VoidHerald
patreon
Commerce Emperor Chapter 22: The Perfect Prince
🕑 Added 2023-09-05 07:39:19 +0000 UTCPrevious Chapter
-------
The verdant Windmoon shone high in the sky, and the Firemoon followed in its wake.
The latter was no more than a small red glow in a sea of darkness and stars for now, but it was growing larger and larger with each passing night. It would slowly push the Windmoon out of the sky and then fully replace it to herald a new summer.
The Arcane Abbey said that on the day she crafted the world, the Goddess sought a way to bring order and structure to time itself. So she crafted the four moons, each with a different artifact and overflowing with essence. However, the artifacts soon began to bicker over which moon should dominate the sky, as they were wont to do. The Goddess decreed that each artifact would hold dominion over a quarter of the year. For ninety days their associated moon would dominate the sky, with the others receding and waiting for their turn.
And so, the Goddess invented the four seasons. The Windsword, master of change and reason, would hold sway over spring; summer would belong to the Firewand and become a time for bravery and inspiration; autumn’s harvests would be blessed by the Earthcoin’s wealth and industrious spirit; finally, the gentle Seacup would preside over winter, the season of love and death.
What do the priests say about wars again? I mused. Ah yes. ‘The Windsword starts them, the Firewand wages them, the Earthcoin ends them, and the Seacup buries the dead.’
This civil war would begin in spring and continue over the summer, but I hoped it would end before autumn.
“It’s peaceful up there,” I told Alaire. We both laid atop the monastery’s ruined roof, our backs against stone and our eyes turned towards the stars above.
“I visit this place once a week, if I can,” Alaire replied quietly. “Recent events didn’t give me that luxury.”
“I can imagine.” I hardly believed summer was rearing its head already. “Is that why you refused to leave Snowdrift? To tend to these tombs?”
“Partly.” Alaire joined her gloved hands on her chest, her eyes staring at the stars above. “I need time to think.”
I could warrant a guess about what troubled her so much, and though I had reservations about potentially putting salt on a wound, I had the feeling Alaire dearly needed a sounding board.
“It was true, wasn’t it?” I asked. “What Florence said.”
Alaire’s jaw tightened in sorrow and disappointment. Unfortunately, I had guessed correctly.
“I had Cortaner interrogate my mother’s surviving nurses and those who tended to the convent.” Alaire’s voice broke slightly. “My grandfather had them put mercury in my mother’s food after a failed escape attempt.”
My fists tightened so much they could have shattered stone.
My opinion of the late Count Brynslow had already plummeted once I learned about how he had imprisoned his own daughter to avoid a scandal. The thought that he would poison his own child never crossed my mind. The very idea sounded so abhorrent, so cruel and cowardly, I could hardly imagine anyone going through with it. And unlike Benicio’s father, the Count didn’t need a demon’s whispers to cross that line.
I could hardly imagine what Alaire was going through. She had tended to her grandfather through his illness and all the way to his death, only to learn that the man whom she loved and admired drove her own mother to madness and death. She had been betrayed by her own flesh and blood. All those memories probably tasted bitter to her now.
“That’s awful,” I whispered. I struggled to find the right words to comfort her. “I’m… I’m truly sorry, Alaire.”
My friend did not cry, weep, or argue. She was too exhausted for any of that.
“My mother started the fire that destroyed this place,” Alaire said, waving a hand at the ruined convent. “She threw a candle at the library’s books and let the flames consume everything. I always spent my time in that room. Reading books and tales was my only way to imagine a world beyond these walls.”
I said nothing, letting her pour her heart out.
“When I learned of the fire, I wondered…” Alaire cleared her throat as if to suppress a sob. “Did my absence trigger a fit of madness? Would my mother have recovered had I stayed with her?”
“You can’t know,” I pointed out. “And even if you did, you can’t be blamed for it.”
“Mayhaps… but that thought wouldn’t leave my mind for years afterward.” Alaire’s hands clenched. “A part of me always wondered… if I had never been born…”
Don’t say it, I thought. For the love of the Goddess, don’t say it.
“If I had never been born,” Alaire whispered, her voice as raw as her words. “Would my mother still be alive?”
The sentence rang out like a curse between us. Years of guilt and a heavy burden of shame echoed throughout the ruined monastery and into the silent night. That terrible thought had been eating away at her heart for years like worms in an apple.
Alaire didn’t deserve to be haunted this way. She never did.
My silver tongue clicked between my teeth, my mind struggling to come up with the right answer, the warmest consolation the Archfrostian language could offer. And I came up short. I considered us friends, but no single conversation could hope to lift this curse off her mind. Nothing short of her mother’s ghost showing up to lift her spirit would truly change her heart.
When success was impossible, I could only do my best.
“Alaire,” I finally said, breaking the silence. “Will you forgive me if I answer your question with a metaphor?”
I took her lack of answer for a ‘yes,’ albeit not an encouraging one.
“Over the years, I have grown somewhat convinced that the human mind is a courtroom,” I said. “On one side, you have a lawyer called self-esteem. It’s the voice that tells you that all is right; that you are perfect, that you are loved, and that the world is yours alone. Sometimes that lawyer goes a bit too far. It tells you that you can do no wrong, that the people you hurt always deserved it, and that nobody in the world deserves to stand in your presence.”
Alaire heard my words, but I couldn’t tell if she truly listened to them. I pushed on nonetheless.
“Then there’s the prosecutor, the accuser. The voice who constantly criticizes you, who reminds you of your mistakes, tells you to do better, to be better.” The world would have been a far better place had the likes of Sforza paid more attention to their own prosecutor. “It’s often a good source of advice and your conscience, but when it goes too far it will start telling you that you are worthless, and that you are a failure who doesn’t deserve to live. Sometimes it speaks to you with someone else’s voice, your family’s or your friends’, but it’s always your words below it all.”
Alaire looked at me with a tired expression. “What are you getting at, Robin?”
“Almost there,” I promised. “Finally, you have a fickle judge that listens to these two voices and tries to find the right balance between them. The judge is you, Alaire.”
My friend’s jaw tightened, and no words came out of her mouth to answer me.
“Right now, I feel you’re listening a bit too much to your prosecutor and not enough to your lawyer,” I argued from the bottom of my heart. “I sincerely believe that this world would be a worse place without you in it. You’re not to blame for your mother’s suffering or the arson. Your grandfather is. It’s never a sin to be born.”
Alaire mulled over my words for a while. A part of her had to know that I was right; that she had acted with virtue and kindness in the face of lies and corruption. Even if she struggled with her self-doubts, her iron heart kept beating.
I hoped.
“If my mind is a courtroom,” Alaire asked softly, “then who is the jury?”
“Everybody else,” I replied. “Being part of a community means accepting others’ gaze and judgment. It’s the price we must all pay for a place to belong.”
“A place to belong…” Alaire scoffed. “When… When my grandfather chose me as his heir, I felt so… so proud. At long last, he had acknowledged me as a Brynslow.” She shook her head. “I had dreamed of that moment for years… when all the vipers who had called me a bastard would prostrate at my feet.”
And much like many dreams, it didn’t quite hold up to reality.
“Countess Brynslow had a nice ring to it once.” Alaire let out a long, morose sigh. “The title tastes like ash now. It reeks of blood. My mother’s and so many others.”
“It’s not the title that makes the person, but the person who makes the title,” I argued. “It takes great strength to withstand others’ judgment and stay true to yourself. Your grandfather was too weak and cowardly to do so. He would rather harm his own kin than suffer humiliation. Hate him or pity him, you’ll be a better ruler than he ever was.”
“But that’s the thing, Robin.” Alaire stared back at the verdant Windmoon. “I’m not sure I want to be Countess anymore.”
“You don’t have to be,” I replied. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
She scoffed. “I remember nearly throwing you out of my castle.”
“You did,” I confirmed with a chuckle. “But back then, I also offered to your grandfather to purchase Snowdrift.”
Alaire fell silent. I could imagine the gears turning in her mind like those of a clock rewinding time; reminiscing about old memories while examining them under a new light. Her grandfather had refused my proposal back then because he didn’t wish to disinherit his granddaughter, the last Brynslow. I had thought he might have cared for Alaire in spite of her origins, but now I realized that he simply wanted his house, blood, and honor to carry on beyond his death. Alaire had accepted the burden of nobility because she believed in honor and duty.
Would she change her mind now that had learned on which rotten foundations her noble house stood?
“My offer is still on the table, if you feel that this burden is no longer yours to carry,” I suggested. “I’ll give you a good price and you’ll keep your shares in the Frostfox Company. You could choose to disregard all these talks of nobility, marriage, and succession to pursue your old dreams of knighthood. Begin anew with a fresh start.”
Alaire considered my proposal, but to my surprise she didn’t appear keen on accepting it. “It’s a demon’s bargain,” she said with skepticism. “Too good to be true.”
“You know my mark will force me to deliver, right? By now you should know that I play fair.” I squinted at her. “Don’t you want to be happy, Alaire?”
Alaire sat in a fetal position, her arms around her raised knees. She rested her head on the latter, inhaling and exhaling the chilly night air.
“I’m afraid of having wasted years of my life on a lie.” Alaire cleared her throat after focusing her thoughts. “I’ve spent… I’ve spent so many years making my grandfather see me beyond my illegitimate birth and to live up to the Brynslow name. But I… I don’t feel proud of it anymore, Robin.”
"You haven't wasted your time at all," I said, trying to console her. "Look what you've accomplished. You've helped save this city twice, first from a Blight then from Florence."
Alaire shook her head. "You and the other heroes saved Snowdrift. I hardly did anything."
"Let's see…" I raised my hand and started to count. "You rallied this city's troops, fought a demon on foot, helped renovate Snowdrift after decades of decay, financed a fleet, defeated me in a sword duel…"
The latter drew a chuckle from Alaire, which I took as a good sign. "I guess I did."
"Do you know of many maidens of your age who accomplished in their life what you did in less than half a year?" Most noblewomen I’d met would rather waste their time on frivolities rather than helping their fellow man. "These years you regret so much have forged you into what you are today. You don’t have to be a countess to help Snowdrift, Alaire. Nay, you don’t even have to be a Brynslow. You just have to be yourself.”
Alaire held my gaze for a moment, her gray eyes flickering with amusement, and then let out a small laugh.
"What's so funny?" I asked her with a smile of my own.
"The way you speak." Alaire chuckled. "’Just be yourself.’ How can you say that with a straight face?"
Because I would rather see you laugh than cry. "Well, did it cheer you up?"
“I don’t know,” Alaire conceded. At least it was better than a ‘no.’ “Why are you trying at all?”
“Do I need a reason?” I scoffed. “You could say friendship is a trade. I help you feel better, you help me feel better. That’s all there is to it."
“Is that what’s going on with Eris too?” Alaire asked, changing the subject. “I saw you with her on that…” My friend frowned as she struggled to find the right word. “Balloon-boat?”
“Airship. Marika and I call it an airship.” Alaire gave me a blank look. “It is a good name.”
“It is a good invention,” Alaire replied, carefully avoiding taking a stance on the name debate. Curses, she had become a true politician. “Marika has outdone herself.”
“She has,” I confirmed. “The prototype is working well, and we’re considering ways to upgrade it further.”
I even planned to purchase Iremian runecannons through Eris, now that we had confirmed my power could teleport these famous essence-artillery pieces across borders. It might take a while, however. Irem was infamously protective of their weapons’ secretive creation process and understood that the likes of the Artisan could easily reverse-engineer it; they would no doubt desire a high price for these devices.
“As for Eris… she is a cat in a nun uniform. She comes and goes out of my life as she pleases.” I sighed. “I can’t build anything long-lasting with her, but it’s a nice distraction for now.”
“Is that all she and the Assassin are to you?” I detected a hint of reproach in Alaire’s voice. “Distractions?”
She had put two and two together when it came to Mersie and me. “I would prefer it if it became something more,” I conceded. “But Eris is clearly not ready to commit to anything yet. Perhaps not ever.”
Almost certainly never.
“As for the Assassin… it’s complicated.” Quite the understatement, if I said so myself. “She’s on a different warpath than mine, and I’m not sure they’ll align anytime soon.”
Alaire considered my words with a scowl. “I see…”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” I teased her lightly.
I regretted the joke the moment it escaped my silly mouth. Alaire’s eyes burned with anger.
“I am jealous,” Alaire replied, her voice brimming with frustration. “I am jealous of you.”
Her words hit me like a slap to the face.
“I am jealous that you can do all these things and not care what others think of you,” Alaire spat, her words oozing with venom. “That you can get away with flirting with my best friend, the future queen, in my presence, where others would have had their tongue ripped out. That you can master in hours what took me years. That you can travel across the world and magically step onto adventures I could only dream of. That you are free when I am not.”
My first instinct was to come up with a dozen arguments to angrily refute this, to tell her that she was wrong, that she was free too, that I didn’t relish fighting demons anymore than her, that my powers had limits and could kill me if I misstepped. Once upon a time, I would have thrown them back like daggers.
But this wasn’t a debate I had to win. Alaire wasn’t a foe I had to defeat, but a friend dealing with great pain and sorrow. Pouring more anger onto her would be no better than fuel Belgoroth’s Berserk Flame or put salt on a wound. It took all my willpower to hold on to these unspoken words and suppress my wounded pride.
When my mind failed me, I let my heart speak.
“I’m sorry, Alaire,” I apologized softly. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Alaire opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out of her throat. My apology had taken the angry wind out of her sails.
“I consider you a friend,” I said from the bottom of my heart. “A close one too. I know I’m not perfect, but I promise that all I want for you… is to make you happy. Because you deserve it.”
These were not the best words I could have come up with, but they were the ones I believed in the most. Alaire knew I meant them. Enough to listen and look aside in a brief moment of guilt and shame.
“It’s getting late,” Alaire said. A not-so-subtle way to say she didn’t want to pursue this conversation any further. “We should return to the city.”
“Sure.” She needed space and room to breathe. “I would give you a lift, but your ride is quicker than mine.”
Our airship wouldn’t compete with wyverns and pegasi anytime soon in terms of aerial speed and maneuverability. It would be better used for transporting cargo and passengers for now.
“I suppose Silverine and I could escort your ship to safe harbor,” Alaire mused as we rose back to our feet. “I will think about your offer, Robin.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied. “Do what you think is best. You can count on me whatever you choose.”
“I know.” Alaire cracked a genuine smile. “I know…”
I smiled back at her, and I would have left this place a happy man… had a light behind her not caught my eyes. A faùomoar glow coursed across the horizon.
A solitary silver shooting star flew through the night sky, traveling from the south to the distant east towards Mount Erebia.
I immediately recognized its aura and nature. After all, one such silver star had fallen on Ermeline to bestow Mersie with the power to kill… and a golden one had marked my hand with the Merchant’s symbol.
A vassal class was flying back to the Fatebinder.
This could only mean one thing.
A hero had perished.
—--------
The next day was supposed to start with a triumphant march towards Archfrost’s capital.
Last night’s ill-omen kind of interfered with the ‘triumphant’ part. By the time dawn reared its head beyond the horizon, rumors about the silver star had spread across half of Snowdrift. A cloud of gloom had fallen over the city.
Roland immediately called a council of heroes to the Black Keep to discuss the matter. We all answered the call with the exception of Eris, who couldn’t be found. Colmar arrived last with a folded scroll under his arm. The Alchemist’s body suit never showed many hints as to what he thought, but the way he looked over his shoulders as if expecting an ambush showcased his unnerved state.
I couldn’t blame him for being on his guard. Marika was on edge too, and Soraseo kept her hand on her sword at all times. We had all brushed with death often enough to learn that for all our powers, we were as mortal as any other human.
“According to Belarra’s intel, the Ranger, the Cavalier, and Druid were active in the area,” Cortaner informed me. “We can exclude the Ranger, since it is a major class, which leaves only the latter two.”
“If it’s the Cavalier, our spies in Walbourg will soon confirm it,” I replied. I didn’t fail to notice the spark of guilty hope in Roland’s eyes. While he felt ashamed of it, part of him knew the Cavalier’s demise would ease his own struggle to retake the rebel region. “What do we know of the Druid?”
“That they lived in the Arcadian Freeholds,” Cortaner replied. “Near the border with Walbourg, to be precise.”
Of course. I dearly hoped our colleague had perished from a natural death or accident, but all the people in this room knew better.
"Demons," Soraseo said with grim conviction.
"Likely, but not guaranteed," Colmar replied. "Any human assassin could have done the deed."
Marika crossed her arms, a scowl on her face. "Whoever or whatever did this is in the southwest."
"Many leagues separate Whitethrone from the Arcadian border, Lady Marika," Roland replied. "But we would do well to stay on our guards."
“I agreed,” I said. “Especially considering where the class returned to.”
The silver shooting star had moved back into the world a minute after returning to Erebia, which meant that the Fatebinder released the class as soon as it fell back into her hands. Witnesses observed it traveling back towards the Arcadian Freeholds, though where it landed—or rather, on whom—exactly was anyone’s guess.
Since Eris hadn’t returned either yet, I guessed the Fatebinder tasked her with both investigating what happened to the dead hero and identifying their successor. The Goddess knew how long that would take.
“Classes don’t simply choose people who fit their esoteric criteria,” I pointed out. “They also travel to places where heroes are needed. The fact that the lost class chose a new vessel near their dead predecessor’s last known location is worrying.”
“Trouble brews near Walbourg,” Roland confirmed with a nod. “We can investigate once we retake the capital.”
“Would Duchess Griselda let us approach her territory?” Marika wondered. Even though she was no politician, she could see the writing on the wall. “We have taken party for Your Majesty’s cause. Doesn’t that make us natural enemies?”
Roland squinted, a spark of hatred briefly flashing in his gaze. “We will deal with that witch in time, one way or another.”
How ominous, I thought. And premature. “We can discuss the matter after we retake Whitethrone,” I said. “Eris should return with more information by then.”
“Yes, of course.” Roland eased up a bit, the darkness in his eyes briefly vanishing. “We will continue with the plan as agreed. We depart within the hour.”
Our group split up soon after. Marika left to tell her son goodbye, while Soraseo and Roland went to meet with the soldiers in preparation for the upcoming march.
Colmar, however, remained behind. “Robin, Sir Cortaner, might I have a word in private?”
“Is this about the Knots?” Cortaner asked once we were all alone in the council room.
“Yes.” Colmar presented me with his scroll. “These are the blood tests’ results.”
“Oh, excellent. Your speed and talent never cease to astonish me, Colmar.” I grabbed the scroll and unfurled it. “So? Were our suspicions confirmed? Are the Leclerc line and Alaire related?”
I expected a ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ To my surprise, Colmar instead shook his head. “I’m afraid the situation is more complicated than it seems.”
Oh? How curious.
I quickly browsed through the document. Thankfully, unlike most scientists, Colmar had mastered the art of brevity and intelligible conversation. His notes were detailed, yet straightforward, recounting the essence-detection tests he put Alaire’s and Sebastian Leclerc’s blood samples through.
As for the conclusions he drew from the tests… Those I had to reread more than once. The first time, because I thought I had misunderstood; the second time, because I struggled to believe my own eyes.
This… this… I struggled to reconcile this information with the intel we had already gathered. This must be an error.
“Are you sure you haven’t made a mistake?” I questioned Colmar.
“I am,” my friend confirmed with a grim tone. “I reran the blood test half a dozen times, though I cannot explain the results myself.”
“Let me see,” Cortaner all but ordered me.
I handed him the scroll and let him read for himself. He did not reread the document more than once unlike me, though the way his hands tightly gripped the paper showcased his surprise and frustration.
The situation was far worse than I thought.
“I suppose Sebastian Leclerc never mentioned that detail when you interrogated him?” I asked Cortaner.
“He did not, which means our foes have found a way around my power.” The Inquisitor furled the scroll and returned it to Colmar. “How is this possible? Physically speaking?”
“I cannot explain it yet,” Colmar admitted. “Though I have my suspicions.”
So did I. My power could have achieved this feat. Demonic sorcery could explain this troubling information too.
“Should we tell Alaire?” Colmar marked a short pause. He no doubt shared my own doubts. “Should we tell Roland?”
“I don’t believe in keeping secrets, but I doubt he will believe us,” I replied. By the Goddess, I struggled to believe these findings myself. “And even if he does, the truth will destroy him.”
Cortaner crossed his arms in deep thought. “How is the prince still alive?” he wondered out loud. “Why is he still alive? And how could they hide this from my power?”
Considering the Devil of Greed was almost certainly a previous Merchant, I could imagine a dozen potential loopholes. Since Roland was still alive, one option stood above the rest to me.
“I have a hypothesis,” I said, glancing at Colmar. “Do you remember when I sealed the Count’s illness into a coin?”
“I do,” my friend replied. “The disease affected you the moment you touched it.”
“We know that the Devil’s Coins allow those holding it to make deals with the Devil of Greed, who purchases their souls in exchange for power,” I explained. “Now, if we consider that the Devil of Greed can propose other, lesser trades, such as purchasing memories and sealing them in an object…”
“This would create the perfect spies.” Colmar mulled over my idea and considered its implications. “Infiltrators who believe themselves loyal until the time is right.”
I nodded sharply. “If my suspicions are correct, these plants will not act against our interests for now. The trap is set, but it requires a trigger. Without the item holding their memories, these spies don’t even know that they are spies.”
“We should extinguish the Leclerc line immediately, while they do not suspect anything,” Cortaner suggested.
I immediately shot down the idea. “Besides the fallout and Roland’s reaction, I doubt they are truly powerless. Their deal with the Devil of Greed probably includes failsafes of some kind. Moreover, this situation presents another problem.”
“More of these infiltrators might hide among us,” Cortaner guessed. “We cannot assess how far the Knots have penetrated our ranks yet.”
“And interrogating the cultists that we identified won’t bring us closer to identifying the others, since they likely removed the information from their minds,” Colmar added. “If only we could force them to remember…”
“We don’t have to,” I replied. A plan formed in my mind, the risks as great as the potential rewards. “The Knots have spun an intricate web of deceit, so we’ll spin ours larger.”
We would turn the trap back against its makers.
For now, the three of us agreed to keep Colmar’s findings to ourselves. The Alchemist would remain in Snowdrift as planned, while it would fall to Cortaner and me to deal with our foes among Archfrost’s army.
“Looks like you will have a lot of work on your hands,” I told Cortaner. “Both as an inquisitor and as a bodyguard.”
“I can protect our Knight from spies and assassins,” Cortaner replied bluntly. “But I cannot protect him from himself.”
I feared as much.
I needed to tell Roland somehow. He had the right to know. However, I doubted my odds. If Cortaner’s own class couldn’t extract the truth, what other proof could we present? I believed Colmar’s findings because I trusted him without reservation. I doubted Roland would share my opinion. Even if he believed me, I feared his reaction. Our Knight struck me as the kind of person to answer betrayal with unfocused fury.
My best bet is to lay the groundwork and then catch our enemies in the act, I thought as I moved to chase after Roland. Caution must prevail.
As I suspected, I found the prince in the stables. Our Knight prepared to live up to his name by riding a white horse in shining armor. His squire Sebastian was present too. A shadow following the prince in public and private, helping him put on his equipment.
Damn it.
“Right on time, Robin.” Roland smiled warmly upon seeing me approach. “Will you ride at the front with me? I believe it would embolden our troops to see two great classes leading them side by side.”
“I would do it with pleasure.” The closer we were, the more likely our foes were to play their hand. “Might I have a word with you in private before we leave?”
“Of course.” Roland turned to his squire. “Sebastian, if you would prepare my steed until I return?”
“As Your Majesty wishes,” the man replied with a short bow. He looked like the perfect picture of faithfulness, with no shred of deceit and reeking of utter sincerity. If Sebastian Leclerc felt wariness at me taking his prince aside in an isolated horse box for a brief talk, he didn’t show it.
“What is on your mind, Robin?” Roland asked me once we were out of earshot.
Your squire is not what he seems, and we might have to kill him. I swallowed these words when I met Roland’s gaze and understood a key detail. Do I truly know this man?
So far, my only interactions with Roland have been brief and short. I understood Colmar and Marika, learned Mersie’s secrets, built a rapport with Eris and Soraseo over a long collaboration.
I couldn’t say the same for the man in front of me. While I considered myself a good judge of character, I had only ever seen the carefully crafted princely image Roland portrayed in public. I believed his inner self matched the social mask he wore on the outside… but overconfidence was a slow and insidious killer.
I’d better test the waters first.
“Please forgive my bluntness, but in this case I have the intuition that honesty will save you all a great deal of trouble.” I thought about half a dozen flowery ways to broach the subject, then settled for straightforwardness. “I know about your affair with Sebastian Leclerc.”
Prince Roland’s entire face turned a bright shade of scarlet. “Robin, I would rather that you keep this to yourself.” A wiser man would have denied it. “What do you want in return?”
That was the most awkward bribery attempt I had ever seen, and the most pitiful. His first instinct was to believe that I wanted to shake him down.
“Everyone who broached the subject tried to blackmail you over it,” I guessed. “Or worse.”
Roland’s silence spoke more than any word. Unfortunately, it did not surprise me. Unlike places like the Riverland Federation, where wealth mattered more than anything, Archfrost’s society ran on names and bloodlines. Considering Roland was the last king’s last direct heir, information about his private proclivities could greatly damage him.
“I’m wounded that you would think that of me,” I said with the utmost sincerity. I wasn’t above blackmailing my foes, but a fellow hero? “Who you’re sleeping with is your business alone–”
“It’s not,” Roland cut in bitterly. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation otherwise.”
“It should be your business alone as far as I am concerned,” I corrected myself. This discussion was off to a terrible start. “I am not here to judge or admonish you. I am simply concerned for you and Therese.”
Which was true, in more ways than one. I worried for their future happiness and their lives.
Roland let out a heavy sigh. “How did you know?”
I suppressed a laugh. “You haven’t been exactly subtle, Roland.”
“I suppose I have lowered my guard lately,” Roland admitted. “I’m usually more careful, but being in the company of other heroes… It makes me feel safe, I suppose. That I can breathe easier. Be myself.”
This man’s never had friends, I thought, my heart filled with pity. Not a single, genuine one. No wonder he struggles to trust anyone.
“You didn’t tell Therese the truth,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
Roland guiltily avoided my gaze. “I suspect she already knows.”
“Even so, Roland, it would be better to tell her. Especially since you’re expected to share a lifetime together.” When the prince failed to answer, I prayed to the Goddess for any hint as to how to salvage this situation. “What do you think of Therese? Be honest.”
“She is a… a fine and well-bred lady.” Roland cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “She will make a good queen.”
If he was already struggling to complement his own fiancé, it didn’t bode well for their marriage. I pitied them both. “You’ve never wanted to marry her.”
“It is not a question of what I want to do, Robin, but what I must do.” Roland straightened up, his back straight as a bowstring. “I am the crown prince of Archfrost and its future king. Some say I was born to rule, but in truth I was born to serve. My life’s path has been decided since I first drew breath. I’ve had no more choice in selecting my wife than in wearing the crown.”
Somehow, I felt like talking to Alaire all over again. These two were more alike than I imagined.
No, scratch that. I had felt strangely fond of Roland since the moment I met him. Now I knew why. He had subconsciously reminded me of Alaire and her struggles.
“I’m a romantic at heart,” I confessed. I wouldn’t struggle so much to find the right person otherwise. “Perhaps it’s naïve of me to say that, but I think you and Therese both deserve more than a loveless union. There has to be a better path.”
“And who among us is free to choose his own path?” Roland shrugged. “You no more than I.”
“You are free,” I argued. “If you want to cast aside your crown and put it on your uncle’s head, you are free to do so. Others will grumble and there will be consequences, but the choice is yours. The same way I chose to stand with you.”
Roland raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”
I scoffed. “I’m here, am I not?”
“But did you truly decide on your own?” Roland met my gaze. “Think about it. What were the odds that the Merchant class would choose someone like you? Before the mark came to you, what did you achieve? Did you write a contract that changed the world, or found a business that transcends nations? Perhaps you always had the potential to do great things, but you never showcased it to the world.”
“My time hadn’t come yet then,” I replied, though his words did plant a seed of doubt in my heart. If I hadn’t received my mark, Sforza would have likely caught up to me anyway. Would I have survived a fight with the demon without Eris’ help? I wanted to believe I would have, but I was humble enough to understand I had been lucky.
“I have never done anything knightly myself,” Roland confessed. “I am well-born, that is true, but I have never won a tournament, slain a dragon, or rescued a fair maiden. I couldn’t fathom why my own class selected me. But now that I have met so many of you… I believe I understand now.”
He’s more thoughtful than I expected, I thought. Especially for his age.
“I have studied your history, Robin.” To my greater surprise, Roland proved rather well-informed. “You came from Ermeline but always intended to return to Archfrost, met the Assassin, confronted the Knots, and grew aware of the threat they posed. Quite a few coincidences, don’t you think?”
“These are not coincidences,” I confirmed. I had already guessed as much when I met Marika and Soraseo on my way to Snowdrift. “The marks guide us, that’s a fact.”
“But have you ever considered that we do not wear our classes? That instead, our classes wear us?” Roland pointed at the mark on my hand. “That the Merchant class chose you because it knew you and the Assassin would naturally cooperate and that you would meet other heroes on a journey that would lead you to confront Belgoroth? That you were not selected for any quality or feat, but for being in the right place at the right time for all the right reasons?”
I wanted to laugh at his points, and I failed to. I had never considered this line of thought. Most probably because I didn’t want to. I hated the idea of being bound by anything, even my own mark.
“Or our classes chose us because we were the right people for the job,” I countered. The Demon Ancestors had more than proved how much that choice mattered.
Roland remained unconvinced. “The truth is, Robin, I believe our classes would work just as well in the hands of the exceptional as in those of the mediocre. We are no more than vessels for the powers dwelling within us. Who can say that they do not influence us? That we think our own thoughts are instead stage whispers meant to keep us on the right track?”
I didn’t expect such cynicism from him. Nor for his words to leave me so unsettled. “We are more than our classes, Roland,” I said what I wanted to believe, “No more than they can solve all our problems.”
“I would like for you to be right about the first part, Robin, but I am not so sure,” Roland replied. “Who would you be without your power? What would your life have been? Would you have accomplished a thousandth of what you did in Snowdrift?”
“No,” I confessed without losing heart. “But I would still have tried to change the world. I would still have made my way to Snowdrift and I still would have tried to save it from destruction.”
“But would you have succeeded?” Roland smiled sheepishly. “I do not mean to demean your abilities, but if–”
“You could turn the whole world into a bottle with ifs,” I interrupted him. “There is little to gain in reminiscing about roads not taken.”
“Mayhaps.” Roland pointed a finger at his own golden mark. “Do you understand how the Knight’s power works, Robin?”
“It allows you to master any weapon, or so I was told,” I replied. “Though I assume there is more to it?”
“Words are weapons, and conversations are a battlefield,” Roland explained. “Whenever I open my mouth, I must struggle back against the urge to say the most hurtful things imaginable. I do not always understand why the sentences my power suggests will harm someone’s spirit, yet I can feel it will deep in my bones. I must measure each word I speak.”
I shuddered as I considered the implications. Much like my Merchant class, the Knight’s power worked on a conceptual level. Perhaps all seven major classes possessed this same quality. Whereas vassal classes were relatively limited, ours transcended the rules of reality and only followed their own logic.
“My class wants to fight,” Roland declared. “It exists for battle, just as yours breathes commerce. I assume you have no choice but to stay true to a trade once you agree to it, whether you want it or not.”
“You’re quite insightful, Roland,” I complimented him. “But while I’m forced to comply with a contract, I’m still the one drafting it.”
“Yet your history determines the words you will write, as my station compels me to behave a certain way.” Roland sighed. “I understand the responsibilities I bear, both as a Knight and crown prince. I will…” He cleared his throat. “I will do my duty and produce an heir to the throne of Archfrost.”
A prospect that appeared to frighten him more than the Demon Ancestors. “What of Sebastian?”
“I’ve…” Roland blanched a bit, his eyes filled with sorrow. “We’ve already discussed the… the matter. I shall stay true to my wedding vows and… end this.”
My heart broke. “You love him.”
“Yes, I do,” Roland replied without hesitation. “He has been my friend and truest companion. I hope to keep him at my side even after I am crowned king.”
He said that with such an earnest, gentle voice too… I didn’t think I’d ever pitied anyone more than him at this moment.
“I have lived like this for as long as I can remember, Robin,” Roland declared. “Archfrost is a divided land. A country that has suffered from a great many terrors. Its people, our people, need a symbol to rally around, an icon to gather their hopes and unite them in communion. A perfect king who can mend the realm’s wounds.”
“You intend to carry a great burden,” I argued. “A weight too heavy for one man to carry.”
“Hence why I would like you to fight at my side.” Roland smiled warmly. “I would feel lighter with someone of your virtue at my side.”
For all of his cynicism and fatalism, he still managed to keep a seed of innocence. How could I deny him? I couldn’t let him down. Not now, not ever.
“I can’t promise we will always see eye to eye,” I replied with a smile of my own. “But… I will have your back.”
I would protect Roland, even from himself.
Especially from himself.
--------
Comments
George R
Thanks for the chapter
Void Herald
Roland could sell a throne if he wants, but well, that also leads to a lot of other issues (inheritance, acceptance of other nobles etc...). I mean they're currently marching to avoid someone else trying to claim it by force :)
Diego Urbina
You know...if he can buy titles. Can't Roland sell him the throne? Kind of seems you're trying to imply that here, might be unintetional, but you seem to be quite adept at these things. Might just be an intentional red herring too. Commerce Emperor makes alot more sense that way too.
