Adherent Fates: The Ignatius Children ll

[Shadowseldil]

Marcos smiled, but added, "I cannot make any promises. There will be much to do. If it will make you happy, then I will try. For now, however, I must go. Farewell." And with that, Marcos opened the door and left into the hallway. It was hard for him to leave the woman he loved to serve a man she hated, but that was how it was. It was the king's own fault for not treasuring such a beautiful creature. Well, that was no matter, there was work to be done before the celebration.

 

[Firefall]

A feather, white as purest snow, drifted down into the mists below.

The grey dawn unwillingly cast its cold rays across the rocky outcropping. A dying fire, smothered by the haze, cast a pall of black smoke into the sky. At the edge of the prominence a tall figure stood like carven stone. The air cleared a little to reveal an imposing man in a long coat and cloak, face shadowed by a drawn hood. He clasped his gloved hands in front of him and his lips moved silently; he appeared to be praying.

The air was heavy and silent, the rocks slick with moisture. A cold drizzle began to fall, extinguishing the dwindling fire. Prayer finished, the man turned to regard the ashes. Little remained but a few charred bones of the last of his kin brutally murdered by the Ignatiuls. The state he had found the child in did not bear remembering. It had been better to send her spirit on in a funeral pyre than to bury the desecrated body.

Solaru. That had been her last and only word as he cradled her head in his arms. The man, Solaru, felt deeply unworthy of the honour. A pit of black despair swelled in his heart. It had been growing ever since they had become hunted. His near death experience ten years ago, the shining moment of clarity, seemed a forgotten fantasy in the feeble light of the struggling sun.

What was lost? A thousand brightly shining Aeonar children, whose faces haunted Solaru as he slept. What was left? The blissfully unaware people of Adherin, sleepwalking themselves into early graves. An army of Ignatius Children committing atrocities in broad daylight. And a creature of dark designs, so evil and malicious his very being was the antithesis to Solaru’s existence. And his name was Lodekai.

Solaru clenched his fits with a spray of droplets, rain soaking his clothes. Steam rose from the puddles at his feet. With a thunderous roar, he launched himself into the air, a pair of vast white wings snapping out to spread from his back. In a powerful beat of snowy pinions, he flew down like lightning into the mists...

 

[Nella Fantasia]

Poke and pull. Poke and pull. Poke and pull.

Opal stared at the girls around her and their neatly sewn fabrics in their laps before dropping her gaze slowly to her own. One stitch was too large, another too loose. The needle was held awkwardly in her fingers. Rarely could she sew anything correctly. At first she thought maybe it was because she thought on it too much so for a while instead of thinking “poke and pull” she’d think “brush and pin”, which was the mantra she used when doing her hair. Then for her hair she’d begun thinking “dip and stroke”, which was used for when she was painting. But no matter how many times she switched up her focus, she could never sew properly. She could never do her hair. She could never paint. She couldn’t do much of anything right.

Dipping her head low, Opal took hold of the red shawl around her shoulders and brought the end to her lips where she nibbled lightly. It was a nervous habit she’d done since she was a small child. Helped to calm her, help her think, and kept her under control.

A moment later her hand was being slapped away, and Opal’s eyes shot up to the older woman bending over her with a scowl. “What have I told you about sucking on your shawl like a little baby, Miss Opal?” she asked. Madame Mae had in fact told her many times, but Opal was indifferent to what the woman said. She liked to control all the girls of Halmer’s Institute for Young Ladies, Opal included.

Madame Mae continued when Opal didn’t respond. “You are a young lady, not a child, and young ladies don’t suck on anything.” Her eyes dropped to Opal’s pathetic attempt at sewing, and her eyebrows furrowed together once more as she reached for it. She studied it and said, “Are you still having trouble with this? Are you even trying?” She sighed, and it was then Opal realized all eyes were on them. “You are of marrying age, Miss Opal. You need to know how to do these things because no man is going to want a wife that can’t even sew. Do you understand?”

Opal’s attention had drifted to her lap, and Madame Mae’s voice sounded far off. It was like being under water when all the noise above the world was muffled, and the only thing you can hear is your own thoughts.

“Miss Opal,” Madame Mae said firmly. “Miss Opal!” Opal lifted her dead gaze to the woman, brown eyes surrounded by dark circles peering behind limp strands of escaped hair. But she said nothing. Frustrated, Madame Mae simply sighed and set down the fabric and thread before turning to the other girls, “That’s all for today, ladies. Take your projects with you so you may work on them. Remember, they’re to be done by the end of the week!”

Opal waited until most of the girls had gone, then grabbed her fabric, stood and silently made her way out the door. She ignored everyone and everyone ignored her. It was the same every day, and had been since Ruby first sent her to the institute almost a year before for educational purposes for when she married. It was really because she believed Opal needed help advancing into society and to get her away so she wouldn’t be a burden. Opal now only went home for the weekends or holidays. She stayed among the institute the rest of the time.

Now she was heading to the train station where the 8:00 would take her to the Driscol manor. She carried nothing with her except the clothes on her back, the wadded fabric and needle in her hand and the bright red shawl around her shoulders. Her eyes stayed downcast and her fingers clutched the shawl to her lips, nibbling absentmindedly. Right and left, went her feet. Right and left. Right and left.

“Caw!” A sudden noise filled the dark alley Opal found herself going down. Although she ignored him, the image of a young man by the name of Geoffrey Whitcomb flapping his arms about could be seen surrounding her. “Caw! Caw!” he called out again and followed in step with her. “Where is the sweet little black crow going this night?”

To Opal he might as well had not been there as she continued her walk like nothing had changed. Right and left.

“Why do you ignore me, little crow?” he asked while trying to step in front of her to stop her. He eventually managed after grabbing onto her arm and forcing her to. Opal’s gaze slowly lifted to peer up at him, and his wild eyes stared back with a grin underneath. “There, see? You can’t ignore me always.” A pause followed. “You have nothing to say?” When Opal said nothing, his grin faded and he ripped the shawl from her mouth with a vicious tug and flung it to the side. “Maybe if you’d stop chewing on that damn rag you’d have room enough in your mouth to speak.”

Opal looked to her precious shawl on the dirty ground, feeling a bubble of annoyance building. “Leave me alone…” she whispered. Somehow he always found her when she was out and alone, and never hesitated to make her night miserable.

He dipped his head towards hers. “What was that?” he asked. “Words? How about a little song instead.” He took hold of her arms. “Come, little crow. Sing for me. Caw! Go on! Caw!” He forced her arms up and down, much like she was flapping wings, and her face contorted into one of fear and anger. Stop it. “Caw! Caw!” Stop it. “Caw!” Stop!

Opal closed her eyes and blackness surrounded her. She was recalling a long ago memory when she was a child, crouching in her closet after her aunt had attempted to brush her hair with Opal wildly kicking and screaming. It ended with her biting the woman’s hand and rushing to the closet to hide. She remembered peeking into the room from the crack in the door as her aunt dragged her father in, yelling as she did, “That daughter of yours! She’s no little girl! She’s a monster!”

She then remembered her father opening the closet door and crouching before her, his brown eyes soft under thick eyebrows, and his beard tickling her face as he scooped her up into his arms gently. “My precious jewel,” he had murmured, holding her. She had laid against his shoulder and closed her eyes, warmth spreading through her. Never had she felt safer than in those arms. Never had she felt so loved.

Opal opened her eyes and shadowy shapes surrounded her. It took a deep breath and a beating of her heart before she came to her senses. She was shaking and breathing hard, silence surrounding her in the dark alley. When she lowered her gaze, she found her hands and arms covered in reddish, almost black liquid. Blood. Further down she found a pool of the blood near her feet, and she followed the trail with her eyes, up and up, until they came to rest on the mutilated body of Geoffrey Whitcomb.

Time stopped for a moment as she tried to recall what had happened in the last several minutes. But no matter what, she couldn’t. All she remembered was the vivid memory of her father. It’s happened again, she thought. Slowly she stepped closer until she reached her shawl and picked it up, eying the lifeless body. “I told you to leave me alone,” she whispered. If he had listened…

Feeling little to no remorse, she turned and raced out of the alley to the train station.

 

[Shadowseldil]

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcement came from the makeshift stage, "Welcome to the Great Zelos's Show of entertainment, beautiful ladies, and magic!" Three jets of streamers shot out from the front of the stage, showering the audience with confetti and paper, and attracting more people to the show.
It was the third of the day, and already the first two shows had drawn enough of a crowd that he had already recouped the money he had spent on the pyrotechnics. He had already announced a mid-night showing, and several of the taverns had agreed to service the event. This was the best turnout he had had for months, and if it really went well, he would try an even later show. He did those in very successful towns, and usually those shows paid the best, since he would pull out a few of the wilder tricks, and the audience was typically drunk enough to really be loose with their wallets.
"As for me," he said, continuing the show, "I always like to go straight to the beautiful ladies!" At this, several volunteers stepped out from the side of the stage in provided costumes. "Give them a round of applause," Zelos said needlessly, as an applause was already being raised. "Thank you ladies for volunteering to be my hunnies for this show."
"You're welcome Zelos," they said in unison, just like rehearsal.
Zelos proceeded to perform a number of illusions, did a few juggling tricks, did a little knife throwing around the ladies, all with the punch and pizazz of the pyrotechnics. Everyone enjoyed the show, even though some had come for a second showing. Zelos always mixed up his routine a little, so that no show saw the same thing.
After a half hour, he proceeded to the grand finale. "Gentlemen, is there anyone in the audience who can throw knives?" He could usually find one, and this trick always impressed the audience no matter how many times people saw it.
"I can," one burly man said as he threw up his arm.
"C'mon up here, sir!" Zelos said as he picked out a few of his throwing knives. "Would you tell everyone your name?"
"I'm Paul Dem, I make knives down at the blacksmith down the way, Taberith's Blacksmith."
"Fair enough, a little advertising for your help," Zelos said cheerfully. The audience chuckled. "If you would please, demonstrate your skill on our target over there, the one our lovely hunny Melissa stood in front of."
Paul did so, hitting the mark each time. "Splendid, Paul, splendid. Now," he added, addressing the audience, "I will need absolute silence. This is an extremely dangerous trick. I've worked at this one for many, many years. No one here should try this."
Zelos led Paul to one edge of the stage while he went to the other end. "Okay Paul, I want you to throw the knife at my chest here and I will catch it. Can you do that?"
"I think so," Paul said.
"So do I. Hang on a second. Let me get something to help you." Zelos pulled out a large shirt and threw it over his regular outfit. The shirt had a bull's-eye painted on it, and several cut marks around where the bull's-eye was. Zelos purposefully showed these to the audience, and this roused a good laugh. "Okay, Paul, I'll give you the signal when I'm ready."
Zelos took a deep breath. "At my chest, Paul," Zelos said again. He stood with his right arm out in front of him. "Okay, ready."
The audience was silent. Paul, a little sweat coming down his face, raised his arm and threw the knife.
Very few people saw how it all happened; it was very quick. The knife flew threw the air, and with precision of years of training, Zelos cradled the knife between his fingers, and using the momentum of the knife, swung his arm in a circle, tossing the knife into the air. Every eye followed its movement up, and then down as, with a final flourish, Zelos caught it by the handle.
The audience burst into applause as Zelos hammed it up. Then, with a final introduction of the "hunnies," the baskets were taken around and subsequently filled with donations.
"The next showing will be at five," he announced, "If you like the show, come out to the special mid-night show. Drinks and food will be available for a special hour long show. Leave the kids at home, though."
As the audience dispersed, Zelos thanked his volunteers, gave them a small amount of the profits, and collected a few of their addresses. He was cleaning up the stage as a well-dress man came up to him. "I was admiring your show," he said without introducing himself, "and I was wondering if you would like a job. I work for the king, and I would like to hire you to be involved in the great anniversary celebration for King Bohden and Queen Sapphire."
"I don't like working for royals," Zelos said as he kept cleaning.
"I could make it very worth your while."
"Look, I'm doing pretty well off here. I don't need the money."
"We can pay you ten times what you make. And think of the prestige you could claim saying you have performed for kings."
"I can already say that, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to refresh the image. The ladies do like men who work for royalty. Alright, I'm in."
Arrangements were made, and Zelos would go to the castle tomorrow for inspections. Plus he wanted to finish off the shows for the day, as they would be quite profitable.

 

[Firefall]

Solaru remembered little in the following days since his descent from the cliff’s edge. There it seemed he had left behind the last vestiges of child-like purity and innocence in the form of his murdered Aeonar sister. A blinding rage had consumed him. For three days he soared furiously among the upper air currents, and he took neither rest nor food.

His back muscles really felt the strain of continuous flight on the second day. To take his mind off the dull ache, he flung away his boots and ripped off his cloak and hood, moving higher in the atmosphere to invite the chill wind against his flesh It stung his gleaming bronze skin and raced through his white hair. His piercing silver eyes squinting through the howling gale, Solaru pressed on.

On the third day, his strong wings began to falter along with his exhausted body. Muscles spasmed and slackened. His flight path became erratic and laboured. It was only on the fourth day that his iron will started to weaken. So too did Solaru's fury then begin to wane.

As the last of his reserves of energy ran out, grief suddenly overcame him, an overwhelming wave that left him totally unprotected against the elements. He plummeted earthward caught within the emotion and without care. He had finally had enough. Solaru streaked downward in freefall, like a blazing comet. As he hit the air currents, he was buffeted this way and that like a feather in a storm. Yet a serene peace enveloped the last Aeonar as he fell. Death this way seemed a poetic metaphor of his fall from grace.

Down he fell. Into welcome oblivion.

Yet even as Solaru tried to let go of his hold on life, a small spark stirred inside his heart. Wind whipped passed him as he broke down through the cloud cover, the vast curved panorama of green forests hills and mountains filling his vision. A small voice inside him asked, how could he let the world go to waste, burnt and scarred by Lodekai’s eventual rampage? How could he forsake the humans, though woefully blind, of whom he had once called his own kind?

Underneath his vest, Solaru felt the crystal amulet of Xyst liquid burning fiercely against his chest. How could he turn away from this glorious gift of the heavens, the original source of his transformation into a new being? It had the potential to bring healing light to world and blast away Lodekai’s degradations with a radiant brilliance. Solaru could no more reject it than he could his wings, his own skin, his own eyes.

The ground rushed up to meet him, and it seemed that despite this last surge of hope, the Aeonar Lord would surely die upon impact. With desperation and a reaching out into energy reserves unknown, Solaru twisted through the air, weakly flapping his wings at the approaching earth. Yet gradually, drawing strength from nowhere, he used his wings to slow his momentum with measured and mightily trembling strokes. He landed lightly, bare feet touching the barren ground with hardly a swirl of dust.

Before he collapsed, he knew now what he must do. He had to find the King of Adherin.

 

[K9Guardian]

Upon the culmination of their supposed lord's speech, the entourage of Elias Devereaux went silent. A tension began to grow in the air, which became a stir, and then a fury. Cries of "Murderer!" rang out, and men ran forward to avenge the great crime of one whom they once thought friend. A tree was found, ropes were brought out, and in short order a veritable gallows stood ready to be fed the life of the accused. Transformed into a nest of justice-starved wasps, the camp swarmed around their new creation, jeering and spitting.

Glad to be relieved of this dull task, Ren gave the accused up to the eager hands that volunteered. He stood back and folded his arms then, to watch the execution with little interest. How he wished to be alone, wrapped in the night, feeling the beating heart of a target somewhere only the soul of an artist could find! This business of hanging trash on a tree was far beneath his level of skill.

He suddenly realized he stood by Lodekai still. In case the master was one to feel ignored, Ren allowed himself a dry remark. "Ingenius."

 

[MissCellaFane]

Lodekai stood with his hands behind his back, surveying the scene with supreme satisfaction. And though he hardly needed anyone's praise, he had to hold back a pleased smile at Ren's comment, knowing now was not the time to be smiling. He dipped his head once, slowly, watching the noose slip over the condemned man's head. "Thank you, Ren," he murmured. "I thought so too."

The end of the rope was tied to a saddle on a nearby horse and without any ceremony whatsoever, the horse was urged forward and the doomed man was hoisted into the air by his neck. Lodekai took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of chaos he had created. It was an unexpected surprise, and even though it meant he had one less Ignatius Child in Elias Devereaux's service, it still made him tingle with excitement. And as the dying man struggled and kicked, Lodekai murmured, "The best part is yet to come." For once the man was dead, he would be unable to maintain his human form and the dead body would turn back into the Ignatius Child it truly was. And Lodekai? Couldn't wait to see the looks on the faces of the servants and guards. It would truly be a spectacle.

 

[Nella Fantasia]

Some Days Later: City of Kalden
​

Sometime during the day Ruby must have passed out on her desk without realizing it, for one moment she was writing a rather long letter to Colonel Brask and the next moment she was being wakened by a servant girl rushing into her room. “Lady Driscol,” the girl said, “you must wake! Advisor Sampson is on his way up here!”

As the girl, also known as Libby, rushed to her dresser to pull out wads of clothes, Ruby lifted her head with a dazed expression on her face. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Six-thirty, my lady,” Libby said. “He’ll be awfully upset if you’re not ready.”

Ruby blinked slowly and only then realized she had a feather from her quill stuck to her cheek. She brushed it off. “Ready?”

Libby eyed her as though she was mad. “For the celebration, my lady! It’s tonight at seven!” That’s tonight? Ruby thought. Her heart skipped a beat and she stood so quickly her chair almost fell over before she could catch it. Libby held up her boots and continued, “These, my lady? Or the brown ones?”

Ruby looked between the two boots quickly. “Those ones,” she said, pointing. “No, no, the brown ones. No, the black. One black and one brown.”

“Pardon?”

“Those,” Ruby decided and shed her waistcoat. Libby nodded and rushed to the changing screen with her arms full of clothes with Ruby clumsily following as she kicked off her boots.

Before she could reach it, a knock sounded on her door. Advisor Sampson, Ruby thought. She hadn’t made it in time. “Come in, Sam!”

The older man walked in as soon as Ruby ducked behind the changing screen. Sampson hadn’t been with her as her advisor long, but he had been part of the Driscol family for many years, before even she herself was born. He was a man in his sixties, greying and wrinkled, but his body and mind were hardly fragile. He was wise and kind and took great pleasure in steering Ruby in the right direction when it came to her leadership. Ruby not only respected but loved the man dearly as if he were her own father.

“I trust you’re almost ready for the anniversary ball, my lady,” Sampson said from the other side of the screen.

Ruby was flinging off her clothes almost as quickly as Libby was putting on another set of clothes. “Quite almost,” she said.

“I hope you’ll give my congratulations to the king and queen, and my hellos to the prince. I heard he should be there.”

Ruby’s brow furrowed in thought. “I’m sure he will be,” she said. Libby thrust a cream colored shirt at her with lace on the sleeves and near the collar, and she quickly slipped it on. “The prince has been old enough for a few years. He’s been at every celebration.”

“I was speaking of the other prince.”

As far as Ruby knew there was no other prince. Unless Sapphire had recently birthed a baby boy without her knowing, the only prince was Adrian. And Conrad. Her head suddenly popped out from the side of the screen. “The king’s brother?” she asked, surprised.

Sampson looked that way and nodded. “Have you not heard? Prince Conrad returned a few days ago in time for the celebration. Everyone’s been talking about it.”

Not to me, Ruby thought. So Prince Conrad had returned to the city. It was shocking news, considering the man hadn’t been there in four to five years. He was good at escaping his duties, though it wasn’t laziness that drove him. It was something along the lines of carelessness and an overactive mind that couldn’t focus on responsibilities. Still, Ruby had to admit it would be good to see him. They always had an odd relationship growing up.

“I’m glad to hear he’s well,” Ruby said politely. She stepped around the screen in her new clothes made of rich lace and silk pants and grabbed an overcoat that had been specially made for this night.

Sampson eyed her up and down in what appeared to be approval then offered a smile. “You look lovely, Ruby,” he said then pointed to her face. “But it looks like you’ve been sleeping on your desk again.”

Ruby paused at that. “Does it?” He stepped closer and thumbed a small ink blotch on her jaw. When it wouldn’t come off, Ruby advanced to the mirror and looked at her reflection. “So it does,” she said, rubbing fiercely at the stain. “Huh. Looks like I’ll have to make believe it was all on purpose tonight.” She turned to him with a smile.

“Might be I could find some of Beth’s special soap,” Libby said.

Ruby shook her head while buttoning her overcoat. “I’m already late. Where’s my-“ Libby was then thrusting a pair of satin white gloves at her and Ruby smiled, pulling them on. “Thank you, Libby. Ready the carriage-”

“Already done.”

Nodding, Ruby grabbed her hat, placed it on her head then stepped towards the door. “And with minutes to spare,” she said.

“I’ll take care of things here,” Sampson said. “Don’t be late, watch your mouth, especially with the prince, and for heaven’s sake at least dance once.”

Ruby stopped at the door and laughed. “You’re scolding me like a child, Sam.”

“I know how you are.”

Turning, Ruby walked back to give the man a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m not as bad as you think.” She disappeared out the door then, waving one hand. “Have a good night.”

The ride was long and tedious, every noble or lawman hurriedly trying to get to the castle, and every commoner on the street having their own celebration. Ruby wasn’t the only one late it seemed, the stone walk leading up to the castle blocked by numerous carriages and horses of all sorts of people getting out. The lawns had been decorated with lights and banners and flowers lined the grand arch as well as the railing of the stairs.

Not a fan of parties, Ruby smiled to the coachman and nodded and greeted numerous people anyway as she headed inside the castle. The fact this should have been her anniversary celebration didn’t escape her either. Twelve years had passed and it was rare for her to be reminded of the mistake she made all that time ago which forever changed the kingdom of Adherin, but then there were times like these where it haunted her again.

 

[MissCellaFane]

Well, the day had finally come. Time had gone so slowly the last couple of weeks, preparing for this day, and he knew tonight was going to seem to last even longer. Then, after tonight, the rest of the year would go extremely quickly until it was time again to prepare for this celebration next year. That was how Bohden's life went. That was how it had gone for the last decade. That was how it would go for the rest of his life.

Faced with that fact, Bohden looked at himself in the mirror, a sudden depression coming upon him. He looked...old. He wasn't old. Not really. But he looked it. And tonight he felt it. He usually wasn't one to let the bad things in his life pile up on him and get him down. He was someone who tended to focus on things that could be done or things that were good in his life. He had to or he'd go insane, being king. There was too much bad in the world, not just in his life, for him to dwell on it. But tonight, a night that the rest of the kingdom was celebrating, a night that many husbands and wives looked forward to in their own lives...Bohden couldn't wait to have over with. It was pathetic, really. And looking at himself now, Bohden felt pathetic. It was the one night in his life he truly felt that way and it came every year.

Well, best just to get it over with. As soon as he was out among his guests and not having to stare at his aging face in the mirror, he would be in better spirits. Especially if he had a few glasses of wine. Straightening, Bohden adjusted the purple sash he wore over his clothes. He'd chosen a long navy blue waistcoat with a spiral pattern on it sewn in with golden thread. Underneath this, he wore a white shirt along with a white kerchief tucked neatly into the top of his waistcoat. Though most kings of the day preferred breeches, tights, and fancy shoes, Bohden was a simple man, and chose instead to wear black silken trousers tucked into stylish black boots. Add to this a black overcoat and one had a recipe for a stylish and yet simple outfit for a king.

Bohden slipped on his overcoat and then glanced at himself one more time in the mirror before turning to pick up his crown, placing it on his head. He didn't usually wear his crown except for formal events, and this one definitely qualified. And now? Now is when he would head to Sapphire's room. They kept separate rooms now and had for the past several years. But the public wasn't to know that, so each year on their anniversary, Bohden would have to walk to Sapphire's room, meet up with her there, and then walk down together to the celebration as if they had just come out of their quarters together. It was all an act. Every single moment about tonight was an act, and Bohden hated it.

With a sigh of resignation, Bohden stepped out of his room, nodded to the guards in the hallway and then strode three doors down to Sapphire's room, knocking three times and then waiting with his hands behind his back for his fake wife to come to the door and put on a fake smile so they could go down and have a fake party for their fake marriage. Pathetic, Bohden. Truly, utterly...pathetic.

 

[Nella Fantasia]

Sapphire surveyed herself for the hundredth time in the mirror. Everything was perfectly placed. The gown that had been specially created was ruby red in color and hung off the shoulders in a low-cut bodice and flowing sleeves with gold etchings on the train. She insisted she leave most of her hair down, having always admired the colors of rich reds and browns that hung in soft waves over her back, but did have her usual small, golden tiara-like crown atop her head. A gold chain was around her neck and several rings blazoned themselves on her slender fingers.

Yes, perfect, she thought.

One of her handmaids was smoothing down the bottom of the skirt when a knock sounded on the door. Without removing her gaze, Sapphire waved a hand at the young woman. "Answer it, Helen," she said.

"Yes, my queen," she answered dully before rising and making her way to the door.

 

[MissCellaFane]

As expected, Sapphire didn't answer the door. A handmaid did. Whether this meant his wife was ready or not was anyone's guess. Bohden nodded once to the servant. "Is the queen ready to go down to the celebration?" he asked.

 

[Nella Fantasia]

Sapphire smoothed her hands down her dress as she listened to the voices behind her. "My king," she heard Hellen say, "the queen is...readying herself now."

"You may enter!" Sapphire called out a little annoyingly. He always had to get her handmaids all flustered when he could simply walk in himself.

 

[MissCellaFane]

Just how long it took Sapphire to get ready, Bohden didn't know. It seemed to him that she had hours upon hours to prepare in the afternoon. But even then, it seemed that wasn't enough time for she wasn't even ready now. Her slightly annoyed voice told him that he was interrupting. He stepped into the room anyways, however, and got his first glimpse of what his wife was wearing to the celebration.

She looked...dazzling. That was for sure and for certain. Bohden had always known he'd married the most beautiful woman in all of Adherin. He was constantly reminded of it. No matter how angry she got with him, no matter how many evil looks and spiteful remarks she gave him...it did not detract from her physical beauty. If only that beauty continued on the inside, too. But it didn't. That was another fact that Bohden was reminded of constantly. Still, now was not the time to have bad feelings towards one another. That would make the acting they had to do that night even harder. So, with a dip of his head, Bohden complimented dutifully, "You look radiant tonight, Sapphire." At least it was the truth and not a lie.

 

[Nella Fantasia]

Sapphire purposely waited until Bohden was in the room behind her and had spoken before she turned and looked at him. After a quick glance, she said as dutifully as he had without a smile, "Thank you. You look handsome tonight yourself, Bohden." She then gathered her skirts and wandered over to the vanity where she used her fingers to dab perfume on her jaw and collar. "Have most of the guests arrived?"

 

[MissCellaFane]

Bohden was quite aware that Sapphire didn't mean her compliment, but that was all right. He had known since he was a teenager that he wasn't one of the most handsome men in Adherin. And it didn't bother him. Kings didn't have to be handsome, they just had to be good rulers. At Sapphire's question, Bohden nodded once. "I daresay they have, my lady. It's nearly seven now." Putting on her perfume was usually one of the last things Sapphire did before she was ready, so Bohden wasn't too concerned.

 

[Nella Fantasia]

Sapphire cast one last look in the mirror before turning her attention onto Bohden and holding out her hand. "Then let's greet them," she said. For the moment the queen might have appeared bored or indifferent to the celebration, but in actuality she was excited for it. The only part of it she wasn't excited about was being in Bohden's presence. Otherwise this was one of the nights where she would get to laugh and talk and flirt and dance instead of worrying over her queenly duty, or worse, spending the night alone.

 

[MissCellaFane]

Bohden obediently took the hand that was offered him, as manners demanded of him. He bowed slightly, pressing his lips to the back of her hand and then turning and straightening while at the same time tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. He waited for the servant girl to open the door to the room and then stepped out, leading Sapphire into the hall and down the stairs, not speaking a word. It wasn't necessary, and conversation with Sapphire, he had found, could go awry very quickly. The last thing he needed was to get into an argument with his wife five minutes before they were supposed to appear before the party guests.

 

[Firefall]

Solaru recovered rapidly from his arduous journey. The regenerative qualities of the Xyst liquid still coursed through his veins a century on from his original transformation. His mind felt clearer and his resolve was determinedly getting stronger by the minute.

When his wings had strengthened enough, Solaru began flying again, seeking out the King of Adherin. If events had not changed dramatically in the last ten years Solaru had been on the run, then this would be no other than King Bohden Vasska.

So it was that he made straight for Kalden, the capital city of Adherin. Time again seemed short to Solaru; Lodekai was doubtless weaving his plots and intrigues uninhibited with no Aeonar left to check his ambitions. Solaru therefore travelled with some urgency, but did not press himself relentlessly as he had in the days before.

He felt sickened at how close he had come to losing his mind, and even his life, in that mad flight. Still, the mere thought of even Lodekai’s name made the lone Aeonar tremble with barely contained wrath. If Lodekai happened to be anywhere in his vicinity, Solaru feared he would lose control, seek out the black hearted warlord and try to tear him to pieces with his bare hands.

Their last battle, ten years ago, was a combat of exceptional skill and precision that saw them evenly matched in every cut, parry and riposte. They moved at speeds hard to catch with the human eye and with such strength and balance they seemed to defy natural laws. It had taken the finest degree tilt of Solaru’s blade, at such an extreme angle in order to finally bypass Lodekai’s defences and thrust at his heart.

The measure of concentration necessary was simply too demanding in Solaru’s current state of mind. He had no doubt he would be dead in a heartbeat if he were to fight Lodekai here and now. And yet there had to be some way to stop him or at least hinder his progress until Solaru felt sure of himself again. The tragic loss of all the Aeonar known to Solaru also meant that he was now alone more than ever before, as he had no agents to keep him apprised of Lodekai’s movements.

This then was the reason he had to find the King. He had to be told of Lodekai and his minions’ existence, and due to his position of power was the most equipped to grant Solaru valuable resources he would need in defeating Lodekai.

Lodekai. Solaru set his jaw firmly, and continued flying.

 

[Shadowseldil]

Earlier that day, Zelos himself had his hands filled to overflowing. "No, set the flare candles up there!" he hollered to the men at the back of the stage which had been crafted for his show, "You, make sure those sparklers spin in opposite directions! Let me see those streamer cannons! Yeah, they look good. Where are my knives? Have they been sharpened? And the fruits? Where are the fruits I ordered? Yes, put the flare candles up on the top of the stage, on the corners so they can shoot out over the water. Hey, be careful! Those smoke bombs go off on contact, you know. You, bring the curtains--"
"Excuse me, sir," said a suave voice from behind him.
"Yeah, what--oh, Marcos. What now?"
"You realize that, apart from the soldiers, you will be one of the few people allowed to be armed in his majesty's presence? That comes at a great privilege, and as the king's foremost protector, I must make certain that everything here is safe."
Zelos sighed. This guy was a real stiff and it bugged him. "Look, Marcos, we've been over all these plans. What more is there now?"
"It's about the throwing knives. I--"
"What Marcos? What? You've seen my records, my resumes, the people I've performed for, you even dug into my family records, which I really don't appreciate."
"I understand, Master Ridlew," Marcos said smoothly, trying to make peace, "And it is not you that I question. But there will be other people on your stage?"
"Just some pretty ladies, eye candy you know? Helps distract for the illusions. Other than them, it's just me."
"And for your finale?"
"If you're so worried about it, than you can do it. You throw knives, right?"
"Well, I-I..." Marcos stammered, cleared his throat, and said, clearly, "Yes I do, but I'd rather not be involved."
"Do you trust anyone else?"
"There are a few, but I don't believe any throw knives."
"What about the king?"
"You can ask, but I have not known him to."
"Well, then, it'll... No, no, no, angle the water blasters, so they spray over the whole crowd! It'll have to be you, Marcos."
Marcos sighed, "Well, there is one or two of my men I can get to do it for you. Let me get one of them to throw for you. I can trust them to follow my orders, but I don't like to detach them from their duties."
"Well, that finale is one of my trademarks. No other entertainer can do it, I'll guarantee that. People love it. But if you want me to give the king less than my best show for his aniversary, then--"
"No, I'll," he nearly huffed in frustration, "I'll get someone to do it. Beyond that, about these ladies. I'll have a handful of the castle maids to help you, ones I know cannot handle knives."
"Make sure that they're drop-dead sexy, okay?" Zelos said with a smile.
"The more attractive they are, the better they distract, is that it?"
"What? Oh, uh, yeah, that's it. For distracting. Now if you will excuse me, I have to prepare."
"The show is at eight of the clock," Marcos reminded, "Be--"
"I know, I know," Zelos said, "I'll have it covered, I assure you."

Now that the party was about to begin, Zelos waited backstage in his best outfit. It was a nice affair, a ruffled shirt with a black, sleeveless overcoat. It had reddish-pink trimmings, carefully dyed to match his hair. He would wait for the party to start, mingle a little, get a little to eat, and meet some ladies. His "volunteers" were already in their costumes, waiting nervously. Zelos had done a regular rehearsal with them, but they were a lot more nervous than those that helped with his street shows.

Marcos, meanwhile, was patrolling the roofs. He was taking one last round of all of his "guards." He had decided that he would in fact be close to the king during the celebration, but he wanted his agents at key locations so that any fool-hearted attempt at an assassination would not disturb the celebration.
He was confident that nothing would happen. For all of his spy and agents, none had reported anything remotely plausible, although a careful watch had followed Conrad through his daily activities. He was not considered a threat, though, just a nuisance.
Other sources had mentioned sightings of some creature, a winged man, from the reports, near the kingdom. Normally, Marcos would write this down to drunken mutterings, but since it had come from two separate sources, he took a small note of it. If it were some sort of monster... but it was probably nonsense.

 

[Firefall]

From his perch atop the Kalden bell tower, Solaru surveyed the distant castle with his keen eyes. He balanced perfectly on the highest pinnacle, surmounting a gablet on the roof of the tower. If anyone on the street far below were to notice a shape blocking out the light of the stars, Solaru was confident he’d be mistaken as an overlarge gargoyle.

He’d travelled quickly to reach Kalden in a matter of days. Solaru masked his final approach by flying above the cloud cover, but couldn’t be sure he hadn’t been spotted in the outlying lands during his haste. It wasn’t a simple matter of revealing himself to the public, demanding to see the King and expecting he’d receive fair treatment. Though he appeared fair and angelic to some, many would see the Aeonar as a monster mutated from some alchemical experiment. Which was true to some degree, Solaru reflected ironically.

If Solaru still had Aeonar agents in place, he was sure he would have been able to get on the guest list without any trouble and disguise himself sufficiently to fool any but the closest inspection. However, such was not the case, and Solaru could see it was going to be extremely difficult to remain undetected until he had seen King Bohden, and not scare him to death in the process.

The city was lit up in anticipation of the celebration; the cobblestone roads bathed in warm light from street lamps and picked out in pinpricks from commoners waving candles. The castle itself was illuminated by hundreds of up lighting braziers and wall mounted oil lamps and torches. The stone masonry of the castle was impressive to say the least; curved buttresses and tall arches surrounding flamboyant traced windows on the keep, with high walls bridging the outer towers. Though architecturally appealing, it was still a fortress to Solaru and he searched hard for a likely point of entry.

At a distance few human eyes could match, Solaru picked out the guard detail and the heralds at the front gate, and the sprawling train of horse driven carriages escorting nobles along the paved ring around the fountain. His gaze shifted to the shadowy figures of guards patrolling the grounds at the base of the castle. Still others could be seen on balcony top, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Approach on foot was out of the question.

Along the parapets, guards were stationed at intervals, though noticeably fewer to Solaru than those below. He imagined everyone was on duty tonight, but any threat perceived was more likely to come from below. Apart from the remote possibility of wall scaling assassins, these guards were unlikely to see any action tonight aside from a fantastic view of some midnight fireworks.

Solaru squinted, trying to pick out more detail. Despite the dark and the deeper shadows cast by watch fires, his near night vision enabled him to distinguish motion and form with a little intuition. A tall man walked among the guards, obviously a captain or similar, probably doing his last rounds before he joined the King inside.

The lone Aeonar waited patiently until he left...