Mel looked from the soldier to Bachman, who shrugged. “Is that all the letter says?”
“Yes. A carriage is provided on the behalf of Governor Pa.” The man gestured to the road over his shoulder, where a carriage, red with gold trim, waited.
“How benevolent,” Mel said flatly. “Judas, would you go wake July? I don’t think the Governor would like to be kept waiting.”
Bachman moved to retreat into the home, but the soldier stepped forward, shaking his head. “The prince’s invitation does not extend to entourage,” He said. “He requested only Amelia Saul.”
Mel put a hand on Judas’ shoulder, entreating him to fetch her anyway. He disappeared into the apartment. “July is my escort on this business, and a friend. She is conditional to my presence,” She explained, visibly annoyed. “It’s both or none. Which do you reckon the Governor would prefer?”
The young soldier looked helplessly to his superior, who watched the affair with clinical detachment. The aged soldier shrugged, much as Judas had, then uttered a short approval. The young soldier looked back to Mel, visibly more nervous than before––evidently, he had hoped she’d make no trouble. “Amelia Saul will be allowed one escort, and only one. Your… grumpy-looking friend will not be permitted. Are these terms acceptable?”
Mel barked a short laugh. “That will be fine.”
July trotted into the entryway, looking just as tired as Bachman but several degrees less displeased. “What’s all the commotion?”
“These gents,” Mel began, “would like to escort us to the Governor’s estate to see Prince Bal’Szukin.”
July’s jaw dropped slightly, but she retained her common sense. “I… I’ll go put a nice shirt on.” She began to leave, but Mel put a hand on her shoulder.
“Bring your belongings,” She added. “We’ll leave San Della from there. Saves a half day’s walk.” July nodded, then bounded up the stairs.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It wasn’t July’s first carriage ride ever, but it was only her third. Both other times were in Lochan; once on her way from the guild hall to a particularly rich estate where she served as a bodyguard for a week; the other from a fighting ring to the Lochan clinic, a story she worked tirelessly to keep out of her parents’ ears.
The sensation of watching the world pass turned her stomach in a blend of vertigo and fascination. July looked to Amelia to see how she was dealing with it, and found a stony wall of indifference, staring blankly out of the carriage’s narrow windows––evidently she had been on enough carriage rides in the Republic of Amora, working for the Council.
“I’ve never worked for a Bal’Lhord before,” Mel thought aloud. “A Sul’Lhord once, but never a Bal’Lhord.”
“Maybe it’s my country-bumpkin education speaking, but what’s the difference?” July responded. Mel seemed vaguely surprised, as if she hadn’t realized she had spoken, but still tended a reply.
“Aslatan royalty is named by family and era,” She elaborated. “We currently reside under the Bal family, and it has been the era of Lhords for a little over a thousand years––thus, Bal’Lhord. I tended to the daughter of the previous Lhord, who was called Gaza Sul’Lhord––and his kingdom the Sul’Lhord Empire, and so the tale has gone forever. At least, as far as Asla naming conventions are concerned.”
July whistled. “That’s heavy. Amorans just pick a name that sounds official.”
Mel nodded, returning to the window. This struck July as odd––granted, Amelia was a reserved sort of person, but not usually to this degree. It occurred to her that this might be how Mel displayed her nerves.
“Hey,” July said, immediately feeling awkward in the comforting role. “I, uh… Don’t worry. It’ll be fine, right? You’ve served a Lhord before; this probably won’t be any different.”
Mel simply looked at July, who flushed under the intense gaze. “The last Lhord I tended to accused me of poisoning her, and had me tried in the House of Lhords for high treason.”
“Oh.”
“I was acquitted, of course,” Mel continued. “Being a servant of the Amoran Council at the time, I had diplomatic immunity, and so the charges were tried under Amoran jurors. Knowing the case would go nowhere outside of their own private courts, they dropped it.”
“But––I mean, they couldn’t just get away with that––with wrongly accusing someone of high treason and then executing them on purpose,” July assured. “Right?”
Mel returned to the window.
The carriage ride took the pair a number of miles to the east of San Della. Long after the novelty wore off, they passed through a tall metal gate, leading to the ostentatious estate of Governor Pa. The house resembled a small castle more than a home, with two round towers visible from the driveway and a standalone stable to the rear of the building.
July and Mel stepped out of the carriage with a hand to their aching backs––the wooden seats in the carriage, though a luxury, were in no way luxurious. July privately wondered if the Governor had an entirely separate carriage with velvet cushioning and champagne that he kept for himself, whilst sending the wooden prison cell to pick up his servants and playthings. She dismissed the thought as a painfully honest possibility.
A servant dressed in formal black awaited them at the door, beckoning them forward. He spoke in a hurried manner Mel recognized in the servants of impatient royalty. “Welcome, Dr. Saul and company. Unfortunately, Master Pa will not be meeting you personally today, but offered the use of his estate to the young Prince Bal’Szukin on his business in San Della. Follow me.” With that, he turned tail and sped back into the house-castle.
Mel strode into the house, taking in the surroundings with no visible hurry. July followed close behind. The servant led them through an ornate lobby with brilliant red and gold décor, then through a dizzying series of hallways and a down single staircase, into a final, dim hallway. This passage led to a towering wooden door. The servant bowed and excused himself into the depths of the labyrinthine house.
One soldier held out a gloved hand. “Only the doctor will be permitted. The boy must stay, and put his weapon forth.”
July mumbled something about where she’d put her sword as Mel stepped in front of her, cutting her off. “That will be fine. My escort will stay.” She began to protest, but Mel shut her complaints down with a calm expression of faith––trust me. Seeing this, July nodded and stepped back.
“Fine, but I’m not giving up my sword,” July settled.
The guards traded a look, then nodded, pushing the wooden door open in tandem. Mel walked into the prince’s chambers, hands gripped behind her back, leaving July to wait.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The first thing Amelia noticed was how little she could see, even after the dimness of the hallway––the room was in almost absolute dark. After a few seconds of adjusting, she could make out the frame of a bed, in which there was a small, feminine shape, and sitting on the bed’s edge, a larger, more masculine shape. What little light there was came from a tall glass window, covered by heavy black curtains, which curiously covered a set of regular curtains. Why would someone need a room so dark?
As Mel puzzled over this, a husky voice filled the room. “Dr. Saul. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Your Highness.” Mel bowed curtly. The masculine shape stood up, and as her vision grew more accustomed to the dark, she began to make out features; a sharp, angular face, topped with dark hair that complemented his Aslatan earth-tone skin. A small light in the prince’s hand startled Amelia, until she realized he had lit a candle. In its warm glow, she saw her suspicions confirmed; the bed was host to the prince’s young sister, Bal’Ren.
“The dark is for Ren,” Szukin rasped. “And is related to the reason I ask after you. It’s her eyes.”
“Sensitive to light,” Mel guessed.
Szukin nodded. “During the day, she has to be blindfolded, or these tailored curtains have to cov
er all the windows.”
“Intense pain?” She questioned. He nodded again. “Like a stinging, or a burning?”
“Neither,” He said. “It’s a pain deep in her head, like a migraine.”
Mel frowned. Stinging or burning could be accounted for––most likely, the eye was exposed to some sort of acid or vapor. But a pain deeper in the head was hard to explain.
“May I examine her?” Mel held out a hand for the candle. The prince hesitated––but knowing that there were few better hands to place his sister in, relinquished the candle’s brass handle into her grip.
She bent over the sleeping form of the young girl, gently turning her head to face upwards. She gingerly pressed a fingertip to the girl’s eyelids, first the left, then the right. There was no noticeable reaction from the girl. Not pressure sensitive, Mel noted. She continued her diagnosis, slowly lifting the girl’s right eyelid.
The response was slight but immediate. As soon as the candle’s light touched the girl’s iris, the muscles in her frail frame tightened, and her eyelid jerked shut. The girl did not wake––the reaction was so ingrained as to be unconscious, like shrinking away from the cold.
Mel went through her regular motions––checking the strength of her heartbeat, listening for abnormalities in her breathing, among others. She found nothing else abnormal. She stood up, and turned back to the prince. She noted for the first time the startling blue color of his eyes, atypical in Aslatan folk. But then, he was hardly typical––he had the blood of Lhords.
“You’ve had her examined by other doctors,” She began.
Szukin nodded with a tired expression. “A hundred, at least.”
“And they all told you they could find nothing wrong,” Mel guessed once more. “That nothing was out of place, except for this strange response.”
“They did,” He confirmed. “And you are about to tell me the same.”
Amelia sighed. “Yes. There aren’t many doctors living who have travelled as far or seen as strange as I have. Some, but not many. They would tell you the same––beyond autopsy, there is no way to be absolutely certain of what’s causing such a singular condition. And I gander the idea of autopsy is not appealing to you.”
Szukin’s expression grew dark. “It is not. And now you are about to tell me how no doctor worth their weight in salt would recommend a course of treatment without knowing the root cause.”
“I’m afraid so, Your Highness,” Mel said flatly. “I’m very sorry. Anything remotely strong enough to fix the issue has an equal chance of making it worse. Opium poppy is a reliable painkiller––past that, there’s nothing I can do.”
The prince sighed, placing the candle down on an unseen bedside table and pacing the length of the room. At regular intervals, he disappeared entirely into the dark, an unnerving sensation to watch. He spoke softly, as if to sweeten the words. “Doctor. I have an offer that I think may interest you.”
Mel tensed. Lhords did not offer––they demanded. “I’m listening.”
“You,” He posited, “return to Lhord Historia with myself and Ren. You stay in the city. You work under the Royal Alchemist, and develop a course of treatment for Ren’s eyes, until such a time that her condition expires…” Or she does, Mel finished in her head. “You will be compensated, of course. Handsomely.”
Amelia felt a flower of dread bloom in her stomach, spreading its poisonous pollen. Every day she waited, the chances of finding the alchemist Calcifer grew slimmer. She wasn’t sure she could bear the year––or years––she would spend in the Aslatan capital, working on a mystery cure that might not even exist. She already had one impossible condition to treat––two was too much, even for a physician of her caliber.
“I… I fear I must decline your generous offer, Your Highness.” Mel became uncomfortably aware that she did not know where in the darkness the prince might be. “I have a prior obligation that I must see through.”
“A prior obligation.” His voice seemed to come from everywhere, all at once. Mel watched the candle flicker, distantly wondering what would happen if it went out. “Something more urgent than the life of a princess? The life of my sister?”
“A promise is a promise. I’m sure you understand that as well as I do,” Mel said, swallowing her fear.
His face jumped out from the blackness, only inches away from hers. She bit down on her lip, holding in a yelp. “No, Dr. Saul. I’m afraid I don’t understand at all.”
Amelia stood up, suddenly fed up with his passive-aggressive temper tantrum. “You can’t intimidate me into serving you, Bal’Lhord. You are a prince, not a god.” She felt righteous resentment well up inside her like fire and she relished it, even as the pacifist in her cried out. It was only the realization of how much trouble the fledgling prince could cause her that made her bite down on her tongue. “I mean you and your sister no ill will, but I will be taking my leave now. Good day, Your Highness.” Leaning on those words, she crossed the room in strides, shoving the wooden doors open and striding out into the hall.
Had she looked back, she would have seen the prince’s bright blue eyes, narrowed and almost serpentine in the dark, watching her with a violent ire as the candle winked out.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
July had to put on a light jog to keep up with the doctor’s pace as she sped down the hallway, daggers in her eyes.
“What’s going on?” July asked quietly as they rounded the corner of the hallway.
“Don’t look back,” Mel instructed, keeping her glare on the floor. “Look in the windows of the hallway ahead––in their reflection. Are the guards following us?”
July looked into the window on the corner they approached, and in its reflection she saw the two women, and behind them two armored men, keeping their distance but certainly following. Her hand instinctively found her blade. “Yes. Should I––“
“Don’t unsheathe your blade, they’ll know that we’ve seen them.” The way Mel spoke reminded July of the tactician in her guild, and that alarmed her more than anything else. She took her hand away from the sword’s hilt.
“Once we’re around that corner, run. At the top of the stairs there’s a door that leads to the grounds––I saw it on our way in,” Mel explained. “We’ll go that way into the forest. They won’t follow us there dressed in metal plate. Too heavy and noisy.”
“Sounds like a plan,” July confirmed, feeling dizzy with the sudden shift of Mel’s attitude, but at the same time a little excited. It was the draw of the battle––what coaxed her towards the fighter’s guild in the first place.
As they drew closer to the corner, July noticed the guards in the reflection growing. They were speeding up. July nudged Mel with her elbow and nodded at the window. Within seconds of turning the corner, they were sprinting.
Evidently, the sound of their footfalls on the stone floor carried, and soon the clatter of metal armor shrieked down the hall as the soldiers pursued them. July took the stairs three at a time, leaping to the top in almost half the time that Mel took. She yanked the wooden door open, then nabbed a small painting from the wall and threw it like a disc. It soared down the stairs, knocking the first guard into the second, down the stairs and onto their backs.
July took off across the well-kempt grounds. She glimpsed Mel shutting the door and waited for her the edge of the grass, where the high fence, tipped in spearhead-style ornaments, separated the wilds from the horticulture of the governor. She spotted a place where horizontal and vertical bars crossed in a knot, making a convenient handhold––the only problem being it was about nine feet off the ground. She’d be able to climb the fence with relative ease, but Mel…
Amelia stopped at the fence next to July, quickly assessing its height. July dropped to one knee and linked her hands. “I’ll boost you up. Hurry.”
Mel stepped into July’s grip and she hoisted with her core, lifting the older woman a few feet up. She caught a hold of the metal knot and pulled, liftin
g her onto and over the fence where her momentum carried her from the fence to the dirt. Seeing that Mel was over, July jumped and grabbed the vertical bars, lifting herself high enough to reach the knot. From there it was an easy maneuver, landing in a graceful shoulder roll.
“Stop!” The yell came from the door, where the two soldiers finally reached the grounds. July lifted Mel to her feet and took her hand, taking off into the dense forest that surrounded the estate. She considered turning and launching a rock over the fence, but decided not to push her luck––they had probably only escaped because of it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A CHANGE OF PLANS. THE CHITINWOOD.
Fearing a patrol, the women travelled just beyond the edge of the woods for a few hours. They discovered a troubling fact; between the two of them, they possessed a bare knowledge of Aslatan geography, and so their worldly direction was a mystery. They could only hope they were headed towards Amora. July had a sneaking suspicion that this was not the case.
By midday they had little choice but to return to the main road, as the trees began to fall away, leaving tall grass fields in their wake, short and sharp. July’s stomach gurgled, and she found herself wishing the prince had shared some of his immeasurable wealth before they offended him and fled into the woods like thieves––a concept the gravity of which had not yet settled on her conscience.
“July,” Mel said suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. “I have good news and bad news. Which would you like to hear first?”
She considered for a moment. “Good news first.”
“I know where we’re headed,” Mel began. Evidently July’s face lit up, because she responded with a grim expression. “But it’s not San Della, and it’s not home. Not yet.”
July was not particularly surprised, but the prospect of extending their journey filled her with a bitter disappointment nonetheless. “Should we turn around, then?”
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