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AlterOne
Chapter 15
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Chapter 15
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The palace was bustling with activity as work went about to wrapping up the finishing touches in preparation for the arrival of the Duke of Westigs and his court. In her chambers, the princess sat before a mirror as two of her servants busied themselves applying her makeup. One of the servants undid the princess’ hair, allowing the dark brown locks to cascade onto her shoulders and flow down her back, coming to rest over a lavish peach gown. She’d been told that a new suitor was coming to call on her— the son of Duke Huffrey of Westigs, Renaud Hollisten, Count of Millua and heir to the Duchy of Westigs. It’s no secret that the King wants to see his daughter married, and has constantly kept the flow of hopeful suitors coming, and time and time again, Princess Lamia has sent the dejected hopefuls away. They’d always been lesser lords or their sons, acclaimed knights, or members of a noble family, but never a Duke or their immediate successors. With her track record, none of that stature dared risk the humiliation of her rejection. At least, none before Count Renaud. With the fuss that was being made over the arrival of the Westigs court, one would think that wedding bells were but a morning away. A shrill cry came from the doorway. Lamia turned as her friends and ladies-in-waiting, Countess Verounica of Anholt and the heir to the Duchy of Saris, Lady Ezibele of Saris, stepped into the room. Short and thin, with a head of crinkled red hair, Lady Ezibele bounced on the balls of her feet as she came, while the taller Countess Verounica gave a slight raise of the brow upon seeing Lamia.
“By Deva’s name you look so beautiful!” cried Lady Ezibele, following her words with another excited shriek.
“Enough of that you,” chided Countess Verounica at Lady Ezibele, before turning her attention back to the Princess. “But yes, you do look beautiful Lamia. Should I assume you’re taking this one seriously?”
“She should,” Lady Ezibele said, clasping her hands together and placing them by her cheek. “Have you not seen Count Renaud? He’s soo handsome, he’s a real man if I’ve ever seen one.”
“That’ll be all,” Princess Lamia said, addressing the servants. They bowed and exited the room. Once they were gone, she spoke to her ladies. “The only reason I’m going this is because my father practically begged me. I’m perfectly content with the life I have with my son.”
“I beg to differ,” the Countess replied. “You sometimes mope around her all day as if the world is just broken.”
“Trust me, I’m quite happy,” Lamia stated. “My job—”
“Keeps you busy,” the Countess cut in. “You need to find something to put a smile on that face.”
“Like a nice ****,” Lady Saris interjected, receiving a roll of the eyes from Countess Verounica. “Oh don’t look at me that way. Everyone and their mothers are thinking the same thing.”
The door opened and King Memsi strode into the room, an obvious pep in his step. The King was a robustly bearded and thickset man, though as the years went, his heavy build had given way to a belly that hung noticeably over his golden belt buckle. Had it not been for the firmness of his wear, the bejeweled buckle would surely have been lost to the King’s mass. From within the beard, he bellowed out in a sing-song voice.
“They’re here!”
As the King drew near, the ladies-in-waiting bowed to their lord who in turn gave them a sincere nod in return before taking his place behind his daughter. He placed his hands on Lamia’s shoulders and bent over, drawing his bearded face close to hers as he took in the reflection in the mirror, admiration on his face.
“You look just like her,” he said, his voice low.
At the mention of such, Lamia diverted her eyes from the mirror.
“People used to mistake us for sisters,” she replied, smiling at the thought.
King Memsi started to speak, but paused as with thoughts of his late wife resurfaced memories of a time long past when they were all together. It was not a simpler time. It was a time of war. For the King, it had also been a time of ignorance. How he wished he was still such a fool.
“They’re waiting for us,” he said at last. “We should be getting down there.”
The throne room was filled with the murmur of conversation as the courtiers milled about the great hall. It, as well as the rest of the palace, was created after the Unification. Built over the ruins of what remained of the Red House, as the people of Fire once called their royal palace, it now served as the seat of power for the current ruler of Alterus. With the nationality of that ruler ever changing, the palace kept a neutral theme about it, in favor of national balance as opposed to the present ruler’s taste. The throne room for example, held draped down the side of the east and west walls, the flags of the four leading nations before the Unification. The blood red flag of the Kingdom of Fire, upon it lay two black dragons entwined at the tail, their claws outstretched towards a single burning flame that rested between them. The flag of the Air Kingdom, a simple white backdrop bearing a steel gray eagle, it’s wings flared as it looks up to a beaming sun. The navy blue of the Water Republic, upon it was a spiraling white ridge backed sea serpent. The final flag was that of the Earth Nation, a brown tan flag upon which was the head of a gray stag known to the Earth people as Palignon, and on his head were great wooden antlers covered in vines.
Seated on the throne beside her father, Princess Lamia could do nothing but allow her eyes to wander as they awaited the arrival of Duke Westigs. She had turned her attention to the red flag of Fire, thinking that at that moment, the greatest thing ever would be to hop on a dragon and fly out the palace window and off into the sun. The trumpets brought her back to reality as the arrival of the Duke was upon them. The talk in the hall died away as Duke Huffrey lead the way into the room. He was an old man in his mid-sixties with long gray hair and a beard that made him look more ancient than he actually was. To his left was his wife the Duchess, a woman of significant age whose beauty looked to have withstood the years. To his right, was who Princess Lamia took to be the son, Count Renaud. Lamia had held little interest in forming a relationship with this man; even still, she allowed her mind a moment to wander. Thirteen years her senior at forty-two, he carried himself in a manner far finer than that of the many knights and young lords who had called on her before. To look upon a man, you learn very little aside from what they have allowed themselves to present to you. Count Renaud was still an unknown, but Lamia had no doubt she would know all she needed soon enough.
The Duke and his wife exchanged pleasantries with the King. Lord Huffrey then presented his son to the King and Princess. Count Renaud bowed to King Memsi before stepping forward to the Princess. He took her hand and kissed it, a smile showing beneath his well-trimmed beard.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you my lady,” he said. “As I gaze upon you now, the tales of your beauty were but lies, for no words could describe the enchantress that sits before me.”
Lamia took the compliment with a smile, “Your words are too kind Lord Renaud.”
The courtiers gave an appreciative clap as Renaud stepped back to stand beside his father, who gave an approving nod at his son’s words.
“Evina? Are you alright in there?”
Nesta put her ear against the door. She didn’t hear any movement inside. She twisted the doorknob, but it wouldn’t open.
“Evina, just open up. We could talk.” She gave repeated knocks to the door.
“Just leave her be Nesta,” Nesta turned to see a young man come up behind her. Imre shook his head and gestured to the door. “She isn’t leaving that room any time soon.”
Nesta sighed and moved away from the door in defeat. Since returning the other night with Rowen, Evina had locked herself in the room. Rowen said nothing of what had happened that night, coming back to the warehouse with Evina in his arms and the head of a Veldt in his bag. Then he too sealed himself away, retiring to his quarters to be undisturbed. She had hoped that in joining him on this mission, she could strengthen her relationship with Rowen. Though, with each passing day, he seemed to grow more distant. She could only imagine how he felt, what he was going through. He’d told her once, on their fourth night in the capital, that the city spoke to him in whispers of stories from a life he had long since forgotten. He’d said this in earnest, as a way to open up as she had wanted. But she knew where he sat perched every night since arriving in the city. Remnants of a past he could never truly forget. Memories that would at times make their bed cold for months on end. Now he watched from afar, his mind uncertain, but he would make his move soon enough, she was sure of that. She cursed herself silently. She’d been with him far longer than he’d been with her. She was the one who nursed him back from near death. She is the one who has been by his side all these years. Curse him for making her feel like the other woman.
She and Imre rejoined the others in the main space of the warehouse. The building acted as one of many of Xenator’s secret commands scattered throughout Alterus. It was four stories high and had room enough to accommodate around two dozen people on its top floor. The third floor was for training and recreational use, while the bottom floor encompassed the first and second stories of the building. Crates holding equipment were stacked against the nearest wall. Computers and television monitors lined another. Charts and maps cluttered the tables and wall on the far end, while bookshelves occupied the last. Acolytes Daxpar Meradus, Nandrig Kessel, and Kielrin Bachler were all gathered at the long table in the middle of the room passing time with a game of cards. Lilarose Halys, the only other female acolyte in the group, sat at the other end of the table with her feet propped up on the table as she perused the day’s newspaper.
“How’s she doing in there?” Daxpar asked as Nesta and Imre drew near.
“Still won’t come out,” Nesta replied. “No doubt she is still shaken up.”
Kielrin slapped the cards down on the table and rose from his seat. “I’m getting really tired of sitting on my ass doing a lot of nothing.”
Daxpar shrugged. “It is what it is. We’re to do as we’re told, and right now, Xenator wants us to simply observe and report.”
“Report what?” Kielrin asked. “He’s tasking us with some of the most mundane work I’ve ever done.”
“No one ever said surveillance was fun work,” Daxpar said.
“It’s not the surveillance that gets me,” Kielrin responded, shaking his head. “The Veldt are in Alter City, we all know that. What we don’t know is why they are in Alter City. Why now, have they returned after all these years? That’s what we should be trying to figure out. We should be watching the Veldt’s headquarters, keeping tabs on their leader, this Orojin, and maybe even capture a few, see what we can get out of them.”
“You’d be hard pressed to get any information out of a Veldt,” Lilarose commented from at the other end of the table. “They’ve got spells in place for that you know.”
“Even still,” Imre added, “it has been done before. Granted, not through traditional means.”
“What do you mean?” Daxpar asked.
“Well from the works I’ve read in our library in regards to interrogation of elite tier magikos, notably Veldt, often times they have numerous barriers in place to counter releasing vital information, willingly or otherwise.” Imre stated. “In such cases, though not expressly mentioned in any of my readings, it is alluded to that foreign arts were used.”
Kielrin looked to his fellow acolytes, both they too held questioning faces for Imre. “Foreign arts? As in magic?”
Imre shrugged. “I can only assume. True answers on the matter lie in the one book we all hope to one day set our eyes upon.”
They all knew what he meant, the Book of the Xenators. Nesta had heard it mentioned sparingly over the years, always in curious whispers. Passed down through the ages from one Xenator to the next, the book was said to chronicle the lives of those past as well as maintain secrets known only to the wearer of the mask. It possessed magical properties as the book never ran out of pages and its body remained unchanged by time. Perhaps even more intriguing was that it was believed to be able to bestow upon its owner, magical prowess—among other things. Though this was all speculation.
Kielrin and Daxpar guffawed at Imre’s assertion. Kielrin spoke up once he had gathered himself. “Young Imre, do tell me that you don’t mean to say that our Lord Xenator is secretly practicing magic of all things?”
“I’d imagine he’s well beyond the time of practice Kielrin,” Imre remarked.
“You’re a fool if you think that,” Kielrin declared with a disapproving frown. “He’d have given us some inkling of it. We’d know.”
“Alas friend Kielrin, unless you or I ever don the mask ourselves, there will be a great many things that we will be forever ignorant to,” Imre replied, a smirk playing across his own face. “Otherwise, what’s the point of being Xenator?”
Kielrin started in retort, but it was then that Nandrig interjected. A quiet man, Nandrig had become accustomed to observing in the background and taking in what happened around him. When words did come to him, he spoke and the others turned to this sparsely heard voice. “Lord Xenator brought back the head of a Veldt upon his return. The Xenator is not one for trophies; he brought the head back for a reason. Locked away in solitude, we can only assume what he is doing. None of us are anywhere near the level he is, none of us have the knowledge he wields. So if by some chance our lord was versed in magic, would it really come as such a surprise?”
Once everyone had begun to disperse and go about their day, Nesta went back to her own quarters. There, Csonger continued to sleep in his crib. She gave a gentle stroke to his cheek, running the back of her hand across his olive colored skin. He looked very much like his father. Nesta yawned. She hadn’t been able to sleep until she was sure Evina and Rowen would return. When they had, it made sleep less likely. Now the tiredness had come upon her and as she laid her head down she slipped into a dreamless slumber.
Lamia closed the door behind her. She’d only just managed to steal herself away from the constant sea of lords and ladies who badgered her with their flattery and shallow words of well wishing. She turned around to see that Commissioner Destnol was already present.
“Glad you could make it, my lady,” Destnol said with a small bow.
“Commissioner, how have you been?” she asked. “I trust the days been good to you.”
“Managing a crime infested city doesn’t leave much time for good days,” he replied. “Sneaking through side doors and meeting in backrooms doesn’t help.”
“You know how my father gets. He doesn’t approve of my bringing municipal matters into the royal setting.”
“That wouldn’t be the case if you came by the office more frequently,” Destnol stated, doing little to hide his annoyance. “Or any at all.”
“My business here—”
“Is to be the little princess that your father wants you to be,” Destnol cut in. “From the look of things you don’t do that too well either.”
“Watch yourself Destnol,” Lamia cautioned. “Understand who you’re talking to.”
The Commissioner studied her curiously. He came closer and looked her up and down. “That’s the thing. I don’t. I look at you now in here with your soft silk dress and that shining crown and I see I princess trying to play at politics. You sneak away to meet with me like some rebelling teenager. You want me to bring you updates on the city for what— just so you can know? Because as far as I see, I’m the only one in this room who gives a damn about this city.”
Destnol’s cheek was red from the slap that followed his words. Lamia’s looked back at him, aghast at what she had done. “I apologize.”
“It is I who should apologize. My anger was misdirected, I’ve just have a lot on my mind.” Destnol stepped past Lamia and made his way to the door. “All that you need to know is in the envelope on the table.” With that, he was out the door.
AUTHOR NOTES
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