by C E Keene
Arheis barely suppressed a cringe. No, he definitely didn’t want that.
“We’ll be in the city for a few days at least,” he said, imagining it was likely to be far more if they found work, and far less if the royal family turned out to be a threat. “I’m happy to pay, if you’d be willing to search through any information you might have.”
Archie scoffed at this, making a rude noise with his lips. “Nonsense! You’ll do no such thing. I’m all too happy to look, and I’ll send word if I find anything.”
“Thank you, Archie.” He smiled and extended a hand to shake the scientist’s.
Archie was an odd and brilliant man, and with any luck, he’d put them on the path to sorting through this mystery. Arheis only hoped it didn’t also put them on a collision course with the Crown.
17
They met over a meal at The Eager Sow to decide their next steps. As expected, his companions had… conflicting views on how to proceed.
“If the Crown has knowingly created these crystals, I don’t see how talking to a member of the royal family will help,” Mira said.
“We don’t know that they have,” Galen responded evenly.
“You heard Archie. He wasn’t exactly subtle.”
The Naturalist gave her a tight smile, lifting a mug of ale to his lips. “No, he wasn’t, but he also wasn’t entirely forthright.”
That caught Arheis’ interest. He leaned forward in his chair, looking at the elf. “You think he was holding something back?”
“I’m sure of it. And whatever it is, it’s at the center of this whole ordeal.”
Higrem hadn’t said much throughout the discussion, but he piped up now. “You really think it’s some kind of conspiracy? This world doesn’t seem built for that.”
Arheis’ brows rose and he shot the man a look. Higrem just returned it, along with a slight shrug.
Great. He might as well have said “this game isn’t programmed for that.”
“It doesn’t matter if it is or not,” Zindar put in, “we have to find a way to stop it. There’s too much at stake, and too many lives could be destroyed if more beasts are exposed to those crystals.”
“Agreed,” Arheis said, laying his fork down beside his now mostly empty plate.
It was such a strange thing to think about. Apex was a series about killing beasts, making gear from their parts, and killing more beasts for even better gear. It’d always had a thriving, lore-rich world in terms of ecology, but the cities and villages had been little more than hubs for players to gather.
This seemed as messy as real world politics, and some part of him wondered if they should approach things more cautiously.
“Well, we can’t approach anyone of status looking like drowned wharf rats,” Galen said, using a hunk of very stale bread to sop up some gravy from his plate. “We’ll need to buy some appropriate clothes.”
Mira wrinkled her nose. “That’s going to destroy what little coin we have left, but I suppose we don’t have a choice.”
“We’ll make more,” Arheis promised them. “If we can’t get into the Guild Hall, I’m sure there are people in the city who need some beasts taken care of.”
There was a murmur of agreement, followed by some light conversation as they all finished eating. A courier stopped by, handing a note to Galen. Archie had apparently managed to secure the appointment he’d promised that evening. And not just for a brief, introductory meeting with some distant cousin to the royal family. Oh, no.
They were apparently going to speak with the Prince-Regent of Iskaral… over dinner.
Arheis had never been in the presence of royalty before, despite meeting plenty of people who thought they were royalty.
As he readied himself, getting dressed with the aid of the full-length mirror in his rented room, he tried to remember anything about etiquette. There’d been a unit on it in social studies. Or was it life science? He wasn’t sure. He just remembered tuning most of it out, because he and his mom were the type of people to eat takeout off of paper plates. They didn’t have any use for etiquette.
Oh, how he wished he’d paid attention now.
Then again, Estalia’s customs might be completely different from those of the United States. Arheis tried to call upon all of the books he’d read, the movies he’d watched, and the games he’d played that involved talking to a prince or a king or someone of great social importance.
He’d need to bow. Speak with deference. Maybe not look the man in the eye. Since they were going to be eating, he’d have to take his cues from others who were more knowledgeable about utensils. And he really, really needed to figure out how to tie this damn neck-scarf…
Arheis looked at himself in the mirror, glaring at the offending garment. He wore a dark green, patterned vest with a gray shirt underneath, the sleeves rolled and pinned at the ends. Calf-skin trousers fit a little more tightly than he was used to. He’d had to… adjust a little, and still felt like his unmentionables were way more mentionable than he was comfortable with, but Galen had assured him it was the peak of fashion. So too were the polished boots that rose halfway up his calves, and that damned scarf that just wouldn’t fold the way the elf had shown him.
“It’s very simple. You just fold it under and pull it through,” Galen had assured him.
Yeah, that wasn’t happening, and he let out a growl of frustration as the whole thing came undone yet again. He was so tempted to just do without, but he resigned himself to giving it one more try when there was a knock at the door.
“Are you ready?” That was Mira’s voice, and in his mild panic, Arheis decided she likely knew more about this world’s fashion than he did.
“Almost. Do you think you could help me with something?”
She opened the door, and he wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him.
Every time he’d seen her, Mira had worn either her leathers or clothing that was practical for her job. Tunics, breeches, occasionally a vest. He’d expected her to end up in something close to what he was wearing. She’d still look lovely in it—way better than him, for sure—but he hadn’t expected any surprises on that front.
When she stepped into the room, he was definitely surprised.
She was dressed in an elegant gown that clung to her in all the right places, flowing down in pleated folds. It wasn’t overdone. There wasn’t an excess of fabric or huge skirts or anything like that. The sleeves were just a little bigger than they needed to be, flaring out into a bell shape before tapering in at the wrist, but even those looked incredibly tasteful.
And then there was the neckline…
He tried not to stare, but it scooped down just low enough to give him something to stare at. It didn’t help that the whole thing was a rich, deep red that brought out the brown tones of her skin.
“You might want to pick your jaw up off of the floor before we leave,” she said, a small smirk on her lips as she approached.
“Sorry,” he stammered. “You look… you’re beautiful.”
A flush darkened her skin, and for a moment she looked away almost shyly. When her gaze cast back to him, there was a subtle joy in it he couldn’t help but be drawn to.
“Don’t get used to it,” she said, her tone playful. “There’s no way I can work in these clothes, though I suppose the dress would be good for disguising blood.”
Arheis let out a crack of laughter, feeling some of his nerves ease. He hadn’t even realized he was nervous.
“It is nice to dress up every now and again, though.” She stood before him, close enough that Arheis’ breath caught. Her hands moved over the planes of his chest, smoothing his vest until she reached the cursed neck-scarf. “I’m surprised these are back in fashion. I haven’t seen anyone wear one since my father died.”
“I’d guess there’s a reason for that,” Arheis grumbled.
She didn’t say anything, but her lips tipped upward slightly. Nimble fingers handled the cloth with a grace Arheis lacked, pulling
the two ends so they were even, crossing one over the other, looping, then tying just as Galen had said.
She made it seem ridiculously easy, and he gave her a sheepish smile.
“Well now I feel like an idiot.”
Her laughter was light, her eyes holding a playful glint as she looked up at him. “Yes, how dare you not know the intricacies of outdated fashion trends.”
She didn’t step back immediately, her hands lingering on his chest. Arheis had never counted himself the bravest man when it came to women, but there was something about fine clothing that made him feel a little more confident; a little more bold.
His own hands moved down to her waist and he pulled her closer. She leaned into him, meeting him halfway as he tilted his head down to kiss her. Her hands slid over his shoulders, linking behind his neck as she responded with an eagerness that made Arheis seriously consider blowing off the Prince-Regent.
But the moment ended not long after it began, Mira pulling back, a regretful smile on her lips.
“We should head downstairs, before your neck-tie is conspicuously undone again.”
“Anything but that,” he deadpanned, welcoming the sound of her laugh.
He had to remind himself as they headed downstairs that this was their one path forward—their one opportunity to find out what was really happening with these crystals.
Otherwise, Arheis was pretty sure that scarf would have come undone, along with a few other laces and ties.
Everyone else was dressed just as impeccably as Mira. Or as impeccably as they could afford on their meager funds.
Higrem and Zindar wore the same type of outfit as Arheis. A starched shirt, patterned vest, tight-fitting pants, and boots. At least in Higrem’s case. Zindar wasn’t wearing them, for obvious reasons.
And he noticed something else lacking from both of them.
“You didn’t make them buy ridiculous scarves,” he muttered to Galen.
“True,” he admitted, “and very curious.”
Over the past few weeks, Arheis had come to understand that Galen’s sense of humor was of the understated variety. There was a sly edge to it, but no malice present. All he could do was shake his head and laugh.
Especially since the whole thing was underscored by the fact that Galen was wearing a neck tie, an odd choice to go with the long coat he’d bought; the closest thing he’d been able to find to proper robes.
“Alright,” Arheis said, letting out a sigh. “Do we just… head for the castle?”
He’d seen the structure when they first entered. It stood as a towering monument in the center of the districts, all paths eventually leading there. High walls might have prevented him from seeing very much, but there was no mistaking the towers that rose high over the city.
“Archimedes mentioned the guards would be waiting to receive us at the gate, so yes, I suppose we should.”
They took the main streets this time, for fear of dirt and grime from the alleyways and—a more pressing problem—being marked by pickpockets or worse while they were dressed so nicely. It meant a longer walk, and a stressful one as Arheis tried to avoid the horses tromping through mud puddles, but it was still mostly uneventful.
When they reached the gates—tall, wrought-iron slabs that had to be wrenched open by two men—they were stopped by a pair of guards, a man and a woman outfitted head to toe in stylish silver armor that reflected the sun’s dimming rays as it sank below the castle. Tabards were fastened over their chestplates, dyed a brilliant blue that must have cost a fortune, and embroidered with golden thread to depict what Arheis guessed was the royal crest—a Solpenna in flight, a sprig of holly clutched in its talons.
“What is your business?” the woman asked, her tone brusque.
“We’re here to speak to His Royal Highness, Prince-Regent Eadric, on suggestion of Archimedes Atwater, a former asset of the Crown,” said Galen.
The guards exchanged a glance and a curt nod, their weapons—two long spears that seemed more like lances than anything else—returning to a neutral position.
“An attendant is waiting for you at the far edge of the courtyard,” the male guard said, stepping aside. “Prince Eadric will receive you within.”
They passed through the aforementioned courtyard, a spectacle of blooming flowers craning to reach the nearly-absent sun. A large fountain rested in the center of a stone path, the design another Solpenna perched atop a cliff, the fountain’s water cleverly made to look like a waterfall.
Expertly-manicured hedges marked the walkway, making it impossible for them to get lost or wander off without expressly intending to do so. Arheis and his companions kept to the path, finding a tall, slender man dressed in bright silks standing just before the entryway.
“Ah, you must be His Highness’ honored guests,” the man said with the snootiest accent Arheis had ever heard in his life. “Right this way.”
He expected opulence, but stepping into the castle proper was almost surreal. What looked like a typical stone fortress from the outside was a palace inside. Columns and beams were painted with gold-flecks, the walls were covered in silk tapestries and a myriad of paintings, a chandelier with thousands of glass lights hung above them, and the carpet beneath his feet was plush, dyed a rich, royal purple.
And that was just the entryway.
As they continued through the halls, Arheis snuck a few glances into large rooms that were devoid of people, but filled with furniture that looked too nice to even sit on. Everything was polished, the entire place free of dirt and dust, and even rooms that weren’t occupied were lit by sconces and other light fixtures that put the tallow candles in Lacerda to shame.
"Why does this place even exist?" Higrem murmured. "It doesn't serve any purpose."
It didn't, in a game sense. At least for Apex's usual gameplay loop. The Guild Halls had always been given far more attention from the developers, with everything else just having the barest details to make it clear what services were on offer.
A place to buy food might have some meat drying on racks, or fresh bread left to cool. A tailor might display a few outfits in front of their store, with spools of fabric in the back. Those were practical design choices, and this was anything but.
"Excess for the sake of excess," Mira said, agreeing with Higrem, but likely in an entirely different way from what he'd meant.
"There are so many rooms," Zindar marveled. "And so few people here."
They'd only seen a handful of servants, all of them dressed in impeccably-tailored uniforms, just like the man who led them through the halls.
"Right this way," that man said, gesturing to a set of carpeted stairs that stretched wide enough for a whole procession to stand side by side.
The stairs didn't creak, there was no give to them like there was in the inns Arheis had stayed in thus far. They were sturdy, and the carpet muted everyone's footsteps to the barest whisper of sound. They climbed a good handful of stairs before reaching the landing and being confronted by a massive set of doors.
Made of mahogany, they were towering things with images burned into them. Battles against beasts and armies alike told a chronological tale, if Arheis had to guess, from left to right.
The servant stopped before those doors and grasped the handles. He had to lean his weight into pulling, the doors barely budging at first. Arheis exchanged a glance with his companions, wondering if they should help. But once the doors started moving, momentum carried them the rest of the way.
What they revealed was yet another grand room with a long, pristine table upon which a silken tablecloth was draped. Places were set for six, the trenchers the inn used replaced by fine plates and silverware that Arheis suspected was actually made of silver, and not just silver-plated. Fresh flowers were spaced evenly down the table, arranged into centerpieces that didn't block the view between guests. And above it all, another brilliant chandelier was hung, casting light to every corner of the room.
Unlike many of the other places in th
is castle, though, this room wasn't empty. Servants stood against the walls, waiting to perform their duties, but Arheis' gaze fell on the man at the center of it all.
Prince-Regent Eadric was a tall, slender man with shoulder-length blond hair that almost looked like spun gold in the light of the chandeliers. His skin was pale, the sharp lines of his face marking his lineage, and he wore a padded doublet in a rich, dark blue with strands of gold threaded throughout. Snug breeches--apparently the style in Iskaral--calf-high leather boots, and a shirt with flared sleeves and a high collar completed the outfit, definitely giving him the appearance of someone well-to-do.
But he didn't look like the ruler of a city. He was young, for one. Arheis' age, if not younger. As he was only Prince-Regent, that could be excused, but where was the crown? The jewelry? The silent proclamation that Arheis and his companions were not fit even to exist in his presence?
"Welcome!" the prince said, and his smile transformed those sharp, patrician lines into something almost pedestrian. "I apologize for the rigmarole. I would have met you at the gates myself, but I had some pressing business to attend to."
The posh accent did mark him as someone of status, but he didn't exactly speak like a royal. That lofty sense of entitlement wasn't present, replaced by a surprising air of friendliness.
"That's quite all right, Your Highness. We were given a rather fascinating tour," Galen said in a way that might very well have been a wry joke.
Prince Eadric actually laughed. "It's excessive, isn't it? Such a big castle for so few people. I've tried to talk my staff into moving to a smaller estate, but they’re very insistent that the castle should be in use by the sitting monarch."
He could have been lying. Arheis didn't know if there was a skill to determine that in Apex: Untamed, but he tried to observe the man; the way he spoke, the way he conducted himself.