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Commerce Emperor Chapter 19: The Aftermath
🕑 Added 2023-08-08 07:26:46 +0000 UTCPrevious Chapter
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Of all the ways I expected to end this evening, managing an infirmary with Marika wasn’t one of them.
“We’re losing him,” my fellow hero observed as she extracted essence from a patient—a frothing butcher from the northern side of town who struggled against the chains holding him to the operation table with maddened rage. “Can you quicken your pace?”
“I’m trying,” I replied while guiding our man’s corrupted essence into a runic whetstone. Though I was growing better at it, I struggled with our current case.
There was a reason why essence transfers between humans were frowned upon. Unlike weapons, which at the end of the day were mostly pieces of metal shaped a certain way that would maximize their deadliness, humans were intricate webs of fear, anger, joy, sadness, and countless other emotions. Each man was a story of their own.
Hence it meant that no witchcrafter could cleanly extract a piece of human essence without affecting the rest. Taking away anger-suffused essence meant ripping out related memories and emotions that bled into it. Marika was good, very good; but the essence she extracted and tasked me to transport to safely held more than gas and fury. I felt the taste of blood and leather on my tongue, and the smell of fire in my nose.
At least our current patient would survive with all his limbs intact, though perhaps not without guilt. Guards had found him butchering his neighbor with an ax before restraining him.
Though we had won a resounding victory tonight, it had come at a cost. The northern watchtower pyre had time to spread its poison to three streets worth of civilians before Roland could bring it down. It took us hours of sustained effort to restrain those who had inhaled the gas and rescue those who hadn’t.
I had healed as many people as I could with my power, buying the gas suffusing their lungs and sealing it away in trinkets. We had accumulated a wide pile of wooden sticks carrying enough rage and chemical substances to start a riot.
However, my power required consent; which not all our patients could provide. Once the effects of Florence’s gas reached its apex, its victims could hardly string words together. We tried to obtain forced signatures from them by literally holding their hands and guiding their quills over a contract, all in vain. My power might not care much for intentions, but it still regarded agreement obtained by body manipulation as illegitimate.
I closed my eyes and focused on the task at hand. The flow of essence appeared as a scintillating cloud to me, a flow of colored fumes floating out of our patient’s mouth at Marika’s coaxing. I grabbed the simmering substance with my hands as if it were solid and held on to it. It fought back against my grip like a snake, hissing with demonic wrath. I slammed it against the nearby whetstone, then removed my hand before the curse could cling to me.
Our patient loudly exhaled, his head tilting to the side with empty eyes. He was still frothing at the mouth, but he no longer fought back against his bindings.
“That takes care of this one,” Marika noted before glancing at the Black Keep’s infirmary. Half a dozen nuns from the Arcane Abbey tended to twice as many patients sleeping on makeshift beds. “Colmar hasn’t returned yet.”
“He must have his hands full with Alaire,” I replied, my tone breaking slightly. Florence and Chastel had left our dear countess in a critical state. Considering her condition, we decided to let Colmar fully focus on her while we dealt with the civilians.
Marika and I weren’t the only heroes in the infirmary. Eris often hopped in with medical supplies, while Roland sat next to a woman, holding her hand while whispering kind words. His squire Sebastian followed him like his shadow and observed the scene with sympathy. He whispered words into his liege’s ear and often put his hands on Roland’s shoulder to comfort him. Those two were close. Closer than what was proper considering their respective stations.
I suppose Roland takes his peace where he can find it, I thought. Roland had lived most of his life surrounded by either foes or sycophants. He probably cherished the few true friends he had made.
However, Sebastian’s words hardly seemed to help. The prince appeared truly exhausted as he held on to the patient’s hand, his eyes down. I could tell that he blamed himself for what happened tonight.
I couldn’t stand the sight for long. After confirming our current patient was stable, I moved to the prince’s side. Roland’s squire appraised me with a strange look. On one hand, he trusted me enough to approach his liege; on the other, I could tell he remained wary, his hand ready to draw his sword at a moment’s notice.
He has been defending his prince from harm for a long time, I guessed, and never allows himself to relax.
“You’ve done your best, Roland,” I said, and I meant it. “The city still stands, and casualties were kept to a minimum.”
Roland’s expression darkened. “People still died, Robin.”
“A few,” I conceded. “But fewer than those who would have perished without your help.”
Marika, who had overheard the conversation, moved over and quickly joined in. “If you hadn’t intervened, the watchtower pyre would have reduced all of Snowdrift to a wasteland.”
The prince stared at the woman in the infirmary bed. She had fallen into a peaceful sleep, though the bandage over her left eye showed she wouldn’t recover from some of her injuries. Perhaps I could help her if I found a criminal willing to trade away an eyeball… but that would have to wait.
“It was awful,” Roland confessed with sorrow. “I had to cut down innocents. My own citizens.”
It was one thing to cut down monsters and villains, and another to slay men and women driven to madness against their will. “You did your best,” I insisted, waving my hand at the wounded sleeping around us. “These people are alive today because of you.”
Roland’s squire awkwardly patted his liege on the back. “He’s right,” he whispered to Roland. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. You did not start what happened tonight, but you helped end it.”
His words helped Roland move away from his sadness, though the dark look in his eyes told me he had simply let his anger push away his sorrow instead.
“I want that woman executed, Robin,” Roland said with an angry frown. “Her kind deserves no forgiveness. They’re monsters. They will regret the day they chose to defile the land of Archfrost.”
Believe me, oh prince, I feel the same, I thought. But I can’t let you chop off heads right now. “We need to interrogate Florence first,” I pointed out. “As the Knot of Wrath’s leader, she is privy to information we need. Her faction’s plans, the identity of cultist allies in your government…”
“She might be the key to contain the Blight too,” Marika added, her jaw clenching. “Since she helped create it.”
Roland clenched his fists, his mind clearly hesitating between reason and the satisfaction of seeing Florence’s head fall off her shoulders. In the end, the prince proved wise enough to delay his gratification.
“Robin, I will surrender Florence to your and Alaire’s care for now,” he said. “Do with her as you wish, so long as she never sees the light of day again.”
“That has never been in the cards,” I reassured him. The best Florence could hope for was life imprisonment.
“Good. We already have too many traitors running around.” Roland joined his hands, his face thoughtful. “What of Baron Dolganov? Has he been caught yet?”
“He’s missing,” his squire replied. “According to the guards, he and his men escaped the city while we fought off the arson attempts.”
That was odd. Baron Dolganov had joined a demonic insurrection against his sovereign. He couldn’t possibly expect to survive this mess with his title intact if it failed. Once a gambler had put all their chips on the table, the only option was to go all-in and pray for the best.
Unless… I exchanged a glance with Roland, who frowned back.
“He went to my uncle, the Regent,” Roland guessed. I nodded in confirmation, having reached the same conclusion. “I can see his fingerprints all over tonight’s disaster. He hoped the demons would do his dirty work.”
Duke Clovis, the regent of the realm… somehow he struck me as the exact kind of fool the Knots would want to prop up.
“You believe he will revolt soon,” I told Roland. It wasn’t a question, but a fact. “And you want to strike at him before it degenerates into a civil war.”
“I always intended to march back against my own capital, Whitethrone,” Roland admitted. “My uncle Clovis staffed it with his men and used his position to beggar the realm. My hope for today’s ball was to gather an army to depose him. I have secured my other uncle’s support and enough troops, but…”
Marika scowled. “You need our help.”
Roland nodded slowly. “This battle would end quicker if we heroes stand together,” he said while rising from his seat, a hand on his chest. “Please, my friends. I need your help. Archfrost needs your help.”
“You can count on my support,” I replied immediately. “But protecting Snowdrift has been my main priority for a while. I cannot leave it behind undefended.”
“Yes, of course.” Roland nodded quickly. “We can discuss how to proceed tomorrow, though I must warn you trouble in the capital will mean the same for this city.”
He was right, unfortunately. Losing Archfrost’s capital would cause the entire country to spiral into a new war. I might serve Snowdrift better by ensuring a smooth transition of power.
“I am not a general, let alone a good soldier,” Marika said with less enthusiasm. “But I can hardly deny a prince’s request.”
Roland cracked a smile. “I make this request as a fellow comrade-in-arms, not as a ruler. I hope we can work together without titles and social status getting in the way.”
I already heard these words uttered by nobles who did not believe a single word of it; the Riverland’s gentry made a show of portraying themselves as close to commoners in public, only to better fall into mockery and debauchery behind closed doors.
I didn’t sense a shred of falsehood coming from Roland. His eyes shone with the sincere innocence of a man who truly believed in a better future for all. I could simply feel his earnestness. He meant what he promised, though I wondered if he could deliver it.
If he can back up his talk, then we’re going to get along great, I thought with a smile before shaking his hands. “Let’s build a better Archfrost together.”
“We share the same wish, Robin,” Roland replied warmly, before shaking Marika’s hand next. “You should go rest, my friends. The night has been long and dawn will soon rear its head.”
“My lord would be wise to listen to his own advice,” his squire teased him lightly.
“Perhaps,” Roland conceded with a sigh of exhaustion. “If you would kindly show me around, Sebastian. I can hardly remember which room is supposed to be mine.”
After a few last goodbyes, I watched on as Roland’s squire guided the prince out of the infirmary, the two exchanging a chuckle over some joke I couldn’t overhear. The way this Sebastian helped his exhausted prince walk, the light in Roland’s eyes… I was starting to see where the rumors Therese heard came from.
If they were true… it wouldn’t bode well for our future kingly couple.
Marika put her hands on her waist once we were alone, her lips twitching. A question burned on the tip of her tongue, but she dared not ask me.
“I didn’t see your husband,” I replied, knowing what weighed on her mind. “No one who matched his description anyway.”
“You think he could be in the capital?” she asked me, her jaw tightening. “Or Walbourg?”
“I can’t say yet, but it seems likely to me.” I had expected the Knot of Wrath to deploy all its forces to Snowdrift, but it seemed Florence chose against committing all of her organization’s resources to the task. Dolganov’s absence suggested some of her men were sent south to exacerbate the upcoming civil war. “And we still have the Knot of Greed to deal with.”
Florence’s capture would be a terrible blow to her cult’s activities, but its remnants would continue to cause us trouble in the coming months. At least Snowdrift appeared safe for the time being. Soraseo went to the Blight to check on its seals, though the fact it hadn’t grown meant the Knot had failed to strengthen the curse.
“I’ll go check on Alaire and Florence,” I told Marika. “You should go to Benicio. I’m sure he’s worried for you.”
Marika chuckled. “My son does not worry when I’m with you,” she said. “He knows we watch each other’s backs.”
I cracked a smile in response. It felt good to be someone’s hero.
After leaving the infirmary and splitting from Marika, I hardly made a few steps before encountering Alaire and Colmar in a corridor. The former’s arms were encased in twin white casts hanging from her neck with bandages. Alaire looked more exhausted than I had ever seen her, with a grim face, pale skin, and heavy eyelids, but the fact she managed to stay awake and stand with her injuries was nothing short of a miracle.
I did not comment on her quick recovery or her resilience. She was too exhausted to care. Instead, I wordlessly opened my arms and welcomed her into a hug. Alaire let out a small noise of surprise at the sudden embrace, but she swiftly relaxed and let her head fall on my shoulder. She welcomed my attempt at comfort, not caring if any gossiper saw us. Colmar observed us without a word, his glass eyes glancing at Alaire’s arms to ensure I would not press against them too much.
“You’re feeling better?” I asked Alaire softly while stroking her hair.
“I feel better now,” Alaire replied calmly, though I detected a hint of redness on her cheeks.“Is Silverine–”
“Alive, if wounded,” I reassured her. The pegasus was a robust beast. “It will take her time to recover before she can fly again, though.”
Alaire’s lips twitched into a small smile of relief. “Colmar told me he had to shoo you away from my bedside.”
“I admit I was worried for you.” I released her, my eyes looking into her pale gaze. “And not just because of your wounds.”
Alaire scowled. “I need to know if she spoke the truth.”
If my father is truly a member of the Knots, went unsaid. I nodded at her and exchanged a glance with Colmar. We too had questions of our own.
Once we had captured Florence and properly restrained her, we surrendered her to Cortaner for interrogation. The Inquisitor had been holding our prisoner in the dungeon for hours now. He must have gathered a wealth of intel since.
The three of us prepared to move into the dungeons when a familiar face popped up in a cloud of smoke.
“How is it going?” Eris let out a yawn of exhaustion as she materialized. She had been running around all night to transport messages and supplies. “Should you be out of bed already, dear Alaire? You look deader than some ghosts I’ve met.”
I glanced at Colmar from the corner of my eye, who did not react. Of course Eris knew, I thought. Eris keeps everybody’s secrets.
“I cannot rest while my city is under threat,” Alaire replied with a countess’ countenance. Her spark had returned. “What is the situation outside?”
“I came back from the Gilded Wolf,” Eris explained. “Gunndra and Soraseo secured the site. The cultists made a push to break the seals, but failed to get past the barricades.”
“Then the Blight is contained for now?” I asked.
“Yes and no.” Eris chewed her lower lip. “The Blight has stopped expanding into the suburbs, but it is now progressing downwards.”
“Downwards?” Colmar crossed his arms. “Is the Blight digging a tunnel?”
“Of course not,” Eris replied with a deadpan look. “The Blight is digging floors and dungeons. Dear Gunndra believes it is spreading its roots, so to say. That it seeks to connect to something.”
“Like another Blight?” I asked, an ugly picture starting to form in my mind. “There must be others across Archfrost.”
“Possibly,” Eris conceded. “Though if I had to hazard a guess, I bet the Blight is trying to connect to its source.”
To Belgoroth, the Lord of Wrath. Our true enemy. The likes of Florence were only pawns on a board.
“Where is the Lord of Wrath sealed?” I questioned Eris. “He is not yet free to do as he wishes, or he wouldn’t need cultists to do his dirty work.”
“You must be familiar with the Archfrostian Spring, Robin,” Eris said. I nodded in confirmation, as did Alaire and Colmar. “This famous battle saw the most esteemed generation of heroes confront the dragon Xernobog in an ancient city’s ruins. The battle was so fierce that it created a rift between life and death.”
“You speak of the Deadgate,” Alaire guessed with a frown.
Colmar nodded slowly. “If I remember correctly, the Lord of Wrath destroyed an entire city on his lonesome.”
“You catch on quickly, Colmar,” Eris complimented him. “The Blight that arose from that atrocity is called the City of Wrath. It lingers in the desolate icy expanse north of Archfrost. Xernobog used it as his nest.”
“We shall meet again…” Belgoroth had warned us. “When the City of Wrath opens its gates… we shall toast to a cup of blood.”
“Belgoroth’s prison has weakened enough for him to spread his Berserk Flame to the world,” Eris said, “but he has yet to fully break out or take physical form.”
“How can you be certain?” Alaire asked.
“Because he would be marching on us at a beastmen army’s helm if he were,” Eris replied with a dry smile. “The Lord of Wrath requires no help nor preparation to lay waste to the world. The tales describe him as the most destructive of the Demon Ancestors, behind the Lich of Gluttony and the Curse of Pride. Subtlety is the Devil of Greed’s domain.”
Florence’s plan became clear to me. “The Knots spread Blights to reroute essence to their masters,” I guessed. “Now that ours has failed to consume Snowdrift, it is trying to connect to the City of Wrath.”
“I will meet with Inquisitor Gunndra and Marika on how we can contain the Blight’s expansion,” Colmar said. “An idea came to me, though I must discuss with experienced witchcrafters to ponder its viability.”
“In my case, I must take my leave and report to Lady Alexios,” Eris replied with a wink. “Our dear prince will need her support in the coming conflict.”
“You should start charging for delivering mail,” I teased Eris. “You would make a fortune.”
“Robin, Robin… Nuns like us are paid in piety and smiles, not gold.” She blew me a kiss. “See you soon.”
And like that, she was gone.
The rest of us moved into the dungeons, its cells crowded with captured cultists or suspects. The deepest of them housed Florence herself. Considering the inquisitors’ reputation, I half expected to find her nailed to a wall or worse.
But Cortaner did not need torture to gain information. He had instead bound Florence with chains and used runestone-carved manacles to disarm her sorcery. Whenever she attempted to channel Belgoroth’s flame, the apothecary found her essence drained by the device.
Even so, Florence remained defiant when we entered her cell. I hadn’t seen her without her doctor’s mask since she murdered the count, and seeing her face again left me awestruck by its mundaneness. She was no wrinkled witch straight from a tale nor a demoness oozing with supernatural allure. Florence was simply a middle-aged woman with common features. I could have mistaken her for a baker’s wife, or a gentle nurse going on in her years. Only the cold edge in her green eyes betrayed her true self.
“Alaire,” Florence greeted the countess without any malice. Her expression harshened upon seeing us follow her. “Colmar, Robin.”
Cortaner, who had been writing down words in a black notebook, raised his head to look at us. “I have extracted a list of confirmed and suspected cultists from across the country,” he said without wasting time. “I need messenger birds to inform the proper authorities.”
“We shall spread word of your findings, Inquisitor,” Alaire replied, her eyes locked with Florence’s in a staring contest. “But I must request your assistance.”
The Countess of Snowdrift took a few steps towards her captive, who did not flinch. Alaire bent slightly so she could better look into the cultist’s eyes.
“Why did you kill my grandfather?” she asked Florence, spitting out each word with venom.
“Why did you kill Count Brynslow?” Cortaner all but ordered, his voice carrying the power of his class.
“I already told Alaire,” Florence replied calmly. I sensed no resistance against Cortaner’s magic. “The leader of the Knot of Greed, her father, ordered the murder as revenge for your mother’s death.”
“Lies.” Alaire’s scowl harshened further, a dark look on her face. “All lies.”
“This is the truth,” Florence insisted. “Count Brynslow drove his own daughter to madness to protect his family’s reputation.”
“She is sincere,” Cortaner said coldly. “Or at least, she believes she is. My power compels her to tell me the truth as she understands it.”
So victims tell a subjective truth rather than the objective one, I observed. Which meant they could still be mistaken.
“How would you even know that?” Alaire snapped back.
“I know because I helped autopsy your mother after her death,” Florence replied, a sneer on her face. “If you do not believe me, interrogate the nurses who worked at the convent. They poisoned your mother on your wicked grandfather’s behalf. He intended to take the secret to his grave.”
“You’re mistaken,” Alaire insisted, though I could tell doubt gnawed at her. “My grandfather… he was strict, but he treated me kindly. He would never… never do that to his own daughter.”
“Oh, he regretted his crime.” Florence scoffed. “Simply not enough to admit it.”
Cortaner let out a snort of utter contempt. “As you owned up to your own sins?”
Florence returned his glare. “I would never harm my own children.”
“Instead, you plotted to kill a thousand,” Cortaner replied without any sympathy. “You have no leg to stand on.”
“Why, Florence?” Colmar shook his head. “We’ve known each other for years. I watched you save so many lives. These murders aren’t like you.”
I detected a hint of shame in Florence’s eyes when she looked away. “Some lives aren’t worth saving, Colmar,” she said. “You should have learned that by now. You are a beastman… or were, once.”
Since Cortaner did not react in the slightest, I guessed Colmar had already told him the truth. Undeath must have been the crime the Inquisitor decided to overlook; they were sworn to destroy them on sight after all. As for the rest of us, we had witnessed Colmar lose his head and later put it back in place. His secret was out of the bag, at least as far as our inner circle was concerned.
“If death taught me anything, Florence, it is that life is a fragile flower that should be cherished,” Colmar replied calmly. “Beastmen or humans, it does not matter. We are apothecaries, not judges. Our role is to help others, not condemn them.”
“We hold the power over life and death,” Florence argued back. “When we save a fool’s life, their future acts will taint our conscience.”
“I have seen even the worst scum turn their life around in the proper conditions.” Colmar sent a brief glance at Cortaner, who remained stubbornly silent. “That person may then go on to save others, have children, build a house… you can never know what impact a life you save will have on the world, Florence.”
His sincerity appeared to shake Florence’s confidence, albeit briefly. “I believed the same once.”
“What changed then?” Colmar asked, though our prisoner refused to answer him this time. “Florence…”
“Why have you committed your crimes, witch?” Cortaner asked, his voice heavy with power.
I saw a flash of defiance pass over Florence’s face. She tried to resist Cortaner’s influence, but her attempt proved to be utterly in vain. Her tongue twisted in her mouth, and her face strained as a truth she had buried deep within her heart.
“Because you humans killed my son,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
The sheer sorrow in her voice caused Alaire to flinch. I opened my mouth to say a word, but then stopped and wisely decided to listen. The pain radiating off Florence was as deep as the sea.
“My son, Matteo.” Florence’s gaze was hollowed out of life as Cortaner’s magic compelled her to answer. Her defiance had faltered, replaced with deep sadness. “He was six when he changed. Unlike me, he… he couldn’t hide his true nature. I had lived in Mosswood for years. I saved my neighbors from cholera and helped their daughter give birth. But when they saw my son… gratitude didn’t stop them from hanging him to a tree and assisting the villagers in lynching him.”
My fists clenched on their own. I remembered the entries of Colmar’s diary and the treatment beastmen suffered in the Arcadian Freeholds; one of the few countries that even accepted them. I had never considered the point of view of beastmen before, not like this.
No one should be killed by virtue of their birth, I thought. I noticed Alaire’s glare softening a bit. She hated Florence for her crimes, but due to the prejudice she suffered as a bastard, a part of her probably sympathized with her enemy.
Colmar looked down at the ground. “I.. I am truly sorry to hear that.”
“Humans are beasts, Colmar.” Florence’s gaze hardened with resolve. “My gas, Lord Belgoroth’s breath, only reveals the ugliness they hide within themselves. They do not deserve this planet. It should belong to the Beastmen.”
Cortaner snickered. “Do you truly think your master will share the world with your kind?”
“No,” Florence confessed. “I hope he will, but I know I am lying to myself. Lord Belgoroth loathes Pangeal even more than I do. And I… I am fine with that. I want…”
She seemed to struggle to find her words, as if unwilling to accept the truth to herself. The Inquisitor’s power helped her formulate her inner thoughts.
“I want you to die.” Florence’s cold, calm tone terrified me. There was no life in it, no joy, not even a slight hint of satisfaction. Just a terrible serenity born of despair. “I want all of you to die. Then maybe I will feel at peace.”
I did feel a little sorry for her… but only a little. What happened to her son was awful, but it did not justify all the chaos and destruction she caused in the slightest. None of the people I had treated today deserved to lose their arms or neighbors to a torrent of madness.
Besides, at least one of her victims had tried to kill his own children in a fit of insanity. Raging at mankind for taking her son away and then inflicting the same trauma on others struck me as the height of hypocrisy.
Cortaner appeared to share my opinion. “Did any of the people who killed your son survive to this day?” he asked Florence.
“No,” she replied without any hesitation. “I’ve killed them all.”
“Has anyone living in Snowdrift committed a crime against you?” Cortaner continued.
Florence’s lips twitched. “No.”
“Then why did you launch an attack against this city?” Cortaner asked, his tone harsh and implacable.
Florence glared back at him, quiet fury bubbling back to the surface. “Because I want vengeance,” she said, her green eyes full of rage. “Because I want everyone to share my pain. Because I hate you. I hate you for what you are. Humans.”
“You traitors all have a gift for finding excuses,” Cortaner stated with a glacier’s coldness. “I am sick of them. You simply cannot face the truth: that you sin because you want to.”
Florence spat at the ground. “You are the one to talk, Inquisitor,” she said defiantly. “You, who fights your own goddess’ true chosen and the corrupt creations that she has forsaken. Once the true Knight returns, you shall know no peace.”
“Your so-called ‘true Knight’ is a demon unworthy of his power,” Cortaner replied without hesitation. “And you are a deluded fool to listen to him.”
“Enough of this,” Alaire snapped before recomposing herself. “You mentioned that my… my father commissioned you to kill my grandfather. How can you be sure it was him?”
“Answer this,” Cortaner ordered imperiously.
“Because he has told me,” Florence replied with a shrug. “I do not know his name or face. Knot leaders meet while masked and under false names, to prevent leaks. But he is your father, Alaire. He wanted you alive and returned to him. I am certain of it. He will carry on our work in Archfrost.”
“Which is?” I asked while Alaire mulled over this information. “How do you intend to free Belgoroth?”
Florence did not bother hiding anything. I suppose Cortaner already forced the information out of her. “Once the flames of war burn hot enough, we shall shatter his sword’s bindings and open the City of Wrath’s gates,” she whispered. “The dead will howl and madness will engulf the world.”
“That is why you needed to repair Belgoroth’s sword,” Cortaner guessed. “It is the key to your master’s cursed city.”
Florence nodded, a terrible smile on her lips. “The Berserker is coming for you all.”
Cortaner snorted, unimpressed. “If he does, we will destroy him.”
His sheer confidence forced me to feel admiration. Though I didn’t intend for things to progress so far. If we prevented Archfrost from sinking back into civil war and contained its Blights, we could sabotage Belgoroth’s escape. I hoped.
Something in Florence’s tale bothered me, however.
“When…” I took a long deep breath. Part of me feared to learn the truth. “When did your son die, Florence?”
Florence scowled. “Fifteen years ago.”
I felt Colmar’s eyes on my back, and my fists tightening. He knew as well as I that the Purple Plague started to spread from the frontier between Archfrost and the Arcadian Freeholds.
“You said you slew your son’s killers,” I said. “How did you accomplish it?”
Cortaner opened his mouth to compel Florence to speak, but she answered on her own with a smile on her lips.
“I found a garden beneath my hometown,” she said with a hint of dark satisfaction. “A spring of purple flowers whose pollen carries the kiss of death itself–”
My hands moved to seize her throat.
My sudden reaction startled Alaire, and Colmar took a step forward to stop me. Cortaner grabbed my friend by the shoulder before he could get any closer. Florence herself didn’t flinch even as I slammed her against the wall, my fingers trembling with anger.
“It was you,” I hissed between my teeth. “You spread the Purple Plague to Archfrost! To Snowdrift!”
“I did,” Florence replied calmly.
It took all my willpower not to strangle her on the spot. My hands held onto her throat. It would be so easy to tighten my grip and watch her choke to death as her lungs struggled to process air, the way my mother perished.
But unlike her victims, Florence would welcome her demise. I could see it in her eyes.
Childhood memories flooded into my mind. The corpses in the river. The purple spots spreading on my mother’s skin and the terrible agony that followed. The fear, the despair, the guilt… I remembered it all.
“Can you…” My voice broke from emotion. “Can you even fathom how many lives you’ve destroyed?”
Florence did not answer me this time. She held my gaze in silence, her eyes unblinking.
Cortaner cleared his throat, his power traveling through his breath. “Do you feel any guilt for this crime, witch?”
Florence faced the four of us. I, who had lost his home and parents to the plague she unleashed; Colmar, who had lost his very flesh to that pestilence; Alaire, whose grandfather she had murdered and whose city she attempted to destroy; and an inquisitor who wouldn’t hesitate to execute her on the spot if needed.
And when asked to answer for her crimes… Florence responded with an eerie, lifeless smile, and a quiet word.
“No.”
Tens, if not hundreds of thousands had died because of her, and her mind remained unclouded by guilt. She had stepped over a mountain of corpses, burying my family beneath its foundations, and did not care one bit.
I… I should have felt angry at her. I was. I hated her. Not for who she was, but what she represented. Something pitiful that filled their heart with nothing but scorn.
A coward who had given up.
“You don’t care about life anymore,” I said with contempt. No wonder she could hide her true nature so easily. “Not even your own.”
“This world is full of despair,” Florence replied calmly. Worse, it sounded like she believed it. “It is not worth existing.”
“You’re wrong.” I let go of her throat. “Our world is a work in progress. Yes, it is full of sorrow and injustice, but instead of fighting back against them… instead of trying to make it better… instead of persevering and making sure what happened to your son wouldn’t happen to anyone else…”
I shook my head in disgust.
“You just gave up,” I said. “You wallowed in your hatred and ruined the lives of countless people who had done you no wrong. You became the worst version of yourself rather than move on.”
Florence’s response disappointed me all the more when I compared it with those of my companions. Colmar, when faced with terrible tragedy, rose from the dead to save others. Marika carried on for her son’s sake. Soraseo, and even Cortaner, sought atonement for their own crimes in their own way.
The Demon Ancestors might have been heroes once, but they and their servants no longer lived up to the title.
We did.
“I’ll prove you wrong,” I promised Florence. “You and the demons you serve. I’ll show you we can make Pangeal a better place without you. I swear you’ll live long enough to see it.”
“You will die before I do,” she replied coldly. “The Berserker is coming for you all.”
“And we will quench his flame like we did yours.” I turned to face Cortaner. “Gather all the information you can. It is time we purge her cohorts from Archfrost.”
Cortaner’s head perked up. “Archfrost?” he repeated. “Not just Snowdrift?”
“Prince Roland will march on the capital tomorrow,” I said, drawing the others’ surprised gazes. “Your services will be required to clean that den of vipers.”
The same rot that had corrupted Hermeline from within had spread to my homeland, and the Goddess be willing, I would see it wiped out.
Alaire and I left the dungeons afterward to take a rest. No doubt we could expect a war council with Roland tomorrow. Colmar remained behind alongside Cortaner to interrogate Florence, probably on the subject of the plague and its source.
“Such a waste…” I heard Colmar whisper to Florence.
He sounded more sad than angry. Perhaps he saw his own reflection in Florence. A dark road not taken.
“She has to be lying, or greatly ill-informed, ” Alaire muttered as we exited the dungeons. “About my father, the plague… she is trying to get under our skin, nothing more.”
I let out a sigh. “The Inquisitor’s power compels her to tell the truth.”
“I know, I just…” Alaire’s face strained up. “I do not want to believe it.”
“What happened wasn’t your fault,” I said.
“But–”
I didn’t let her finish. “I know what you’re telling yourself, Alaire. That if Florence spoke the truth, then it means your grandfather’s death and Snowdrift’s troubles lay on your shoulders.”
Alaire bit her lower lip. I had guessed correctly.
“You’re wrong,” I insisted. “Even if your father truly leads the Knot of Greed, he would have targeted Snowdrift anyway for its strategic location. Fenrivos was working on cultivating the Blight for years, long before your grandfather recalled you to his side.”
Alaire considered my words, and though I could tell that while a part of her still blamed herself for the chaos, she still saw the truth in my words. The Knots would have sowed destruction even if she hadn’t been born. It was in their nature.
“I will investigate,” she decided. “Some of the nuns that operated my mother’s convent still live to this day. I will force them to tell me everything with Lord Cortaner’s help.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied. “We will get to the bottom of it, I promise you.”
“Yes.” Alaire nodded with determination. “If my so-called father leads the Knot of Greed… then we might find him in the capital.”
“Which Roland intends to march on,” I pointed out.
“If he asks for my help, I will have to provide it,” Alaire replied grimly. “I only keep my title with his support. Not answering his call to arms would be foolish, and I owe him much for helping save my city.”
“You don’t need to actually join the frontlines yourself.” I glanced at her broken arms. I hoped to transfer her injuries to a prisoner for her sake, but she had barely survived our last battle. “You can simply send a contingent. Snowdrift needs you to be safe and sound.”
“People will respect me more if I lead the charge,” Alaire replied with a sigh. “But this does beg consideration.”
“We can settle it tomorrow morning,” I said. “Roland will hold a war council and we can decide then how to organize ourselves.”
“Snowdrift needs peace, as does Archfrost.” Alaire held my gaze. “I might stumble, but I will not fall.”
Neither the beating of her body nor Florence’s words had managed to shake her spirit. She was no hero, but she had the heart of one.
“You are strong, Alaire,” I said. “Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“I do not need you to tell me this,” Alaire replied with a thin smile. “But I am thankful for your support, Robin.”
She would make a great countess, and an even greater knight.
I bade Alaire goodbye and retreated to my chambers. As an adviser to the countess, I was afforded a set of rooms on the Black Keep’s second floor. I preferred to sleep in my house near the docks—I preferred its cozy atmosphere to the castle’s austerity—but I was too tired to make the journey.
I found the door unlocked and someone waiting for me on the other side.
Mersie.
She sat next to the window near the bed, an Iremian wood pipe in her hand. Blue herbs burned inside the bowl, filling the air with a fruity smell. Though these were my rooms, my ex-lover sat comfortably against the sill as if she owned the place.
“Do you want some?” she offered me the pipe while exhaling an azure breath. “Calmflowers soothe the nerves.”
I rarely smoked… but I was so exhausted that I welcomed the pipe nonetheless. The smoke tasted of spicy mint when I inhaled it. It did help ease the weight on my mind.
“Your guards leave much to be desired,” Mersie warned me, her eyes glancing at Snowdrift’s shadow beyond the window. “They didn’t hear me sneak in.”
“I gave them orders to let you in anyway,” I replied after closing the door. I knew her all too well.
My answer drew an amused smile from Mersie, though it didn’t last long. “I’m leaving Snowdrift soon,” she whispered. “For Erebia.”
I expected as much. “You’re going after this Chronius?”
“Given time, I will find him.” Mersie turned to face me, her eyes squinting slightly. “You could come with me. Erebia is a beautiful place.”
I denied her. “Too many people need me here.”
“I know.” From her sigh of disappointment, Mersie had expected my answer while hoping for another against all odds. “Do you truly think you can turn this country’s fortunes around?”
“I do.” I had to. Belgoroth and his kind couldn’t be allowed to win. “I could use your help.”
Mersie smiled as she swiped the pipe out of my hand. “We dance well together.”
“Yes, we do.” Even against my better judgment. “Will you stay if I ask you to?”
Mersie inhaled the smoke. For a moment, she genuinely appeared to mull over my proposal. It would be difficult to get over the lies, the secrets, everything, but if she agreed to stay… I would be willing to try. To start over.
Mersie had told me she had almost considered dropping her quest to start over with me in Snowdrift, only to decide against it at the last second. In the end, history repeated itself.
“I can’t, Robin.” Mersie sighed, as if struggling not to change her mind, before shaking her head. “Not until my family can finally rest.”
“Will killing Chronius achieve it?” I asked her. “What happens if you succeed?”
Mersie looked away. I didn’t need to be the Inquisitor to tell me she didn’t know herself. Would one more body be enough to let her heart heal? I wasn’t so sure. She had dedicated her life to a grim goal, but never considered what she would do after reaching it.
It can’t work, I thought. Us. Not now. Not under these circumstances.
We could both tell it. Mersie set her pipe aside, then took a step towards me. My hands moved to her waist at the same time her own arms coiled around my neck. Her lips tasted of mint, of spice and danger. Neither of us needed to say a word.
We knew the music by heart.
—-------
When I woke up, Mersie was gone.
The bed still smelled of her perfume, and the sheets were still warm. She left no note, no other message than the smoking pipe on my bedside—a smell of what could have been.
Mersie had opened the window on her way out. Perhaps she even jumped through it. I approached the sill and let the wind flow on my face. The sun rose behind the horizon, bathing Snowdrift in its light. I glanced at distant Mount Erebia, the Goddess’ land. Mersie and her retainer were probably on the road to climb it. Mersie would pursue the last of her parents’ killers to the very apex of the world if needed.
I hoped she would find what she was looking for… and peace too.
My own war had only begun.
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Next Chapter
Comments
George R
One of my favorite stories I love the world you create and it’s characters- thank you so much
Void Herald
Corrected, thanks :)
jj
Lord Belgoroth’s breathe -> Lord Belgoroth’s breath
