Airlean Tales S2E22: Miasma (3)

The Royal Guard had been respected, once.

Karis recalled daub paintings of tall soldiers in crisp, gilded armor, capes sweeping a blue gash over the canvas. She had admired them. Thought her father one of them, before he explained the duties of a Royal Hunter, and how one group protected from outside threats while the other protected from threats within.

He had not, of course, explained how the Guard and the Hunters shared not only similar goals, but a long history of mutual animosity. For the Hunters had once been the trusted Round Table, sworn to protect Airlea and its king to their final breath; there had been no need for a Royal Guard. But after the betrayal of Ser Lance Benwick had split the Table, trust had shattered, and the king required a guard with undivided loyalty. Thus had the Royal Guard been instituted, much to the resentment of the Round Table.

Of course, Karis did not resent Captain Lilian Forsythe for such a petty and obsolete reason. No, she despised the Royal Guard for standing idly by at too many a Storm, guarding the doors to a room where a glorified skeleton graced the throne.

The Royal Guard were a circle of twenty formidable warriors, drilled through the full curriculum of the Mythaven Knight’s Academy in their youth, then passed into squiredom for five years; only after that ordeal were they formally knighted and allowed in service of the king. Yet where had all of their power and mastery been when nearly half the Hunters met their death at Havenport, when fresh-faced youth were sent onto the fields at the Battle of Two Blights, when the country had screamed for salvation during the Great Storm?

Nowhere. Shackled to a listless liege, bound by the futility of their oath. She hated their royal capes and their gilded plumage. Worthless, every last one of them.

Next to Karis, Sethis jolted. “Lilian?” he choked. “What are—why would—”

“Hello, dear cousin,” Lilian said. She turned to Karis with a chilling smile. “Caelute. Your reputation at the Academy precedes you.”

Karis lifted her chin imperiously. “As the valedictorian? Graduating with the Headmaster’s Distinction?”

“As an insufferable fussbudget. I see that hasn’t changed.”

Karis’s finger twitched on her rapier. “People can change.”

“Yes, a pity you haven’t.”

She gritted her teeth. “Better a fussbudget on the field than a captain on the bench, no?”

A muscle in Lilian’s jaw jerked, and the exchange was certainly about to come to blows if not for Sethis’s timely interruption.

“Enough, the both of you,” he said sharply. “Lilian, how are you here? Surely you did not sail alone all the way to Atlantis? And the kingdom—saints! Micah, where is Micah?”

Lilian looked a tad insulted. “Looking after the kingdom, of course. We knew it had to be left in the hands of someone you trust.”

The expression on Sethis’s face was not what Karis would call relieved. If anything, it only seemed to tighten further, filled with one thousand thoughts that he could not give full voice.

“Micah has been increasingly aggrieved with Father’s rule,” he began slowly. “Lilian, he’s so young. I fear that he may…that he…”

“Will succumb to despair like the king?” She shook her head. “It’s natural for you to worry, Seth, but he bears the same stubborn Forsythe blood as you and me. Fret not; he has the resolve to withstand the aristocracy.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Sethis murmured. But where Karis expected him to press the matter, he didn’t. Instead, his features hardened. “Now, which seacraft do I have the pleasure of lambasting for smuggling unlawful personnel?”

Lilian flinched. “Seth, you know I was only worried for you.”

“You are the Captain of the Royal Guard, cousin. If someone as recognizable as you managed to infiltrate the delegation—”

“I was permitted because of my recognition. And it took even me a significant portion of arm-twisting and favor-calling before I could join a company.”

“Lilian…”

“No, Seth, I don’t regret a thing.” Her lips pressed together. “I see you strolling alone at an evening banquet, chatting unchaperoned with young women, your personal guard prancing about hostile territory and brewing in fisticuffs with senators—”

Every nerve in Karis’s body jolted awake at those words. She inadvertently stepped forward, her blood rushing in her ears. “You saw what?”

“Fisticuffs?” Sethis’s face began to pale. “Karis informed me that Lord Yuden had gone to the Harvester’s Dominion at Captain Galeus’s request, but to have it devolve into violence—”

“Oh, yes, violence is one way to put it. Both Yuden and Galeus nearly died, and half of the senator’s compound is razed to dust.”

The breath was knocked from Karis’s lungs like a blow to the chest. The nightmarish vision of Halcyon’s broken body, shattered like glass and submerged in viscera, sent her reeling.

“Where?” It came out as a strangled whisper. She forced in a deeper breath; it shook, and expelled her next words in something like a scream. “Where is he?”

Lilian’s brow twitched in surprise. Karis vaguely felt Sethis’s hand on her shoulder, but angrily pushed it off. Liar. So much for Halcyon’s safety; so much for negotiations. Senator Rathos was apparently a mindless brute, and he would pay for it in blood.

“Calm down, Caelute,” said Lilian’s voice, distant and stringy in Karis’s ears.

“I said, where is he.”

“I heard you the first time. Yuden is fine, just getting fixed up in the Warmonger’s caduceum. Take a deep breath.”

The condescending tone had Karis’s rage building until it throbbed in a headache between her temples. Wordlessly, she turned and moved to the door.

“This is why you’re not fit to be a guard, Caelute,” Lilian said from behind her, every word frigid and unyielding. “You’re always looking somewhere else.”

“You’re right,” Karis bit out. “As opposed to the Royal Guard who blind themselves to everything.” She stepped through the threshold.

“Don’t bother coming back! I’ll see to His Highness’s safety from now on.”

“Good. The one thing you’re competent in.”

Lilian’s voice vaguely rose in protest, but Karis walked faster and ignored it. She swore she could hear the distant laughter of Keeper Soterios Ninotas warbling in the air.

Aren’t you the fool, lady of the sugar plums.

The caduceum was a compound of small buildings serving as the dominion’s medical complex, which Karis discovered after a short round of sufficiently urgent questioning. Back in ancient days, it had been little more than a cluster of tents served by bustling physicians. Now, it was a structured grid of clinics set upon clean tiled roads to prevent dirt and dust from tracking in. No plants or coral served to decorate, but small mosaic stones dotted the floors and walls like a wildflower splash of color.

Finding Halcyon was a simple matter. He was no Warmonger—his striking Yueraian robes would have attracted much attention. Karis followed the loose trail of chatter from passing warriors and physicians, listening for the quiet, rushed tone that served as the hallmark of gossip. Before long, she found herself at an unassuming square building set apart from the rest of the complex. A sign in large Atlantean letters was affixed to a thick hanging curtain, with a small Common subtitle of Contagious — Do Not Enter written beneath.

Karis ignored it and pushed inside.

The room was sparse but clean. A small shelf of ceramic jars jutted out from the wall. Blood-speckled sheets rested over two simple chaises; Mathias sat upon one, bandages wrapped all around his torso and up one arm, and Halcyon sat upon the other, a physician in long sage-green robes tending to his shallow wounds.

Seeing him alive, his injuries superficial, slowly uncoiled the giant knot sitting in Karis’s gut. Her temples still pounded angrily, but breath finally filtered into her lungs, and she nearly gasped for air.

Alive. At least for one day longer. That cursed Keeper and his gift of fear would never cease to haunt her.

“Lady Caelute,” Mathias said, standing suddenly. He wobbled unsteadily on his feet, and the physician turned from Halcyon to push him down forcefully by the shoulder.

“No sudden movements,” she said—calmly and soothingly, yet with authority. Karis disliked her at once. “It’s a miracle that you’re still conscious, Galeus. Don’t throw it away now.”

He winced and said nothing more.

Halcyon glanced up, and while his brows flicked in surprise, he only acknowledged Karis with a short nod. “Oh. Thought you might’ve come earlier.”

Karis knew her emotions were too close to the surface. She felt them boiling heavily there, fiery rage and cold fear, clamoring indignation, tears of panic. Halcyon’s cursory dismissal nearly snapped her then and there. She stared mutely, clamping down every thought with a vice grip. She would not dare to humiliate herself by crying here.

Of course she’d wanted to come earlier. Of course she’d wanted to fight by his side. Damned propriety, damned politics, damned prophecy. She was sick of it all.

Karis bit her tongue until it drew blood, relying on the iron taste to keep her words at bay. She watched silently as the physician’s hands moved over Halcyon’s body, sealing the shallow wounds littered over his flesh, lingering over the muscled planes of his chest and shoulders. Asters, she was being altogether too handsy, wasn’t she? That seemed beyond clinical interest.

“Are you well, Lady Caelute?” Mathias’s voice asked dimly. “Would you like a seat?”

She shook her head, still unwilling to speak. A single word might break the dam.

The physician stepped away from Halcyon for a moment and regarded Karis. Luscious dark hair was brushed back into a tidy bun over her olive skin, honey-brown eyes gleaming with a soulful light that was altogether too knowing for Karis’s taste. She was, unfortunately, quite beautiful.

“Pardon me,” she said. “But I must ask you to wait outside until treatment has concluded.”

Karis lifted her chin, her nerves jumping for a fight. “And who are you?”

“She’s Daphne Artellis, a medical sophist,” Halcyon said. “A physician of Atlantis.”

The fact that he came to this woman’s defense irked Karis more than it should have. “I can see that. One of high rank, I assume, given the intricacy of her stole.”

Halcyon looked hesitant.

“Yes,” Daphne said evenly. “I’m a magus from the School of Arcana. I currently practice as a miasmatist—a physician who specializes in ill humors of the manawell.”

Karis’s brow arched imperiously, covering a shot of fear. “Ill humors. Hence the quarantine.”

“Yes.”

“Then there has been some form of mana corruption?”

“We’re only being cautious. Outside, if you would.”

Karis’s jaw clamped. “Yuden came back from the Harvester’s Dominion, which closed its borders, and now is being examined for prolonged exposure to manawell degradation? What is going on in your country?”

“Outside, if you would,” Daphne repeated. Firmer now.

Karis did not, in fact, want to go outside. But she was all too familiar with how irritating—and dangerous—the hysterics of family members could prove during operations. Too many times had the Hunter’s Guild been breached after a Storm by belligerent parents and spouses demanding to see those in recovery.

Her own experience as a physician barely kept her in check. “Fine,” Karis forced through clenched teeth, and she pushed back out of the clinic.

As her first step met the tile road, she heard a rapid shuffle of cloth behind her, and Daphne’s protesting voice. “Lord Yuden, you’re still—”

“Just a second,” said Halcyon’s voice.

“At the very least, no manacraft while you’re in proximity.”

“Sure.”

The door swung open again. Karis cast a look of derision over her shoulder.

“Listen to your physician for once in your life,” she said. “We’ll speak tomorrow.”

“Karis.”

That was unfair. The way Halcyon said her name always held such weight to her; he spoke it with a softness and a sincerity that she rarely heard from him. Rigid, she turned to face him. The blue in his eyes was flecked silver from the Atlantean mana lamps.

“What happened?” he said. “Why weren’t you there?”

Why wasn’t she there? She suddenly wanted to laugh with the ridiculousness of it all.

“I couldn’t go,” she said, “for the same reason that you never should have gone in the first place. We represent not just ourselves, but Airlea. And infiltrating the Harvester’s Dominion is tantamount to an act of war.”

He flinched, but didn’t back down. “I had to.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice hardening. “This is not a Storm. This was Atlantis’s problem, and it remains their problem, not yours.”

His jaw tightened just slightly. “I’m the last Leventis.”

“And? Atlantis has been without you for nearly fifteen years. They can survive just fine! But I—” She bit her tongue to silence her next words. But I cannot be without you. “What, is Atlantis so lacking in warriors that they must depend on a landwalker to do their dirty work?”

He said nothing. His face betrayed nothing.

Karis clamped her fingers until the nails dug into her palms. “There it is again. The cursed bloodbind.”

This bedamned city and its filthy secrets. Now she remembered. That was why she had to find her answers. Because no one else would give them to her, and they were becoming more and more deadly with each passing day. First it was a duel for honor. Now, manawell degradation. What was next?

No longer did Karis have to debate what price she was willing to pay for knowledge. The answer was anything.

“I’m sorry,” Halcyon said haltingly.

“No more apologies.” Karis gave a dismissive nod and turned to leave. “I will find my own answers.”

“Florenhost is next week.”

She stopped. The strange words meant nothing to her, but the way Halcyon said them, each syllable measured carefully, cued that he was saying something important.

“It’s a festival.” He stumbled slightly, finding strength as he continued to speak. “It used to celebrate with flowers—now it’s shell wreaths. There’s stalls, music, feasts and dancing, a big show with mist and lights.”

Then he met her eyes.

“It’ll be busy. Loud.”

Ah.

Karis stifled the smile that pulled at her lips. So he was trying to help in what way he could. Lately, she hadn’t been able to tell for certain; with every passing day in Atlantis, Halcyon felt more enigmatic, more distant, drawn into a world where she could not follow him. If she was honest, just this brought her great relief.

He was still thinking of Airlea. Maybe of her.

“Thank you,” she said with a hint of genuine warmth. “I will keep that in mind.”

Then the Florenhost festival would be her opening to speak with the Keepers in private. Surely nothing offered better privacy than a festival that pulled all the crowds.

“Will you go with me?” Halcyon said.

Karis stared, stunned. Wait. Hadn’t they reached an understanding? Surely he knew that she would be occupied.

Still, Halcyon held her gaze, his tight jaw and clenched fingers betraying hints of nervousness. What exactly was he asking her? She wished he could say it outright, but she was too aware of the openness of the compound, the eerie silence of a night without wildlife.

“I, I don’t know,” she fumbled. “I thought—that is, I assume there will—be a great deal happening—”

“I know,” Halcyon said quickly. Tension wrote lines over his face. “And if you want to see everything the…city has to offer, I won’t stop you.”

“Then why?”

His hand extended and his fingers caught hers, calluses rasping pleasantly on her skin. She waited for him to trace some pattern into her palm—some secret message, some hint at the truth—but he did nothing of the sort. He only lingered until she was too aware of his touch.

“I’d like to show you something,” he said. “It should be brief.”

The only thing Karis was interested in seeing was the secrets Atlantis was so keen to hide…or so she wished to say. But she would be lying. A warmth not unlike the addicting spread of alcohol buzzed in her veins. Maybe it was his hesitation, maybe it was the softness in his expression—she knew.

He wanted to show her around the festival for no reason other than he simply wanted to.

Why did that mean so much more to her?

Karis swallowed and fought the urge to look away shyly. Could she indulge in such a thing? No. Absolutely not. It would be irresponsible to the highest degree. She had questions for Keepers that could take hours—and tonight had only magnified her growing weakness for Halcyon. She had not truly realized how terrified she was for him until those fateful words—Yuden nearly died—had fallen from Lilian’s lips.

She should pull away. Leave Halcyon be. Protect him from the ill omen. Protect herself from pain.

“Yes,” said her traitorous mouth as her traitorous cheeks blushed and her traitorous eyes lowered coquettishly. “I shall accompany you if I am able.”

Who was she and what was she doing? Fool, fool! A pity that her idiocy had a benefit, because the smile that dawned on Halcyon’s face was near-angelic, the most open thing that she had ever seen from him.

“At Florenhost, then.” He raised her hand to ghost his lips over her knuckles. Then he released her and disappeared back into the clinic.

Karis stood there for a long moment, her heart pounding a dour rhythm that drowned out all else:

Fool. Fool. You blasted, wretched fool.

“They really are terrible guards.”

“Lilian—”

“They don’t even realize how terrible they are. It’s quite the accomplishment, really.”

Sethis poured himself a thin layer of red wine and reclined on the chaise. Weariness had set into every inch of his bones. “It’s alright, Lilian,” he said.

Lilian was sitting cross-legged, arms folded, the picture of noble irritation. “It’s not alright. It’s an affront to every guard in existence. The last thing they should be doing is gallivanting off on their own, leaving you to fend for yourself—and they do it routinely!”

It was her profession, so it was only reasonable that this would be a sore spot for Lilian. Still, Sethis felt the urge to defend his Hunters. Not the least reason being his guilt. He had made Karis empty promises, and now Halcyon was wounded.

“They only did so at my command,” he said. “And you can understand, I’m sure—or you would be at my father’s side, and not here.”

Lilian wrinkled her nose. “Technically I’m still following my oath, which is to royal blood.”

That was a generous interpretation of the Crownsguard Oath, which was literally ‘to the kingsblood.’ Sethis supposed it could technically refer to those who bore the king’s blood, like his wife and children. But really, with the frequency of how princes attempted to overthrow their fathers, the oath should only be to the king.

Sethis decided that pointing out any of this would not be constructive, and simply sipped at his wine. He wished he could water his plant. Or maybe he simply wished he was home.

Lilian quieted and watched him with a keen eye. “Something is bothering you.”

He sighed. “A great many things are bothering me.”

“But one thing in particular.”

“What have I gotten myself into, Lilian?” He poured another thin layer. The wine swirled against the curved glass like blood. “I never should have come.”

“You’ve been unfortunate, that’s for sure.” She seized the bottle from him and took a swig directly from it. “But what was the alternative? Facing the wolves at the palace alone? This was our only opportunity to find allies.”

Her clearheaded logic calmed him more than he expected. “You are right, as you often are,” he chuckled wryly. “Yet with every passing day, it seems I have led everyone into greater and greater danger.”

“That’s where you blame the wrong person, Seth. Because you were never at fault.”

“Oh?”

“Your host has kept everything from you, setting you up for failure.” Lilian stuffed the cork in the bottle with some aggression, then smiled sharply. “Our true solution is to find this brat of a senator and beat the answers out of her.”

He grimaced. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“It is entirely unreasonable to expect that you could protect and lead your people when they keep you blind as a bat!” She huffed shortly. “Fine, then, a different method of extraction. I heard from the Atlanteans today that preparations for Florenhost, their spring festival, are in full swing.”

Surely she was not implying what he was thinking.

“It’s a charming little thing,” she continued. “A celebration of love and first growth and flowers…well, not flowers now that the island’s sunk, but they still make garlands with seashells and such.”

“That sounds like our Petal Waltz,” Sethis said, his foreboding only growing.

“Yes, where do you think we got it from?”

She tilted her head and regarded him for a moment. Mulling over whether to speak.

“Oh, just say it,” Sethis said.

“I’ve seen how the senator looks at you. She’s interested.” She raised a hand as Sethis opened his mouth. “Don’t deny it. She thinks you only a parrot and a fake, yet always looks to speak with you and positions herself with you.”

“Because—because I still am the head of the delegation, and her guest of honor.”

“That would force her to dine with you. Not to sit next to you while sightseeing, or seek you out in the courtyard during a banquet.”

He felt his ears warming. “We still don’t know…”

“I’ll bet you ten gildings that she accepts if you ask her to the festival.”

He laughed aloud. “You’ve said that too often for me to believe it.”

“Yes, because I’m right every time. Natalie always heads right for you at every socialite gathering. Fiona’s been pining after you for years. Tressa would have licked your shoes if you let her—”

He winced. “Stars. I hope not.”

“You need to accept, dear cousin, that you tend to hold a decent amount of sway over women.”

Sethis knew that he should feel honored—that Lilian shared this to either lift his mood or tease him. Instead, he felt somber.

Those women held him in such regard because he was an illusion. His front was all boldness and chivalry, an image to help tie the nation together. In reality, he was so far from perfect—much too similar to his father with his doubts and insecurities and self-absorbed nature—and every day he felt the gap a little more keenly. They were in love with a lie.

He tried to shake off the moodiness and focus on the matter at hand. Xiph. The festival. Potential answers.

“I shouldn’t use someone’s inclinations as a weapon,” he said. “And even if I did, she does not trust me. She might find my appearance…pleasant enough, but that will not equate to answers.”

“We’re not asking her for her deepest fears or personal secrets. We’re asking her for information that is directly related to our survival. If anything, she owed us this long ago.”

“Very well,” he said grimly. He felt filthy for it, like another schemer of the aristocracy, pawning people and their feelings like goods. But Lilian was right. This was the only way he could protect his delegation. “I will ask her to Florenhost.”

“Use even a smidge of your charm, and I guarantee you’ll have her talking by evening’s close.”

He closed his eyes. “I will…try.”

“And whenever you feel poorly about it, Sethis, just remember.” Lilian’s gaze hardened. “This is the only avenue she’s left us to save our own lives.”

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