28. Chaotic Tarot
Chaotic Tarot
Scarlet
T he morning light filters through the narrow window, casting a soft glow over the sparse furnishings of my shared dorm. I sit on the edge of my cot, running a brush through my tangled tangled hair as I mentally prepare for the day ahead. It’s always an entire process detangling my hair after a formal event. The complicated updos do a number on my hair and Lord Greystone only made it worse.
A sharp intake of breath draws my attention to Rose. She's staring at me, eyes wide and lips pressed into a thin line. It takes me a moment to realize she's fixated on the mottled bruises peeking out from under my tunic sleeves.
"What happened?" she demands, crossing the room in two long strides to grasp my arm.
I flinch involuntarily at her touch on the tender flesh. "It's nothing."
Rose scoffs, pushing up the fabric to better survey the damage. Purplish splotches mottle my skin in an unsightly map of pain. "This doesn't look like nothing."
Shame burns my cheeks. The last thing I want is her pity or concern over something so trivial compared to the stakes we face. "I had a run-in at the event last night," I mutter, tugging my arm free. "But it wasn't a fight that did this."
The words hang heavy between us as Rose's expression darkens with realization. "Greystone," she spits out, venom coating the name.
I avert my gaze, unable to meet the simmering fury in her eyes.
"We're going to make him pay for this," Rose vows, fists clenched at her sides. "At the first opportunity, I'll—"
"No." I cut her off, shaking my head firmly. As much as justice calls to that primal part of me screaming for retribution, I can't allow her to jeopardize everything we've worked towards here. Not when there are larger stakes at play than just my own suffering. "That's not why we're here."
Rose opens her mouth to protest, but I forge ahead before she can argue. "Besides, we have bigger concerns right now." I suck in a steadying breath. "I received word that Tabitha was captured last night during that charity event debacle."
The anger drains from Rose's face, replaced by a stricken expression. "Tabitha? But she's just a kid..."
"She stopped being a kid the day she joined the guild," I remind her grimly. We were no older when we pulled our first jobs, though the memories still make my stomach churn. "But you're right - she's too young and inexperienced for something of this magnitude. If she's been taken into King Remme's dungeons..."
Rose shakes her head, mouth setting into a grim line. "Then she may already be as good as dead. Those dungeons are infamous. People go in and never come out."
A lump forms in my throat at the thought of what Tabitha might be enduring in those dank cells, scared and alone. The kid has spunk, but she's hardly equipped to handle the dungeon's rumored brutality. We can't leave her to such a grisly fate.
"Then we have to get her out. Quickly, before it's too late." My hands curl into white-knuckled fists, nails digging into my palms.
Rose nods, some of the fiery determination rekindling in her eyes. "You're right. It's too risky for her to be here. But breaking into those dungeons?" She lets out a low whistle. "It won't be easy."
"Since when is anything we do ever easy?" I shoot her a wry look, trying to inject some levity into the situation.
A ghost of a smile quirks the corner of her lips before the somber mask slides back into place. "Fair point. But where do we even start?"
I rise to my feet, crossing to the rickety table to retrieve my staff - the item I found in the last trial. My fingers trace the intricate carvings, and a flood of possibilities blooms in my mind. "Well, for starters, we put these artifacts of ours to good use. If they'll play a role in the next trial like I suspect..."
Rose's brow furrows as she catches my meaning. "Then we'd better learn how to wield them properly. Who knows - maybe there are advantages we've been overlooking."
A determined nod, and we gather our things to head for the training arena. If we're going to pull off this harebrained scheme of infiltrating the kingdom's most secure location, we'll need every advantage we can find. How hard could it really be. We are already staying on palace grounds. No one is better set up to rescue Tabitha than us.
As we stride through the palace corridors, my mind whirls with strategy and contingencies. Getting into those dungeons will be the easy part compared to finding Tabitha amidst the labyrinth and making it out alive. But we have to try. I won't abandon one of our own.
***
I drag myself back to my room, sweat-soaked and completely spent from training. Working with this stupid staff is kicking my ass. I'm so used to the finesse of dagger work - swinging around a giant chunk of wood feels ungainly and awkward as hell.
I pause at my door, leaning against it as I try to catch my breath. My whole body aches and I can already feel nasty bruises forming under my clothes. How the hell am I supposed to get decent with this cumbersome thing before tomorrow's trial?
Gritting my teeth, I finally push inside, only to spot a neatly folded piece of parchment on my pillow, weighed down by a small velvet pouch. Intrigued, I snatch it up, the cool material sliding pleasantly against my palm.
An invitation? But from who? My curiosity deepens as I examine the elegant handwriting requesting my presence for some private rendezvous this evening. I open the pouch to find a map marking a secluded door somewhere in the palace. Well, well...looks like someone has something clandestine in mind.
My eyes scan the elegantly scrawled lines, curiosity piquing as the words sink in.
Lady Scarlet,
Your endeavors in the tournament have not gone unnoticed by those in lofty positions. If amenable, present yourself this evening at the discreet location marked on the enclosed map. An audience has been requested - one that necessitates the utmost discretion on your part.
Opportunities such as this are seldom extended. I trust you will prove worthy of the privilege.
R
A secret rendezvous? Now who could have sent this kind of scandalous invite? My eyes narrow as I reread the vague yet undeniably suggestive lines. The overly self-important tone practically screams "royalty" - seems someone High and Mighty has taken an interest in little ol' me.
A smirk tugs at my lips as I consider the possibilities. Could it really be the king himself summoning me?
My gaze drifts to the heavy pouch, fingertips toying with the drawstring. With a steadying breath, I tug it open. A folded map tumbles out, the thick vellum bearing an intricately rendered layout of the palace grounds, a single red X marking a nondescript door tucked away in a secluded alcove.
An invitation, a map, a summons shrouded in enigma...I should be far warier of stumbling heedlessly into unknown territory. And yet that defiant spark that so often governs my actions prickles with temptation to unravel the mystery. What sort of illicit game is the king playing?
My sore muscles protest as I strip off my tunic, wadding the rank fabric into an unceremonious ball to discard later. Lukewarm water from the basin does little to revive me, but at least I no longer reek quite so foully.
Donning a lightweight linen shift that hangs loose and unrestrictive, I tug a pair of well-worn boots onto my feet. Simple, unobtrusive...just in case stealth proves necessary wherever this rendezvous may lead.
Clutching the folded map, I slip out into the hushed corridor, carefully pulling the door shut behind me. A few candles flicker in rusted sconces, casting wavering shadows that turn every nook into a potential hiding spot for prying eyes.
Keeping to the edges, I make my way through the winding passages, my path traced on the map in my mind. Right, then left at the portrait of the fat Count Woolridge, continue on until the alcove with the crumbling griffon statue...
My knuckles connect firmly with the weathered oak door, the sound echoing hollowly in the deserted hallway. For several tense beats, everything stays maddeningly silent. Then the rusty grind of a latch, and the door cracks open a sliver.
"Who goes there?" a deep voice rumbles from the other side, guarded but calmly authoritative.
I clear my throat, keeping my tone level. "I was called here for a private audience."
The single eye peering through the opening gives me a long, scrutinizing once over. Then it disappears, replaced by the door swinging inward to admit me. There in the entryway stands the unmistakable figure of King Remme himself.
"You may enter," he says, stepping aside to allow me passage. As I slip past, my gaze sweeps over the intimate study - plush rugs, shelves crammed with ancient tomes, a fire crackling invitingly in the hearth. Two chairs are drawn up before it, flanking a small table laden with a sumptuous spread of fruits, bread, cheese and ruby-red wine.
"Make yourself comfortable," King Remme gestures as he closes and latches the door behind us. The heavy thud of the lock engaging sends a shiver down my spine.
We're utterly alone, away from prying eyes and watchful ears.
He moves to the table, unhurriedly filling one of the crystal goblets. "I trust your evening has been an...invigorating one so far?" His piercing gaze finds me again as he proffers the glass.
"You could say that, Your Grace," I murmur, accepting the goblet with a small dip of my chin and draining the drink immediately. While I know I should hold myself back tonight with the next trail being tomorrow, I’m also in desperate need of an escape. Even if only for a moment.
A ghost of a smile plays about the king's lips as he settles into one of the chairs, golden bracers glinting in the low light. With a wave of his hand, he invites me to join him. "Then let us pursue more...restful diversions for a time. I've found a well-cultivated mind craves intermittent reprieve from the relentless onslaught of the day's rigors."
He leans back, holding my stare with an intensity that sends that same delicious frisson shivering through me.
Heat prickles along my neck and cheeks. The wine's rich, earthy notes tantalize my senses as I take a delicate sip, allowing the flavors to linger on my tongue.
The king seems to study me as an expectant silence stretches between us. At last, I find my voice again. "You mentioned wanting to discuss the trials...?"
King Remme stands and casually trails his gloved fingers along the spines of the leather-bound books lining the shelves. He seems to be choosing his words carefully when he finally speaks.
"I'll be frank - I had an ulterior motive asking you here tonight." His expression darkens briefly. "I wanted to ensure you were recovered from the unpleasantness with Lord Greystone at the soiree. He would do well to remember his place."
My breath catches at hearing Greystone's name stated so bluntly. There's a protective edge to the king's tone that sends a subtle thrill through me.
"You honor me with your concern, Your Majesty," I say, holding his intense gaze over my drink. "But any troubles I have are nothing compared to ruling a kingdom."
King Remme considers me for a long moment, his eyes revealing a glimpse of empathy. "Even so, Greystone's behavior cannot be tolerated. No woman deserves such mistreatment from one who wishes to have their lives forever connected."
I sense genuine anger simmering beneath his controlled exterior.
"Greystone is only a temporary annoyance," I reply dismissively, though my skin still crawls recalling his unwanted proximity. "I assure you, I can handle him."
King Remme's intense stare seems to peer directly into my soul, seeing past the nonchalance I try to project. His jaw clenches and shoulders tense, as if holding himself back from acting on some sudden impulse. When he speaks again, his voice resonates with quiet authority.
"I promise you, Greystone will learn the cost of mistreating someone under my protection."
His bold words hang heavy between us. I feel both thrilled and unsettled. Is the king saying I’m under his protection? Does he mean as a participant in the trials? Why do I have a part of me that hopes it more?
The king crosses the room and retrieves a small wooden box from a shelf. I notice the gilded scrollwork matches the designs on his armor.
He places the box on the table and lifts the lid, revealing a colorful deck of cards illustrated with mystical symbols. "Perhaps a reading can offer guidance to face the challenges ahead?" he suggests, quirking a conspiratorial eyebrow at me.
I tilt my head, intrigued by this unexpected development. "You read tarot cards?"
"A private hobby of mine," Remme admits with a roguish grin, shuffling the stack of cards. "I find the artwork fascinating, even if I don't fully grasp the arcane meanings."
I laugh at his candid admission - trust the king to dabble purely for the aesthetic appeal. I take another sip of wine, eyeing him over the crystal rim with interest. "Well then, reveal my future, oh wise magician. What secrets lie ahead for this lowly subject?"
He places the shuffled deck on the table and begins deliberately turning over cards, studying each colorful illustration intently.
"Let's see what guidance the cards offer for the path ahead," he says, eyes glinting with mischief.
He flips over the first card to reveal a gruesome image of a stabbed figure. "Ah, the Ten of Swords. A painful betrayal by someone trusted," King Remme explains, tracing the bloody sword hilts with one finger. "A wound cut deep to your core."
I lean back in my chair, eyebrow raised skeptically. "Or maybe just a bad night at the theater."
His lips twitch, suppressing a grin before schooling his features again. He turns over the next card depicting a bountiful harvest.
"The Seven of Pentacles - patience and perseverance finally rewarded with prosperity." His gaze flicks meaningfully to my cleavage. "Fulfillment in all aspects of life's bounty."
“My eyes are up here your highness,” I tease.
His throat bobs as he turns over another card—the Two of Cups.
"A profound spiritual and physical bond between two souls," he declares, arching a suggestive brow. "Blended together in...sacred carnal ecstasy."
I nearly spit out my wine at his provocative insinuation. The king grins unrepentantly before moving on to the next card—the imposing Devil.
"Dangerous temptations that must be resisted, lest they lead one astray," he intones with mock gravity.
I set down my goblet, unable to restrain my snort of laughter. "Is that so?"
The king's eyes dance with humor, though his expression remains serious. "The cards impart deep wisdom for those who look closely."
I lean in, emboldened by this flirtatious game. "Well don't leave out any sordid details, Your Majesty. My future clearly depends on it."
The king's intense gaze remains locked with mine as he turns over the next card - the Eight of Swords.
"Ah, a card that has more to it than meets the eye." he proclaims with dramatic flair. "It shows a figure blindfolded and bound, trapped by unseen restrictions."
His eyes bore pointedly into mine. "Perhaps it represents feeling shackled to toxic relationships or obligations that sever you from your true path in life."
The king traces his finger along the illustrated figure's bindings. "Base attachments that blind the spirit and must be severed, no matter the cost, or they will utterly consume you. Plus there’s eight swords total so the ending may be brutal. Stab it. A lot. End it."
“Well then.” I raise my goblet in a mock salute, thoroughly entertained by his heavy-handed "reading" at this point. "Here's to severing toxic bonds and finding my true spiritual union," I retort airily. "All great journeys begin with a single step - or stabbing, apparently."
The king seems to drink in my reaction, a speculative glint in his eye. But his mask remains firmly in place as he gathers the scattered cards once more. "It seems I still have much to learn in the realm of tarot divination," he remarks. "Perhaps you'd care to display your own mastery?"
"Me? I'm afraid I don't have the gifts for divination," I say lightly, shuffling the deck while I gather my thoughts. In truth, my only experience is the card tricks I used to swindle gullible marks in my youth.
But perhaps some artful deceit is called for to keep our game going. A sly smile tugs at my lips as an idea forms. Let's see if I can turn the tables on His Majesty.
I flip over the Ten of Swords, depicting a brutal backstabbing. "Betrayal by someone trusted," I proclaim in an exaggerated gasp. "Tell me, does this represent a devious advisor? A jilted lover out for revenge?"
The king's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. A hit already - interesting.
I flip over the next card, revealing The Moon. "Ah, a card shrouded in shadows and mystery," I say, giving the king a meaningful look.
"It often represents things hidden beneath the surface, secrets and illusions that distort the truth."
I trace my finger along the card's crescent moon, watching Remme closely. "Perhaps deep down you conceal something that could shake your very rule if revealed?"
The king tenses almost imperceptibly, though his expression remains guarded. I'm struck by an intuition that my theatrical reading has hit uncomfortably close to some truth he wishes hidden.
"But let's move on from such gloomy cards, shall we?" I continue breezily, turning over the next illustration. "So many more secrets left to unveil, Your Majesty..."
I embellish my act with wild predictions, all the while scrutinizing Remme for any reaction to my prodding about concealed truths. His disciplined mask reveals little, but I sense the Moon's imagery troubles him. What damning secret might the king be hiding? His reactions has me only more curious.
Undeterred, I press on to reveal the Two of Cups between two embracing figures. "How romantic - the start of a deep, passionate union. Tell me, does someone have the King's affections?" My eyes dance with wry humor. "Some delicious court scandal to spice up these mystical ponderings?"
The slightest muscle ticks in King Remme's chiseled jaw, a subtle tell that I've struck a nerve somewhere. Resisting the urge to crow in delight, I consider my next probing move carefully.
When the Hierophant emerges with his haughty, patriarchal glare, I can't resist one last playful barb. "Oof, what an arrogant old fool who fancies himself above the world," I spew out dramatically. "Stubbornly blind to the vibrancy and progress unfolding all around his crusty, shriveled existence. I'd hate to be in his royal doghouse!"
An impish grin curves my lips as I take in King Remme's reaction - the slight flush, the muscle twitching in his chiseled jaw. Clearly my thinly veiled taunts about scandalous unions and carnal cravings have struck a nerve with the usually unflappable king. I lean back in my chair, feigning nonchalance as I study him over the rim of my goblet.
"Why Your Grace, one might get the impression you find certain...interpretations rather provocative," I murmur. "Though I can assure you, my interest lies solely in understanding the deeper mystical truths the cards reveal."
I flip over the next illustration - the Eight of Cups, depicting a solitary figure turning away from a series of full chalices. "The endless quest for something more meaningful than mere material comforts and shallow pleasures," I proclaim solemnly. "A courageous soul's journey to slake an unfulfilled inner yearning."
My gaze holds his as I add with pointed significance, "Even at great personal risk, one is compelled to abandon the safe, known path to pursue deeper, soul-nourishing purpose."
The king's throat works as he swallows hard, something flickering in those depths. Is that understanding dawning in his stare? I resist the urge to hold my breath as the weighted silence stretches between us.
At last, his lips twisting wryly. "You spin quite the captivating tale, my lady. Although, sometimes the meanings can be difficult to grasp."
Back to my lady are we?
The subtle challenge in his words sends a delicious shiver of anticipation down my spine. Slowly, deliberately, I turn over the final card - The Lovers, an entwined couple gazing into each other's eyes with unabashed adoration.
"Does it?" I murmur huskily, holding his heated stare as my fingers trail over the intimate illustration. “See, here we see the ultimate spiritual and physical union - souls destined to converge, no matter what conventions or obstacles fate puts in their path."
My breath catches as Remme leans closer, the magnetic pull between us becoming nearly irresistible. Yet some primal part of me yearns to prolong this delicious game of truth and daring just a little longer.
Forcing a blithe tone, I gather the deck again with slightly shaky hands. "But enough divination for one evening. Shall we move on to...lighter diversions?"
King Remme's eyes fairly smolder into mine as his lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. "By all means," he rumbles in that sinfully rich timbre. "I find myself quite diverted already."