Roann nodded with a warm smile as the priest went back to his sudsy work. Taking one last look at the sight before him—the oaken pews, the ornately carved supporting columns rising high into the vaulted ceiling, the intricately inlaid stained glass depictions of Goddess Oleana—he marveled at the grandeur bestowed upon the deity. As heir to the empire, he dutifully attended church with his mother every week, offering his tithe like any other worshipper. However, known only to his parents, the prince had confided in them at a young age that he didn’t believe in what the priests taught, but understood the necessity of keeping up appearances. Had anyone asked about his beliefs—he would have been honest with them. It just so happened that no one ever questioned him—and so there was nothing to say. He knew the people of the empire relied on their beliefs in Oleana to bring a measure of happiness and peace to their lives. It was a perfect example of ‘what they don’t know can’t hurt them’. And he had been eternally grateful to have loving and progressive parents that didn’t ostracize their child for not agreeing with the state religion. It didn’t mean he still didn’t find the tales about the Goddess and other deities across the globe fascinating, but he had his own beliefs—and stories were just stories.
Snapping himself from his thoughts with another incense-induced sneeze, he continued on, deciding to take the long way back to his offices via the gardens. Birds chirped and the sweet scent of giant rose blossoms filtered through the air. He ducked under a tree and leaned against the trunk. A breeze picked up and tickled his face. He cherished these times in this sanctuary. No one bothered him when he was here. There were no urgent messages, no meetings, no business. Just nature, quiet and peaceful.
Grateful to have those few moments to himself, he blew out a long breath and decided it was time to get back to work. Inhaling deeply to smell the aroma of the garden one last time, he exited the courtyard and started back toward the offices. His hair flew around his face as a gust of air blasted down the outside corridor, a wind-tunnel effect he had enjoyed in that particular place in the palace since childhood. A nostalgic grin spread across his face as he extended his arms, feeling the wind on his his limbs. Then, as suddenly as it had blown up, the blast of air died down, leaving him standing in the corridor with incredibly messy hair. He quickly smoothed his locks down and secured them with the tie he had stashed in his pocket.
As he pressed on, he hoped the ministers were behaving themselves in his absence.
~~~
Night had fallen on the grand city of Keld.
Prince Roann knocked quietly on the door, not expecting a response. He did it out of habit and respect, knowing the resident of the chamber couldn’t physically answer anyway. Twisting the brushed bronze doorknob, he entered.
The room was dimly lit, a single oil lamp sitting on a desk burning on the lowest setting. The heavy curtains were open, held back by ornate golden ropes. The moon gleamed in the sky, flanked by a few high, wispy clouds. Roann found himself mesmerized by the satellite. He often thought that, had he not been born onto the royal path, he would have very much liked to have become an astronomer.
A raspy cough rattled through the room. Roann grabbed the lamp from the desktop and moved next to the giant bed. Setting the lantern down on the nightstand, he pulled a plushy chair close and sat. He reached over to turn the lamp up, illuminating a frail, gaunt face. Wrinkled, bony hands rested across a slowly rising chest.
“Father, would you like some water?”
The emperor opened his eyes and smiled weakly, the left side of his mouth hanging limp on his face. The prince filled a glass from the bedside pitcher and carefully slid his hand under Artol’s head. Lifting slowly, he raised the glass to his father’s lips and helped him drink. Half of the water dribbled from the useless side of the emperor’s mouth, which Roann dabbed away with a handkerchief before taking a seat.
“Well, I almost murdered Dean Ebbersley today.” Roann smirked in the dim light as Artol’s right eye crinkled with an attempted smile. “I swear, that man is the most persistent bastard on the planet. Of course, he wanted to talk about expansion for Whitehaven again. He actually went so far as to hint at a split between us and the college if I didn’t accept his proposal.”
The emperor feebly squeezed his son’s hand.
“Don’t worry, I was very diplomatic. He saw it my way very quickly.” Roann winked before sighing. “I suggested a meeting with the city planners. They’ll work it all out.”
He grabbed a well-worn book from the tabletop and opened it, tucking the leather bookmark behind the last few pages for safe keeping. Roann skimmed his finger down the margin until he found the place he had left off. “Now, where were we? Ah, Queen Beatrix’ defeat of the Giant warmonger.”
Artol sighed contentedly and listened. Roann found it amusing that the books his father enjoyed most were fairytales. He had to admit, he loved the stories too, even after hearing them multiple times as a child. Roann saw it as a bit of nostalgia for the both of them.
“The evil giant, Nestil, raised his army and began to march onto Beatrix’ lands—his soldiers clattering across the plains toting their bone armor and heavy weapons…”
Twenty minutes later, a soft snore stopped the prince. He replaced the bookmark and set the tome back on the nightstand. Standing, he rearranged his father’s blankets, making sure the emperor was well covered. Looking at the sleeping man, he sighed. Yes, Roann liked spending time with Artol, reading and telling him about the days’ events, but it was difficult to fully enjoy the experience when the conversations were one-sided. It saddened him to think that things would never get better—only worse.
It was times like this, when the old man seemed most at peace, that Roann wished things had been different. The prince dutifully kept a happy façade. Most of the time, he was genuinely content in his life. He had the air of a strong, independent man and ruler, who knew what was best for his people. The citizens of Keld saw a powerful, noble sovereign—and that was what Roann strived to be. But strength can only last so long before it falters.
Nighttime was the hardest.
When his surroundings were quiet and his mind could wander, Roann’s thoughts would inadvertently go to a dark place. A place where his anger at his father’s condition could be released.
The prince clenched his fists on his lap and let the thoughts flow unimpeded. He knew if he squelched them, if he attempted to push them from his mind before dealing with them—that they would manifest themselves later as a migraine or upset stomach…or worse.
After several minutes of feeling sorry for himself and wishing harm upon whatever had caused his father’s condition, he took a deep, cleansing breath and willed the malicious thoughts to flow away. Left in their wake was a sense of calm, and Roann knew he could now continue his evening peacefully.
Tiptoeing from the room out of habit—his father slept like a rock—he closed the door behind him and went to kiss his mother goodnight in her reading room.
~~~
The cool night air was refreshing.
It was evenings like this when the midnight breezes whipped around the tower, that the prince tried to enjoy a peaceful calmness. Roann leaned his weight on the balcony and peered down into the square below, tapping his signet ring on the railing. His hair blew loose around his face, sticking to his lips. He spit a strand out as he ventured further over the side. Feeling gravity begin to take hold, he tightened his grip on the ornate wrought-iron banister, his knuckles turning white. He closed his eyes and listened to the wind whip past his ears. The prince allowed his body to be pushed by the gusts. Only when his fingertips began to lose their strength from his vise-like grip did he back away from the edge. Straightening his vest, he blew out a long breath and moved back to his patio table. Sitting down with a heavy, tired sigh, he craned his neck upwards and gazed at the stars. He let his head fall backwards onto the back of the chair and watched the night sky glitter above him.
He didn’t know how long he had been staring into the night, but w
hen he finally sat back up, he cast a glance at the pocket watch hanging from his trousers. It didn’t feel like it was just after midnight. Roann knew he should go to bed, knew that he had an early meeting with his advisors in the morning. But his mind was racing. Even though he didn’t want to admit that the Ebbersley incident still irritated him—it did. That, coupled with his father’s unusually frail condition earlier, left him feeling anxious and unable to sleep.
He got up, stretched his arms over his head, and walked back into his apartment, heading for his study. Sitting in the corner, on a wooden tripod, was a gift his father had given him for his tenth birthday. Roann approached the object and ran his fingers down the smooth barrel, careful not to touch the lenses. He picked it up and carried it back to the balcony, making sure not to knock it against the doorframe.
The telescope was made of tandlewood and silver, the lenses hand-made by craftsmen in Trill. Roann adjusted the height of the stand, then tilted it up toward the heavens. Leaning over to squint through the eyepiece, he trained the sights on the moon, Iyanides. The brilliant satellite drifted across the blackness of the sky. The prince stared at the craters and pockmarks dotting the surface, taking note of his favorite crescent-shaped canyon. As a child, he had named it “The Smile”, and it was always the first landmark he located.
He stood hunched over the telescope for the longest time, moving his attention midway through his observations from the moon to the stars dotting the veil of night. Finally having his fill of stargazing, he sat once again in his comfy chair and stared out across the expanse of the city. Within moments, Roann’s eyes began to flutter shut. Crossing his arms over his chest for comfort and warmth, the exhausted prince fell asleep.
A shooting star streaked across the sky above the palace.
CHAPTER SIX
Remember to keep your wits about you during festival season! Pickpockets work quickly, and charlatans prey upon vulnerable minds! Please enjoy the festivities safely!
--Notice from the Keld commerce ministry
Ryris loved street fairs.
When he was living in Blackthorne, he would take a day every now and then and travel to Lullin to visit the outdoor market. He’d always return with enough food to keep him and his father fed for weeks, plenty of new ingredients, and the occasional gift for Grildi. Now living in the big city, he had been more than a little excited to see a flyer for a weekend market and carnival tacked to a bulletin board. The corner general store was a convenient place to get his groceries, but he missed being able to engage directly with the farmers. Plus, there were always local treats to be had—and he most certainly wasn’t going to resist his sweet tooth, especially on such a beautiful day.
He walked up the busy causeway, an empty basket slung over his wrist and a fruit pasty in the other hand. Children raced past him, a blue balloon whooshing so close to his face that it ruffled his hair. Their mother apologetically patted him on the shoulder as she ran after them, yelling for them to slow down. The kids darted down a side street, the woman frantically waving her arms over her head as she chased after them. Ryris laughed to himself and took another bite of his pastry.
He stopped at a stall, perusing the selection of vegetables. The farmer smiled warmly, his sun-wrinkled face attesting to just how hard he worked the fields. Ryris chose a few dirt-covered potatoes, two giant tomatoes, and a bunch of carrots. The old farmer held up four fingers.
“Only four gamm? You’re kidding.” Ryris fished a handful of coins from his pocket. “Best deal in town.”
The vendor nodded thankfully as Ryris deposited the coins in his palm, then tossed a small parcel of fresh peas into his basket. “No charge, lad. Enjoy them.”
Raising his basket as a gesture of thanks, Ryris backed away from the stall, allowing more patrons to fill in after him. He walked further down the boulevard, looking up at the spire of Whitehaven University. Shielding his eyes from the glaring sun, he was amazed at how the steeple glinted in the daylight, tiny crystals in the stone shining like diamonds in the sky. People crowded around him, also taken by the sight of the grand building. They ebbed and flowed down the street, pulling him along for the ride.
Keld was alive.
His entire life he had become so accustomed to Blackthorne and its slower ways. Never had he witnessed the frenetic chaos of the big city—until now. He marveled at the movement of the crowds, the din of the inhabitants going on with their daily lives.
Coming to a small open park, Ryris’ attention was immediately captured by two colorful tents, each adorned with flashy signs. They beckoned him to see the wonders of human oddity, and showcased a plethora of spectacular specimens. A woman with horns jutting from her head stood at the door flap taking tickets, bending down once and a while to allow a child to touch the protuberances. Music played inside the tent, and Ryris could hear the startled gasps of the patrons. The alchemist decided, from the look of the “real” horns on the woman’s head, that the fifteen gamm entrance fee wasn’t worth shelling out and moved on to the next attraction.
Cages sat on the grass, huge beasts and small animals side-by-side. Ryris had always been fascinated by animal life, and this attraction was free—just his kind of entertainment. Strolling past the temporary enclosures, he stayed well back from a juvenile ice wolf. He really didn’t feel like losing any fingers today. Creatures roared and snarled at the onlookers and Ryris found himself hoping that the locks on the cage doors were adequate. Moving on, he came to a small penned-in area with baby goats cavorting in play. A woman offered him a handful of dried corn, which he allowed a tiny animal to nibble. Feeling like a child again, he enjoyed the momentary lack of adult responsibilities.
The last attraction in the plaza was another tent, boasting that it contained the “Mysteries of Alchemy.” A locked case containing a giant’s toe sat guarded by a feeble old man near the door. Intrigued, Ryris decided to pay the ten gamm just to see what all the fuss was about. The tent was dim, display cases and shelves lining the outer walls. A few tables sat in the middle, littered with dishes of dust and beakers of various animal parts. Run-of-the-mill alchemical ingredients, nothing you couldn’t find in any respectable alchemist’s shop. He made quick work of the exhibit. Near the back, nestled in a corner, sat the main attraction. A large pedestal, a burly guard on either side, housed a massive black sphere. The sign underneath claimed it was a dragon’s egg, harvested from the Screaming Peaks. The young alchemist immediately had to stifle a chuckle. Any educated person knew that dragons didn’t exist—ever. Mythical beasts taken from children’s tales, they were nothing more than nightmare fodder. Still, people crowded around the artifact, clamoring to get a look at the one-of-a-kind specimen. Ryris kept back, having no need to inspect the suspect “egg” any further. One look told him it was a polished river stone from his home region. He finished his stroll through the tent, ducking out the exit flap and back into the sunlight.
Finding his way onto the street, he decided to head back to his neighborhood. Suddenly, Ryris’ foot caught on an uprooted cobblestone, tripping him. As he struggled to keep his balance, his basket tipped and a potato tumbled out. Chasing the rolling vegetable off the beaten path, it came to a stop at the base of a ramshackle tent. The canvas was old, the once bright red color faded from countless years in the sun. Glass baubles and jingle bells hung from thin wires across the entrance. The outside light was tremendously bright, and it was impossible to see inside the dark recesses. The scent of incense wafted out, leaving a thin haze of smoke in the afternoon air.
Ryris read the shabby sign pinned to the fabric as he put his escaped vegetable back in his basket. He had never heard of “Spirit Stones” before. The placard implored him to ‘listen to the voice of the universe’. He chuckled, and with a dismissive shake of his head, began to walk away. Maxx had always said fortune tellers were nothing more than charlatans preying on the foolish.
But something stopped him. He didn’t know if it was curiosity or out of spite for his father,
but he suddenly felt the urge to give it a whirl. These people weren’t serious—even if they thought they were. Ryris never believed in any of that mumbo-jumbo and was in it purely for entertainment’s sake. What harm could come from a bit of good-natured fun? After all, tomorrow he would be officially opening the shop and would have no time to indulge in such frivolous activities. And it was only ten gamm—a downright bargain. He tucked his amulet safely into his shirt, making sure it was covered by the folds of fabric. More to keep the jewel safe from would-be thieves than anything else; he didn’t need it to draw any unwanted attention.
The air inside the tent was stale and bitter, numerous pots of incense burning around the perimeter. Candles flickered on tables and shelves, their waxy leavings dripping onto the surfaces. A haggard old woman with a burlap patch over her left eye sat hunched in a chair. Her snow-white hair was pulled up in a messy bun; both ears lined with rings and stud piercings. Her clothes were old, her skirt patched in several places. Once-pristine shoes adorned her feet, but the leather soles had long since worn down to expose the cork tacking underneath. A soft snore rumbled from her lips. Ryris cleared his throat and she jumped. It took her a moment to get her bearings, but she finally acknowledged him with a swooping gesture of her arms.
“Come on in, young man! You seem to have caught me napping, I do apologize. But, you wouldn’t begrudge an old woman her beauty sleep, would you?”
“No, of course not.” Ryris smiled endearingly.
“What’s your name, dear? I can’t be tellin’ the stars to an unknown—even if he is as handsome as you.”
Ryris’ cheeks flushed at her compliment. It wasn’t like he had never been told he was good looking, but to have an unfamiliar, somewhat shrewish woman say it was something he wasn’t used to. He hoped she wasn’t trying to come on to him for a bigger payment. After an awkward silent moment, he finally answered.
The Alchemist: Dawn of Destiny Page 8