12. A Fool’s Errand
LUCIAN
It was not until 121AA that Eunoia were allowed to attend Visnatus. As due to their nature, they were to only be given access to an education that pertained to healing and ruling a world as docile as Viridis. They did not need the knowledge of psychology or the strategy of war.
— CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE FORMING OF VISNATUS BY REPRESENTATIVE LUTHENIA
Desdemona steps away from me and looks around the room as if she is expecting to find something new. A stark difference to the playful smile that once stole her face.
“What is it?” I ask, stepping forward.
“Nothing.” She starts shaking out her hands and blowing on them. “It’s just hot.”
We need to amp up her precision. I accepted her pleas of dancing because I have to earn her trust. She has not excelled on the magic front, but if she doesn’t trust me the entire mission is futile. When the time comes, I have to be able to persuade her to do as I wish.
I think I’d like to be able to do so without annihilating her.
It is her overwhelmingly fast breathing that has me stepping into her and picking up one of her hands, surprised to see a long scar on the palm. A deep cut that she undoubtedly acquired before she arrived, telling by the state of its healing. Not at all the kind of wound you would stumble upon in Utul, and further proof that she is lying.
I don’t trust her, not by a long shot. There is something more than her home that she is hiding. I would put my energy into discovering it if it mattered to my cause, but all I need is her power.
I brush past the wound as I outline the lines on her palms—which truly are burning—and she shudders as I fill her hand with cooling energy. Cooling her down as she heats me up.
I move my finger up her arms, passing past her wrist and over her hammering pulse. I smile a little when her breath catches until I realize my heart is beating as quickly, if not more, than hers.
Desdemona tugs her hands from mine and presses them against her ears for a moment before she removes them. “I’m okay,” she says. “I’m okay.”
“What happened?”
Desdemona looks at her hands, tracing the lines on her palms as I had done before. “Just these migraines I’ve been getting.”
“A migraine?” I ask. “When did they start?”
She looks up, locking her gaze with mine.
Her eyes.
How have I never noticed her eyes?
They”re the color of the warm rays of the sun, of leaves right before they fall from their trees, of the gold that we’ve deemed too precious to mine.
Her eyes are the color of free falling. Into the world, beneath its surface, through its core.
And the shape—not rounded and bulbous like they usually appear. No, they’re wide and sharp, half of her eyelashes sticking down into her eyes while the others jut out at odd degrees. I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to realize she’d been using glamour to appear more Folk-like, though I must say I prefer her as this. Sharp, steady.
Stunning.
Her entire face an indiscernible map of her feelings. I should have spent more time committing her smile to memory, because suddenly the most treacherous thought I’ve ever known is that I will never see it again.
The track ends with a scratch, and Desdemona walks to the music player. “Let’s try again.”
* * *
“Hey,” I whisper the next morning when I enter Azaire and Yuki’s room, where Azaire’s been sleeping for the better half of three days.
Yuki stops spinning in his chair. “Hey.”
Azaire slowly opens his eyes with a groan, staring both of us down.
Yuki’s arms shoot up and he says enthusiastically, “Hey, I told him he was being too loud, bro.”
Azaire smiles, and it looks like it pains him. “Can you give us a moment?” I say.
“Yeah, sure, because I love being kicked out of my own room,” Yuki answers, but he leaves nonetheless.
“Azaire, I am so sorry,” I begin.
“You don’t have to say it every time I wake up,” he says groggily. “It was my decision.”
“One you would not have made without my meddling.”
“You know how I feel about your actions as of late,” he mumbles. “But a weapon? That’s bigger than us. A little pain for future peace is warranted.”
I look down. I do not want him to be able to read what must be clear: this isn’t about peace. Not for me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I won’t let you get hurt again though.”
“It’s not up to you.” He tries to sit up with a groan and fails. “It’s not everyone else’s job to make sure I’m alright.” Azaire lays back down and pulls his dark-blue beanie over his eyes.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Wendy,” he mumbles. “I think…” he sits up again, uncovering his eyes. “I don’t know… I mean, the thing about her is that she feels everything, you know?”
“No, I don’t. Perhaps start at the beginning?” I offer with a smile.
“When I first woke up from…” he waves his hands around his body, “you know, she said that ‘whatever this is has to end here.’ And that she ‘doesn’t know how to do this’.”
“Doesn’t know how to feel?” I offer, considering how he began this confusing conversation.
“I think.” He tugs at his beanie. “She didn’t take it well in uh,” Azaire clears his throat, “in class.” I clench my jaw. “This was a lot worse than that. What I was saying before, about the feeling everything, she can’t turn off her empathy like the rest of them. I think me being hurt scared her, but I want her to know that I’m okay because of her.”
I see now. I’ve heard of the Eunoia who cannot turn off their powers of empathy. Those who are not Eunoia write about it as if it’s a gift they take for granted. Those who are Eunoia write about it as if it’s a curse they wouldn’t wish upon their least favorite person.
Least favorite, because the Eunoia refuse to hate.
“I want to help get rid of this thing,” Azaire says with conviction.
“Before it’s used to cause more damage than we all can take.”
“Alright,” I say. “We’ll destroy it. Together.”
* * *
Four days later, Wendy is outside the combat room when I exit from my morning training with Yuki. I asked Azaire to talk to her for me and persuade her to find any information she could on her mom, Isa, and the Arcanes. He convinced her, all right.
I knew I shouldn’t have asked him, and I knew I needed answers more.
Though she doesn’t look at me when I exit. Her eyes lock inside the room, specifically on the opened armory in the back. This could be her first time seeing the weapons. They don’t let the Eunoia in combat class.
“What’d you find?” I ask her, wiping the sweat from my forehead.
“Not here.” Her eyes don’t stray from the armory. “Are those all the weapons you guys have?”
“Not even close. Why?” We must need weapons for something.
“No reason.” She shakes her head and finally looks at me. “Let’s go.”
I take a step and she follows, heading to the nearest exit when she grabs my arm. “We can’t go past the barrier.”
They’re here.
“What happened?” I ask.
“A pernipe. I killed it.”
What in Sulva’s name is happening? One of Eunoia’s greater corenths on Visnatus. Yet, it makes me a little giddy. Too excited to not be considered maniacal. A greater corenth here means the puzzle is coming to me. So too will answers.
Not to mention, Wendy killed it. A Eunoia. It’s not that I care, but the rest of her kind will. Killing and Eunoia do not go hand in hand. Their power is life.
“Alright. I have another location.” I pivot toward the steps to one of the dusty old Royals’ rooms, stopping by my suite and calling Azaire on the way. Wendy gives him a slow nod without eye contact.
We head up the stairs and I close the door. Wendy pulls a book from her bag. “I found this in my mom’s study. It’s glamoured.”
A philosophy book: The Mendacity of Good and Evil.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“For one, this book is written by Shenlin, not Marto. Second, it doesn’t feel like my ma or anything else in her study.”
“Can I see it?” Azaire asks her softly.
“Yes,” Wendy whispers and takes a deep breath, handing him the book.
He flips through the pages and stops three-quarters of the way through. “They didn’t get the book right.”
“Whoever glamoured it was in a hurry,” Wendy observes. “Whatever it is was valuable enough to not warrant destruction.”
“Or it was indestructible,” I offer.
“Why wouldn’t they just take it?” she says.
Azaire closes the book and hands it back to her. “Things are best hidden in plain sight.”
“There’s more,” Wendy adds. “Whatever this is, I think it came from Lorucille.”
Azaire and I exchange a look. “May I see the book?” I ask.
When the book is in my hand, I try deftly to pull apart the components of the glamour. Glamour magic is a form of mental magic—the physical objects do not truly change, they only appear different to an untrained eye.
Perhaps it is because I am a Lucent, or perhaps it is because of Labyrinth’s incessant words about physical strength paling in comparison to mental strength, but I’ve always been adept at pulling apart a glamour to see the truth of it. Not with this one, however. Try as I might, the book remains a book, said to be written by Marto when it was truly written by Shenlin.
I hand the book back to Wendy with defeat, and finally a question is spoken. “Why?”
Wendy answers, “I found papers, all signed and stamped by Queen Melody and King Easton.” I give Azaire a look as we both weigh our options. To disclose or conceal? Wendy gives us both a scrutinizing look, back and forth, and says, “Tell me.”
Damn Eunoia.
Azaire is the one to answer, “Lorucille is making a weapon.”
“You’ve seen it?” she asks, but it’s more a statement than a question. “That’s where you came from? When Azaire was half dead.”
“Yes,” I answer.
“You lied to me.” She looks at me like I’ve committed the worst of betrayals.
“You would’ve known if I’d lied.”
“At what point does omitting the truth become a lie?” Wendy says.
“When you’re intentionally hiding something,” Azaire answers.
“Yes,” I admit to Wendy. “I lied.”
“I told you not to be vague about my mother,” Wendy whisper-shouts. Then her gaze snaps to Azaire. “Did he tell you?”
Azaire stutters, “Tell me what?”
“I didn’t tell him,” I answer. It wasn’t important, and I didn’t think his bringing up her dead mother would aid agreement.
“Tell me what?” Azaire asks again.
Wendy puts the book in her bag and looks at me like I am a culprit. “My mom’s dead,” she answers with her eyes on me. “Whoever gave you her name likely didn’t even know that this was in her study. And if they did, they didn’t think you’d find it.” She finally turns to Azaire. “They sent you on a fool’s errand.” She turns from both of us. “I’m going to get the glamour stripped.”
“Allow me,” I say. “I’ll take it to Calista.”
Wendy pulls her bag closer to her. “I can do it.”