Chapter 5 #2
We began with the obvious companies, those trading spices, fabrics, all popular wares. Regrettably, each talk ended alike. Shrugs, polite smiles, and words:
“We have signed contracts already.”
“Our agreements bind for years.”
“It will not be simple, will it?” I sighed at last, more to myself than Roderick. “To wedge into their circle, find one crack in all those pacts.”
Roderick glanced from beneath furrowed brows.
“I never said it would be easy. Your father handled this himself for years. He traveled a lot, knew folk, could speak their ways. But he has his age… and Alaric’s illness crushed him.
” He fell silent for a moment, I looked away.
“He lost the fire in him. But he always believed in you. If anyone can succeed, it is you.”
Alaric. My brother’s name stung my heart. The more I thought of him, the more I missed. Not just home, but the past that would never return. Each mention reminded me our lives could shatter like glass, for no reason.
We walked on, passing more streets. Suddenly, the stench struck me.
Burned flesh and singed hair. Thick, greasy smoke that clung to the back of my throat and made my eyes water.
Roderick and I walked a little farther, only to stop short next to a narrow alley. City guards stood there with fire Elementars bound to their wrists, their charms glowing dully as flames consumed the pile of flesh and fur next to the stone wall.
It was difficult to tell what the remains had once been. The smell alone drove us away before we could linger. I turned, swallowing hard, and we headed back toward the palace.
“Rats, probably” Roderick said at last, his voice flat. “Plague.”
“I wonder how the search for a cure is going,” I replied.
He let out a quiet breath. “Cassandra will do everything she can to keep it under control. Plague is the last thing she needs before the Election.”
“When are the candidates for Regent officially announced?” I asked.
“They are not,” he said. “Not until the final day of the Gathering, just before the vote. For now, everyone is measuring their strength.”
“Cassandra will put her son forward?”
Roderick glanced at me, faint surprise flickering across his features. “How does my Lady know that?”
“I keep my ears open,” I said. “Who is the main opponent?”
“Nothing is certain yet. Some claim Dorthal desires the position. But more signs point toward Eric Salvadore.”
I exhaled slowly. “And whom will we support?”
Roderick’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “We shall see. Whoever comes to us with the better offer.”
So that’s how it was. Everything here had its price.
No one cared for the good of the Dominium, only for the weight of their own purses.
We weren’t any different. Lesser nobles fought over scraps from the Families’ tables, clawing at whatever was left behind.
The commoners had as much as they were allowed to.
For the lords, there were balls and feasts.
For the poor, there was Plague.
When we returned to the Palace, I decided it was time to visit the medical wing. If anyone held an answer to Alaric’s illness, it would be found here.
The rooms I entered were even whiter than the Palace itself. Stone, linens, and walls alike reflected a pale light that felt cold and clean, a grave silence greeted me.
At the entrance, stacks of heavy tomes and scattered scrolls lay piled upon long tables. Catalogs of remedies and afflictions, no doubt. Knowledge bound in leather and dust.
Farther in, I passed tall shelves filled with strange jars. Clouded liquids. Preserved organs. Fragments of beasts I had never seen, their shapes twisted and unfamiliar. Some floated as though still alive.
At last, I heard muted voices. When I passed a narrow corridor I saw them. An elderly medic, wrapped in ash gray robes with lots of little Elementar necklaces and bracelets, speaking with Lord Mermont. The moment they noticed me, their conversation ended.
Mermont cast the medic a look heavy with command and warning, then turned and left. His brown tunic shimmered faintly, emeralds stitched into the fabric and threaded with gold. Wealth made visible, even in passing.
The medic studied me with a measuring gaze, his eyes sharp despite his age.
“May I be of assistance, my Lady?”
“I have come seeking counsel,” I said. “My brother is ill, and I am searching for a cure.”
“You should bring him here.”
“He is not within the White City,” I replied. “He is too unwell to travel. His body weakens, his muscles fail him. I wished to ask about known illnesses. Surely the capital holds more experience than we do on the islands.”
His brow furrowed. “The islands? Family Veymaris?”
“Yes.”
His gaze shifted then. He looked from my face to my garments, calculating.
“I see.” He exhaled, already withdrawing.
“I do not believe I can be of help. During the Gathering, we are stretched thin. And now this Plague.” His lips tightened.
“Lady Cassandra’s orders take precedence.
From what you describe, the condition sounds congenital.
Beyond our reach. Warm compresses for the aching muscles may offer some relief. ”
So much for the best medics in the Dominium.
The healer stepped past me without another word and disappeared between the shelves, leaving only the echo of his Elementar stones chiming softly as they struck one another.
After fruitless talks with merchants and even less productive meeting with the medic, I returned to my chambers, frustrated and weary.
Mirabel awaited. She leaned against my chamber doorframe with a victor’s grin, hiding something behind her back.
“And how did it go?” she asked, though my face told it all.
“No success.” I tossed my cloak onto a chair. “I don’t know why father sent me to the Gathering at all.”
“To prove what you can do.” Mirabel smiled mysteriously, then drew forth a cloth-wrapped bundle. “Now enough grumbling and see what I have for you.”
I arched a brow, eyeing her suspiciously. She knew I had no time, desire, or most crucially a coin, for shop running and gown hunting for the Cavareth ball. The last thing I wanted was primping for that smug Family.
But Mirabel was Mirabel. We had brought gowns from home, but she insisted on crafting something new.
“You contrived this yourself?” I marveled as she unwrapped the fabric.
“Not ‘something,’ but a wonder,” she corrected proudly. “Simple yet elegant, in your style. You will not look like a puffed peacock in the ballroom, but none shall pass you by.”
From the bundle emerged a long gown in cobalt, reaching the floor. Back and shoulders bare, neckline subtle, nothing garish, rather classic lines that highlighted my form and lent grace I seldom felt.
I reached for the small box my mother had given me and took out a sapphire necklace. It was gleaming with dark, restrained power, when I touched it I could feel its strength pulse under my skin. I never used it.
I added aquamarine earrings. Modest set, but with the gown, it formed something even I admitted was beautiful. My mother’s Elementar was the most precious and powerful stone we had.
“So let’s survive this charade somehow.”