a good man and have children.” Arline shook her head, a hint of bitterness on her tongue. “My uncle had no regard for my feelings and was impatient to arrange another marriage. Constantin, bless his heart, had no idea how to support someone who had always been his pillar.” Her eyes softened. “I missed my governess dearly. And I only found solace in training with you.”

Her smile returned, warmer this time. “You were kind and your sharp wits always lifted me. You did not treat me like I was made of glass, but you listened if I wanted to talk. You were a good friend.” Her gaze lingered on him, filled with warmth. “I believe that is when I started falling for you. I reintroduced flirtation, just for amusement, of course, and this time, you reciprocated.” Her smile turned playful once more. “But I was in denial until we came here, to the island that promised new beginnings.”

Kurt's expression softened, a warm light igniting in his eyes as he looked at Arline. “A new beginning.” He said, his voice steady yet filled with emotion. He reached out, taking her hand gently in his, his thumb caressing her knuckles. “I never thought the island would be granting me one of those.” Kurt continued, his gaze fixed on their intertwined fingers. “For the first time, I’m truly excited for the journey.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it softly.

A soft, joyous laugh escaped her. “May it be a long one.” She murmured. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “But tell me, who is being indiscreet now?”

Caught off guard, Kurt's eyes widened as he hastily released her hand and scanned their surroundings. Aphra and Vasco, not missing a beat, raised their cups in a teasing salute, Síora smiled, while Petrus watched the scene unfold with his arms crossed, not trying to disguise his disapproval. Lord Lefroy knitted his eyebrows together in an expression of incredulity and Lieutenant Wilma, standing beside him, arched an eyebrow in quiet amusement. “Shit,” Kurt muttered under his breath, leaping to his feet in a fluster. “I forgot. I should go.”

Arline’s smile broadened, a playful glint in her eyes. “We shall reconvene this evening.” She called after him.

Soon, they resumed their journey, the air was crisp, carrying the tang of wet earth and new growth, a vivid reminder of nature's relentless cycle. The road wound through lush valleys where fresh rains had awakened the dormant seeds of wildflowers, now speckling the green with bursts of colour, drenched in the light of a setting sun. As they travelled, the road ahead promised new challenges, now less daunting with shared laughter that mingled with the rustling leaves and distant calls of the evening birds.

Chapter Text

Chapter 43

Yet this is a reminder—a warning—that His Divine Blessing must be wielded judiciously! Reach too far, and you shall join the fallen Luminar in eternal damnation of Darkness.

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:37.

_______

Eden, nestled on the fringes of Tír Dob, struck a curious contrast. Native domes crafted from clay and stone stood alongside newer colonial constructions of wood and brick. This uneasy union was born from the merging of Vigsoneigad, or the village of the old sage, with the aspirations of Thélème's missionaries. According to their theologians, this was the ancient place of pilgrimage of Saint Matheus, as recounted by his disciple, Saint Lucius. Proclaimed a beacon of harmony between the native inhabitants and the Thelemites, the reality of Eden was starkly different. The air hung heavy with an uneasy silence, broken only by the distant laughter of children playing among the sombre movements of the few elders who remained.

The absence of native warriors and sin ol menawí was palpable and disconcerting. Father Iustinius, a man with his brown hair tied back and a thick moustache framing his smile, declared that the missing villagers had left of their own accord, but his assurance rang hollow against the backdrop of the village’s strained atmosphere. His narrative clashed with the account they had received from the deposed mál Ler who had recounted a history marred by violence and coercion at the hands of the Ordo Luminis.

The mission was clear but complicated. Stone tablets, words of Saint Matheus to Luminists and sacred scripture of a legendary doneigad to the natives, had vanished, stirring the already turbulent waters between the settlers and the natives. The theft was more than a mere crime; it was a symbol of the deep-rooted tensions that lurked beneath the surface of this so-called peaceful coexistence.

The missionaries selectively overlooked the native accounts of the old sage, choosing instead to embrace a narrative in which Saint Matheus was a herald of enlightenment for the indigenous people. They were certain that the natives were intent on eradicating any trace of Thélème’s ancient relics, which to them were concrete proof of their spiritual claims. Their fervour painted the island as a preordained sanctuary for their faith, a place decreed by divine will as theirs to inherit.

The team of theologians who oversaw the excavation at Eden, had pressed forward into the marshes of Védvílvie, on the trail of the old sage spoken of in the very scriptures etched on the stolen tablets.

Before Arline could delve deeper into the mystery of the stolen tablets, their mission's direction took a sudden, urgent turn. One of the theologians staggered back from the marshes, his body ravaged by poison and his life hanging by a thread. What had started as a mission of recovery had turned into one of rescue. With Lord Lefroy and Lieutenant Wilma staying behind to delve into the mysteries of the stolen tablets, Arline and her companions set their sights northward, toward the marshes, to find the missing theologians.

Now, Arline strode through the marches, the damp earth beneath her boots yielding slightly with each step. The echoes of a distant battle with the Nádaig and the weeping of the hermit who had been the doneigad’scompanion, seemed to swirl around her, tugging at the edges of her consciousness. Yet, as they passed a familiar fallen log—a makeshift rest they had used previously—a small smile crept across her face.

She caught Kurt's gaze. It was here, on this very log, that he had become an anchor in the turmoil of her life, guiding her back when panic had clouded her mind. He returned her smile, his eyes lighting up with a spark of recognition and warmth, acknowledging the depth of their bond without a word.

They practised the art of subtlety in their expressions of affection, confining their interactions to covert glances that lingered just a moment too long and the occasional, furtive touch of hands. A tender new ritual had begun to weave itself into the fabric of their days; each morning, Kurt left Arline a brief note scrawled with words of affection, accompanied by a wildflower from his night’s watch. These tokens, symbols of a quiet yet steadfast love, were now carefully pressed within the pages of her journal, joining the collection of notes that had gradually accumulated there.

As much as these small gestures filled her with warmth, Arline often caught herself yearning for the return to New Sérène, where they could enjoy their moments together without the need for such discretion. Yet, each time this longing surfaced, she chastised herself. Her primary concern, she reminded herself sternly, should be the health of her cousin and the fate of her people.

The swamp revealed a freshly hewn path through the rock, unmistakably the work of the theologians’ recent passage. As Arline and her companions followed this new trail, a grim confirmation of their theories lay ahead; the lifeless body of a priest, sprawled beside the path, bore the distinct marks of poisoning—the same lethal symptoms that had afflicted Brother Fidelis upon his desperate return to Eden.

Síora, with her deep knowledge of the land, had warned them: these marshes teemed with Leowolans, creatures whose bites delivered a potent venom, and the even more elusive Lewoilgs, whose very skin secreted a toxic sweat that tainted the air, rendering it dangerously unbreathable near their lairs.

Pressing forward with cautious steps, the group moved deeper into the damp, eerie silence of the swamp. Suddenly, the quiet was shattered by the rise and fall of agitated voices, bouncing off the thick, misty air. The argument came from behind the sturdy, makeshift barriers of a camp—a sign of human presence that cut through the natural stillness. Eager yet wary, Arline led her companions toward the source of the commotion, ready to confront whatever awaited them beyond the reinforced enclosures.

“Look where your pride got us!” A man’s voice boomed, carried by the wind. “Will we all have to die in the name of your folly?” He accused.

A woman’s voice responded, her words tinged with defensiveness and a hint of desperation. “All I did was bring you to the place suggested by the tablets! I had no way of knowing…” Her voice trailed of as Arline, flanked by Kurt and Petrus, stepped into the clearing. The camp, clearly designed to accommodate a larger group, now seemed barely half full. No guards stood at the entrance, reflecting either a tragic loss of manpower or a grave oversight in security.

“Hey!” Arline called out, her voice cutting through the clamour. “What is happening here? I could hear you from miles away!

The man who had been shouting spun around, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the newcomers. “Who are you?” He demanded, his posture stiffening defensively.

“Arline de Sardet, legate of the Congregation of Merchants.” She replied firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “This Bishop Petrus of the Ordo Arcanum. I was asked to retrieve the stolen tablets when Brother Fidelis managed to reach Eden. He said your expedition has taken losses.”

The woman, her expression a mix of concern and confusion, stepped forward. “But he didn’t leave alone! What happened to Father Aubricius who was accompanying him?” Her eyes darted between Arline and the others, searching for an answer.

The man scoffed, his anger resurfacing with a bitter edge. “He must be dead, like our other companions!” The man retorted sharply, his voice rising with each word. “This is all your fault!” He accused again, shoving a finger at the woman, voice cracking under the strain of his anger. “This is yet more proof that you are not fit to lead such a team. I should be the one in charge!” His hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles white as his chest heaved with each breath.

Arline felt a familiar sting of indignation at his words—a sharp reminder of the times she had heard similar sentiments, men assuming superiority in leadership. The thought was irrational; Thélème’s mageocracy, known for its egalitarianism, stood in stark contrast to the more patriarchal Congregation. Yet, despite knowing their quarrel likely had nothing to do with gender, Arline found herself instinctively siding with the woman, her bias clear even to herself as she prepared to intervene.

She raised her eyebrows, projecting calm authority. “Maybe you should calm down and explain to me what is happening here.”

The man, his face flushed with frustration, threw up his hands. “This expedition was undertaken with no concern for common sense.” He hissed, sending the woman a disapproving glance. “We are not equipped to explore this type of place! Our people are disappearing, and all we have found are some falsified writings!”

The woman’s jaw tensed. “Brother Virgil is terrified which probably explains why he is being so disingenuous!” She countered, her voice betraying exhaustion. “We have made incredible discoveries and we could find more…”

“You are beyond redemption!” He cut in, his eyes blazing with indignation. “I won’t waste another second talking to you!” With that, he turned sharply and stormed off, his footsteps heavy against the damp earth.

Arline watched him go, a wry smile flickering across her lips. “How charming…” She muttered dryly.

The woman sighed, a weary smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I hope you will forgive us for that scene… My relations with Virgil have always been difficult. But ever since we arrived here, it has been unbearable. I am afraid we may need an arbiter!” She shook her head. “Forgive me. I am Sister Eugenia, Ordo Doctrinae, I supervise the theologians here.”

Arline nodded. “For what reason were you quarrelling?” She asked.

Eugenia clasped her hands together, her fingers tense. “The expedition itself, I’m afraid.” A heavy sigh escaped her. “Virgil was always against it. Especially under my supervision. For him, our discoveries in Eden were sufficient. Even with the tablets now gone! They confirmed what he wanted, the rest did not matter.” Her voice betrayed her frustration. “According to him, we should never have continued, and when we found new tablets, it became even worse.”

“Where they also written by saint Matheus?” Arline inquired with mild interest.

Eugenia's eyes lit up with a scholar's fervour, Arline often observed in Aphra. “Without a doubt, the carving is the same!” She said, her hands balling into fists as she couldn’t suppress her excited smile. “There are also some patterns, some islander symbols… it’s fascinating!” She continued, piquing Arline’s interest at last. “But what really angers Virgil is the content we managed to decipher. Our finder explains that he learned a lot from the islanders… Something our brother cannot accept! He now persists in saying these tablets are fake, forged by the natives.”

Arline's expression remained composed, marked by neither surprise nor disbelief. Before she had departed the continent, requests for help to capture Thelemite heretics hiding in the Sérène harbour had reached her ears. These heretics turned out to be theologians who had stumbled upon new writings by Saint Lucius, which suggested that Saint Matheus never returned from his pilgrimage to Eden, now believed to be Tír Fradí, because he heard a voice from the depths of the earth, not from the heavens. The danger of discovering such apocrypha was all too real, a misstep that could lead to the stake.

“Learned what? Magic?” Arline asked, her tone carefully neutral but tinged with a keen edge of curiosity.

Eugenia nodded earnestly, her eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. “I believe so! Our brothers and sisters are quick to say the native magic is of demonic in origin, but can it really be if Saint Matheus wielded it?”

“Or perhaps, Sister,” Petrus interjected thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “Could Saint Matheus have wielded it if it doesn’t come from the Enlightened? Brother Virgil’s reservations are only natural. These tablets will need to be studied meticulously in order to verify them.”

“Perhaps this discussion can wait.” Arline suggested, shifting the conversation to more immediate concerns. “Brother Fidelis told me that several members of the expedition have disappeared?”

Eugenia's shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of her responsibilities. “Yes, that’s why he left along with Father Aubricius to fetch some help. We have not expected you, Your Excellency.” She replied, her voice carrying a note of relief mixed with surprise.

“Father Iustinius requested my help.” Arline clarified, her tone firm yet gentle.

Eugenia's expression softened, weariness creeping into her features. “I am thankful. Three more of our colleagues are missing… And I’m not even talking about the ones who fell ill…” With a heavy sigh, Eugenia's gaze fell to the ground, her voice softening to a murmur. “I must admit that I underestimated the hardships we would encounter… I made a mistake. I should have prepared the expedition more thoroughly.” Her admission hung in the damp air, filled with regret and the stark realization of her oversight, casting a shadow on Arline’s instinctual support.

She faced Eugenia with a direct gaze, her voice steady. “Have you searched for those who are missing?” Arline asked.

Eugenia's expression darkened, a mix of regret and helplessness passing over her features. “I wanted us to search for them, but brother Virgil convinced me that it presented too much of a risk. Along with lack of preparation, our constantly decreasing number and creatures swarming the area…” Her voice trailed off, stifled with unease.

“I believe I now must talk to him.” Arline declared, stifling a heavy sigh as she scanned the camp's dishevelled layout.

“Please do.” Eugenia responded, a trace of hope threading through her weary tone.

With a nod of understanding, Arline turned, her boots squelching softly in the muddy ground as she approached the source of the discontent. Drawing near the grumpy man who had earlier stormed off, she squared her shoulders, bracing for the conversation ahead.

“Brother Virgil.” She announced herself.

Virgil, hunched over a map strewn across a makeshift table, looked up with a scowl. “What do you want?” His brows knitted in a frown, eyes narrowing as he straightened to meet her gaze, his hands tightly clasped. His terse voice made Arline flinched at the disrespect.

“Can you explain to me what caused such a quarrel?” Arline asked, maintaining a diplomatic calm.

Virgil's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he spit out his response. “The reason for it is very simple!” His voice rose with each accusation. “It is Eugenia’s folly! This woman should never have been the supervisor of our team! The discoveries made in Eden were sufficient, but no! She did not want to stop the research! She organized this expedition in a hurry without taking elementary precautions. And now she’s accepting as fact the delirious writings we discovered on these tablets without doubting them for even a second!”

Arline nodded slowly, her expression composed. “Sister Eugenia told me about your doubt for these findings.”

Virgil's scowl deepened. “I am certain the natives must have found these stones before us and modified their content!” He threw his hands up in exasperation.

Arline pursed her lips, a subtle gesture that conveyed both scepticism and annoyance. “Are these scriptures not in ancient Thelemite language? How would the natives know it?”

“They must have been helped by an unscrupulous settler. How would I know?” Virgil's hands gestured dismissively. His face reddened slightly as he continued. “This only confirms what I long knew—our mission here should be with the natives. We must bring them to the Light!”

Arline's brows rose slightly, her tone tinged with disbelief. “I was not expecting a theologian to say such things.”

Virgil straightened, his chest puffing visibly in defence of his position. “I may be under the command of Sister Eugenia here, but my superior is Bishop Domitius.”

Arline stiffened, as a cold realization dawned on her. “You are Ordo Luminis?” She asked, her tone sharpening.

“Indeed.” Virgil confirmed, his voice firm and proud. “Our mission is to banish pagan cults and convert the entire population to the Light. The island belongs to Saint Matheus, and therefore to Thélème, since the God of Light offered it to our founder.” Virgil's voice carried a zealous certainty.

Arline's jaw tensed, her discomfort barely concealed in the tight set of her mouth. “You have a very… unique way of seeing things. I doubt everyone accepts it.” Aphra huffed in agreement. The Bridge Alliance who claimed the discovery of the island certainly did not share Virgil's view. Nor did the Congregation that had discovered it centuries ago. And finally, the indigenous population wouldn’t accept that this island belonged to any foreign power.

“Tell me about your missing colleagues.” Arline shifted the topic, hoping to steer away from the contentious debate.

“They are not missing, they are dead.” Virgil said, his tone icy. “By the wild beasts, by diseases, and let’s not forget, the savages!” His voice heated with each accusation. “We can feel their presence, roaming around the camp at night… I am certain that they are responsible for the death of our colleagues!”

Arline narrowed her eyes in annoyance, her patience thinning. “That is strange. There are not many villages around here.”

“There aren’t any.” Síora added with a wrinkle of her nose. “There are a few hermits, but they are not fighters. And they have better things to do than roam around their camp at night!”

“We have been in this region before,” Arline continued with a nod of agreement. “And the only native we met was a little insane but old, he would have been incapable of killing several priests.”

Virgil's expression tightened, his eyes hardening with conviction. “Those savages may very well have been following us since our departure. We will not be safe on this island until it is entirely converted!” He proclaimed.

Arline raised an eyebrow, her voice laced with a hint of irony. “Curious, of all the people that tried to kill me on this island, the natives are possibly the smallest group.” At this, Vasco, who had been quietly observing the exchange, coughed markedly, drawing a fleeting smirk from Arline. “Not including the Nauts.” She added, her eyes twinkling with humour.

Turning back to Virgil, her demeanour sobered. “Even if you think they are dead, we have to try finding your colleagues.”

Virgil sighed, his posture relaxing slightly as he resigned himself to her decision. “Well, if you are prepared to take such a risk, I can only commend you for your bravery and wish you luck! But I would not get my hopes up. Be careful, the creatures that roam this area are ruthless.”

Undeterred, Arline and her companions soon set out on this unpleasant task. The swamp stretched out before them, a vast expanse of dense, verdant undergrowth that swallowed the weak light of the day. The air was thick with humidity, carrying the earthy scent of decaying plants and stagnant water. Every step was a battle against the sucking mud and the tangled roots that lay hidden beneath the murky surface. The constant buzz of insects formed a persistent background noise, occasionally punctuated by the distant call of some unseen creature.  

At the excavation site, a hollow lowered into the earth with a makeshift ladder descending to its depths. Tools lay scattered and abandoned around the perimeter, casting an eerie, forsaken air over the scene. The group carefully climbed down the creaky wooden rungs into the cooler, shadowed environment below.

At the bottom, they found a man lying motionless on the ground. His skull was sunken in a gruesome display, causing Arline to quickly avert her gaze. Kurt and Aphra leaned in for a closer examination.

“The body is oddly pristine, bearing no signs of weapon strikes or animal bites.” Aphra murmured.

“Could he have fallen?” Arline asked, her voice barely a whisper in the dank air.

Kurt shook his head, his brows furrowed as he gestured to the injury. “The wound is at the back of his head. He was struck from behind. Most likely with a mace.” The deliberate nature of the act, the cold calculation it implied, washed over Arline in a wave of horror.

“A native with a mace?” Aphra asked, her tone betraying her puzzlement.

“Derdre’s people could have them from their fallen enemies.” Kurt responded, his frown deepening.

Uneasy, the group moved on to explore the rest of the site, cautiously navigating through the dimly lit hollow. As they approached a stagnant, green-tinged river, the air turned acrid, each breath felt like inhaling fire making Arline's stomach churn with nausea. Suddenly, Síora's voice cut through the fog. “Lewoilgs!”

Four large reptiles with horn-covered backs crept from the shadows. As they advanced, Aphra and Vasco's firearms echoed in the hollow, their single shots ringing out, scaring birds nearby. Petrus, with a concentrated expression, conjured shadow missiles that darted through the air. Kurt charged forward with his zweihander drawn, a fierce battle cry escaping his lips.

Seeing Kurt advancing alone, Arline felt a familiar pang of fear. Things often didn't end well when he was the only one fighting at the forefront. She drew her sabre and ran after him, launching fire bolts at the creatures. But the fire fizzled upon contact.

“They're resistant to magic!” Síora yelled, appearing beside Arline with her spear at the ready.

Together, the trio coordinated their moves: Arline and Síora circling to flank one of the Lewoilgs as Kurt engaged it head-on. Síora thrust her spear at its underbelly while Arline aimed for its legs, attempting to cripple it. Kurt's powerful strikes kept the creature off balance. Behind them, the others provided a steady stream of covering fire, their shots creating a cacophony of noise, useless shadow missiles hissing by.

One by one, the reptiles fell, leaving them gasping for breath and weak. They had inhaled the toxic sweat. Arline felt her throat tighten, the air becoming a harsh rasp as she breathed, causing her eyes to water and a sharp pain to shoot through her chest. Her vision began to blur, edges of her sight dimming as if she were looking through a fogged glass. Beside her, Síora clutched her chest, coughing violently. The poison seemed to sap her strength, leaving her knees buckling, her spear momentarily forgotten at her side. Kurt leaned heavily on his sword, using it as a makeshift crutch. Muscle spasms twitched visibly beneath his skin.

 Vasco stumbled, bracing against a tree, his hand pressed to his forehead as if trying to steady a spinning world. Petrus muttered under his breath, his incantations faltering as he fought the vertigo that threatened to topple him. Aphra quickly distributed healing potions, her hands shaking, her face paled from exertion and poison.

As the effects of the poison subsided, Arline felt her strength slowly seeping back into her legs. A sense of relief washed over her, easing the tightness in her chest and clearing her mind. Despite her recovery, Kurt extended his arm in support, a silent offer of steadiness.

Gratefully, Arline squeezed his arm, giving him a reassuring nod. “I am alright.” She murmured. Their mission was far from over; they still needed to find the other two theologians.

As they approached the end of the excavation site, the grim reality confronted them anew. Two bodies lay near the dig, their forms grotesquely distorted, almost devoured. Arline turned her head away from the horrific sight, her stomach churning, while Kurt crouched for a closer examination.

After a moment's pause, Kurt let out a heavy sigh. “There’s a knife would. He was stabbed before being fed to the beasts.” His voice was laden with a mixture of frustration and sorrow. Arline shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. What an awful way to die.

Kurt stood, brushing dirt from his hands. “Green Blood, this makes no sense.” He mused aloud, scanning the area with a critical eye. “These deaths were made to look like accidents. If it was the native’s job, they wouldn’t have bothered.”

The implication of his words slowly dawned on Arline. “You think someone from the expedition did this?” She asked, her voice a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might confirm her fears.

Síora nodded, her expression grim. “Only the renaígse are deceitful enough to do such a thing! They kill each other and accuse my people…” Her eyes narrowed, her voice thick with accusation. “This Virgil, he wants to push aside this woman at all costs. He must be the culprit!”

Petrus nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in thought. “Indeed. We should ask this brother for an explanation.”

With a heavy heart, they gathered the remains as respectfully as possible and made their way back to the camp. Each step weighed heavy with the burden of their discovery, and the air, once cleared of poison, now seemed thick with the miasma of betrayal and deceit. As they walked, the urgency to uncover the truth and bring justice for the fallen grew, driving them forward through the dense, oppressive atmosphere of the swamp.

As they stepped through the gate back into the camp, every gaze turned sharply towards them. The sombre procession carried a heavy silence, with Kurt, Petrus, and Vasco each bearing the weight of a fallen priests. Gently, they laid the victims down, the impact of their arrival sending ripples of tension through the onlookers.

Arline stepped forward, her voice steady but laden with sorrow. “I regret to say that your colleagues are indeed all dead.”

Virgil's reaction was swift, his face contorting with a mixture of indignation and vindication. “I knew it! What a waste!” He spat. “Eugenia and her recklessness are to blame for this!”

Eugenia, pale and shaken, clutched her hands together, her eyes wide with horror. “How horrible!” She mumbled, crumbling. “But how? Perhaps I should have listened to you…” Her voice trailed off, burdened by the weight of her decisions.

“I am afraid someone else is responsible for this.” Arline interjected, before Virgil had a chance to triumph. “These deaths were not accidental and yet they were disguised as such.”

“The savages!” Virgil hissed. “Their thirst for blood is unquenchable! I knew we should never have come without an escort!”

Síora stepped forward, her posture rigid with offense. “Watch your tongue priest!” She snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. “Our people have no need to hide when they protect their land!”

Virgil waved a dismissive hand, his expression sour. “Who else could it be.” He scoffed.

Arline met his gaze squarely, her voice calm yet carrying an edge that cut through the murmurs of the crowd. “Someone who desperately wanted this expedition to fail… Does that remind you of anyone?” The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. The camp was suddenly rife with tension, as suspicions and previously hidden truths began to surface.

Virgil's eyes narrowed, the intensity in his gaze sharpening, the corner of his mouth curled. “Fine. You unmasked me.” He murmured, sending a wave of gasps through the gathered. “But know that my cause is righteous!” He called, hitting his chest with his fist. “The Ordo Luminis sent me to keep an eye on this expedition. To ensure that the discoveries we made would not jeopardize our nation or our presence on this island.” He announced, raising his voice, arms outstretched. “The descriptions on the tablets are a heresy, a dangerous manipulation. Can you imagine what would happen if it were said that our founder listened to the teachings of the natives?” He demanded.

Arline grimaced in disgust. The consequences of this discovery would be most keenly felt by the Ordo Luminis, who would lose their zealous purpose here. The revelation threatened not just their historical narrative but their current ideological and political power.

“Monster!” Eugenia breathed out, her face drained of blood. “You will pay for these crimes!” He cried, her voice rising to a sharp soprano. “These people you killed were our brothers! Our friends!” Her voice cracked under the strain of her emotions, her hands trembling at her sides.

Virgil scoffed. “You stupid goose. You really believe I will let you pass judgment on me?!” he barked; his voice betrayed a hint of desperation. “You shouldn’t have been so quick to accept these lies that could destroy our nation! And to want to reveal them to all to hear! You are solely responsible for these deaths.”

“How dare you present yourself as the protector of our nation!” Eugenia's outcry was fierce, her stance rigid with outrage. The air around her shimmered with Light and Shadow in her righteous fury, a signal to her colleagues to grab their weapons. “Murderer!”

Kurt instantly materialized before Arline, sword at the ready; Síora clenched her spear in her other flank. The rustle of holsters and clicking of metal behind her announced Vasco and Aphra’s readiness for a violent outbreak.

Petrus quickly inserted himself in the middle, his arms spread in a calming gesture. “Eugenia, you are on edge, let’s not start killing each other.” He implored, assuming a diplomatic tone. “It is undeniable that these discoveries could cause a great upset in Thélème…” His voice was steady as Eugenia shot him an indignant look. “Of course, he has no right to decide what would be revealed or not… On this island, Cornelia should be the one to decide. He should be tried and judged, not executed in a lynch.”

Arline ignored Petrus’s pleas as she addressed Virgil. “I understand that you might want to protect your nation, but to go as far as to assassinating several of your colleagues?” Her voice carried a razor-sharp edge of contempt.

“Come now, what would you do if someone was threatening the Congregation?” Virgil retorted, his tone cynical. “You cannot make me believe that you would not be willing to kill… You may have already done so.”

Arline recoiled slightly, her face twisting in disgust. “I am a legate, not an executioner.”

Virgil mirrored her expression with a scoff. “Since you want to avoid using violence, you should have helped me convince Eugenia to go back to Eden.” He said, flashing his teeth. “My colleagues and I would sort through these discoveries. And you would be rewarded, of course! But you chose this confrontation.”

The heat of anger simmered in Arline's eyes as she took a measured step toward Virgil, shadowed by Kurt and Síora, her voice low and steady with barely contained fury. “Brother Virgil, you will take your belongings and leave this place. This is your only warning.” She announced, her voice cold as steel. “The research will continue, and the discoveries will be studied by people wiser than you.”

“You’re letting him go?!” Eugenia demanded with disbelief.

Arline’s nostrils flared in frustration. “We do not have the authority to arrest him. And I would rather avoid a bloodshed.” She was keenly aware that justifying an act of violence against Virgil could tarnish her career, not to mention the potential harm it could cause to innocent theologians caught in the ensuing conflict.

Virgil, sensing the precariousness of his position yet smirking with a hint of triumph, nodded slowly. “I see… Some of my colleagues will come back to Eden with me. I hope you don’t regret your decision.”

A few of the armed priests exchanged glances, their movements hesitant but resolute. Slowly, they began to gather some resources, backing out of the camp under the watchful eye of Kurt, who stood guard, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his gaze unyielding as he monitored every step they took.

The tension in the camp remained palpable, a heavy cloud that lingered even as Virgil and his followers retreated, leaving behind a trail of unease.

The tension that had stiffened Eugenia’s frame visibly eased. Her shoulders slumped, the lines of stress softening into an expression of profound sorrow. “Thank you, Your Excellency.” She murmured, fatigued. “For retrieving the bodies and discovering their fate. We need to prepare a pyre.” She choked, as grief overtook her. She drew a steadying breath. “Alas… We will have to go back to Eden as well… There are too few of us to continue the research.”

Arline nodded. “Were you hoping to discover more?” She asked, her tone gentle, aiming to engage Eugenia's scholarly passion.

Eugenia's eyes briefly lit up with the remnant spark of her earlier fascination. “Of course! The last tablets speak of the journey northbound, further up the swamp.” She explained. “We are not sufficiently well-equipped to go there. Unless…” She hesitated, her gaze intent upon Arline. “Would you escort us? We are so close, and I’m afraid that with Virgil and Ordo Luminis’s meddling, we might not get another expedition.”

Arline sighed, internally debating if she can afford this detour. While she felt a compelling urge to spite the Ordo Luminis, her curiosity about Saint Matheus's journey and his engagement with native magic resonated with her own path of exploration. But she couldn't spend weeks on an expedition, not with the impending duties to visit clan chiefs before a new high king was elected.

“I can give you three days.” Arline finally said, her tone decisive. “That should be enough to reach the destination and conduct preliminary research. Whatever you find there will have to be enough to convince the Mother Cardinal to give you more resources.”

Eugenia's face brightened, a wave of relief and gratitude washing over her features. “That would be marvellous!” She exclaimed, her enthusiasm rekindled by the possibility of continuing their quest, even if just for a few more days. The promise of further discovery, even under such constrained circumstances, rekindled a spark of hope and determination in the weary scholar.

As dusk settled over the swamp, the camp was bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. The priests moved solemnly to construct the funeral pyres, their actions measured and reverent amid the mournful silence. The pyres, assembled from the damp wood collected around the swamp, struggled to catch fire, the air thick with the smell of smoke and earth. When the flames finally took hold, they illuminated the faces of the gathering with a sombre light, flickering reflections dancing in the murky waters nearby.

Arline, standing beside Kurt, felt a wave of grief that spilled from the hearts of those who knew these men, as the bodies were gently placed upon the pyres. She lifted Kurt's handkerchief to her mouth, his scent a small comfort against the acrid burn of smoke. Kurt's fingers brushed her hand gently, a silent expression of support as she surrendered to the grief in the air and let her tears flow, easing the sting of smoke in her eyes. The firelight cast ghostly patterns, and the swamp itself appeared to mourn with them, the usual chorus of insects subdued, as if in respect for the fallen.

As the flames crackled and roared, a low, haunting song began, the priests' voices rising and falling in a poignant melody that seemed to weave through the reeds and trees, a lament that echoed the cries of the nocturnal creatures hidden in the darkness.

Descend from heavens to our heartfelt cries,

Luminars in glory and saints of the skies;

From clouds so radiant, make your descent,

With the procession of the saved to us sent.

May the luminary cortege your spirit embrace,

Lift it from the earth to a celestial place,

May the chorus of the saved lead the way,

Until you stand before the Enlightened’s ray.

May the Enlightened embrace you in His sight,

Called you have been to the realm of Light.

At the eternal threshold, look to see

Your loved ones waiting, with hearts set free.

May the luminary cortege your spirit embrace,

Lift it from the earth to a celestial place,

May the chorus of the saved lead the way,

Until you stand before the Enlightened’s ray.

In flames that cleanse, let the soul arise,

Freed from sin, under sacred skies;

Its light ascending to the God’s embrace,

Forever to bask in His radiant grace.

May the luminary cortege your spirit embrace,

Lift it from the earth to a celestial place,

May the chorus of the saved lead the way,

Until you stand before the Enlightened’s ray.

Oh Radiant One, our Saviour divine,

Eternal light that will never decline,

Grant this soul peace where it may rest,

In your glory's grace, forever blessed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 44

But let us lift up our hearts and rejoice! For the Enlightened promised unto us Eden, a blessed land where the veil betwixt the mundane world and the divine is most thin, and magic courses through the veins of its people. Here, where Chaos dares not tread, all that we know shall dim in the nurturing brilliance of His Radiant Light.

—  The Illumina, Matheus: The Enlightenment 1:40.

_______

The path through the swamp was unmistakable. They had been navigating by following stone pillars, their ancient surfaces etched with native symbols and cloaked in a mantle of moss, remarkably preserved despite eight centuries of weather and wilderness. Occasionally, they encountered the swamp's deadly reptiles, each encounter leaving the group more wary and alert.

At the heart of the swamp of a thousand lives, the ground unexpectedly began to rise gradually, the basalt remnants of an ancient volcanic eruption shaping the terrain into a rugged ascent. The oppressive humidity lessened, and the dense, murky air gave way to a clearer, drier atmosphere. The swamp's muck turned into to firmer ground and tall trees now towered above, their trunks straight and proud, transforming the landscape into a regular forest. The transition was so sudden it felt like stepping through a portal into another world.

At the centre of this transformation stood a striking sight: a rock face adorned with a sculpted doorframe, reminiscent of those framing the entrances of native domes. The sight spurred a burst of excitement among the theologians, who yelped with delight and hurried to clear the stone blocks obstructing the cave entrance. Kurt, Vasco, and Síora joined in the effort, muscles straining as they pried loose the stone barricades.

A few steps back from the immediate activity, Arline observed Aphra deep in conversation with Sister Eugenia. The pair stood out, an unlikely duo on a quest for knowledge united in shared curiosity. Despite their fundamental differences—Eugenia, a devoted theologian, and Aphra, a staunch anti-theist—they had found a common ground. “Archaeology,” Aphra had remarked, “isn't so different from natural history. Both explore how creatures interact with their environment and strive to reconstruct past narratives through the evidence they excavate.” Aphra was captivated by the discoveries the theologians had made, and though she didn't believe in the teachings of Saint Matheus, she was intrigued by his life, keen to separate the man from the myth, to sift historical fact from fabled legend.

The tablets found near Eden had detailed the Thelemites’ initial encounters on the island. Saint Matheus described his hesitations as the people didn’t await their arrival, causing Saint Matheus to doubt whether they were the prophesied Blessed People he had expected. Yet, they had received his group with unconditional hospitality, despite their differences. The tablets spoke of how the natives appeared strange, their naturalistic rituals seemingly primitive, but over time, Saint Matheus came to appreciate how deeply they understood nature, how they respected it, and how nature, in turn, respected them.

In the next set the theologians unearthed in the swamps, he wrote of new plants and healing techniques taught by the village's wise man, hoping that one day he might be deemed worthy of their deeper secrets. Convinced at last, he declared the island to be the true Eden he had been seeking. Furthermore, he spoke of a mysterious call emanating from the depths of the earth, a call that beckoned him to stay on the island.

Arline's mind kept drifting back to the theologians she had met in Sérène. At the time, she had dismissed their findings as irrelevant to her own life, a mere curiosity, but now, their words echoed back to her, resonating with the tale told on the tablets. Saint Matheus had heard a voice from the depths of the earth. Her skin tingled with the implications of this revelation. She had to uncover the truth: was it possible that Saint Matheus had indeed become a doneigad? Had he truly heard the call of this island, as the natives who bound themselves to the island did?

As the entrance to the cave was cleared, Arline felt shivers cascade down her spine, the cold touch of the unknown brushing against her as she stepped forward into the shadowy maw. Inside, the casters each summoned an orb of light, the spheres glowing softly and floating ahead, illuminating the damp, rock-lined passage ahead. Those without magical abilities struck flints against steel, lighting torches that sputtered into life, casting flickering shadows against the rough walls.

The cave stretched out before them, its vast chambers echoing with the crunch of their footsteps. Stalactites dripped with the slow patience of millennia, and the air smelled of moss and ancient dampness. As the light reached further into the darkness, the outlines of human habitation slowly materialized.

Eugenia knelt beside a cluster of fragments, her voice trembling with excitement. “Pottery!” She squealed, igniting a fervent energy among the group. “And I believe this are wicker remnants!” Her hands hovered over the artifacts, careful not to disturb them too hastily. Another scholar leaned over for a closer look, grinning.

“Indeed, there are some traces of life here… But we will have to examine this place thoroughly to find proof that your saint came here.” Aphra cautioned, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space.

“This is incredible!” Petrus clapped his hands together, his eyes wide with awe. “People lived here, and amongst them Saint Matheus perhaps! We have to rummage through this place!”

They pressed deeper into the cave, guided by their lights. Soon, they encountered another doorway, framed by stone pillars embedded with glowstone that cast a soft, ethereal light, creating a corridor of luminescence that led them forward.

Síora, stepping closer to the illuminated pillars, ran her hand along the smooth stone, her voice soft but filled with reverence. “This is a cave of knowledge. The old man must have been exceptional.”

Arline nodded, breathing a little faster. It seemed he was accepted among the Men Fradí. They proceeded into a large round cavern, the far side dominated by a flat wall that seemed almost too straight and smooth to be natural. As they entered, their lights spilled over the surfaces, dispelling shadows and revealing carvings and inscriptions that had not seen light for ages. A choir of gasps filled the cavern as their eyes fell on the far wall.

Two ancient murals commanded their attention, their colours muted by the passage of centuries. The first mural depicted an old man with long, white hair and a dark robe, seated while another figure, vibrantly dressed in colourful leathers, furs, and feathers, painted his face. Atop the second figure's head sat an ornate headdress fashioned from an animal skull, signifying a mál.

Síora gazed at the mural in awe, her voice filled with reverence. “The old sage was indeed renaígse. But was claimed by a clan.”

“Fascinating!” Eugenia exclaimed, her eyes scanning the details of the painting, trying to absorb every element of the ancient artwork.

It was the second mural that captured Arline’s attention. She unwittingly drew closer, eyes wide and mouth agape. It depicted the same old man, this time kneeling in prayer before the face of the mountain. His hands were clasped together, holding prayer beads—a distinctly Luminist tradition, foreign to the native customs. The image of Saint Matheus in devout supplication to En ol míl frichtimen.

Arline's heart pounded fiercely in her chest, her breath hitching as she processed the scene before her. “Saint Matheus would have known about the spirit of the island and would have… prayed to him?” She murmured, the implications of this revelation swirling in her mind. Heads snapped to her, a new wave of gasps spread through the group followed by quiet exclamations of “Light!” and “Blessed Radiance!”

“Incredible!” Aphra burst out, her laughter tinged with disbelief. “That should make the entire University of Al Saad howl with laughter! The saint founder of Thélème worshipped the natives’ gods!” She wiped a tear.

Eugenia's face paled, a grimace of shock and concern etching her features. “Enlightened protect us. I would appreciate if what we just discovered stayed a secret for the time being… We need to verify… Oh God.”

Aphra, still giggling, quickly covered her mouth, reading the room. “Yes, of course, I’m sorry, but I find it so amusing!”

“Aphra.” Arline barked a stern reprimand.

Chastened, Aphra took a step back, hiding her amusement. The theologians, slowly emerging from their initial shock, began to move about the room again. They retrieved paper and began sketching the room and the frescoes, eager to document every detail of this unprecedented discovery. The air was thick with the weight of history and the potential upheaval of everything they thought they knew.

Arline trailed behind Eugenia and Petrus as they approached a stone altar that stood between the frescoes. Atop the altar lay five stone tablets, deeply engraved with the script of an ancient dialect Arline could not decipher. Beside the tablets were a mortar, some tools, and what looked like the remnants of brushes, perhaps once used for painting or rituals. Among these artifacts rested a pewter chaplet, its chain rusted between the beads, whispering of its deep antiquity.

 “This is incredible!” Petrus, his voice filled with awe, gestured towards the chaplet.  “Saint Matheus is often depicted or described as using a similar chaplet… I feel so lucky to be here…” His voice trailed off, emotion seemingly overwhelming him.

Eugenia's hands trembled visibly as she stood over the artifacts, her voice catching in her throat. “I cannot believe it… It’s so… excuse me… I cannot find the words to express how I feel.” With careful, reverent movements, she unfolded a silk cloth from her satchel and gently lifted the chaplet. Once it was safely wrapped, she took out paper and charcoal, beginning to take rubbings of the tablets while her eyes brimmed with tears.

Arline moved along the wall, her steps echoing softly off the stone floor. Near the frescoes, stone pillars rose, each crowned with ancient remnants of a candle, mirroring those often found near other caves of knowledge. One pillar bore a sun etched into its surface, another a mountain. Arline, feeling her heart pound with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation, approached the pillar marked with a mountain. To her surprise, the writing on it was in the Lirastrian alphabet, but not in the ancient Thelemite language—it was native.

“Someone wrote in Yecht Fradí using our alphabet.” Arline read aloud, deciphering the text. “Men duis dad, En ol míl frichtimen.”

Síora’s gentle voice sounded from across the cavern. “It means ‘welcome us among your people, god of a thousand faces’.”

Eugenia whispered almost to herself, her voice laced with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. “He really converted to the natives’ cult. I…” Her words faded into the cool air of the cavern, leaving a silence thick with the shifting paradigms.

Síora stepped closer to the pillar adorned with the sun symbol, her eyes wide as she recognized the carvings. “I cannot believe it!” She gasped, tracing the markings with her fingers. “These symbols! They are signs used in the sacred writing of the doneigada! Your saint really was the old sage and became a doneigad!” Her voice rose with excitement as she spoke. “The words say ‘the Light and the Earth are two faces of the same Power’.”

Petrus leaned in, squinting to discern the writing below. “The words below it read the same in ancient Thelemite.” He murmured his confirmation. “This is a message that will seriously displease the inquisitors.”

Eugenia, still hunched over her rubbings, pointed to the charcoal impressions she had captured. “The same sentence is at the end of this tablet.” She said, her voice trembling.

Petrus let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “Saint Matheus, our founder, finished his life worshipping the islanders’ god. Virgil wasn’t wrong… such a revelation will certainly cause a schism in Thélème.”

“The great revelation that will change mentalities for good, or the preservation of the dogma at all costs…” Aphra mused with a poorly contained smile. “I think you already know which side I am leaning towards!”

Petrus huffed in annoyance. “Civil war in Thélème would be very beneficial for the Bridge Alliance, wouldn’t it, Miss Aphra?” He muttered with his eyes narrowed.

Arline stepped in before the tension could escalate. “Come now, Father, you know Aphra does not support war!” She said, less gently than she intended.

Síora’s eyes softened as she turned to Petrus. “I understand you must be concerned. Great revelations are often followed by a trail of blood… But it could bring peace.” She continued with a stronger voice. “The Saul lasser will no longer be able to burn our people and our guardians! If my people knew that the great sage they have long respected is the same man as your saint…” She shook her head. “And,” she added, “that your priests respected our culture as he did, they would be welcomed here as brothers.”  

“And the Eden you wanted to build would be everywhere.” Arline chimed in. Her mind worked for the right words, her need for their understanding surprising her. “Your doubts about the future after such a revelation are only natural. You hesitate just as Saint Lucius did to tell us about the journey of his master. Yet he revealed what he knew, and his words still guide Thélème today.”

Eugenia’s back straightened, her hand shot to the sun pendant on her neck. “You must come with me…” She pleaded, locking her eyes with Arline’s. “You have influence! We must go and present all these discoveries to the Mother Cardinal! Our entire dogma will have to change!”

Arline paused, studying Eugenia's fervent expression. “You… accept that?” She asked, her tone mixing surprise with a hint of admiration.

“Of course!” She exclaimed. “I am a scholar, Your Excellency, I change my believes when presented with new evidence. Yet…” She hesitated, a shadow of worry passing through her eyes. “So far anyone who would want to question the dogma would have burned their fingers… Literally, alas!”

“And you think that this time they will listen?” Arline asked, her brows furrowing.

“We have solid proof. All this evidence!” Eugenia gestured broadly to the cave around them, her voice brimming with conviction. “With your support we will convince her to reveal the truth!”

“Sister Eugenia,” Petrus interjected, tensing. “While your order and mine will likely accept this news, can you imagine that Ordo Sanctos or Luminis would?” He challenged, his jaw tight. “Ordo Iuris and Scriptorum would be dived…”

“I know,” Eugenia cried, her shoulders slumping. “But it is our responsibility as disciples of Saint Matheus, Bishop!”

Arline, feeling the pull of her other obligations, sighed deeply. “You may take my assistant, Lord Felix Lefroy.” She said with a note of resignation. “He stayed behind in Eden to find your stolen tablets. He is an excellent arbiter.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.” Eugenia breathed out with relief.

The theologians continued their meticulous work, diligently securing every shard and fragment, methodically documenting each detail long after Arline and her companions—minus Petrus and Aphra, who enthusiastically aided the scholars—had retreated to the camp. As the evening deepened, the campfire crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows over the faces gathered around it. Kurt settled himself beside Arline, his presence reassuring. He briefly reached out, his hand brushing gently across her back in a comforting caress.

“How are you?” Kurt's voice was soft, tinged with concern as he studied her thoughtful expression.

Arline exhaled slowly. “The Light and the Earth are two faces of the same Power. Petrus never wanted to listen to my theories about the magic, perhaps he can listen to his Saint.” She mused aloud, her gaze lost in the dance of the flames.

“You are worried about the consequences of these discoveries.” Kurt stated, not as a question but an understanding.

“Of course.” Arline nodded. “I would like to believe that these relics could lead to lasting peace with the natives, but Virgil is not the only priest that would reject them as fabrication.” She let out another heavy sigh. “This could fuel Thélème’s conflict with the people of the island. Not to mention the potential for inner conflict.”

“To think these old things could cause a civil war…” Kurt murmured as his fingers found hers. “It is a serious responsibility to decide what to do with them… But it isn’t ours, Sweet Excellency.” He squeezed her hand. “Their saint, their decision.”

Arline turned to look at him, her expression softening. “I already took sides in their quarrel. And… Kurt, he was like me. Of two worlds.” She shook her head, looking inwards for an explanation. “I feel like this is personal, even though I have no reason for it. Luminists’ change of dogma would not affect me in any way.”

Kurt’s lips curved into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “But the lack of change would piss you off.” He teased gently, knowing her well enough to understand her drives.

Arline’s lips twitched into a smirk, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Very much.” She admitted, allowing a brief laugh to escape her lips. The night air was cool, but the warmth from the fire and Kurt's understanding presence wrapped her in a comforting embrace. The absence of Petrus and Lefroy allowed the touch of their hands to linger a little longer than usual by the fire's glow.

“You're allowed to feel a bit selfish about this.” Kurt said gently, his gaze locked on hers. “But don't take the burden of responsibility onto yourself, you have enough on your shoulders already. If war comes from this discovery, it's not because you made it so. And honestly, I doubt this will inflame the conflict with the natives. If Thélème turns to violence, they'll first have to sort this out among themselves.”

Arline sighed, a trace of relief softening her features. “I missed the times when someone would simply tell me it would be alright.” She murmured back.

Kurt chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. “I could get used to being the person who tells you that.” He said with a warm smile.

Feeling a surge of affection, Arline leaned closer. “I love you.” She whispered, her voice carrying all the warmth and sincerity she felt.

Kurt's face lit up, a genuine joy spreading across his face, deepening the warm feeling in her chest. “I probably won't ever get used to hearing that.” He grinned, squeezing her hand. “And I love you too.”

Arline cursed inwardly at the presence of their audience around the campfire, wishing for a private moment to fully express her feelings. Nevertheless, she leaned against Kurt's shoulder, seeking solace in the nearness of his body, the steady beat of his heart providing a reassuring rhythm, feeling her muscles relax and the confusing medley of thoughts fade.

○●○

After days traversing the swamps, the eclectic silhouette of Eden—its native domes mingling with colonial structures—rose against the backdrop of the setting sun, a welcome yet haunting sight. As they approached, fatigue draped over them like a heavy cloak, each step reminding them of the long journey’s toll. Directed by a native to a particular building, they found Lord Lefroy, who greeted Arline with a deferential bow. Beside him, Lieutenant Wilma snapped a crisp salute to Kurt, who acknowledged her with a nod.

“Lady De Sardet.” Lefroy began, a slight smile touching his lips as he straightened. “I am happy to inform you we have found the missing tablets.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Eugenia exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Who stole them?”

Lefroy's smile faded into a more apprehensive expression. “The exiled warriors.” he admitted carefully, keenly aware of the sensitive nature of the accusation. “We have convinced them to give them back before more of the Ordo Luminis returns… Just in time, as a patrol arrived this morning.”

“No!” Eugenia gasped, alarm tightening her features.

Arline, feeling a surge of nervous energy, stepped forward, her voice steady despite the anxiety that fluttered in her stomach. “Thank you, Lord Lefroy. I have another mission for you. You and Lieutenant Wilma must go with Sister Eugenia to San Matheus with all the relics we discovered. Now.” She extended a sealed letter toward him. “I have a letter to the Mother Cardinal.”

Lefroy accepted the letter, his eyes widening slightly at the urgency in her tone. “Sister Eugenia will explain everything.” Arline added, her voice firm. “Make haste!”

Before Lefroy could respond, the unsettling clank of armour sliced through the evening air. Turning sharply, they saw men adorned with blazing suns on their chests marching toward them. Behind them, recognizable in the dim light, was Brother Virgil. The natives quickly scattered, disappearing into the surrounding foliage and buildings with a practiced urgency.

Eugenia's voice was weak, almost a whisper, as she acknowledged the imposing figure before her. “Father Honorius.”

Father Honorius stepped forward, his tone triumphant and chilling. “It seems we are arriving right on time. You did well to warn us, Brother Virgil.” He turned his steely gaze upon Eugenia. “Sister Eugenia, we were informed of your discoveries and of the danger they represent. We demand that you hand them over to us immediately so that they can be destroyed!”

Eugenia recoiled as if struck, her face a mask of disbelief and incredulity. “How can you even suggest the destruction of relics written by the hand of our founder!” She exclaimed, her voice rising in a crescendo of dismay.

Honorius’s voice was fervent, filled with a zealous fire. “Out of love for our dogma, for our faith, and for our nation. I am an inquisitor!” He stepped closer, his command forceful and final. “I said hand them over!”

Eugenia straightened her back, her resolve hardening like steel. “Never!” She declared defiantly, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

Father Honorius narrowed his eyes, his expression turning cold and menacing. “Since you refuse to comply with our orders, you leave us no choice! Death to the heretics!” His voice boomed through the space, a grim decree.

At his command, the air crackled with magic, the tension erupting as weapons were drawn. The clink of metal, the rustle of clothes, and the charged hisses of spells filled the air. Without hesitation or regard for Arline's diplomatic status, the inquisitors charged, the Enlightened’s name on their lips.

Caught off-guard by the sudden onslaught, Lefroy emitted a surprised yelp, instinctively stepping back. Wilma quickly pulled him behind the cover of a stout, nearby wall. She drew her firearm with one hand, positioning herself to shield Lefroy, her eyes scanning for the nearest threat.

The inquisitors unleashed a barrage of light projectiles. Arline narrowly dodged a glowing missile by sidestepping behind a weathered stone pillar. Kurt immediately stepped in front of her, his zweihander catching the last rays of the setting sun in a wide arc to deflect another volley of projectiles. The heavy blade sang through the air, creating a metallic barrier that thwarted the incoming attacks.

Arline unsheathed her sabre with a quiet rasp of metal, working with Kurt in a well-practiced dance. She locked enemies in stasis and countered their magic attacks with pushes of Force, her blade slashing through the air in swift, precise arcs. Beside her, Kurt swung his sword in wide, powerful strokes, his blade a blur of motion that belied its weight. The air was filled with the relentless clangour of metal striking metal, each collision ringing out over the roar of battle cries and the whispers of arcane energy.

Kurt missed parrying a swiftly cast light projectile, which grazed his side, drawing blood. Arline’s heart skipped as he staggered. With a turn, she brushed her fingers against him, calling on Ether and Shift to heal his injury, nearly paying for the stunt with her own blood, saved only by Síora’s spear.

With an invocation to the spirit of the island, Síora called forth the roots beneath the village square, causing them to twist and snarl around the feet of an unsuspecting group of inquisitors, tripping them into disarray. Petrus and Eugenia channelled their Thelemite magic in unison. Light projectiles flew from their fingertips, their aim true and deadly, while shadow missiles sapped the strength from their foes, darkening the air with their potency. Their counterattack struck down two inquisitors who were attempting to recover from their fall.

The other four priests clashed with inquisitors, their appeals to God just as fervent. One of them was quickly overwhelmed. An inquisitor managed a lucky strike with his sword, slashing deeply across the priest's arm. The priest staggered back, his blood staining the ground, his sword arm hanging limply at his side. The next strike sent him to the ground.

Aphra, crouched behind an overturned cart, loaded her firearm and threw elemental grenades into clusters of inquisitors. Explosions of ice and fire disoriented and slowed their advance. She popped up to release a shot, hitting an inquisitor in the shoulder just as he raised his sword against Vasco. The inquisitor cried out, dropping his weapon as he clutched his wounded shoulder.

Vasco seized the opportunity, darting forward with a poisoned blade in hand. He sliced at another inquisitor, the blade cutting a shallow gash across the man's thigh. The poison took immediate effect, causing the inquisitor's leg to buckle under him. In a fluid movement, Vasco ducked behind a tree, only to break the silence a moment later with a shot aimed at Virgil.

He missed. Virgil charged at Vasco with his sword raised. His shield blocked the Naut’s attack, but he didn't anticipate Kurt’s sword following Vasco’s feint. Heavy blade came down hard, and with a pointed strike, Virgil was dead before he hit the ground.

Eugenia staggered as she was struck by multiple light projectiles. She screamed in pain, the force of the magic knocking her back against a building. Fire bolts erupted from Síora’s fingertips, streaking across the battlefield to strike an inquisitor who was advancing towards the theologian. The inquisitor, hit squarely in the chest, staggered back, his armour smouldering.

Eugenia quickly scrambled for cover behind a corner, fumbling for a potion in her satchel. Her hands shook as she drank, the liquid bringing a momentary relief as she steadied herself to re-join the fray. Her beam struck a cluster of inquisitors who were trying to regroup, scattering them with burns and blinding flashes. Magic crackled palpably around them, an electric charge that tingled against the skin and raised the hairs on their necks, as if the air itself was alive with raw, unbridled energy.

Lefroy parried a sword strike awkwardly with his rapier. Wilma, noticing his distress, stepped beside him and discharged her firearm at their assailant, providing Lefroy the moment he needed to regain his footing. His rapier flashed as he stabbed at an advancing inquisitor, the blade ringing as metal met metal. Sparks flew as swords clashed, illuminating the dimming battlefield with brief flashes of light that cast long, dancing shadows across the shattered cobblestones and broken facades of the village.

As the battle raged, the sound of clashing swords, the crackling of magic, and the cries of combatants filled the air. Arline found herself unprepared for the intensity of this confrontation. Rarely did she face spellcasters in battle, and the inquisitors’ light projectiles and shadow missiles sought her and her companions with alarming precision. Each hit that landed sapped their strength, necessitating quick swigs of health potions to mend their wounds.

Overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the inquisitors, Arline’s allies struggled under the onslaught. Kurt and Arline fell back towards a narrow passage between two buildings, funnelling the inquisitors into a tight space where Kurt's sweeping zweihander strikes were most effective. Above them, Aphra climbed onto a low roof, dropping grenades down onto the trapped.

Síora crouched beside the wounded—Petrus and another priest who had taken a serious hit. She channelled healing magic, her hands glowing as she worked to stabilize their conditions. Vasco stood guard over her, his poisoned blade ready to strike anyone who dared approach, while Aphra lobbed a grenade at inquisitors nearby.

The prolonged use of magic began to wear on all casters, their movements growing sluggish, their breaths heavier. They reached for magic potions, desperate to replenish their dwindling reserves. The direct connection with the Source, however, shielded Arline and Síora from the creeping touch of Chaos that began to affect the Thelemite spellcasters. The inquisitors' spells grew erratic, their forms staggering as the corrupting influence of Chaos made their magic unpredictable and their bodies sick.

They still had blades. Vasco engaged a pair of inquisitors, parrying a thrust with his poisoned blade before rolling behind a water trough to avoid a slicing blade. From his cover, he threw a knife, catching an inquisitor in the thigh, the poison quickly coursing through his veins, dropping him to his knees.

Petrus and Eugenia, though powerful, struggled with control as the chaotic energy surged around them, pushing themselves beyond the limit. Heart pounding and sweat trickling down her face, Arline gathered her strength and unleashed a wave of ice shards, decisively taking down three inquisitors in one swift move. Back to back with Kurt, who sliced through another attacker, they stood as bulwarks against the onslaught. The air crackled with magic and the clang of steel as they rallied, pressing the inquisitors back step by step, the village echoing with the sounds of a battle.

The tide turned. Arline, with a fierce cry, summoned a series of lightning strikes, each one falling an enemy, leaving them breathless. This natural artillery provided cover as Kurt advanced, cutting down disoriented inquisitors with precise, powerful strikes.

With their numbers dwindling rapidly, the last few inquisitors made a desperate attempt to regroup. But as they gathered, Síora’s fire closed in on them, their screams dying in the roar of the element. A pungent aroma of scorched earth and singed armour hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of spilled blood and sweat that marked the battleground.

The last inquisitor fell under a combined assault. Síora and Arline didn’t pause. Moving quickly among the wounded, they applied their healing magic liberally — Arline tending to shallow wounds, while Síora mended the serious injuries. Aphra was right behind them, distributing potions that helped to alleviate the pain and fatigue.

The noise of battle slowly faded, replaced by heavy breathing and the soft murmurs of the injured being tended to. With all survivors patched up and the smoke of battle settled, Arline finally surveyed the aftermath. Her vision blurred as the reality of the devastation fully dawned on her. Twenty-one inquisitors and Virgil, lay dead, their bodies scattered across the battleground like fallen leaves in an early winter storm.

It was a miracle that only three had fallen on their side. Without healing magic, they would have suffered many more casualties, as evidenced by the toll taken on the inquisitors. She felt sick—sickened by the death, the what-ifs, and the reasons behind the battle. The sickening weight of twenty-five lives stained her conscience. The intrusive thought at the back of her head, reminding her of a strain on her diplomatic career, made her guilt worse.

She turned and locked eyes with Lefroy, who had blown up at her when they had to kill four inquisitors in defence. But no words came this time. He stood in shock, pale and trembling, not with rage, but with the raw, unfiltered shock of the violence he had witnessed. Petrus was a few steps away, his head bowed in prayer, seeking solace or perhaps forgiveness in his faith. Kurt’s eyes were on Arline, his gaze filled with concern, reading the turmoil written across her face.

Eugenia's voice broke through Arline’s spiralling thoughts. “I cannot believe that I just fought my own brothers in faith!” She said, clutching the pendant on her neck, her voice quivering. “The fact that the inquisition is after us is very disturbing, Excellency…”

“This is just a prelude, Eugenia.” Petrus murmured, lifting his head from prayer. “I fear these attacks are just a reflection of what will happen if these discoveries are made public.”

Arline let out a trembling breath. “You must hasten to San Matheus. Ordo Luminis is in precarious position right now, they will not dare to attack you there.” She tried to steady her voice, but it came out weak in the wave of nausea.

“It’s a two days’ journey!” Eugenia’s voice rose in panic. “What if there’s more of them coming to meet us! And there is a risk that the Mother Cardinal will also reject our discoveries… I will not succeed without your help! Father Petrus, you are renowned for your eloquence!” She pleaded, her face a mask of fear.

Petrus closed his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “We are faced with a crucial choice for our nation. What does a man of faith do in such a dilemma?” His voice was low, but it seems even the wind had stopped to listen. He shook his head. “He prays and places his trust in the one who came before him and has shown more wisdom. I cannot turn my back on Saint Matheus.” He locked his eyes with Eugenia’s. “I will be delighted to support you.”

“Thank you!” Eugenia exclaimed, her body slumping under the weight of her relief.

Arline took a breath, resolving herself to face the consequences. “I will go, too. I must explain myself to Mother Cardinal for these deaths.” Her other responsibilities would have to wait. She was too deep in this particular mess.

“Can someone explain what is happening?!” Finally finding his voice, Lefroy stepped forward, his eyes wide with confusion.

Arline exhaled a heavy sigh, her gaze sweeping over the scarred battlefield as she tried to articulate the weight of their discovery. “We have discovered more artifacts of Saint Matheus that will change Luminist dogma… or sow destruction as the dogma is protected.”

Lefroy, looking drained, slowly lowered himself onto a broken barrel, his mouth slightly agape as he processed the implications. “I see.” He whispered.

Arline glanced at him, almost wishing he would erupt in anger, to break the overwhelming sense of responsibility crushing her. “This is beyond my competencies.” She said, her jaw tensing.

 “This must be beyond us all.” Shaking his head, Lefroy muttered more to himself than to anyone else.

Arline was taken aback by his unexpectedly calm reaction. He had been weirdly supportive recently, a shift that was both comforting and unsettling.

Just then, Father Iustinius, along with a few other priests, arrived at the scene. His hand clutched at his chest in shock as he took in the aftermath. “What…?” Iustinius's voice trailed off, unable to fully articulate his horror.

Petrus quickly stepped forward to explain. “Father Honorius demanded the destruction of the relics of Saint Matheus and attacked a foreign diplomat.” His voice was steady and sure, an impressive feat in Arline’s eyes. “We are on our way to San Matheus to address this with the Mother Cardinal, Father.”  

Arline straightened her posture; her thoughts whirled. They needed to remove themselves from Eden as quickly as possible, even though the last rays of the sun had already disappeared beyond the horizon, casting the village in a shroud of twilight. Kurt's words from months ago echoed in her mind, a grim reminder: she could no longer recall the count of lives she had taken, and this numbness to death was far from a relief. As she watched the waxing moon, a sinking feeling told her that perhaps Kurt’s assurances that 'it will be alright' might not be enough this time. It was time to face whatever awaited in San Matheus, armed with the truth and haunted by the cost.

Chapter Text

Chapter 45

Behold, the Enlightened is omnipresent, His Divine Essence weaving through the elements. He dwells within each heart, each sunrise, each whispering wind, each towering tree and steadfast mountain. He is a God of a thousand faces. The Light and the Earth are two faces of the same Power.

—  The Matheus Apocrypha, on stone tablets found in Védvílvie in the month of Illumination 842; tablet 4.

_______

The consequences did not catch up with her. With the evidence of the inquisitors' aggressive overreach, and her discreet leverage over the Mother Cardinal Arline had managed to secure not only her safety but also a precarious immunity for her companions. The Mother Cardinal, faced with the scandalous prospect of public discord or worse, agreed to a clandestine accord. While the resolution was handled swiftly to avoid the prying eyes of the Ordo Luminis, it was clear the power dynamics within Thélème were irrevocably altered. Discussions had swirled around the discovered relics, and after some deliberation, Cornelia conceded that a reassessment of their doctrine was inevitable. The presence of all island factions as witnesses proved to be a compelling argument. However, these agreements were kept under tight wraps, with only a select few privy to the details, ensuring that new evidence was released after Thélème’s due preparation and extensive study.

This resolution did not ease Arline’s bad premonition. Relations with a nation could only go so far on blackmail, and postponing the reveal of the relics to the public could only prevent so much violence. For the moment, however, she departed San Matheus with one less burden.

Only to immediately find another. At last, she could visit Derdre and Dunncas to request their support should either be selected as the High King, an event swiftly approaching with the next full moon. Both málregarded her as a friend to their clan, but they harboured markedly different visions on how the High King should lead their people.

Derdre's stance was rigid and uncompromising. “If Bládnid were still here,” she said, “I would have given her my vote and followed her into battle. But since she’s no longer with us, I must obtain the title and do what should have been done a long time ago. Drive away the renaígse and take back our island they want to enslave.”

Arline's jaw tightened as she fought an urge to shiver. She expected this would be Derdre’s intentions, but hearing it outright was different. “Will you drive us away too?” She asked, her voice strained with the effort to keep calm.

Derdre narrowed her eyes, her gaze sharp as flint. “We will drive away the renagise. You are on ol menawí; you will have to pick a side.”

Arline liked this even less, the implications of Derdre's words sinking in like a stone in deep water. “I see. And if you were to be elected, would you allow me to meet En ol míl frichtimen? Only he can help us cure the Malichor.”

Derdre folded her arms. “Why should I be preoccupied with a disease striking those we want to drive away?” She challenged.

“This is the best way for the renaígse to leave the island of their own accord.” Arline countered, hoping to appeal to Derdre’s strategic sensibilities rather than her compassion.

Derdre sighed, letting her arms fall to her side. “You have helped my people, you are my carants. You can count on me to help you. Once I am the high queen I will lead you to the sanctuary.” She promised.

Arline, though relieved, noted the confidence in Derdre's voice and raised an eyebrow. “You seem certain that you will obtain the title.”

Derdre gave her a cryptic smile. “Those who covet victory must do everything they can to obtain it, don’t you agree?” Her voice carried a steely determination. “The old kings wore a legendary crown which was lost during the war against the people of the sea. Whoever were to retrieve it, would be chosen.”

Arline fought to maintain composure. “And you know where it is?” She probed carefully.

Derdre’s smirk widened. “Do not worry, I will find it.”

Arline left the meeting with a mix of relief and concern churning in her gut. Derdre's promise was a double-edged sword—support laced with the threat of war. She knew the mál would not be swayed. It was not in the interest of the colonists to have Derdre be chosen.

As she stepped out into the cool evening, she locked her eyes with Kurt. “If I want to be certain of the outcome of this vote, I need to find this crown myself.”

Síora gasped. “You are willing to influence the fate of all my people?” She demanded, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and concern.

Arline pinched the bridge of her nose, her vision swirling slightly with the nausea building in her stomach. “I understand that you might find this idea unpleasant, but the survival of the whole continent relies on this encounter, Síora.” She muttered.

Síora crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. “It is my feeling that you do not understand the consequences of such a decision.” Síora said, unmoved. “Everyone on the island will listen to the words of a High King. Derdre is a great warrior, if she reigns, she will unite all of the clans.”

Arline let out a long, trembling breath. “And spill blood of both our people in the process. But you are right.” She admitted, a note of desperation evident in her voice even to her own ears. Did she really have a choice? “It is a decision more important than our quest for an antidote. We must speak with Dunncas.”

Kurt stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Hey. What’s a little menial work when compared to the fate of this whole island? I’m with you.” His voice a soft murmur that offered warmth, though it barely penetrated the cold dread settling in her core. It seemed Derdre was right—she faced a grim choice between seeking a cure for the continent at the cost of her integrity and the natives' agency or honouring the blood ties with the island's people at the expense of those she had grown up among.

Dunncas, she hoped, would be a High King who wouldn't force such a harsh choice upon her. Known for his advocacy for peace with the renaígse and his wisdom, he was seen as a leader who could elevate his people through diplomacy rather than force.

“I am not looking for power,” He said when they visited him next. “But Tír Fradí needs peace and balance. And I fear the other kings may want war or be motivated by ambition.” He paused, looking back at Arline with a pensive frown creasing his brow. “The renaígse brought chaos with them and our island has suffered. We cannot change the past. The wound is there. Refusing to acknowledge it is pointless.”

He sighed. “But wound can be healed.” He continued, his voice gaining strength. “We must find balance with those from the remote island and live together in harmony. But for this, we must teach the renaígsehumility and to respect the earth.”

As Arline considered his words, she acknowledged to herself that teaching humility to the settlers might be an even more formidable challenge than any military engagement. But wasn't such an effort worth it? Surely, establishing a lasting peace based on mutual respect and understanding was a goal lofty enough to strive for, even in the face of daunting odds.

Arline took a deep breath. “Then indeed we want the same things, Dunncas. I would like to meet En ol míl frichtimen in order to find an antidote for the disease that is destroying my people. Would you help me in this endeavour?”

Dunncas's expression softened as he nodded, the lines of his face relaxing into a smile. “I would be glad to help you and I pray that En ol míl frichtimen will help your people. But you should know that my election is far from certain. The spirits are divided and some are thirsty for revenge.”

Arline bit her lip, her mind racing. “Derdre is quite certain of her win… She told me of a legendary crown she is looking for to ensure her victory.”

Dunncas's brow furrowed, his previous warmth replaced by a frown of disapproval. “The gift from En ol míl frichtimen. I do not like the idea of using such a method.”

Seeing his reaction, Arline treaded carefully, testing the waters. “We could… find it before she does, if you can help us.” She suggested.

Dunncas hesitated, his gaze lingering on Arline's face as he tilted his head thoughtfully. “It would be better if mál cast their votes based on their beliefs...” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he searched for the right words. “The one who became the first guardian is believed to have taken it with him in death. I believe it is located in the tomb of the kings, a holy place not far from the village of Vígnámrí. But it is said that the path towards it is strewn with spears. Many tried to retrieve it before. It is protected by a Nádaig magamen. If you decide to go there, fill your heart with humility and respect. For those who rest there were great men.” Arline nodded slowly, grateful for his guidance. If she could bring this crown to Dunncas, it would surely benefit both her people. Another responsibility to shoulder. But she had always asked for responsibilities.

Her eyes suddenly widened, a spark of realization flickering across her features. “Vígnámrí. It is the village of Sísaíg cnámeis clan and chief Ullan?” She asked.

“Yes.” Dunncas replied, his voice dropping to a contemplative murmur, almost as though he were speaking more to himself than to her. “I worry Ullan might try to sway the vote in the same way. He is cunning.”

The possibility of another person seeking the crown wasn't the reason her breath quickened. She was heading to Vígnámrí for two reasons—one was securing Chief Ullan's support should he ascend as High King, and the other was because Síora had identified the village from Arelwin’s tale as the home of the bone blowers clan, Sísaíg cnámeis. With this revelation, what was once a plan now crystallized into an imminent reality, making her stomach flutter with a mix of anticipation and fear. Would she find her birth mother's family there?

With the High King’s election looming just six days away, detours were a luxury they could ill afford. They set their course directly for Glendgnámvár, bypassing any stop in New Sérène.

As they approached their destination, the gentle murmur of the ocean mingled with the soft rustling of the grass underfoot, stirred by a light breeze. The air was redolent with the scent of salt and damp earth, evoking a sense of the vast expanse just beyond their view. In the distance, the black sands of the shore were punctuated by white, curved spires that soared skyward like otherworldly trees. It was a quiet time on the beach, Síora noted; the season for the dead whales to be beached was still a month away. This period marked the beginning of a three-month migration south, leaving the shores and surrounding waters undisturbed by humans for half a cycle.

After nature's scavengers had cleansed the remains of the great sea creatures, the waters would be declared pure once again, signalling the reopening of the fishing season, currently in full swing. Arline’s gaze drifted out to the turquoise waves, a pang of longing touching her as she realized that despite the optimal conditions for swimming on the south-eastern side—with its warm summer air and inviting gentle waves—she had yet to immerse herself in the ocean since arriving on the island. The southwestern shores would remain inviting throughout the rest of the summer, yet it was this particular shoreline that was said to possess special qualities, imbuing vitality to those who visited.

Síora shared that her mother, struggling to conceive, had sought the healing embrace of these waters and had been blessed with twins shortly thereafter. While Arline had no desire for such blessings—her consumption of blue lace served to ensure that—she was drawn to any source that promised health, especially considering Constantin’s condition. His transformation had momentarily halted his sickness, yet the permanence of this reprieve remained uncertain, leaving her perpetually in search of any potential aid for his enduring well-being.

They continued along the coastal forest, deliberately avoiding the seductive call of the shimmering waters nearby. Their destination was Bedrí, the ancient burial mound of the High Kings, a sacred site now abandoned for Tarrí, or ‘the return of the kings’, near Lanoíg Menvár, the Sanctuary of the Great Mountain in Anemhaid, the ‘fiery soul’ region. The path they chose was unmistakable, marked by spears of extraordinary proportions—far too large for any human to wield. Each spear was three times the height of a grown man, remnants undoubtedly left by the Nádaig, the legendary guardians of these lands. As Arline observed these relics, a shiver coursed through her, sparking the dormant Power within her, manifesting with a subtle crackle in the air around her. This response rippled through her companions as well.

Kurt and Wilma instinctively rested their hands on their sword hilts, their eyes scanning the dense foliage. Lefroy mimicked their actions, his face etched with determination. Aphra calmly unbuttoned her holster, readying herself for any threat, while Vasco applied his poisoned oil to his blade. Petrus murmured a prayer under his breath, his fingers brushing over the magic ring he wore. Síora crouched low, her spear gripped tightly in both hands, ready to spring into action.

The group moved forward in a tense silence, punctuated only by the rustle of leaves underfoot and the distant, rhythmic crash of waves that seemed to synchronize with the quickening beats of their hearts. They were acutely aware of every whisper of wind, every shadow that flickered through the towering trees.

The path opened into a clearing. There, in front of a root door to a cave, as if summoned from the tales Dunncas had shared, stood a towering Nádaig of the forest. Its body, composed of gnarled wood, twisted and formidable, resembled a sinister tree animated by some ancient spirit. The creature's head, a ghastly semblance of a deer's skull devoid of flesh, snapped towards them, its hollow eye sockets seemingly piercing into their souls. With a primal roar that resonated through the forest, it bowed its head menacingly, pointing its antlered crown directly at them. In its gnarled, clawed hand, it grew another of those colossal spears.

The spear hurtled through the air with terrifying speed, splitting the group in an instant as everyone dove for cover. Arline, with the electric taste of Spark tingling on her tongue, darted behind a large rock in a blur of lightning. Sheltered momentarily, she summoned Fire, the scent of struck matches filling her nostrils as flames coalesced in her palm. With a fluid motion, she melded the flames with a surge of Force, hurling the fiery bolt towards the Nádaig. The fire sizzled against its wooden flesh but did not immediately catch.

Beside her, Lefroy scrambled into cover, his face drained of colour, his eyes wide with the raw fear of another encounter with one of the island's mythical guardians.

“Stay out of the fight, unless someone needs a potion!” She commanded sharply, before dashing away in another streak of light.

Kurt and Wilma coordinated their advance with practiced precision, their armour clanking rhythmically against the underbrush. Despite the encumbrance of heavy metal, they moved with surprising agility, weaving through the Nádaig's thicket-like limbs with a dancer's grace, each step calculated to evade the sweeping blows of the clawed feet, dodging strikes that would crush bone like twig. Síora thrust her spear forward, the tip alight with flames that leapt eagerly towards the wooden giant, seeking to consume its ancient timber. Sparks splintered off, chasing the towering figure like angry wasps.

Aphra, positioned safely behind a fallen tree, lobbed a flask that arced beautifully through the air before shattering against the Nádaig’s torso, drawing another roar. A burst of fire enveloped part of the creature, creating a startling contrast against the dark woods. Without missing a beat, she fired her pistol, the shot echoing loudly in the quiet of the forest. Birds erupted in startled flight from the trees, adding their cries to the cacophony of battle. Vasco, not to be outdone, fired his own shot before darting forward to deliver a swift, cutting strike to the creature's leg, his blade slick with poison.

Petrus maintained a cautious distance, circling the perimeter of the clearing. His hands flickered with the glow of Thelemite magic as he alternated between launching piercing light projectiles and debilitating shadow missiles, each aggravating the creature further.

The Nádaig leaped forward, its massive form casting a shadow over the fighters. With a thunderous crash, it landed, sending tremors through the forest floor. Its movements were swift, despite its towering size, as it swung its gnarled limbs with devastating force.

One swing caught Kurt off guard, sending him reeling back with a grunt of pain; Arline’s heart stopped for a fraction of the second as she leaped across the clearing to his side. Kurt regained his footing quickly, his zweihander gleaming in the stray rays of light that pierced the canopy. With a roar, he charged, slicing through the air with his blade in a wide arc aimed at the creature’s knotted joints. Arline followed his blow with another fire bolt, the element finally catching the splintered bark of the creature.

Aphra, crouched behind a thick tree, hastily reloaded her pistol. Her eyes never left the fray; as soon as her weapon was ready, she popped out from her cover to fire a well-aimed shot, trying to distract the Nádaig so Kurt and Wilma could advance. Wilma moved beside Kurt, her own sword cutting through the air, supplemented by the occasional crack of her firearm as she sought to exploit any opening Kurt created.

Vasco, agile and quick, darted around the Nádaig’s other flank. He slashed at the creature’s legs, his poisoned blade leaving behind wounds oozing with thick yellow sap. With a calculated step back, he watched as the poison began to take effect, slowing the guardian’s movements.

Síora was a blur of motion, her spear glowing with fire. She thrust it forward, jumping over tears in the ground she created with her magic beneath the Nádaig’s feet. This tripping tactic caused the guardian to stagger, creating an opportunity for blades landing higher on its body.

Arline was relentless, summoning fire bolts and lightning with a fervour that lit up the clearing. Each attack drained her, the taste of ozone and sulphur sharp on her tongue as she called upon her magic again and again. Her stray fire bolt missed its mark, igniting a nearby tree that stood like a beacon of flame, its light flickering wildly across the faces of the combatants.

Her energy waned, and she reached for a potion at her belt, taking cover behind a rock that still sheltered a terrified Lefroy. Downing it in one gulp, she felt her strength returning, her next spells crackling with renewed intensity.

Petrus, on the edge of the clearing, struggled to keep pace. His age showed as he panted heavily, his spells of light and shadow less frequent but still potent. As he pushed himself, the signs of Chaos began to manifest. His hands trembled, his spells occasionally misfiring, sapping his strength and leaving him visibly fatigued.

The Nádaig, now showing signs of wear from the combined assault, roared in frustration and pain. It made a desperate attempt to retaliate, swinging wildly as it threw another conjured spear. Its movements were less coordinated now, the effects of the poison and flames paired with the continuous cuts taking their toll. Trees shook and leaves fluttered down around the combatants, the forest itself seeming to recoil from the violence.

As the creature faltered, Arline prepared for another barrage. Kurt and Wilma pressed forward, their blades singing through the air. Síora, Vasco, and Aphra coordinated their attacks, converging on the guardian from all sides.

One of the creature's massive legs gave way beneath it, leaving a charred stump behind as it toppled to the forest floor. The air was rent with its agonized scream, a sound that resonated through the dense foliage of the forest. The Nádaig attempted to crawl forward, its remaining limbs scraping and clawing at the earth, leaving deep furrows in the damp soil.

Kurt moved swiftly around the severed limb, using it as a makeshift ramp to launch himself onto the beast's back, his heavy boots finding purchase among the gnarled wood and sinew. He drove his sword down with all his might, carving a deep, rending slash up the length of the Nádaig's wooden flash, dragging the cut towards the neck. Arline flinched, her ears ringing, as the creature's cry pierced the air, a sharp, torturous sound that echoed off the trees and seemed to slice through her very soul.

Kurt adjusted his stance and brought his blade down hard on the back of the guardian’s skull. The sound of cracking wood thundered through the clearing as the blade cleaved through, sending shockwaves of finality through the battlefield. The Nádaig's limbs shuddered and then fell limp, its body collapsing to the forest floor with a resonant thud.

Leaves drifted down from the disturbed canopy, fluttering like quiet spectres to the forest floor in the heavy silence that followed. The smell of charred wood and scorched earth mingled with the scent of the forest. Kurt remained atop the fallen guardian for a moment, his chest heaving with exertion and the rush of battle. Slowly, he sheathed his sword, his movements deliberate. He glanced around at his companions, his eyes locking with Arline's for a moment.

A wave of sorrow washed over her, deep and unsettling. The creature before her had once been a person, a guardian transformed to protect this sacred ground from outsiders. Now, it lay defeated, its purpose unfulfilled, brought down by her own hand. It had spent centuries guarding this place, and here she was, a renaígse come to rob the graves with intentions of altering the course of native politics for her own realm's benefit. The irony of her mission—to seek help for her people by potentially disrupting the balance of this land—was not lost on her.

She stepped forward, her boots crunching softly on the leaf-littered ground, and knelt beside the fallen giant. Her hands trembled slightly as she touched the coarse, bark-like skin of the Nádaig. It was still warm, its life force fading into the cool air of the forest. Arline felt sick with herself, her stomach churning with guilt. The silence around her seemed to deepen, filled only with the faint rustle of leaves and the distant crash of ocean waves. Arline closed her eyes, a tear escaping down her cheek.

“Andevaurshd tír to.” She whispered, words dying in her throat. “Es trag me.”

Arline pulled herself up with effort, her eyes scanning her companions until they found Síora. How many more questionable decisions before she abandons them? Síora met her gaze with her brows knitted. Arline saw the conflict mirrored in Síora’s expression—a blend of concern and reluctant acceptance. “Derdre would have to kill it, too, carants.” She murmured, her voice low but clear in the quiet of the forest. “So would Ullan, if he thought of it. They are not doneigada. Perhaps your faith in Dunncas is justified.”

Her words were a balm, yet they stung, too. Once she follows through, any injustice on the natives committed by the settlers remaining on the island would be Arline’s doing. This was the price of avoiding war.

Each step towards the cave's massive door, shielded by intertwining roots, was heavier than the one before. Unlike other sanctuaries they had visited, there was no pedestal for a seed, no simple mechanism to grant entry. Síora stepped forward, her expression solemn. “This one must be opened by channelling Life, something only on ol menawí can do.” She explained. With a deep breath, Síora extended her hands towards the woven barricade. Her palms glowed with a soft light. Slowly, the vines began to slither back, retracting as if beckoned by an unseen force, revealing the cave entrance.

They entered cautiously into the cool shadows of the cave. Inside, the passage split into two arches that veered in opposite directions. The walls of the cavern were unnaturally smooth, as if sculpted by skilled hands rather than formed by natural forces. They chose the path to the left, their footsteps echoing softly in the still air. Along the way, short tunnels branched off from the main path. Beside each tunnel, engraved tablets marked the resting places of ancient kings and heroes, their names inscribed in the secret script of the doneigada. Síora paused at each, her voice hushed as she translated the names and titles of those who lay beyond.

Their journey led them to a vast cavern where the high ceiling was fractured, allowing shafts of sunlight to pierce the gloom. The light illuminated a verdant oasis below, where life thrived in lush abundance, untouched by the passage of centuries. At the centre of this natural cathedral stood a majestic tree, its branches spreading wide and high, mirroring the one near Derdre’s village used by the doneigada to commune with En ol míl frichtimen.

Beneath the tree, a large rock formed a natural altar. Síora approached it with reverence, her steps slow and measured. “Rí Finnén, the first guardian.” She whispered, her voice filled with awe. Arrayed before the rock, driven into the soft earth, was a spear—not the massive weapons they had seen outside, but one of normal size. Resting upon the spear was a wooden crown, its branches sprawling outward in an echo of the créaga, with native symbols were carved into it.

The sight of the crown, so unassuming yet so charged with history and power, struck a chord in Arline. Here lay the power to sway the election of the High King, a relic of profound significance—this crown could change the future of the island, for better or for worse. 

Arline approached the altar with measured steps, her heart heavy as she gently picked up the crown. She wrapped it carefully in a piece of silk, treating the ancient relic with the same reverence she had seen Eugenia bestow on artifacts. With steady hands, she passed the wrapped crown to Síora, who, with even more care, placed it within the basket she carried on her back.

A sudden sound cut through the silence, a sharp voice that echoed through the cavern. “What are you doing there?!” Arline’s heart leapt into her throat as she spun around to face the source of the disturbance.

There, emerging from the shadowed corridor, came Derdre, flanked by a dozen of her storm warriors. The group spilled into the cavern with a palpable sense of purpose and aggression. Derdre's eyes were like flint as she advanced towards Arline, her stride confident and accusing. Kurt instinctively moved closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend.

“Here lie those who fell facing the invaders, and you dare enter and scatter their bones?” Derdre’s voice was thick with condemnation, her gaze piercing.

Arline raised her hands in a gesture of peace, her voice steady despite the surge of adrenaline. “I did not come here with the intention of defiling this place.”

Derdre’s expression twisted into a grimace as she closed the distance between them. “No… you came looking for a crown of the High King hoping to choose the one who leads us.” She spat.

“Is that not what you are looking for as well?” Arline countered, her voice rising slightly in both challenge and defence.

“I am not a renaígse.” Derdre retorted sharply. “I wish to lead my people to victory, and I have come here, seeking something that will make it a certainty.”

"You wish to wage war. To spill the blood of renaígse and men fradí both. I cannot abandon my people.” Arline countered, her voice laden with sorrow.

Derdre leaned in, her face close enough for Arline to see the unyielding fire in her eyes. “Are you sure you know which ones are those?”

The words hit Arline like a physical blow, sending a shiver down her spine, making her falter. The question lingered in the air, heavy with implications, challenging her loyalties and her very sense of self. Derdre’s gaze bore into her, demanding an answer that Arline wasn't sure she had.

Derdre's voice rose, her frustration and anger rumbling through the air like a crack of lightning. “Tír Fradí does not want to welcome your people.” She declared, her tone harsh. “They toy with us, take without returning, kill and pillage. I will unite our people and cast all of the monisainaiga into their ocean wagons. They will go and pillage elsewhere!” She crossed her arms firmly over her chest as she locked eyes with Arline. “You are bonded to this land, not to theirs, no?” She paused, her gaze unwavering as Arline swallowed hard. “And so? Do you plan on keeping the crown for one of those too wise or cowardly to come and get it themselves? Or will you give it to me?”

Arline found her voice with effort, thick with fear. “Sin ol menawí and your cengeden anedas are powerful, but you are already fighting the colonists, and losing!” As she spoke, conviction firmed her words. “Your Nádaiga pushed away the people of the sea hundreds of years ago, but you cannot hope to defeat people armed with gunpowder, Derdre! If you unify in war against the renaígse, it can only push the different factions to unite against you. I cannot allow it, not for their sake, not for yours.” Her voice softened slightly. “I am of both worlds, others can learn. Dunncas believes as I do.”

Derdre's expression hardened, her disappointment quickly shaping into a steely resolve. “Too bad… you leave me no choice.” The air grew colder as she unsheathed her sword with a swift, deliberate motion, the metal gleaming ominously in the dim light of the cavern. “I have come to take that crown and I won’t leave without it!”

Panic shot through Arline as she stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. “Do not spill the blood of your clan!” She implored, her voice edged with desperation. “I will fight you.” Her hand moved to her own weapon, the weight of it both a comfort and a burden as she prepared to defend the choice she was all too aware she might regret one day.

Kurt shifted, his sword partially drawn, his eyes fixed on the warriors flanking Derdre. The warriors eyed the group cautiously, hands hovering near their weapons, ready to strike at their leader's command. The moment stretched between them, filled with the echoes of their breaths and the distant call of the wind outside the cave.

“I am not on ol menawí.” Derdre said, her eyes narrowing into slits.

Arline nodded, her heart racing in her chest. “I am not a storm warrior.” She responded, controlling her voice. “I will heal myself, as your magic heals you, but I will fight with honour. Should I fall, Síora will give you the crown.”

Kurt’s jaw tensed his eyes snapping back to Arline, an unvoiced protest in his stance. She held his gaze, pleading for his compliance. She was to bear the weight of the entire island, she didn’t want to start with blood staining her hands. With a deep frown of pain, he sheathed his sword slowly, the sound of metal sliding into leather echoing softly.

Síora nodded subtly to Arline, a silent promise to uphold her wishes, her hands tightening around her own weapon in solidarity. Derdre waved to her warriors to step aside and Arline let out a breath she was holding.

The cavern felt smaller, the walls closing in as each woman sized up her opponent. “May the strongest lead.” Derdre murmured.

Derdre made the first move, her sword slicing through the air with a speed that belied its weight. Arline barely had time to raise her sabre to block, the force of the strike reverberating down her arm. She staggered back, shifting her feet quickly to regain her balance as Derdre pressed forward, her strikes relentless. Each swing of Derdre's sword was fuelled by an energy that shimmered faintly around her, a magical aura that lent her both strength and speed.

Arline, determined to keep her word and refrain from using magic—save for lightning dashes—dodged a downward strike, sidestepping to the right and countering with a quick slash aimed at Derdre's side. The blade connected, but only just, drawing a thin line of blood before Derdre spun away, her expression betraying no pain.

Derdre, enhanced by her magic, was a formidable opponent—her movements almost a blur, unlike most opponents who relied on strength, each strike forcing Arline to take a step back. But she managed to hold her in good stead. She dodged and weaved, her movements precise and calculated, honed over more than a decade under the tutelage of the finest master of arms. She relied on that experience now, ducking under a wide swing and landing a shallow cut across Derdre's thigh before dancing back out of reach, her heart pounding.

Derdre barely flinched, her magic-enhanced speed allowing her to close the gap in an instant. She lunged forward, her blade flashing toward Arline's shoulder. Arline twisted just in time to avoid a deeper wound, the edge of the sword grazing her skin and leaving a red mark. She bit back a cry of pain and quickly healed the wound. Kurt, watching from the side-lines with his jaw clenched, flinched every time Derdre’s blade connected with Arline’s skin, but he respected her wish not to intervene.

The duel moved around the cavern, the two women weaving between rock formations, the clang of their swords echoing in the dim light casting shadows on the uneven floors and stalactites that occasionally dripped cold water. Arline used the ragged terrain to her advantage, manoeuvring Derdre into tight spaces, trying to offset her speed with strategic positioning. But ultimately, this was a battle of endurance and will.

Sweat trickled down Arline's forehead, stinging her eyes, her breathing laboured as she fought to keep pace with Derdre. Each strike she blocked sent tremors through her arms, her muscles burning with the effort. She could feel her energy waning, but her magic steadfast, ready to be harvested whenever wounded.

Derdre's breaths became heavier as the duel dragged on, her reliance on outside magic beginning to drain her, the glow in her eyes flickering with diminishing intensity. Her cuts took longer to heal. Each time Derdre's blade clashed against hers, Arline could feel the strength behind the attack lessen. The magic that fuelled Derdre's movements was starting to deplete.

Arline ducked under a low hanging stalactite just as Derdre unleashed a powerful swing, causing her to stagger forward as her sword clanged against the rock. With a quick pivot, Arline brought her sabre around in a low sweep, catching the back of Derdre's knee.

Their audience drew a collective gasp as Derdre hit the ground hard, her sword slipping from her grasp. She scrambled to retrieve it, but Arline was already upon her, her blade pressed against Derdre's neck. She attempted to rise, her face contorted with both physical pain and the sting of defeat. She looked up at Arline, who stood poised over her, her breathing heavy but her stance unyielding.

“I have no wish to end your life, Derdre.” Arline murmured wearily.

Derdre cast her eyes down and, after a tense moment, nodded slowly. “I accept my defeat.” She conceded, her voice a low murmur of begrudging respect. “Take the crown. I am not worthy to wear it, it seems.”

Kurt exhaled deeply, his relief shifting into a proud smile as he rushed to Arline’s side. Arline helped Derdre to her feet, her own exhaustion manifesting in the tremble of her muscles as she pulled Derdre up, weaving her magic into her wound to heal. “Indeed, so it seems.” Arline whispered. “May we meet as caranten again at Dorhadgenedu. Until then, Derdre.”

With a curt nod, Derdre turned, signalling her warriors. They vanished into the darkness of the corridor.

Kurt's arms closed around Arline, pulling her into a protective embrace without a single word. The roughness of his armour contrasted with the warmth of his hold, enveloping her in a cocoon that momentarily shielded her from the world's demands. She leaned into his chest, her senses briefly overwhelmed by the familiar, grounding scent of him—a mixture of leather and blackberry. A fleeting self-conscious thought about her own state, drenched in sweat and the remnants of battle, flickered through her mind, but it dissipated as quickly as it came when Kurt whispered into her damp hair, “You were amazing.”

She managed a weak smile, allowing herself the luxury of closing her eyes, pushing away the weight of the decisions that loomed ahead. But reality pressed in, and she gently pulled away as the reminder of their companions brought a return to the present. She turned to Síora, sharing a tight embrace that conveyed their mutual relief. Then she hugged Aphra and Vasco, lending some excuse to this public display of affection.

She cast a last glance at the sleeping place of the fallen, the air still echoing with the silent whispers of clashing steel. She felt a profound relief that no more blood had been spilled on this sacred ground—today, at least. With a deep, steadying breath, she turned her back on the tomb. The cavern's mouth closed behind them with a definitive silence, sealing away the echoes of the past as they stepped into the uncertain light of impending dawn, to face whatever challenges awaited with the new day, ready or not.

Chapter Text

Chapter 46

His divine brilliance is blinding, eclipsing all. My mortal mind, frail and finite, struggled to grasp the full vision of Light.

—  The Matheus Apocrypha, on stone tablets found in Védvílvie in the month of Illumination 842; tablet 5.

_______

They skirted the rocky cliffside to a gentler, sandy shore where the black sands and the white, curved spires of whale bones that jutted into the sky glistened under the low-hanging sun. The ocean stretched out vast and endless, its surface catching the last rays of light and turning them into a molten gold and crimson pathway that led to the horizon—a sight breathtaking enough to momentarily distract Arline from her swirling thoughts.

As they neared the village of Vígnámrí, where their carriage awaited with Cristy and Hubert tending to the horses, the sound of the ocean was a steady murmur beneath their conversation. Arline took a deep breath, the salt air mixing with the earthy scent of the coastal flora.

Kurt, walking beside her, noted her frame of mind and brushed his elbow against hers. “You don’t look as if you’re looking forward to this meeting, Sweet Excellency.” He observed in a low tone, his gaze scanning her face with a soft crease between his brows.

Arline exhaled deeply, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun met the sea. “If I cannot confront the future nor the past, what can I do?” She confessed, her voice almost lost to the gentle lap of waves against the shore.

Kurt offered her a soft smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes in a way that usually brought her comfort. “But you can. I seem to remember you once told me I don’t need to do anything alone. That works both ways, you know.” He reminded her gently.

She nodded, her lips twitching into a small, appreciative smile. “I know. I am just… scared. Almost twenty-six years. More than twenty-six years since she was captured...” She mused, kicking the sand beneath her feat in frustration. “Even if I can find my relations—who is to say they would want to know me? I was raised by her kidnappers. Her murderers. I am renaígse.” Her voice cracked like a broken blade. “What good it will do me to get caught up in the past?”

Síora, walking slightly ahead, turned back to join the conversation. “It is not your fault, carants. They can only be happy you have been returned to them.” She assured her gently.

Petrus, who had been trailing behind, sighed heavily, “Whether or not we choose to get caught up in it, the past always catches up with us. Sadly, I’m paying the price of this.” He murmured, his eyes clouded with his own regrets.

Vasco let out a light laugh. “Well, in my experience, the better question is what if you don’t want to know them. But considering the nobles you're already stuck with, I'd say any change could only be an improvement.” He joked, trying to coax a smile from Arline.

“Uplifting.” Arline deadpanned with a flat look.

He giggled, then his smile softened. “Seaborn, Seagiven, all of us were torn from our roots, even if we found a new family. Whether you can reconnect or not, it’s worth trying, I think. Either way you will learn something new about yourself.”

As they approached the encampment where Cristy and Hubert had established a temporary base near the village, the group decided to split up. Aphra, Vasco, Lefroy, and Wilma opted to stay back, enjoying the relative calm of the camp. Meanwhile, Arline, Síora, Petrus, and Kurt made their way toward the chief's residence.

Arline’s tension grew as they walked through the village; every face she saw could potentially be her kin. With deep, steadying breath, they entered Ullan's dome. Ullan, the youngest chief Arline had encountered thus far, was not on ol menawí. His skin was dark, and his black hair was meticulously braided, lending him some regal appearance despite his youth and lack of bond with the island. Upon noticing his visitors, Ullan's face transformed with a broad, perhaps overly enthusiastic smile—a stark and disquieting contrast to the usual guarded receptions from other leaders.

“Beurd tír to mad!” He greeted them sweetly. “I am Ullan, chief of Vígnámrí.”

Arline hesitated, caught off guard by his exuberance, before she introduced herself and her companions. Ullan's smile widened further as he flashed his teeth. “The Congregation? One of your clan has recently helped our hunter trade with your village and saved another from the Bod airní.” He said.

Arline's brow furrowed in surprise. “Indeed? Was it Lady Eloise Dupont? She is my assistant in New Sérène. I have been absent for a few weeks. What exactly transpired?”

“Yes, that is the one.” Ullan nodded. “They wanted to exchange things with your people but the Bod airníkept taking them away. Your Lady made it so that they were left alone.”

“Probably sorted out their trading permits.” Kurt chimed in with a frown.

Arline nodded in appreciation of Ullan's positive recount. “Please, accept my apologies for any misunderstanding, Ullan.” She said sincerely.

Ullan waved her apology away with a generous gesture. “No need for that! Thank your Lady. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Arline drew in a deep breath, her fingers unconsciously tracing the outline of the wooden amulet beneath her shirt. “I recently found out that my mother came from your village.” She finally said.

Ullan's demeanor shifted, the remnants of his performed cheerfulness melting away to unveil a genuine expression of surprise. “Your mother was from Vígnámrí?” He echoed, his brows arching as he studied her features more closely. “Now I understand why your face seems so familiar to me.”

“Indeed.” Arline confirmed, shifting her weight. “She was captured before my birth and sent to the Continent.”

“She was called Arelwin.” Petrus interjected. “Did you know her?”

Ullan blinked, still shocked. “Of course. Everyone here remembers her kidnapping.” He shook his head, frowning as he looked back. “I was a child then, but I remember the village doneigad, kidnapped by the people of the sea. All our warriors set off to her rescue, but it was all in vain.” He frowned. “Most of them died, including the one she loved. It was a dark day, in which our village lost its knowledge and strength in one blow.”

Arline felt a heaviness in her chest hearing this story recounted again, her feeling of loss and longing inexplicable to her. Arelwin and her minundhanem, though her parents, were strangers of whose existence she had learned only a few weeks ago Their lives, brutally interrupted by the very people Arline had grown to call family, cast a shadow over her own. Guilt gnawed at her, deep and relentless. She had been nurtured by a loving mother who, despite her affection, had woven a tapestry of lies around her origins. Her uncle, generous and guiding, had fashioned her into something of his making—a tool for his ambitions, albeit within a cocoon of luxury. Arline had been privy to the finest life had to offer: exquisite foods, the softest fabrics, boundless entertainment, and elite education. She had never known fear or want, sheltered from the harsh realities that had plagued her true family. This comfort, she now realized, was funded by the losses and suffering of others. The life she cherished was built on the foundations of stolen chances and broken lives.

“Do you know if any members of my family are still alive?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

A fleeting grimace flashed through Ullan’s face before his forced smile made a return. “Yes, Slán, your mother’s sister. She became our doneigad. She was never able to match her sister’s talent.” Ullan’s words seemed bitter, before he shook his head and assumed a kinder tone. “Too much knowledge had been lost. Arelwin was a renowned healer across all of Tír Fradí. Taking her place was not an easy task.”

A sense of surreal realization washed over Arline. She had family here—a tangible link to her origins, a living relative who shared her blood. Her head spun with the enormity of the revelation, each heartbeat a loud echo in her ears. The weight of years spent in ignorance pressed down on her, mingling with a budding hope. But amidst this whirlwind of emotions, a daunting question loomed: What now? How would she bridge the years of separation and the chasm of experiences that lay between her and her aunt? Could she forge a connection from the fragmented pieces of her past?

Petrus nodded, his face contorted with grief. “It’s not surprising that she was of interest to the Congregation. They probably hoped she could help them find a cure for the Malichor.” He let out a long, trembling breath. “But all alone, far from the island, she was just a young, frightened woman with weakened powers.” He murmured.

Arline remembered how faint the thread connecting her to the Power was on the continent, a mere shadow of the rich vibrancy of magic she experienced here on Tír Fradí. Across the vast ocean, Arelwin’s diminished bond to the island had likely been spirit-crushing. Imagining her mother isolated and weakened on the continent, likely stripped of any residual strength under the weight of captivity, Arline felt a fresh wave of sadness course through her.

Arline cleared her throat, her voice breaking under the strain of her emotions. “Do you know where I can find my aunt?” She asked, the words feeling unfamiliar in her mouth.

“You could try her house, but she’s rarely there. She very much enjoys her own company.” Ullan responded, his earlier enthusiasm replaced by a more subdued tone. “She doesn’t speak much to me, but others here can probably tell you where to find her.”

“Thank you, Ullan.” Arline said, nodding her appreciation, though her mind was already racing ahead.

With her heart thudding loudly in her chest, Arline left Ullan’s house. Each step away from the chief’s dome felt like moving through a dense, emotional fog. Her thoughts churned with the possibilities of meeting her aunt, of connecting with a direct link to her mother’s past—a past so brutally severed and yet so profoundly influential on her present. As the cool air brushed against her face, her journey continued under the stars that began to prick the darkening sky.

As they walked towards Slán's residence, the path lined with the vibrant flora of Tír Fradí, Petrus's voice broke the quiet. “What do you think of the chief of your village?” He murmured.

Her village. Arline wasn’t sure if it was. Her response was measured, her words threading carefully through her mixed emotions. “He seems quite friendly compared to the others we have run into...” She admitted, watching a small creature dart across their path.

Petrus shook his head slightly, his gaze lingering on a distant point as if lost in memory. “A bit too friendly, if you ask me. A little too concerned with pleasing the settlers.” He said.

“And you think that's a bad thing?” Arline's brow furrowed, curious about his apprehension.

“He reminds me of myself when I was younger... And that's not a compliment.” Petrus confessed with a sad smile. “My fear is that he serves his own ambition. And this is often done at the expense of others.”

Kurt nodded. “This Ullan is about as forthright as a backtracking donkey.” He agreed.  

Síora let out a heavy sigh. “Many believe Ullan sold another clan to the Lions for a trade pact.” She whispered, looking nervously around. “The village of Vighulgsob has lost its mál in suspicious circumstances, and then the Lions attacked the people. The few that remained had to join other clans.”

Arline's expression darkened, her frown deepening. “And yet he can count on support of other clans in the election?”

“I heard he has a honey tongue.” Síora replied, her voice tinged with cynicism. “Many listen to him because they want to believe in his beautiful words.”

“A politician then.” Kurt laughed softly, his tone sardonic. “Sounds about right.”

Arline turned to him, puzzled. “Excuse me?” Her usual jesting tone fell flat.

Kurt chuckled anyway, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “You are not a politician, Green Blood, you are a warrior.”

Was she really? Or was Kurt just saying that because she needed to hear it now, to draw strength from his words? Doubt clouded her mind as they approached the dome the villagers had pointed out to them, standing before them.

Before a modest dome nestled among the vibrant foliage of Vígnámrí, there was a young man sitting. His hair, a fiery orange, was gathered into a high braid, catching the glints of the nearby fire. He was diligently carving out a sort of flute from the white whale bone, the methodical scraping sound filling the quiet around him. His focus shifted as he looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly with suspicion at the sight of the newcomers.

“Do you need help, renaígse?” He asked, his voice tinged with caution, not ceasing his sharpening.

Arline stepped forward, smoothing the front of her cloak nervously. “I am looking for the village doneigad.” She replied, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.

“And what do you want from her?” The young man's frown deepened.

Arline hesitated, searching for the right words. “Ullan told me that she... could help me to find someone.”

The villager let out a bark of laughter, setting aside his spear and stone with a clatter. “Ullan must have wanted to play a dirty trick on you. There’s no love lost between Ullan and my mother. She says that he loves the people from your island too much... But Ullan saved our village!” His tone mixed amusement with a hint of annoyance.

Arline caught her breath, her heart skipping a beat. “Your… mother?” She echoed.  

“Yes? Why?” He eyed her curiously, tilting his head.

Arline swallowed hard, gathering the courage to speak her truth. “I… Do you know of your mother’s sister, Arelwin?” She asked.

The man shrugged. “I heard about her, but she was taken away before I was born.”

“Yes, well.” Arline mumbled, clasping and unclasping her hands. “She… was with child. And that child… would be me.” She let out, her eyes searching his for any sign of recognition or rejection.

The villager's eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open slightly. “You are my cinig?” He asked as he gathered some composure.

“Cousin? So it seems… My name is Arline de Sardet.” She introduced herself formally, extending a hand in peace.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, brushing off his hands, then reached out to take her hand, his initial suspicion melting into curiosity. “Reván, son of Lorcán, son of Dárra.” As Reván's hand clasped Arline's, the warmth of his skin felt oddly discordant. He was kin, yet he was a stranger whose life narrative she had never been a part of. A minute ago, she only had one cousin. Her heart pounded a confusing rhythm, caught between the realms of what was familial and alien.

“So… do you know where to find your mother?” Arline asked, withdrawing from his touch.

“More often than not, she wanders in the plains in the west.” Reván explained. “She walks among a herd of Andríga that graze there. But it is late, she should be back soon. You can wait here.”

“Thank you.” Arline murmured.

With Reván's invitation, they seated themselves around the crackling fire. The young man gathered more kindling, feeding the growing flames before them as its warmth started to push the chill of the evening away. He sat across from Arline, his eyes frequently flickering to her in a curious, almost cautious manner. The quiet between them was palpable, filled only by the crackling of the fire and the distant call of night creatures.

He pointed at the coat of arms embroidered on her cloak, breaking the silence. “You are Lugeid blau?” He asked.

“Yes… I was raised by the Prince’s sister on the continent.” She said, hoping the way she found herself there would remain unsaid this time.

Reván's eyes lit up with a mix of fascination and something akin to envy. “What is it like? The renaígsehave such wonderful tools. Ullan wants us to exchange gifts, he says we can learn a lot.” His enthusiasm dimmed as he added. “My mother doesn’t like that, she says the renaígse won’t give us anything, that they only take.”

Arline bit her lip, the truth of his words stinging. “Unfortunately, that has been the experience of many of your people. I would like that to change.” She murmured, her throat feeling dry. She took a sip of water from her waterskin, glad for an excuse to avert her gaze.  

The silence that fell between them again was thick, and Arline shifted uncomfortably, looking into the flames. Sensing the tension, Síora leaned forward and changed the subject. “You make sídlam? Do you play?” She asked, nodding towards the bone flute lying next to Reván.

He nodded, a small smile breaking his earlier solemnity, and picked up the flute. Encouraged by Síora, he brought the instrument to his lips and began to play. The notes were soft and haunting, weaving through the night air like threads of silver. The melody was unlike anything Arline had heard before, yet it resonated with her, feeling less foreign in the flickering firelight and open sky.

As the last note hovered in the air, a figure approached the fire. A woman with grey hair crowned with an impressive créaga appeared. She was perhaps in her fifties, her face marked with lines that spoke of sun and wind, wisdom and weariness. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, swept over the group before settling on Arline. Her eyes widened as she stopped in her tracks.

“What…?” Slán stood transfixed, before blinking the shock away. “Es trag me,” she murmured, almost to herself. “You reminded me of someone. Who are you, renaígse?”

Arline felt a surge of nerves as she rose to her feet, her companions mirroring her. Her heart pounded in her chest. “I… reminded you of… Arelwin?” She ventured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Slán’s eyes widened again. “How…?” Her voice trailed off as she was overtaken by a torrent of emotion; shock, disbelief, suspicion, and pain flickering through her face before they softened into something gentler as she took tentative steps towards Arline. Arline felt a mirror of those feelings within herself.

“You are her child?” Slán whispered, stopping mere inches away from Arline, her gaze intensely searching.

“Yes.” Arline’s voice choked up as she reached for the necklace hidden under her shirt, her fingers trembling as she presented the amulet. “My mother... Or better, the woman who raised me gave me this necklace...” She felt the sting of forming tears in her eyes.

Slán’s eyes flitted to the amulet momentarily, but it was Arline’s face that captured her attention again. Tears welled up in Slán’s eyes as she gently reached out to touch the familiar mark on her cheek, her touch feather-light yet sending jolts of warmth throughout Arline’s body. “I... I just can’t believe it...” Slán drew Arline closer, their foreheads touching in a moment of profound connection. “You are home, my magem. Welcome.” Slán breathed out, her voice thick with emotion.

Tears streamed down Arline’s cheeks, unbidden but not unwelcome. She covered Slán’s hand with her own. She had not known what to expect—perhaps rejection or suspicion—but the acceptance and recognition she received were overwhelmingly comforting. A lightness began to replace the heaviness in her heart as the warmth from Slán's hand on her face seeped deeper, igniting a sense of belonging that had eluded her until this moment.

A choked laugh broke through her sobs, a sound mingled with relief and newfound joy. “My name is Arline.” She managed to say, her voice wobbly with emotion.

Slán slowly pulled back, her eyes once again studying Arline's face with a renewed sense of wonder. “Arlín. Daughter of Arelwin, daughter of Nív. The child of Tír Fradí has returned home, and with her the spirit of her mother.” She declared in a low murmur.

Arline, caught up in the whirlwind of her newfound kinship, had momentarily lost touch with her surroundings, her heart throbbing with a rush of emotions. Overwhelmed by the desire to share this moment with the one she loved, she impulsively reached out to Kurt, her voice trembling slightly as she introduced him. “This is my minundhanem, Kurt of the Bod airní.”

Kurt, caught off-guard, stared back at her, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open in astonishment. He flicked a quick glance at Petrus, who mirrored his shocked expression. Slán, unfazed by their surprise, extended her hands towards Kurt with a warm smile. “Welcome, gémagem.”

Kurt's surprise slowly thawed into warmth. He cautiously clasped Slán’s hands, his own smile broadening as he reciprocated her welcome. Arline's eyes filled with fresh tears, as she witnessed the immediate acceptance Slán extended towards Kurt. As she dabbed at her eyes with Kurt's handkerchief, Síora placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, her face alight with a joyous smile. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Arline turned to introduce the remaining two. “I would not have found you without my friends. Síora, daughter of Bládnid, daughter of Meb, doneigad of the Gaís rad, and Bishop Petrus of the Saul lasser. Petrus knew my mother.”

Slán's eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “You knew Arelwin, man of the Light?” She asked.

Petrus exhaled a pained sigh, the shadow of sadness crossing his face. “I did.” He murmured with a deep frown of sorrow. “I… attempted to provide solace for her while she was imprisoned. Arelwin gave this necklace to me to give to her child, and I passed it on to Arline’s adoptive mother.” He explained, his voice tinged with remorse.

Slán's gaze shifted back to the amulet resting against Arline's neck, her eyes tracing the lines of the intricate design, softening as they lingered on the symbol of connection between her sister and her niece. “It looks familiar. Your father had given it to your mother when they bound... It’s good that you are wearing it today!” Her voice faltered, laden with emotion, as she looked directly into Arline’s eyes. “My poor, beloved Arelwin, who died far away from us all... Andevaurshd tír se! I still miss her so much!” She confessed, her voice breaking under the strain of her grief.

Petrus's entire demeanour collapsed. His posture, usually so upright and composed, slumped forward, his hands, typically steady and precise in gesture, trembled visibly, his breathing grew ragged, punctuating the tense silence before he began to speak. “I... She wanted me to help her die.” His voice cracked under the weight of his confession. “But I was unable to do such a thing... Someone would have figured it out, I would have been sent back to Thélème and I would have lost everything.” His eyes, typically sharp and clear, brimmed with unshed tears, glistening in the flickering light of the fire. “So I watched her suffer and one day… she was gone...” His voice broke with sorrow, and the lines on his face, etched by years of service and secrecy, deepened.

Arline's eyes widened in disbelief, her voice tight as she responded, her own emotions roiling. “Petrus, I cannot hold it against you for letting her live!” She protested. The vision of her mother so desperate to beg for the mercy of death deeply disturbed her.

Petrus buried his face in his hands, his body heaving with silent sobs. “You don’t understand... I loved her.” His voice was barely audible above the crackle of the fire. “I loved her, and I didn't even have the strength to end her suffering. She’s the only woman I have ever loved.”

Arline, taken aback, struggled to process this revelation. “I... I never would have guessed...” She stammered.

Slán stepped closer, her expression softening as she laid a gentle hand on Petrus's trembling shoulder. “Everyone loved Arelwin. She was marvellous... You cannot blame yourself, man of the Light.” She said gently. “And you have brought her daughter back to us. For that alone, she would forgive you if she were among us.”

Slán and Reván welcomed them to join their fireside, offering bowls of steaming local delicacies and filling the evening air with the haunting melodies of bone flutes, forging bonds of kinship and warmth under the starlit sky. Arline felt a profound connection forming to this place and its people, her people, who had every reason to distrust her but didn’t.

As the fire crackled before her, Arline sat ensconced in the warm embrace of her newfound family, her heart awash with a cocktail of emotions—relief, belonging, and an acute sense of longing. Here, by the firelight, with the night's chill held at bay, she found an unconditional acceptance. Here, she didn’t need to prove her worth or defend her choices; her existence and her choices were validated by nothing more than her presence and her open heart. She realized just how long she had yearned to cast off the shackles of societal expectations. This was what she had been seeking all along.

Holding Kurt's hand, she felt a rush of gratitude. Back in New Sérène, their union would draw sidelong glances and whispered judgments, her status as a legate the only shield against outright scorn. But here, under the expansive sky of her ancestral home, love required no justifications. It was the purest form of acceptance. Kurt's fingers tightened around hers, a silent affirmation of their shared journey away from the stifling constraints of high society.

Reflecting on the past two weeks since they had quietly declared their love, Arline realized just how exhausting it had been to cloak their relationship in secrecy. She had always endured judgment—from her physical appearance and attire, through her interests and pursuits to her unwed status and untraditional education—all had been a relentless pressure. But here, by this fire, with the gentle night air mingling with the scent of burning wood and earth, she could simply be Arline—loved, accepted, and free.

This newfound freedom filled her with a resolve to not only cherish but to deserve the trust and acceptance of her newfound family. They had embraced her without a second thought, despite their sufferings at the hands of her other kin. She was determined to honour that trust, to be worthy of it in every action she took henceforth.

Petrus ambled away from the warmth of the fireside, his posture suggested he felt out of place amid the celebratory atmosphere. As his figure shrunk into the shadows cast by the flickering flames, Arline lightly tapped Kurt's knee before she hastened to catch up with him.

“Petrus...” She called out, her voice echoing slightly in the cool night air. “I wanted to thank you.”

Petrus halted, his silhouette outlined by the moonlight, and turned to face her with a puzzled expression. “Thank me? Despite everything you know about me?” His voice carried a mix of resignation and disbelief.

Arline exhaled a heavy sigh. “You may have been cowardly in the past, to the point of letting the woman you loved suffer. You were manipulative and you lied to everyone,” As she spoke, Arline’s voice was steady but imbued with a gentle candour. “Including yourself.” She added. “But thanks to what you have told me, I have been able to find my family and my origins, and for that, I thank you.”

Petrus blinked rapidly, the moonlight catching the moisture in his eyes. “My child, what you’re saying touches me more than you can imagine...” He murmured, his voice low and rasped, tight with emotion. “At least I've done something good for once in my deceitful life... For you, and for her... I hope the Enlightened will remember this when I stand before him...”

Arline reached out to touch his arm in a gesture of comfort. “You do not need to go.” She assured.

Petrus cracked a small, sombre smile. “Thank you, but I believe this moment belongs to you and your new family,” he replied. His eyes briefly darted toward Kurt, a shadow of concern—or maybe judgment—flickering across his face, which he quickly masked by adjusting his stance, his posture a little too rigid, his jaw a little too tense.

Arline sighed, a bitter recognition in her eyes. There it was—the weight of societal expectations already clouding the simplicity of her newfound connections. She faced Petrus squarely, her gaze unwavering. “Speak your mind if you must.” She prompted, her tone steady despite the undercurrent of tension between them.

Petrus chewed on his cheek, a clear sign of his discomfort. “I just…” He paused to gather his thoughts. “My child, I truly want the best for you…”  He began hesitantly, his eyes reflecting a mix of concern and paternal affection. “This attachment you and Kurt have formed—it could bring you trouble. You're aware of this, no doubt?”

Pursing her lips, Arline nodded. “I am aware. You chose your career over love once. Would you make the same choice again?” She asked, her voice laced with a challenge.

Petrus's body stiffened, the question striking a nerve. “No.” He admitted, his voice a whisper of regret.

“Then speak no more of the trouble awaiting me.” Arline declared.

Petrus's frown deepened, his old habits of calculation hard to shake off as he persisted. “May I… ask what is the nature of this attachment?” He ventured cautiously.

Arline's nostrils flared slightly—a flash of irritation at the intrusion into her personal life. But she recognized the broader implications of such curiosity. The rest of society would be just as invasive in their inquiries. “You are asking if we are engaged.” She stated flatly, not bothering to mask her annoyance.

Petrus hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.” Petrus acknowledged, his voice low. “You stand to lose your position if you marry a commoner, but the stakes could be even higher if you are accused of... extracurricular relations.” He warned.

Arline's gaze was steely, her voice colder now. “Should such a rumour be spread by you?” She countered sharply.

Petrus shook his head immediately. “No, of course not.”

“Good.” Arline replied, her posture relaxing slightly. “It is my decision when and if I make the status of my relationship public. Right now, I have more pressing priorities.” She concluded, effectively closing the topic, her stance leaving no room for further discussion.  Petrus nodded, accepting her decision, though his concern lingered in the deep creases on his face.

As Petrus's retreating figure melded with the shadows of the night, Arline returned to Kurt beside the fire. Yet, the warmth of the flames couldn't dispel the chill of the conversation she'd just had. An unwelcome reminder of the complex world beyond the village—a world she was bound to return to, a world where her actions could sway the fate of many. The memory of Derdre's stinging question lingered—were the continentals truly her people? They would undoubtedly shun her if they knew of her heritage. She was a bridge built on secrets, allowed to stand only while veiled.

Kurt, sensing her turmoil, watched her closely, his eyes reflecting the starlight. “What's bothering you?” He asked, concern furrowing his brow.

With a heavy sigh, Arline gestured for them to find more seclusion among the silent domes that dotted the village, shrouded in night's embrace. They wandered away from the flickering firelight, their figures merging with the cool darkness between the domes. Their footsteps were muffled by the soft sand that lined the paths between the domes, the distant crash of ocean waves mingling with the rustle of leaves in the gentle night breeze. The gentle hum of the village night enveloped them, lending a secluded quietude to their conversation.

“I feel like an imposter.” Arline confessed, her voice low and conflicted. She traced a pattern in the dirt with her boot, avoiding his gaze. “Both as a native pretending to be a noblewoman and as a noblewoman pretending to be a native. I wish...” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I wish I could reveal the truth to the world. But so much depends on me being… Lady de Sardet.”

Kurt’s frown deepened as he took her hand, his thumb softly caressing her hand in an attempt to soothe her. “You've fought hard to gain the influence you have.” He reminded her, squeezing her hand slightly. “Do you not want it anymore?”

Arline paused, reflecting on her journey. She had indeed fought for her position, or so she had believed. Yet, the reality that her uncle had groomed her for this role from the beginning made her accomplishments feel less like her own. She had always desired the freedom and power to make a meaningful difference, not merely to serve as a decorative figurehead.

The night air was cool against her skin, and she shivered slightly, not just from the chill but from the weight of her own revelations. Kurt moved closer, his presence a comforting warmth. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into an embrace that felt like a safe harbour against her responsibilities. Arline leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, soothing the coldness of her doubts.

“I do.” She murmured, her voice a soft murmur against the whisper of the night wind. “I know my status is a privilege. But it is a burden too.” She searched Kurt’s eyes, an intense feeling overtaking her. “The secrecy.” She sighed. “I did not realize how taxing it was until I saw Slán embracing us both without a question.”

Kurt’s expression softened into a warm smile. “It was… a good feeling.” He whispered, but then his smile faded into a pensive frown, his expression clouding over with a hint of sadness. “But don’t worry about me in this, alright? I realize my happiness is a borrowed one.”

Arline felt a pang of fear clutch at her heart. Did he still have a bleak vision of his future? “What do you mean?” She asked, a tremor in her voice.

Kurt sighed, his breath a visible cloud in the cool air. “I’m sure the prince already has some dashing fops lined up to marry you.” He said, his tone a blend of jest and resignation. His shoulders slumped slightly. “But we will cross that bridge when we get to it.” He added, his smile not quite convincing.

Arline frowned, her mind racing as every fibre of her being rebelled against the thought. “That is very possible, you know him as well as I do. But…” She hesitated a moment, her heart skipping a beat as she considered her own move on the chessboard. “He sent me here still unmarried because he must have been desperate to use me. He will take a lot to keep me as a piece in his game. So instead of waiting for him to use me again in some marriage contract,” She bit her lip nervously pondering just how daring she was. “We can always pull the rug out from under him…”

“What do you mean?” Kurt asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Arline paused, her heart thumping against her chest as a swell of defiant courage mixed with fear surged within her. The stakes were high, not just for her heart, but for the life she had built. “We can wed.” She murmured softly. “What can he say? He is halfway around the world!”

Kurt took a short breath, his eyes widening as he processed her words. “Do—do you really mean what you just said?” His voice was low and tense. “I’m just an insignificant mercenary to him, a mismatch. You would surely lose your position as legate.” The moon cast a pale glow over the secluded space between the domes, illuminating Kurt’s astonished face, a storm of emotion in his grey eyes.

“He would certainly be furious,” Arline admitted. “And reprimand me… but I doubt he would do much else. Besides,” She said, a mischievous smile playing on her lips despite the rapid staccato of her heart. “We are doing a poor job indeed of keeping our relationship a secret. So…what do you think?” She asked, her shoulders tense with anxiety.

Kurt exhaled forcefully, his initial shock giving way to a radiant smile. “I think I'll be the happiest man in the world when I lead my bride to the altar.” His voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes reflecting a fierce determination that rivalled the starlight above. Arline's heart swelled with emotion as she mirrored his joyous expression, tears of happiness threatening to spill over. He embraced her, kissing her deeply, and in that moment, she felt the world fade away. She laughed against his skin, and he laughed with her, his happiness infectious. Suddenly, he swept her off her feet, swirling her around in an exuberant spin that made her yelp with surprise and delight.

“I love you so much.” Kurt whispered, setting her down but keeping her close.

“I love you too.” Arline responded, her voice a tender echo of his own. “Lunévienne's lantern,

As Arline and Kurt re-joined the circle, their hearts light and faces aglow with shared smiles that seemed to brighten the flickering flames, the gentle crackling of burning wood welcomed them back like an old friend. Laughter mingled with the melodic strains of bone flutes, and the savoury scent of roasted fish filled the air. Arline settled beside Kurt, her hand finding his in the warm glow of the embers. The tension that had knotted in her chest earlier began to unfurl again, replaced by a burgeoning sense of hope.

For the first time since her mother's devastating diagnosis, the future seemed not only bearable but bright. Constantin's condition was stable, she had discovered a family that embraced her without reservation, and she was on the brink of marrying for love—a dream she had scarcely allowed herself to consider amidst the rigid expectations of her past. As she leaned against Kurt, watching the sparks fly up into the starry sky, a profound gratitude washed over her. Here, with the rhythmic sound of the ocean whispering in the distance, Arline felt the pieces of her life clicking into place. She was, truly, incredibly lucky.