Chapter 8 Valir
Valir
Finding Valir was not easy. He spent two of his precious four hours until he needed to pay up asking around for any clues on the noble’s whereabouts.
He knew Valir lived in the Silver Spires district, but not where exactly.
And when he tried to go there to find out, a private guard not unlike the one he entrusted drunk Valir to on the winter solstice turned him away in a polite yet adamant way.
Having no invitation to the noble’s house, Kraghtol had to resort to asking around at the alchemists’ school, hoping someone would have any inkling of a clue.
In the end, it happened to be Aniriel of all people who remembered having overheard a conversation between the small group of nobles in which Valir had showed off his wealth by mentioning he usually spent the Masonday mornings in one of the city’s most exclusive bathhouses.
Finding the pompous marble building of the ‘Steam Gardens’ in the Park District took another half an hour, and when the receptionist asked for two silver coins for entry, he didn’t even hesitate.
If he could not come up with the ludicrous sum in the next one and a half hours, these two coins wouldn’t help him, anyway.
Instead of disrobing and taking the incredibly fluffy towel from the bathing servant, Kraghtol hurried through the steamy hallways, ignoring the many luxurious amenities of the place in favor of scanning the bathing pools.
The place was not very crowded, as most people would have to work on a Masonday morning, and even fewer could afford the location.
Finally, he found whom he was looking for.
Half-obscured by steam, Valir was relaxing in a small pool for two, his arms stretched to the sides, and his eyes closed in bliss.
The water smelled of fresh flowers and was in constant motion, either by some hidden mechanism or an alchemical solution.
Kraghtol had little doubt it might very well be the latter, because this was no doubt a prime example of the ‘big problems’ the guild allowed to be solved by alchemy.
The visible upper part of the noble’s body was pale and slender, unburdened by any scars or signs of physical activity, and his wheat-blond hair spilled over the edge of the pool.
“Valir.”
Kraghtol’s voice broke the distinguished silence like an axe, but he couldn’t care less about the disapproving looks of the other patrons and bathing servants. It had the intended effect, though, and Valir opened his eyes.
The bathing pool was on a marble platform, which put the noble slightly above eye level.
“Krasen. I certainly didn’t expect to meet you here. Apparently, they let in just about anyone now.”
Valir smiled in superiority, and the last part might have been meant as a joke, but Kraghtol had no time to get upset about it. Instead, he took a deep breath, feeling the anger simmering deep within him. When had that started to be an issue again?
“I…”
It was harder to say than he had anticipated, but there was no sense in false pride.
“I need your help. Please.”
A shade of surprise flickered over the noble’s face before he settled on a satisfied smirk that Kraghtol didn’t like in the least. He heard the splash of water as the noble leaned forward.
“Of course you do. I was already wondering when you would come to take advantage of the solstice situation. Go on then.”
Kraghtol was speechless for a moment, and part of him wanted to leave and turn himself in right now, just to get away from that arrogant prick. When he finally answered, his voice was vibrating with ire.
“This is not — it’s not about the solstice. And I’m not taking advantage of anything. Believe me, if you weren’t the only one who could help me, I wouldn’t bother you. Forget about the solstice thing. You don’t owe me anything.”
That clearly was not what Valir had expected, and a spark of interest appeared in his eyes.
“Look, Valir, I’m… I’m in trouble. With the guilds. And I need a loan.”
“A loan.”
Valir repeated the word, and Kraghtol could, for the life of him, not tell what the noble was thinking.
“Tell me more about this trouble first. Have you been fined? Criminal offenses? Stealing, perhaps? Tell me, Krasen: are you a thief? Or worse?”
Valir was apparently enjoying this more by the minute and didn’t even try to keep his voice down. Other patrons turned their heads.
“I am no thief!”
Kraghtol took a deep breath. He would have to play along if he wanted any chance of getting the money.
“No, I just thought it was a good idea to earn some money by working as a healer. Without involving the guild.”
“That’s surprisingly… boring.”
Valir seemed disappointed, and for a heartbeat, Kraghtol wondered if he should have just lied and said he had stolen.
“But what do you know about healing, anyway?”
“My father is the village healer.”
Kraghtol saw little harm in admitting that much. Everything to help his case.
The noble snorted, and Kraghtol only understood a moment later it was meant to be a laugh.
“Of course, and because your father demands it, you have learned his craft as well.”
Kraghtol didn’t understand the sudden bitterness in the noble’s words but shook his head vigorously.
“No! It’s not like that. I really like helping people. And it didn’t seem to do much harm.”
Valir shook his head.
“And yet, here you are, disturbing me in my bath, begging me to save you. Seems like that idea of yours harmed you, at the very least.”
Before Kraghtol could answer, Valir raised his hand. He wore his signet ring even here.
“Don’t actually beg, please, lest I might get a headache. How much did they fine you?”
“100 gold coins.”
He had briefly considered asking for more, but the mere thought of owing Valir more than what was strictly necessary filled Kraghtol with disgust.
“Really? That seems overly excessive to me. But who am I to criticize the way things are?”
Valir didn’t continue and seemed lost in thought, which suggested to Kraghtol that this was the point where he expected some pleading despite his earlier words.
“Please, Va — Mr. el Greylune. If you don’t help me, if I don’t pay up by noon, I will be forced into labor for years. I’m going to lose everything: my education, my future, … my dreams. You are my only hope.”
Kraghtol hated himself for how pathetic he sounded. And he hated Valir for making him beg like that. He could vividly imagine the schadenfreude with which Valir would savor the moment when he rejected him and —
“Fine.”
Kraghtol looked up, hardly believing his ears.
“What did you say?”
“I said yes, I will lend you the money. It is a lot of gold, but I am feeling particularly soft today. You will have to pay me back of course, with interest. After you graduated.”
Valir waved his hand, and immediately a servant brought a large towel that the noble wrapped himself in as he climbed out of the basin.
The servant was skillful enough not to allow Kraghtol a single glance of the noble’s body.
With a few words, he sent the servant away again to fetch some writing implements.
When they arrived, he wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper before sealing it with his signet ring.
“Everyone here in Winterstone will accept this as payment. I recognize you are in a hurry if you want to pay on time, which is why I am entrusting this letter to you now. You will, however, come to the el Greylune estate in the Silver Spires this evening to formalize the terms of the loan. Are we understood?”
Kraghtol was still largely incapable of answering and just looked at the towel-clad noble and the letter with bewilderment, before slowly taking the paper.
“Why?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why did you decide to help me? Is it because of the solstice thing, or —”
Valir smiled a frosty smile.
“Quite the opposite. If you had tried to extort money from me because of that, you would have left with nothing. But as I said. I felt generous today and decided to help out a fellow student. Which, I trust, is in your best interest.”
Valir was lying — that much was clear — but Kraghtol didn’t question his half-shadow’s luck any further. Instead, he nodded so deeply that it might have been mistaken for a curt bow and mumbled,
“Thank you.”
“It was certainly a refreshing change here. But the next time you visit a bathhouse, you should actually use it, Krasen. I think I have seen something green behind your ear.”
Kraghtol just stared at the noble in disbelief but then decided to postpone this new situation. Pressing the sealed letter to his chest like a treasure, he hurried towards the militaristic halls of the Guild of Peace.
He had not visited this guild hall before, and immediately felt nervous. Unlike the Alchemists’ Guild, all people here seemed required to wear the characteristic red uniforms, which was responsible for the unofficial name the orderkeepers bore: bloodjackets.
Rumor had it that the guild chose that particular color because it made it difficult to see bloodstains on it.
It was implied that the concern was not about the orderkeeper’s own blood, but their enemies’ blood they spilled.
Having only thought the best about orderkeepers in general, he doubted it, but given Kraghtol’s latest experiences, he was no longer sure if the rumor was baseless or not.
Casting the stray thought aside, he stepped up to the first desk he saw. He had not looked at the clock tower while running here, but he did not remember having heard its bells either, meaning he should have a few minutes left at least.
“I’m here to pay a fine,” he huffed while catching his breath.
The clerk on the other side of the desk looked at him with no particular interest. He, too, was wearing red, although Kraghtol suspected him to be an indentured servant.
“Name?”
“Kragh — sorry. Krasen from Caemdir.”