Jan just looked at her for a few more second, before dropping his gaze back down to the paper that he was working at before.
“I guess that you’d want to know about what happened?” Jax asked, and Celine just nodded at him, her previous air of blasé somewhat falling away. “Downcley? Care to share the details?”
“Of course, Your Majesty. Well Celine, do you remember the mission?”
“Sort of?”
“Well, everything was going, well not quite to plan, but not not going to plan either. Unluckily for us, the stronghold that we visited was a Scorchen epidemic hotspot. You must have picked it up somehow. We breeched some information, but you kinda collapsed, and may or may not have caused a commotion. We had to torch the place-”
“What?”
“They had to set the stronghold on fire, Celine. Too many people had seen them,” Z explained, concerned for Celine’s reaction.
“Oh god.” Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she looked disgusted.
“It had to be done, Holli-”
“Could you shut up, January!” Celine shouted, eyes flashing open, belittled with rage and pain. “Could you please stop acting inhumane for just one minute, please? Lives have been lost, and I don’t care for what side. They thought they were doing the right thing, and you just torched them, without even-” she sucked in a deep breath, calming herself down. “Forget it. How come I was the only one with Scorchen?”
“Maybe it’s my illness, that made me incapable of getting it,” Fey suggested. “I don’t know about Jan though.”
Pain contorted his features, just for a second, but a second more than Jan probably wanted. “Luck, I guess.”
“Funny how you should mention luck, for someone who’s so against the idea,” Fey said, her voice cutting.
“What are you instigating, Downcley?” Jan shot back, glowering. Z almost groaned- this meeting was supposed to be happy; Celine was alive, they got information, no one was dead. Win, win, win. Apparently not.
“Do they always fight like this?” Areya asked, her voice hushed.
“This is an off day, actually. You should see them at lunch time. Or missions. Or anytime, really.” A small smile pulled up at the corner of Areya’s mouth at his words, and it made Z a little happy to see someone taking everything in stride.
“Meeting, everyone?” Jax reminded them, raising a kingly eyebrow.
Fey spun in her seat, muttering a ‘right-o’ under her breath, and Jan just glowered, but they both stopped squabbling and watched Z attentively, along with the rest of everyone in the room.
“Well,” Z started, clapping his hands together, “As previously mentioned, we didn’t do anything when, uh, our time of crisis arose. That being said, while at home base, and even while on shifts, we managed to crack some information. Does His Majesticness want to do the honours?’
Jax stood, cracking Z a lopsided grin. “Of course. Well, as you all know, the purpose of the last mission was to find more information of rebels, and rebel alliances, and so forth. But we found some enlightening, and well, not pleasant information. Immortale history and files.”
“Immortale files? But wouldn’t that mean-” Areya didn’t have to finish her thought, they were all thinking the same thing.
“Exactly,” Jax nodded. “There must be a connection with the rebels and Immortales, though we don’t know anything concrete. We’ll need another mission for that. But I thought that you all might want to know about the Immortale files that we have. At least, the ones we’ve been able to decode.”
“We need to know more about them. They’re basically like tall-tales in children’s books right now, and we can’t fight a legend without understanding it first,” Jan mused, scowling.
“Precisely. So formality and such aside, paraphrased, what it basically entails is the Immortality Project. It started in the Second Era, immortality being something that humans wanted, long, long before that; during First Era, long ago. But in 2182 S.E. a proper full-fledged immortality experiment began, headed by a scientist named Robn Syncter. In 2201 S.E., the Elixir of Immortality was created, which was basically bottled immortality, and was given out to the test-subjects, who then became the original Immortales. Details about the Experiment are vague, and no one knows why it stopped. Well, two years after the Elixir was created, the Immortales started gaining power, and that’s when the Third Era began, when The Immortale King first became the ruler. From then, we don’t know, and the truth starts getting melded into myth.”
“Legend has it, that the scientist who created the Immortales, the Syncter bloke, committed suicide after he realized what he’d done,” Fey said, leaning in over the table. Z didn’t realize it until that moment, but they all were; huddled over the table as if exchanging stories over a campfire (which was some Second Era tradition that Z had sworn he read up somewhere).
“Really? I always heard the version that he’d been executed. Wherever did you get the whole suicide story?” Z asked, half curious, half disbelieving of the conversation they were having.
“Bedtime stories,” Fey explained, a wicked grin split across her face.
“Cheery,” Celine deadpanned, though she was smiling alongside the other three.
“God, you all had deranged childhoods. I personally was told about the Revolt against the Immortale Crown as a child. Loved it too,” Jax said, and Celine shot him a disbelieving look.
“Wasn’t that the bloodiest revolt in the history of NNR?” she asked.
“Precisely.”
“Keeps nightmares at bay, I hear,” Z quipped, and Jax smirked the faintest of smirks, and Z could imagine him at court wearing that expression.
“All this lovey-dovey bonding is warming my heart, but these are legends,” Jan drawled, his voice detached as usual. “We can’t base our opinions around them, because they could be totally false. We need-”
“Facts,” Celine finished for him. “Of course, we do, but we can’t go a mission right now, can we?”
“Tomorrow, then. We’ve been waiting for too long,” Jan suggested. Z looked at Celine out of his peripheral vision, smile slipping off his face. She had just recovered—this was surely taxing for her and Z didn’t know how could she go on a mission tomo-
“Tomorrow,” she agreed, though she suddenly stopped, looking a little woozy. “Excuse me, but I think I need some rest. I’ll see you all tomorrow at our early morning meeting, then?”
“I’ll schedule everything, Miss Hollingsworth. You needn’t worry, but please, allow me to escort me to your room,” Areya volunteered, her heels click-clacking (get a grip, Z) over to Celine.
“Thank you, Areya, but I-” her face suddenly turned chalky. “Actually, an escort sounds wonderful,” she said, and Areya graciously wound Celine’s arm around her shoulders, leading her gently to her room.
Watching her go, Z suddenly felt that hope that he lost a long time ago, flicker. It was the faintest, but it wasn’t fleeting. It stayed, and hope, like the resistant ember it was, kept burning. Faintly, but strong against the harsh winds of mayhem in his life, and Z was grateful.
“Meeting tomorrow, then?” Z asked the rest of them.
“Yes. I have some paperwork, that-”
“You must attend to,” Fey chimed in, chuckling. “Yeah, we know.”
“I can help you with the car, Z,” Jan said, shocking Z, and likely Fey and Jax as well, judging by their facial expressions. “I’m hopeless at it, but I can be an assistant, if it helps.”
“Yeah, of course. I completely forgot about the windshield, and we have to patch that up if you want that mission tomorrow,” Z said, still unsure of what just happened.
“Great. Now I’m a little tired, so I’ll be down in an hour or two.” Jan started to walk away, before stopping. “My personal favourite was that of Liz Aruel assassinating The Immortale King, by the way.”
And with that oddly cryptic message, Jan was gone.
“Did that just happen?” Z asked.
“
Yes, it did,” Jax informed him, sounding as shocked as Z felt.
“Something’s wrong,” Fey firmly stated. “Maybe I should irk him a bit and get him back into his normal mode. I’m honestly concerned for his health.”
“I’m sure that January would greatly appreciate that, Fey,” Jax stated, laughing a bit.
God, just when Z could’ve sworn surprises weren’t a thing anymore, things just had to take an unexpected turn. Now onto fixing a car with January’s help.
Twenty-Three
CELINE might have been lying when she said she was alright. She felt dead inside, but that was good, because at least she felt dead instead of actually being dead, right?
Good god, Scorchen really had gotten to her.
She felt horrible. She had managed a smile and a few jokes at the meeting just to get everyone off her back, asking if she was okay, because no, she wasn’t, but they couldn’t do anything to help that. She felt frail, ready to collapse, and was just so bone-deep exhausted. Scorchen may not have taken her, but this feeling might.
Hopelessness.
Celine was many things—temperamental, stubborn, and down-right unreasonable—but hopeless was never an adjective in her vocabulary. When you grew up in the shadows, when you grew up dreaming of a life that you actually wanted to live, you couldn’t afford to lose hope.
But now, finally recovered from an illness that most people perished from, Celine Hollingsworth lost hope.
Go figure.
And now, Areya Carson was helping her (correction: hauling her) up the stairs, because Celine was temperamental, stubborn, and down-right unreasonable, and—hell—a failing heart couldn’t stop her from trying and avoiding the atrocity of an elevator. And Areya, with her petite build and endless supply of encouraging words, was dealing with the shell of the girl; helping Celine climb the stairs, step by step, not questioning when the blonde stumbled and leaned against the wall for extra support.
She didn’t even ask any questions, just offering a smile and a shoulder to lean on, and Celine was genuinely so immensely grateful. Because that’s what she needed, just quiet reassurance that someone was there but not pressing her, because Celine just came back from the brink of death, and that was a whole other concept to wrap her head around. She was alive, alive, alive, and every stuttering heartbeat thudding in her chest reminded her of that.
And while a part of Celine knew that Areya was probably going to report this all to Jax as soon as she was done helping out, Celine couldn’t care less. First to her room, then she could concern herself with the affairs of a certain blue-eyed king.
“Miss Hollingsworth?” They were in front of her bedroom door.
“Thank you, Areya. That would be enough,” Celine said, trying for a wry smile to mask her wince. Her chest was tight, and her breaths were constraint. Breathe in, breathe out.
“Are you sure, Miss Hollingsworth?” Celine focused on her feet, placing one tentatively in front of the other, as if she were a toddler again. She had to prove to Areya that she was fine, but what fine person couldn’t walk properly? Excruciatingly with a pleasant smile on her face, Celine sank down on her bed, sitting firmly on it.
“I’m absolutely positive, Areya. Thank you.”
The dark-skinned girl looked concerned, head cocked to the side in consideration and lips pursed thoughtfully, but she nodded, moving to close the door.
“Wait!” Celine called out, after a moment’s consideration. Areya’s head popped back around the corner, eyes wide in question. “Please assure me that this trip upstairs remains confidential between you and me.”
“But King Ja-”
“Promise me,” Celine pressed, smile momentarily slipping off of her face, only to be replaced by the desperation she felt. “Promise me that no one else will know.”
“Alright, Miss Hollingsworth. You have my word. If you need anything…”
“I won’t hesitate. Thank you, Areya,” Celine assured her, her lips spreading out in a sugary smile that was requiring more effort than Celine could currently afford, and much to her relief, the royal secretary left.
As soon as the reassuring sound of the metallic click of the door sounded, Celine allowed herself to fall back on the bed, sighing as the tears that she had pushed back for so long flooded her vision. There were tears of relief and of fresh new pain. Of frustration and desperation. Her head was pounding, her limbs were failing her, and the coughs that she tried to contain for the entirety of the meeting and rather tragic ascension of the stairs, came tumbling out. They heaved with body, as she racked inwards with a new sort of pain; raw and dry and scraping against her throat and chest. Celine couldn’t suck in another needy breath as her trachea closed up on her, her lungs forgetting how to function.
She just lay there, unable to breathe, tears clearing out a path on her face, exhaustion overwhelming her. Maybe this was the end; rather tragic and dramatic, but after all of her torture, Celine deemed herself worthy of dramatics. She could allow herself to have a play-worthy ending and-
Someone was knocking on the door.
Primly at first, then a little more rapid and forceful. “Celine!” the voice called out, and Celine recognized it immediately. The accent told of its high-class and political speech tutoring. But unfortunately, Celine didn’t have the sort of power to refuse the king yet, so she just waited for his patience to run out, and for him to open the door with or without her consent.
It took 10 seconds, for Jax to tentatively open the door, and 3 long strides (Celine could hear the echoing of his shoes) to reach her bed, staring down at her concernedly. “Celine.”
“You know, coming into a girl’s room without her explicit consent to do so is quite un-kingly,” she stated hoarsely, air reaching her lungs shallowly. Half of her sentence was barely audible, her voice hoarse, ruining the sardonic tone of her words.
“Impropriety is less important than human life, Hollingsworth. Now sit up.”
“What?”
“Sit up. You’ll find it much easier to breathe. You don’t want this whole ordeal to be any harder on your body.”
Celine grudgingly sat up, squinting in confusion at the king. “So then you know?”
“I’m the king, Celine. Of course, I would know about your current medical condition. May I sit?”
Celine just spread her arms open, inviting him over with a tight smile. “Why not?”
He sat gently on the bed beside her, looking at her eyes. But Celine backed down, eyes cast down, and she noticed Jax’s fingers, twisting his royal ring, back and forth of his fourth finger. “Celine, you don’t have to do this. Your heart is weak, and still recovering.”
“Are you honestly questioning my abilities?” Celine asked, eyes flashing up.
Jax shook his head, ducking below as he escaped the intensity of her gaze. “Celine, if I doubted your abilities, I would have discharged you already. I simply want you to know that you have options. Your body isn’t capable right now of working the way it used to, and plotting against a race of immortal beings will not help you.”
“Areya told you then?” she asked, suddenly cursing herself for letting her defenses fall before anyone, because she knew that Areya was loyal to a fault and that this would happen.
“No, she did not. But I’ve learnt quite a bit about Scorchen ever since, uh,” Jax licked his lips, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Ever since- um- my father, passed on.”
“Right.”
“Right.” There was a pause, and Celine was unsure of what to do. She had survived, yet the king of the nation, the ruler of them all, had succumbed to the illness, and here she was, sitting before Jax as a reminder of what he lost.
“I can’t back down. January wants the position, and I know that, but-” Celine stopped, feeling dizzy as the world separated into distorted copies of itself. And then, she didn’t know how, but she was falling forward, straight towards the tile floor as Jax twisted himself upwards and outwards, catching her and holding her upright.
>
She was right about to move herself but her body gave in on itself, and her coughs started up again, this time, however, there was a different texture to it. There was thickness, and rawness, and- oh god.
Celine hacked into the shoulder of Jax’s shirt, unable to stop herself, and he patiently stood there, supporting her head as she felt that agony and hopelessness settled in her. Soon, it ended, and Celine fell back on the bed unsteadily with Jax’s help, sucking in deep breaths as she tried to breathe again after her throat had closed in on itself for so long.
“Celin-” Jax stopped himself as he saw her horrified expression, as she realized what just happened.
There was blood on his shirt.
Tentatively, and with a suddenly shaky hand, she reached up to touched the edges of her mouth, and drawing it away she saw- oh no. “That’s a symptom of Scorchen.”
Jax sat back down again, nodding slowly as he pulled out a handkerchief to offer to her.
“Coughing up blood is a symptom of Scorchen,” she repeated numbly, still staring at her crimson fingertips.
“I know,” Jax whispered, his deep blue eyes sympathetic as she looked up at him. His gaze was piercing and comforting, unravelling the deep turmoil that she had so tightly coiled up inside of her. He gently reached out to her hands and placed the handkerchief in her hands, furling her red-stained fingers over the cloth carefully.
“I thought I was cured,” she said, voice low and melancholy, staring straight ahead at the blank wall ahead of her, as she wiped the blood from her mouth with the handkerchief.
“You are,” Jax stated, and Celine stopped from her job to shoot him a look.
“I just coughed up blood, which is a symptom of Scorchen. I most certainly am not cured, and- you should leave right now, actually. I can’t risk putting you guys at risk, though I already have, haven’t I-”
The Reformation Page 14