“It’s ya I luv’, but it’s not so easy to break up an engagement. I wanna marry ya, but your mother would never allow it,” the addressed man said silently.
“She will! She wants to see me wed before she dies… and she doesn’t have much longer to live. I told her that you’re the only one for me. She will give me her permission…
Oh, greetings Octarian. Duchess,” Ovine said quickly, when she realised that they were not alone any longer.
“Please let me introduce you to Lord Nayos Meander, Mayor of Oxfield and Governor of Gundia. And now, please excuse me, I have to be somewhere else,” she said storming away, leaving her companion behind.
The Mayor-Governor kissed Gloria’s hand, bowed to Octarian and departed.
“That name rings a bell. Isn’t the Mayor engaged to Princess Ovine’s cousin? Duke and Duchess Copperbrown’s daughter, Apollonia?” Gloria pondered.
“Eh, who cares?” Octarian shrugged.
“Anyway. I haven’t seen your mother. Isn’t she coming tonight?”
“I’m sure she will. She has spent most of the day in the Cathedral. Just like every second day of the Sunflare Festival.”
“Oh… Does she still…?”
“Yes, she still hopes that Eldorine will return one day. We all do,” Octarian said silently.
Princess Eldorine Sunflare of Heliodoria, Octarian’s older sister, had vanished ten years ago, three months before her wedding to Emperor Donis Windscale of Cadentia.
Nobody knew whether she was dead or alive; there were no indications to support either possibility. There were never any demands to the Heliodorian Royal Family.
Just like the Sunflares, Donis had never given up hope that one day she might return.
Their love story was legendary.
The Princess and the Emperor were meant to get married on the second Sunflare Festivalday of the year 769.
Despite all the pressure of getting married and producing an heir to the Cadentian throne, the Emperor was determined to wait twelve years before even considering taking another wife. Nobody had seen him tonight at the ball.
“Of course. There is still hope.” Seeing the sadness in Octarian’s eyes, Gloria momentarily forgot where they were, and stroked his face.
“I don’t know. Not after the Chief Prosecutor’s visit two days ago,” Octarian slowly shook his head. He told Gloria about the Tauntall’s suicide.
“I don’t understand. What does this have to do with your sister?”
“The dagger the Mayor killed himself with had an engraving. ‘The Dark Empress Shall Reign’. And his suicide note said; ‘It wasn’t worth it, but I’m free now. May Eldorine forgive me.’”
Gloria’s hand flew to her mouth. She desperately tried to come up with something encouraging to say.
“I know, I know. It might be another Eldorine, but Mother hasn’t stopped crying since we were told. We’ll have to see. There’s no point in getting upset about something that might not have to do anything with us. Let’s enjoy the Ball,” Octarian said taking two glasses, offering one to Gloria.
Wolly, Sylvain and Mordan were patiently waiting for Octarian to return.
Sylvain was diligently working his way through the contents of the glasses on the tray that the pretty servant girl had held. She had no chance of escaping, because Wolly cornered her, whispering into her ear, causing her to flush and giggle at almost regular intervals.
Meanwhile, Mordan was watching the exchange between Octarian and Gloria with mounting displeasure.
“Mordan, listen,” Sylvain slurred drunkenly. “Liona is lovely, isn’t she?”
“Yes, Sylvain, she is. She will make a wonderful wife for you.”
“And… and listen. I’m much better off with her than with Noerelle, right?”
“Of course you are! What would you have done with Noerelle in the long run? You couldn’t marry her, your family expects you to wed a Royal of the Realm,” Mordan explained to the inebriated Prince as if he didn’t know the Royal Laws.
“I could have adbi… ab… abdicated… and married her. No?” Sylvain took a sip from a vividly green drink.
“Yes, my friend, you could have…”
“Really? Oh no.” Sylvain looked on the verge of tears.
“No. What I was trying to say,” Mordan realised that sarcasm was lost on Sylvain in his current state, “was that you could have abdicated and broken your mother’s heart and fallen out with the Sunflares. Now we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“No, no, you’re right. You’re so good to me… You’re my best friend in the whole World… I love you, man,” with that Sylvain pulled Mordan into a drunken embrace.
While Mordan tried to gently disentangle himself from Sylvain, Wolly resurfaced, at long last, releasing the servant girl.
“…and you will see, the best view of the Island on the Ball Night of the Sunflare Festival you can get, is from the balcony of the Prince’s Quarters in the Royal Wheatfield Palace. My Royal Barge shall be waiting for you.”
He rubbed his hands with a wide grin after the girl departed.
“Tonight’s main attraction is taken care of. Now, how is everybody? Octarian not back yet?”
Mordan nodded his head towards the serving table where Gloria and Octarian had their conversation.
“Yes, where is Octy? He’s my best friend in the whole World,” Sylvain demanded.
“I thought I was your best friend,” Wolly sniffed dramatically, dodging a hug from Sylvain.
“Am I the only one, or does the exchange between the Duchess and Octy look awfully intimate?” Wolly pondered.
“Shhh,” Sylvain laughed, placing an index finger in front of his lips.
“And he wouldn’t have told us?” Mordan asked, feeling as if somebody had stabbed him in the chest. Nobody had the chance to reply.
Sylvain suddenly pointed at a female figure appearing in the Atrium, approaching Gloria and Octarian.
“Oh-oh, it’s Nocturnia,” Sylvain uttered with a half-worried, half-amused snort when she joined the pair.
“What… you don’t mean both of them? The Duchess and Sister Nocturnia?” Wolly asked in bewilderment, grabbing Sylvain’s shoulders.
“Out with it, man. You can’t withhold such juicy information,” Wolly demanded. He loved gossip, and hated not knowing about it.
Mordan’s mood darkened by the second.
“Oi, stop shaking me, little man,” Sylvain tried to slap Wolly’s hands from his shoulders – which was not that difficult, as he was almost a foot taller than Prince Wheatfield. He also realised he had said too much already.
“It’sh a secret… no, it’sh two secrets… damn, Octy will kill me,” Sylvain didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry, or just collapse in a corner and go to sleep. Except there were no corners in the Circular Hall.
Gloria was about to say something, when she noticed a suspicious smile spreading across Octarian’s face. A smile she had known at the beginning of their relationship. Except this time it wasn’t directed at her, but at the figure approaching.
It was Sister Nocturnia.
Gloria wasn’t absolutely sure by the discreet light of the lantern they stood under –, but Octarian seemed to flush.
“Professor Nocturnia,” Octarian bowed and gently kissed her hand when she joined them.
“Nocturnia, dear,” Gloria kissed her niece on the cheek. Nocturnia’s father was the late Duke Summerwind’s brother.
“Good evening to you both. I’m sorry for the intrusion; I only meant to rid myself of my empty glass. By no means did I want to interrupt your conversation,” she said apologetically.
“Your company is always a pleasure,” said Gloria through clenched teeth.
“Let me refresh your beverage, Professor,” said Octarian selecting a fruity sparkling white for her.
“If I may say so, you look radiant tonight,” he added.
Nocturnia had given herself a day off, and partook of the ball
in an unofficial capacity. She allowed herself a few glasses of light wine.
She knew she was being naughty, but she couldn’t help herself, so she did a quick scan of Octarian’s mind. And of her aunt’s.
‘Just as I thought. Oh well, I never expected him to be faithful or committed to me. And why would he? I kept telling him we couldn’t last,’ she thought, trying to ignore the slight twinge of jealousy she had felt.
“You do indeed. I wish I knew the secret of that youthfully glowing skin of yours,” the Duchess said.
‘I bet you would,’ Nocturnia thought.
“Thank you, Auntie dearest, it must be the healthy life-style we lead at the Academy.”
Gloria winced. Did she have to call her auntie in front of Octarian?
“Nocturnia darling, I’d like to have a chat about Nessa with you – any time that’s convenient for you.”
Nocturnia’s expression softened.
“Gloria, there is one thing you have to know; Nessa is one of the exceptional talents that the Academy is looking for. And when I say looking, I mean desperately hunting for, in every corner of the Realm. She has a great future within the Academy.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, this would be a wonderful occasion to discuss it. My Prince, would you please excuse us, I have to have a private conversation with my niece about the future of my daughter,” Gloria turned to Octarian, congratulating herself for both doing exactly what she said, and for keeping Nocturnia away from him.
She knew all the signs; there was definitely something between the two of them. And she knew exactly what that something was.
Octarian took a bow towards the Ladies, grabbing a fresh drink from the table. Even though he thought he had navigated his way unharmed through one of the most excruciating conversations he could remember, he definitely needed one.
He spotted his friends.
Neither remembering, nor caring who knew what, he swiped his index-finger across his forehead, and shook the imaginary drop of sweat off it. Then, he joined them with relief.
“I don’t know whether to hate, envy or admire you, you philandering goat,” Wolly greeted him with an approving grin, suggesting he did all of those at the same time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Octarian replied with a smug smile, half emptying his glass.
Mordan just wanted to get out. He didn’t feel the need to ask any questions; his worst fears had been confirmed.
One thing he wasn’t prepared for, was that one of his best friends had what he longed for.
What made things worse, was that Octarian had what he wanted, but didn’t value it. He was sure that Gloria was only one of the many.
Or at least one of two.
He needed air, he needed time to think.
Sylvain became his quick way out. The Crown Prince started singing while swaying dangerously.
“I think Sylvain needs to go home,” Mordan addressed Octarian and Wolly.
“I don’t mind taking him. The two of you seem to have plans for the night anyway,” he said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.
“Definitely,” Wolly said grinning wildly.
“No idea for how long I will have to hang around here until the place empties. Octy, I guess you’ll have to stay as well,” Prince Wheatfield turned to Octarian.
“I wish I knew how this night will end,” said Prince Sunflare, deciding to wait until Gloria let Nocturnia go. Then, he would attempt to discretely slip out with the Professor.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the Worst Hangover Lunch of the Year,” Mordan said to Octarian and Wolly, trying to get a hold on Sylvain, who produced two bottles of sparkling wine, one in each hand.
“Look, I god ush shome juice for the way ‘ome,” he announced proudly.
After a few feeble attempts to pry the bottles out of Sylvain’s hands, Mordan gave in, and made his way with the Crown Prince towards the Wintersky Royal Barge.
‘Just as well. My best prospects for the rest of the night is to drink myself into a stupor,’ he thought.
***
“Master Grimdor,” said a voice, apparently belonging to the owner of the arm that was gently shaking him.
Mordan carefully opened his eyes.
He was lying on the steps of the entrance stairs of the Academy. The first rays of the Sun stung his eyes painfully.
“How long have I been…?” he tried to get his bearings.
“It can’t have been too long, Master Grimdor,” the Academy servant said, while he helped up Mordan.
“We’ve had a rather busy night. We were in and out the doors. You weren’t here a few minutes ago.”
A servant pulled Mordan to his feet.
While he staggered to his dormitory, he wondered whether the blurred images of last night had been a drunken dream or reality.
Did he really go to the notorious Spider’s Nest in the Pyonian District?
Did he really meet Noerelle, the venomous little snake, who had almost manage to wreck Sylvain’s life?
He hoped it was just a nightmare.
Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island
Scypian spent half the morning getting dressed, and then changing his clothes again and again. Finally he was finished, looking as if he planned to be the best man at a Royal wedding. The result was more than satisfactory, except that everyone in the house would wonder what he was up to. He had to change again.
She had to come today. She said one week after the Festival. Apparently she meant a week after the end of the festivities.
The last days were torture; he couldn’t think of anything else but the girl from the joyhouse. What if she didn’t come? What if it was only a cruel joke? No, it couldn’t be.
He didn’t know what to do with himself. He was aimlessly wandering corridors of the palace.
He noticed one of the maids shuffling towards him, clearly trying to gather some courage to address him. He had no patience to wait it out.
“Speak,” he roared at her, making the poor girl recoil, while extending a shaky hand holding an envelope.
“I didn’t know you were a messenger as well,” Scypian sneered at her.
“A young Lady gave it to me at the Market Place, she made me swear I’d deliver it to you directly,” the maid whispered.
He snatched the envelope from her trembling hand, retreated to his study and tore it open.
My King,
Please make sure to check today’s issue of the Island Journal – particularly the news from Pyonia.
Take it as a token of my devotion to our cause – and to You.
Awaiting our next encounter impatiently,
I remain Yours sincerely,
Your most fervent supporter
Scypian’s heart started beating faster. The girl had haunted his dreams since he had first met her; both because of the possibilities her words had meant, and for more personal reasons as well.
He hastily picked up the morning paper. The entire front page was taken up by the lead article.
Massacre in Pyonia
Squad of Sunflare Guards found brutally murdered in the Stinger Summer Residence of Stingray Harbour. A Realm-wide investigation to follow.
By Chief Editor Sabina Breeze
Last night, patrolling Falconriders of the Realm’s Army made a gruesome discovery that is reminiscent of the darkest times of the last war; a whole squad of Sunflare Riders were found dead in the courtyard of the Stinger Palace. Twelve young men and women cut down in the prime of their lives.
The Pyonian seat of the Stingers was the scene for an apparently well planned execution. The Riders were hung in one row from a gallows that had been erected for the cruel ritual.
“I know I speak on behalf of all Pyonia; we are appalled by this heinous crime and I will do my utmost to ensure that the guilty will be caught and brought to justice as soon as possible,” said Lord Tolzan Bowman, Mayor of Stingray Harbour and Governor of Pyonia, who had been inf
ormed about the crime in the middle of the night.
The Leader of the Academy and First Servant of the United Empires, Brother Andarian Flamebow called an emergency meeting of the House of Houses for tonight.
“The whole of the Government and of the Academy wishes to express our most heartfelt condolences to the families of the deceased. The Realm’s top priority as from now is the investigation of this horrific crime,” he stated.
At this point, it is not clear whether this is an isolated case or if we will have to anticipate similar attacks in the future.
Our hearts go out to the families of the victims who will receive a state funeral in Realm’s Heart Island. The date of the funeral has been declared a Realm-wide Day of Mourning. A holy mass will be held in the Cathedral of the Sun.”
Scypian felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. It can’t be. She couldn’t have talked about this.
“My King, Empress Sidonia requests your company in the Grand Salon,” a servant appeared.
‘What the Hell does she want now?’ Scypian wondered.
Scypian needed a few moments to collect himself. He took his time to get to the Grand Salon.
When he entered, he gasped; Sidonia and Master Lynnox Praygood were animatedly chatting with the girl. When he entered, she and Lynnox stood up.
“King Scypian, please allow me to introduce you to Lady Noerelle Raven-Zinn,” Master Praygood said ceremoniously.
Lynnox was the Master of House of the Stingers. He was an extremely elegant and tall Euposian man, with dark skin and a completely shaven head.
A Master of House was a very sought after and prestigious profession, with a salary to match. It required an Academy degree, as it meant having to deal both with the finances, and the defence of a house. They were lawyers, accountants, tutors of the children, heads of the private guard and all employees in one person.
The Masters weren’t treated as staff; they were bona fide members of the family, eating with them and taking part in all festivities. Their quarters consisted of several luxuriously furnished rooms, and they had their own servants.