Jackal Among Snakes, Book 4: A GameLit Fantasy, page 6
All of the other chairs were occupied by servants of the castle—maids, male attendants, knights, noble councilmen. There was a great disparity in status between many, but all ate the same thing—a quarter loaf of bread, two slices of meat, and a simple stew of vegetables. The duke and his duchess were no exception.
As Elias glanced around, the duke spotted him. The man had a bright, childlike glee to him as he smiled, half-rising to stand. “Young master Elias!” he called out. His wife slapped his chest lightly, forcing him to sit down.
Elias strode over with Stain just beside him. “Duke Marauch,” he greeted with a polite slight bow.
“Have a seat.” He pointed to the place of honor beside him. “I reserved it for you.”
“Thank you.” He took the seat, and Stain was seated someplace not far. There was already a plate of food waiting for both of them, untouched.
“Emm…” the duke paused, glancing between Elias’ plate and him. “If you’d like, I can get you more food. You are a large man… muscled, and it’d be best if—”
His wife swatted his fingers. “Don’t think of it, Marauch. No exceptions, not even for the lion.”
His jowls tremored as his head quickly swiveled from his wife to Elias. “Emm… forgive me, but—”
“I am fine, thank you,” Elias interrupted before the duke could retract his statement. “I should be subject to the ration as much as anyone else.”
“The young lord is so magnanimous,” Duke Marauch blubbered. “Would that more take after you, the world would be a better place.”
Elias had learned much about the Dukedom of Elbraille in his time here, even if it was not the purpose of coming here. He had no doubts that they would be steadfast allies in the battle to come. The duke was a kindhearted person, if a bit slow. These two traits allowed his sharp-tongued wife to roll right over him. Though he had met worse people, she was selfish, and desperately grasped for power.
“Honestly…” Elias began, picking up the piece of bread. He dipped it in the vegetable soup. “I am impressed by the duke’s adherence to this ration. It has increased my opinion of you greatly.”
The duke smiled brightly, his thin lips hidden by fat cheeks turning into a crescent moon. “Well, I—”
“He should strut about, stomach bursting from his doublet, while people outside die to plague? Would only make things worse than he’s already made them,” Duchess Christine commented, tearing a piece of bread apart with her wiry fingers.
Stain tapped his fork against his plate, smiling. Elias knew that look—he was angry. He hated the duchess. Stain had informed Elias that the duchess had been the source of most of the corruption in the city that generated initial outrage.
In addition, she may have been behind the public executions performed by Elbraille’s knights that caused this siege to happen. Though the besiegers were not genuinely a threat, the duke did not wish to order his knights to suppress things forcibly. Hostile actions at this point would only exacerbate things.
“Regarding the plague…” Elias diverted the subject. “I have been having my father’s court mage, Helmuth, examine it.”
Though Elias had been talking to the duke and duchess alone, several people quieted to listen to Elias’ next words. He grew nervous and took a deep breath to continue.
“The disease appears as distorted, waxy skin that feels as hard as stone to the touch. It spreads from there. Anything it spreads to loses all sensation—touch, pain, both are gone. It appears most commonly on the hands.”
Elias looked around, ensuring everyone processed what he’d said. “For some people, it spreads very slow, and indeed can stop after a certain point. For the unluckier people…” He shook his head. “When it reaches an organ and affects that organ… it causes failure. Lungs, hearts, stomach… And the brain… well, the brain is an exception.” Elias shook his head.
The duke was the only one who remained able to eat as Elias continued. “For the brain, it’s… it’s like rabies. Makes people… act irrationally, even hostile.” Elias crossed his arms and leaned on the table. “That’s why it’s spreading so quickly. The worst afflicted spread it. And worse yet… the plague doesn’t seem to be entirely organic. There is something… mystical about it, according to Helmuth’s sight.”
“Bah.” The duchess waved her hands. “These people—so foolish. They demand my husband’s head for crimes he did not commit, ignoring Vasquer, our common enemy, at their doorstep. The snake is laughing as we tear each other apart.”
Elias stared at the duchess, red eyes cold. As he came to know the duchess better, things fell into place in his head. The duke would probably never support Vasquer without her coercion. He was sure that she had been the lynchpin behind their association, and now she so deftly played the supporter.
Stain shared Elias’ sentiment, tapping one foot against the ground quickly. Elias pushed his plate to draw his attention, then gave the lightest shake of his head to abate his companion’s rage. Yet as he sat there, he considered something the duchess had said.
“A common enemy…” Elias repeated. His gaze grew distant. “People always unite against a common enemy.”
“So you would think,” the duchess continued, oblivious to Elias’ true thoughts. “But instead, they cry of corruption, unable to accept their own laziness as the source of their misery.”
Stain looked ready to blow his stack, but Elias rose. “Excuse us. I’ve remembered I forgot to do something,” he said diplomatically, then pushed Stain’s chair out, bidding him to follow.
“But… you didn’t finish eating,” the duke said, watching Elias concernedly.
“You enjoy it.” Elias gestured, then strode away while loosening the collar on his shirt. Behind, he heard his wife inform the duke that he could not, in fact, enjoy it.
Once they exited back into the hallway, Stain said quietly, “Glad I’m not the only one that can’t stand that miserable d—”
“A common enemy, Stain,” Elias interrupted. “It was right in front of me, but I never saw it. Instead, we’ve been trapped in a siege for weeks.”
Stain looked at his friend, perplexed.
Chapter 8
Why was Argrave wasting his time talking with the crippled daughter of Margrave Reinhardt? That was a good, if somewhat cruel, question. But the answer to that question was the same as why he was here in Lionsun Castle at all—information gathering.
The meeting with Orion, though still some weeks away, was looming over his head like a guillotine. As far as Argrave knew, there were few people directly connected with the original ‘Argrave.’ Rose of House Parbon had spent her early days as a ward in the royal palace. Ruleo, a main character in the original Heroes of Berendar, had a very unfortunate entanglement with Argrave in the past. Beyond those two, only the royal family had any significant connection with Argrave.
Provided nothing went astray, he planned on extracting whatever knowledge he could about himself from the chairbound girl. Rose of Parbon was a sweet person, and that would make things considerably easier… or so he hoped. Perhaps this was as unnecessary venture. Nevertheless, Argrave thought it might be important to learn some things before speaking with Orion of Vasquer, who was soon to take the top of the list of ‘most dangerous people Argrave had spoken to.’ That list included the Alchemist.
The five guardsmen led Argrave to the peak opposite the one housing the wyvern. True to the margrave’s words, each and every one of them was a mage. Argrave could see the magic within them. He was glad to see them, as it gave him the chance to discern what each rank of mage’s magic would look like in his sight. They weren’t exactly labeled with convenient letters. Considering the magic within them was less dense than Anneliese’s, he was sure that they must have been C-rank, or perhaps on the lower end of B-rank.
Though he debated asking them as they walked along in silence, he never had the chance. One of them stepped forward and opened a large stone door, and then three entered. The remaining two stood behind Argrave, trapping him. He gave a coy smile and entered without a complaint, careful to duck beneath the door lest he slam his forehead.
The apartment was much more wondrous than those he’d seen elsewhere. The place had been painted elaborately, hiding all the bits of gray stone. Bookshelves had been made into trees on the walls, and the rest of the mural depicted vast plains with horses roaming them. Opposite the grand mural, there was a large window that allowed one a grand view of all of Vasquer. This must have been personally prepared by the margrave and was a good testament to his love for his daughter.
The daughter in question sat in the center of the room, waiting. She was in a simple wooden chair that had smoothly cut wheels and convenient handles. One of her legs was missing from above the knee. The other looked undamaged, but was terribly small, indicating something was wrong with it. She was small, appearing somewhat frail, and she had the hallmark of House Parbon on display—bright red hair, brighter red eyes.
Argrave stepped forward, and his knightly escorts spread throughout the room. All of them faced him, evidently ready to attack him if he tried anything.
“Hello, Lady Rose,” he greeted at once, giving a polite bow.
“…Hello,” she returned after a moment’s pause, staring up at him. Her eyes didn’t give off an impression of weakness at all. “You have… Are you truly Argrave?”
“Is it the eyes that cast doubt?” he questioned, placing one hand against his face. “Well, I suppose it has been… many years,” he trailed off, not knowing the exact number of years.
She placed her hands on her lap. “My father tells me you are here to apologize.”
“That’s right,” Argrave confirmed, then glanced around. With the presence of the cold knights, he found it a bit difficult to avoid any awkwardness. He supposed this should not be easy for him.
Argrave cleared his throat. “I have much to say about the matter… but I feel it would be best to get to the point. I apologize for causing the severe injuries to your legs.” He lowered his head deeply and placed his hand to his chest. “I altered your life unforgivably, and so I will not dare hope for forgiveness. Nonetheless, I wish for you to know I harbor deep regret.”
In the silence that followed, Argrave heard her take a deep breath and exhale. He felt he’d been sufficiently glib, and he hoped she’d buy it. He had a lot to learn from her.
“Do you remember the season in which this happened?”
Argrave lifted his head. No, was what his mind was screaming, but he could not say that. Considering it was a horseback accident…
“Spring,” he said with confidence, though it was a total guess.
“Winter, actually,” she corrected, causing Argrave to tense up. The knights seemed to bristle at this discrepancy—it marked he didn’t care enough to remember, or so they would think.
Perhaps Rose sensed this, or perhaps Argrave merely got lucky, for she continued, “But spring and winter are so close to each other, perhaps it is my memory that is off.” She waved her hand charitably.
Rose’s gaze moved between the knights. She pursed her lips, and then waved. “Please, good knights, give us some time alone.”
“My lady…” one of them protested.
“Give me my freedom to choose, at the very least.” She smiled. It seemed to strike a chord with the knights, and they all left quickly. Once they were gone, Rose looked up at Argrave. “You could convince me you were not the same boy I knew all those years ago, during that winter…”
“What has changed since then?” Argrave questioned politely, smiling somewhat.
“Well… to start with, you would not so patiently wait to be invited to sit all those years ago,” Rose said. “Please.” She gestured for an empty chair.
Argrave said his thanks, then pulled the chair to sit beside a table near the margrave’s daughter.
“Do you still hope for a betrothal with me?” she began.
Had Argrave been drinking, he most certainly would have choked just then. Instead, he kept his gaze on her eyes and said plainly, “No. I have other commitments.”
She raised a brow, then rolled her chair closer until she sat opposite the table. “Nikoletta of Monticci?”
“Anneliese of… You wouldn’t know it,” he shook his head. “My traveling companion.”
“The snow elf?” She tilted her head. When Argrave nodded, she seemed surprised. “Then you really have changed.”
“How so?” Argrave furrowed his brows.
She looked out the window into the plains of southern Vasquer. “I recall that you made comments about cutting off elven ears when we took a carriage tour of Dirracha.”
So, Argrave was a racist, he noted mentally. “Nothing changes one’s opinion of another more than exposure,” he dialogued casually.
“And halting an invasion—this was your exposure?” She looked back to him.
“No.” Argrave shook his head with a smile. “A mercenary. Galamon. He taught me more than anyone besides—” He stopped himself from saying ‘his father,’ because ‘Argrave’ didn’t exactly have a good father figure. “He taught me about strategy, honor, loyalty, reliability, and… ways to cope,” he finished vaguely, hoping she’d catch the bait.
“Cope?” She took the bait.
“You mentioned your memory of the events was off.” Argrave gestured toward her. “There are big holes in my childhood. And… Well, I shouldn’t get into this.” He shook his head, acting hesitant.
“Please, I can listen,” she insisted.
Argrave bit his lip. “I don’t want to talk about how hard I had things. It trivializes…” His gaze darted to her legs, then off to the side. “…trivializes what I did to you. And it isn’t trivial. I did something horrible.”
Rose looked genuinely affected by his words, and Argrave felt guilty that they were all empty. They sat in the silence, neither looking at the other.
“I heard rumors… that Induen enjoys orphaning children,” Rose said lightly.
Argrave looked at her, trying to act as though she’d struck a sensitive spot.
“I see.” She nodded slowly.
“Some learned men say that the mind deliberately represses some memories that are… traumatic,” Argrave said suggestively. “Like I said, there are big holes in my memory.” He finally looked at her, locking his golden-eyed gaze on hers. “People tell me I was a terrible person. And I do remember doing terrible things. But… I would like to turn a new leaf. Can I…? No, I shouldn’t.” He turned away.
“You can talk to me.” She rolled her chair a bit forward.
Argrave refused to meet her gaze for a few seconds, then turned over. “Can you help me recount things? I want to make things right. With you—with everyone.” He turned out to the window, eyes distant. “I was so far gone that I didn’t even realize half the things I was doing were wrong.”
Rose looked hesitant, but she did eventually nod. “Alright. I can help you with that. In return… you’ll have to answer some of my questions about your travels,” she bartered.
“You… I don’t know how you can agree so easily,” Argrave said emotionally. “Yeah. Anything you want to know.”
Argrave felt the filthiest he ever had, but the prospect of meeting Orion kept the façade right over his face. He’d be sure to get what he needed to know.
***
“Little Argrave had a stutter?” Anneliese questioned curiously. As ever, they watched the suns set together, sitting on the edge of the Lionsun Wall, gazing out beyond the mountains.
“So Rose says…” Argrave shook his head. “He lost his mother at eight. Induen’s doing. Little Argrave watched, apparently. Unfortunately, Rose never met her.”
Anneliese looked disappointed, but she quickly refocused. “Anything useful for dealing with Orion? Your—his—relationship with the man?”
“Rose’s knowledge had an eight-year gap. She left Dirracha when she was thirteen. I did learn how old I am, though.” He looked to Anneliese. “Twenty.”
“Young.” Anneliese raised a brow.
“Younger than ‘me.’” Argrave put his thumbs against his chest. “Though only by two—no, it would be three years, now.” Argrave lowered his hands and clasped them together. “Bottom line is, I don’t think Orion hates me. And that’s all I need.”
“Yet something troubles you,” Anneliese noticed.
“I don’t know. It was weird.” Argrave shook his head. “She kept asking all these questions about me. Wouldn’t call it friendly, per se, but… I knew something was up. Like father, like daughter, like son… all of the Parbons are terrible at hiding things. It made it difficult to learn what I wanted… but I’d say it was sufficient.” He turned his head to Anneliese. “And we were also invited to dinner.”
Anneliese raised a brow.
Chapter 9
The family of House Parbon ate in a quiet, if harmonious atmosphere. The margrave ate the same thing he had with every meal—a simple steak, unseasoned, with water. His eyes fell upon the gray-haired woman beside his daughter, still eating quietly. “Is everything alright, Ridia?” the margrave questioned.
“Oh.” She lifted her head, as though drawn from a daydream. “Oh—umm, yes. Everyone has been very kind to me here.”
The margrave nodded. “I apologize that my son could not be here. I promise you that Elias will make it up to you as your fiancé.”
“He can hardly be—”
The doors to the room opened and Ridia flinched, cutting her sentence off. Argrave stood there, wearing the same gray leather armor as he had the past few days—it was clean now, though. His three companions stood just behind him. He scanned the room.
“Thought there’d be more than just us…” Argrave said hesitantly.
Reinhardt gestured to the chairs opposite Ridia and Rose. “Sit,” he commanded.
Argrave nodded without protest, then moved to sit. The margrave took a piece of paper and stowed it away in his pocket, then adjusted some of his cutlery. Argrave hesitated to sit right next to Reinhardt, but eventually he swallowed and did so, sitting quite rigidly and politely.
