XXXV | SCHOLAR ELAS
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"Keep moving, miss," one of the guards holding her said. When Celvene looked up, she was met with a face of passive indifference. "You're to be brought to the cellars."
"The cellars?" she echoed. When the guard didn't reply, she pursed her lips. "I didn't do anything to be brought to the cellars."
Whatever that is.
"Sorry, miss, but it's not my call," replied the guard. He sounded bored. "I'm following orders."
A bitter taste flooded Celvene's mouth, and she swallowed.
The guard should've been taking orders from her, not Aleksandr. Whatever inane nonsense he'd told them clearly wasn't too convincing if the only guard she'd interacted with didn't seem pleased about having to jail Celvene.
That, or he was lazy. That was a definite possibility, given his replies.
The guard on her other side tightened her grip on Celvene's arm, but like her companion, she didn't seem happy. If anything, she looked upset, with her features pinched and eyes narrowed.
Celvene couldn't bring herself to defend herself any longer.
It had already been draining enough to return to the place she believed to be her home, to be detained before she walked through the gates.
No one had given her the time of day to explain herself.
They'd gone along with whatever Aleksandr had spouted.
"With any luck, Litvinski will free you tomorrow and exile you from the city. That's probably a better fate than staying here with him," the male guard muttered the last sentence under his breath, and Celvene barely heard him. Were Aleksandr's guards turning against him?
"Oh, excuse me? Excuse me!" a voice said from behind Celvene. "Please wait!"
She tried to look behind her, but the guards forced her head forward with a jostle of her body. But when another yelp sliced through the air, the three of them came to a halt.
"What is it?" the male guard said. His iron armor clanked as the person behind them sprinted in front.
His clothing was far too big, and the helmet on his head looked so large and weighty that it was forcing the man's head down. A sword peeked out of the sheathe looped to his belt, but it was upside down. Where was his armor?
Who is this? Is he even qualified to be on the guard?
The man cleared his throat and unraveled a scroll. The guards on either side of Celvene stared at the man with a certain degree of wariness, and Celvene couldn't blame them. This was probably embarrassing for them.
"Actually, I'll just let you read it," the man said after scanning the parchment for a moment. He turned it around and said, "I'm not great at reciting things on paper."
"You're bringing her to the prison?" asked the female guard. Her voice pitched, like she was surprised. "Alone?"
"Yes," the man squeaked, then placed his hands on his hips, clearing his throat. Everything about the guard was odd, from the fact that he was in clothing fit for a civilian to the fact that he was wearing a helmet with that clothing. "Yes, I am."
"You?"
"Is that a surprise?"
The female guard scoffed, then rolled her eyes. "Okay. I don't get paid enough to question Litvinski's orders."
Aleksandr ordered for him to escort me? That can't be right.
The guards dispersed, muttering under their breaths and casting glances at the man they left behind. Or, more accurately, a boy, she realized as he took off the heavy helmet.
But...
She squinted, studying his features. In all honesty, he looked more like a scholar than a guard, with thick gold-rimmed glasses, bushy eyebrows, and hair a shade darker than his skin.
Even his clothing wasn't fit for a guard, with a loose-fitting suit and an orange scarf that was pulled up to cover his mouth.
Celvene's eyes widened. He was the boy that had accompanied Izendra, the hurried girl who had tripped over Celvene and spilled her papers.
His hold was awkward, too. He grabbed Celvene with two hands, both loosened around her wrists, and with every step, he looked like he was going to fall over.
He hissed something under his breath as a hissing noise filled the air, and he pulled his sleeves down to cover his hands.
Celvene nearly said something, but when he stumbled again and almost took her down with him, she cocked an eyebrow and remained silent. He gulped, blushing.
"I'm sorry. I didn't expect your skin to burn. That wasn't in the job description," the boy said, though his voice was muffled by the thick wool wrapped around his face. He lowered the scarf and bit his lip. "I'm new at this. I'm not quite used to this whole..."
"'Force your prisoner into obedience' shtick?"
The boy nodded once. Celvene recognized the fear glittering in his eyes. The way he tried to mask that he recognized who Celvene was.
He was uncertain. He was scared. And Celvene had an inkling he wasn't here by choice.
"I know you, don't I? You were with the girl that fell over me while I was cleaning," she said.
Sucking his lip in, the boy averted his gaze before clenching his teeth. He didn't respond.
She took a deep breath. She was about to take a risk, a leap into the unknown, but she knew it was a jump she had to make. "Do you enjoy it here?"
The boy paused for a moment before shrugging. Celvene suspected she could fight him and escape if she wanted to, but she was too curious to see if he'd be able to help her. Plus, she had no idea where the other guards had gone. She could be seized the moment she stepped outside of the room.
"I preferred the castle while Virion was alive," he said after a few more seconds of silence. He sighed, wringing his hands together and leaving Celvene's hands unrestrained, save for her bonds. He was still scared, but he was talking now, and Celvene could work with that.
"You don't look old. When did you join the guard?"
The boy's lip trembled before he swallowed. "A few moonfalls ago."
"And you're already being put on duties meant for high-ranking guards? I can't imagine you're all that qualified after a few days. Where did you get that order from? Do they give that out to anyone?" She paused, her eyes flitting down to the boy's scrawny arms. "Uh, no offense, of course."
"I, uh, didn't choose to join. The frontline guards, I mean. And I was told not to say where I got the orders from, so..."
Where did he get them from, then? Someone working against Aleksandr?
She glanced over her shoulder. "You were forced to join the guards?
" Was Aleksandr running out of guards, and by extent, willing soldiers for the army?
She knew most of the guards fought in the army's battles, whereas the volunteer soldiers typically had separate day jobs, like forging.
The guards' duty was to protect the city, plain and simple.
The other soldiers were allowed more freedom.
"Yes," he said, his voice quiet. There was a quiver to it.
"But I was willing to, because I'd heard about you.
I offered to stand watch near the gates in hopes you'd return.
I'd seen you before, but to see you again, becoming queen like you're meant to," he breathed.
"You're an inspiration, miss. But I don't want to stay anymore.
You were the reason I was willing to join the guard.
It took a lot of begging to bring you to your cell alone.
I had to prove my loyalty through methods I do not approve of.
But I figured you could help me before they sent another guard.
They said I'd be able to do nothing but escort you to your cell, where more guards would be waiting. "
A tiny grin crossed her face. Studying the boy's face—the youthful shimmer in his green eyes—she could tell he was younger than her, and she was barely of age. "How old are you? You always struck me more as a... scholar."
"Seventeen lunar years. I was studying with Scholar Veylor, but General Litvinski took me from them and said my services were needed elsewhere."
Realization sunk in. Oriel must have sent this scholar to free her. That, or they knew that he was easily impressionable, and she'd be able to weasel her way out of imprisonment with ease if he was escorting her.
"Why not leave?" she asked. She knew it was easier said than done, but if she could plant that seed of doubt, that wonder of whether he could leave...
"I-I can't do that," he said, releasing one of his hands from her and using it to fan himself with his shirt. "Ale—our king will punish me. And he has been more than accommodating. He lets me wear my old clothing, and he even allows me to keep my scarf."
Perhaps Aleksandr was tricking her—putting a boy with an easy smile in charge of escorting her, to let her guard down. She'd escape right into a line of guards, and she'd be locked in the dingiest cell under the crime of escaping arrest. It was a perfect plan.
"Yes, but you can wear your scarf and not have to worry about dying every day if you escape," she said, and the boy's face blanched. She focused her attention forward again. She wouldn't give into his games, but that didn't mean she wouldn't plant a seed of doubt in his mind.
"Dying?" he replied, his voice a whisper. "He told me I wouldn't have to worry about..."
"He lied," said Celvene, shifting her weight. She could feel the boy follow her movements as he rested his other hand on her wrist again. His hands were cold and small. "That's what he does. He hands out empty promises and goes through with nothing he says."
"He doesn't sound worthy of the title of king.
Nothing like King Virion." The boy sighed again.
"My name is Elas. I knew the king well. Well enough for a mortal, at least. He was an honest man.
I was nothing but a street urchin before he found me and gave me a home in the castle.
Scholar Veylor was happy to take me in."
"I've come to know Oriel well. They've never mentioned you, though."
"It's not coming from a place of malice. They're just... secretive. I'm sure you've learned that. They fear that if everyone knows who I am, I'll be targeted instead of them if an enemy were to go for the scholars and wizards of the castle. Seeing as I'm mortal and all. We're quite fragile."
"Tell me about it," said Celvene, looking at Elas out of the corner of her eye.
His gaze was trained on the ground, and he chewed the inside of his cheek.
"I'm going to become queen one way or another.
I'll take my crown from Aleksandr, and you'll be free to do whatever you want when that day comes.
But for now, you should escape. Lay low in the city, or hide in a nearby town in the hold.
Go further out if you can. Aleksandr is careless.
If I'm being honest, he probably wouldn't remember it was you specifically who needed to bring me to my cell.
He wouldn't bother sending men to search for you. "
Elas's nostrils flared. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, narrowing them.
For a moment, Celvene wondered if she'd sorely misjudged his character.
But then he smiled, and Celvene noticed he had a considerable gap in his front two teeth.
Somehow, she knew he was being genuine. "Where do you suggest I go? "
"Khezzintis, if you're able to go far. Oriel is from there. Have you been?"
Nestled close to snowy mountains, Khezzintis was the coldest and windiest part of Fellstride's mainland, and perfect for Elas to hide away in if he desired.
Aleksandr nor his goons would never suspect Elas to go there, of all places; Elas was a scholar, and they'd assume he was going to a magic-driven city he could hide in.
It's where he would be safest in terms of protection—as a mage herself, Celvene knew how fiercely they'd protect one another given the opportunity.
"I went a few years ago. I was researching how the ice in the Black Sea traveled without melting, given the higher temperature around the middle of the sea, but..." Elas trailed off, averting his gaze from Celvene's, mouth dipping into a frown. "Sorry. I've been there, yeah."
"I'd love to hear about your studies, but I'm kind of on a time limit.
Whole 'dying tomorrow at moonrise thing' and all," she said, and Elas's frown deepened.
She sighed. "Look, when I'm able to take that crown, come back to the city, then the palace.
I'll buy you a drink. The most expensive ale I can find. "
"But I'm not of age yet!"
"Do you think that will matter when you're drinking with the person who makes the rules?"
Elas released his hold on Celvene. "I... I guess not."
Celvene looked up, thankful she was more familiar with the surroundings of Aizasea's prison since the sword ceremony, even if it was ever so slightly.
Assuming Elas let her go here, he wouldn't be lying about wanting to help her.
There were a few exits near the top of the prison's entrance, bolted tight and impossible to pick without the keys—she'd have to find another way out, but that meant more possibilities to lose the guards were they to chase her.
"I'll buy you a pressed juice then. Nican berries sound good?
" said Celvene, her fingers itching to be freed of their binds.
Nican berries were tart and hard to stomach, but an excellent source of energy.
Celvene had downed whole berries while studying on restless nights, relying on the boost to keep her going.
She suspected a scholar would appreciate the offer, considering he probably hadn't had a wink of sleep in ages—especially with a war going on.
Elas laughed. "If I want to be up all night, sure. But I prefer mistdrops. They're sweeter and not as potent."
"They're not great in liquid form. They lose all their taste."
"I prefer tasteless juice. I was mocked for it in school.
They said I was even more flavorless than my choice of drink.
It's honestly a good joke." Elas moved behind Celvene, and she could feel her binds begin to shift, a rush of hope surging through her.
He was helping her. "Let's get you out of here.
This castle gets stuffy when the moon falls, and you'll need the fresh air. "
"Thank you, Elas. I mean it. Thank you. For showing me kindness in a world without it, and for helping me escape."
Her binds fell to the floor, and she rubbed her aching wrists.
She turned, and just for a moment, expected Elas to betray her.
To raise a dagger to her throat; to send a fireball into her chest; to call for the guards.
But he didn't. All he did was extend his hand, which Celvene tentatively took in hers.
"I might just have to take you up on that drink, assuming we both survive," said Elas, smiling. It reminded Celvene of sunshine. "Good luck, Queen Celvene."
Queen Celvene. I like that.
Celvene wasted no time in nodding, dropping her hand, and sprinting off in the opposite direction. A smirk danced on her lips.
She was defenseless, with no weapons; she'd been stripped of her daggers in Noriya, hadn't had the time to find replacements, and the tiny dagger Melantha had given her had been stripped off her person in her struggle against the guards.
She wasn't sure if it had simply fallen off when they'd rushed her, or if they'd removed it when they'd patted her down while walking her to Aleksandr.
She hadn't been expecting to be met with hostility—well, not to the extent she'd experienced—so she hadn't planned to secure her one weapon enough to withstand that tension.
But knowing that at least some people in Aizasea trusted her, placed faith in her to be the true ruler, provided her with a sense of courage that would fuel her to success without a weapon.
Because she was a weapon. If she wasn't, she wouldn't have survived all that was thrown her way.
Panting, she almost zipped past a staircase. She skidded to a halt before rushing up the steps, her feet a blur and her breathing ragged. She had no idea where she was going, but she prayed to the gods her footsteps were light enough to not be heard by the guards.
No one was walking the halls of the castle.
No one was in the courtyard. No one was anywhere—why?
Even after Virion had died, the castle had been bustling and brimming with activity from visiting elites; only outsiders had been a rare sight, like she'd seen in Noriya.
Celvene had seen people here strolling the grounds, viewing the flowers, playing games outside, and heading to the castle's library.
It was unnatural for no one to be in the castle—and that made it all the more terrifying.
She breathed in deep through her nose, her lungs and legs screaming for rest. But she couldn't stop now. She was nearing an area of the castle she recognized. An area she could traverse. And that meant an escape.
Before she could focus on her escape, however, a figure ahead caught her eye.
She paused, instantly recognizing the golden spectacles and fiery artificial leg of Oriel.
They stopped in their tracks as well, an indiscernible expression crossing their face.
If Celvene had to guess, she'd say it was a mixture of shock and confusion.
Was it that hard to believe she could escape Noriya and make it back to Aizasea in one piece?
They clutched a pile of books close to their chest, key raised to the lock of their study's door, frozen.
The two of them stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, unblinking and unyielding.
Oriel's lips pressed into a thin line before they turned away and continued on with their day, probably to translate dusty tomes and brew alchemical potions. Usual scholarly activities.
Celvene now wasted no time in watching them open their door; she assumed it was clear she was running from something, if not the entire city guard.
She was sure they would've let her take refuge in their study, but the guards would start to look for her, and Oriel's study would be the first place they searched.
Veering to the left, she headed down a hallway she remembered would lead to an exit.
She was unsure of where to go. She wasn't entirely certain there was anywhere she could go; the guards, if determined enough, would search every inch of the city. But she couldn't just stroll out of the gates—they'd recognize her.
And to add salt to the wound, the city would hold records of where she lived and worked... but the Painted Sky Circus was large. If she could get there before the guards, perhaps her old friends would be willing to hide her, even if she had vanished into thin air after the sword ceremony.
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