Chapter 56. Royal Retainer (Patreon)

Like Pardin and Menocht, Zukal’iss sat upon the water, the city looking out onto the bay from an elevated, rocky bluff. Waves smashed onto the slick base, causing it to glisten in the sun.

Ian was now permitted to fly in SPU airspace, so he could theoretically fly straight from the palace to the Bay of Ramsay. Unfortunately, doing so would attract unwanted attention, so Ian instead planned to get closer to the water on foot.

“At least it’s good exercise,” Ian muttered under his breath, the heat of the autumn sun causing him to sweat through his shirt. After walking through the city for half an hour, he exited the city’s northwest gate and took a well-worn path toward the bay.

I should take Germaine here. The landscape was beautiful, quickly giving way to yellow-green grass, spindly trees, and wildflowers as he drew away from Zukal’iss. Though the weather was clear, it was the late rainy season, so the scent of fecund earth wafted through the air.

Ian relished the breeze of the bay as it displaced humidity and sweat, seeming to invite his passage over the top of the bluff. He could see a winding incline out in the distance that zippered down to a small plateau halfway down the cliffside.

He could take the wet, dark, sea-slime-coated passage–little more than a small crevice jutting out from the cliff–or he could go down directly from his current location.

It wasn’t a difficult choice. Though there were a few people nearby, Ian didn’t think that any of them noticed him step gingerly off the edge of the cliff and sink downward.

He fell feet-first, the wind teasing his garments and dousing him in sea spray. He decelerated as he neared the water; coming to a stop, he began to soak up Death energy, letting it pass through and saturate his whole body. He quickly formed a harness of bone and shell around him, affixing the white pieces to his Death energy jacket like studs.

Using the bones as an anchor, he flew himself out over the cerulean bay, trawling up energy recessed in the deeps. The sunken energy answered his call, dark, inky tendrils extending out like the limbs of the leviathan toward the surface. The trace amounts he originally gathered on the water’s surface soon compounded into a thick, almost-rubbery black mass.

Ian skipped over waves, dancing around a stretch of coastline so jagged and sheer as to be left undeveloped. For the first time in years, he was truly alone: nobody was watching him or recording his actions. That wasn’t the only thing to celebrate: Though he’d tentatively attached himself to Euryphel, he’d avoided entering into an oath, maintaining his freedom.

Now, he might finally be able to slow down: there was no next layer, no mystery or puzzle to solve. Just himself and the open world.

That last thought sent a twinge of apprehension into his gut. Right now, he was probably the most free he’d ever be for the rest of his life. In the best case scenario, with each day, month, and year, he’d continue to pile on responsibilities. But he knew people in power would seize any excuse to shackle him: If he took one wrong move, he’d deliver himself into their hands.

If that happened, short of a miracle, he’d never again be free.

—

After half an hour of traversing the coastline and dredging up energy, Ian stopped, hovering in place.

“This seems like enough,” he murmured, drawing the vast pool of energy around him, the oily yoke half-submerged under water. Sourced from innumerable beings, the energy wasn’t well-suited for forming soul gems.

But, he thought to himself, this is good practice. I was spoiled by abundance in the loop. It was easier to obtain a uniform energy source when he was willing to wantonly massacre groups of animals or raze collectives of people. Doing so was easier, but unnecessary: He could obtain all the energy he needed with slightly more time and effort, all while avoiding needless slaughter...and sidestepping opportunistic scrutiny.

Ian’s brow furrowed as he compressed the writhing miasma of energy. He sat suspended in the air, his legs crossed and his head bowed forward. Eyes closed, he concentrated on the energy around him, losing himself in its flows. Compressing it was a form of meditation, and he soon found himself in a state of semi-consciousness.

Sometime later, Ian opened his eyes, his pupils illuminated by a flash of violet. He exhaled slowly and rolled his head to the left, then the right, stretching out his neck. Before him floated a whopper of a soul gem surrounded by countless smaller gems of various sizes. He’d separated the energies based on their inherent qualities, forming gems out of similar energy types.

“What time is it...” Ian murmured, fetching his glossY from his pocket. He made a sour expression: it was nearly 6:00 PM. He gathered the soul gems around him; the smaller gems fit cleanly into his pockets, but the largest wouldn’t even fit into a spacious cloth satchel on his belt, its circumference too large to squeeze through the opening. He decided to simply hold it in his hand.

He rushed to the mainland, his skin rippling in the wind as he dragged himself forward. Upon locating his original departure point at the top of the bluff, he touched down on the dark rock and stripped off the bones and shells adorning his Death-energy mantle. Boots squelching, hair damp, Ian trod toward Ichormai.

Though it was nearly seven when he arrived, he was pleased to find that Euryphel was still in a meeting. Looks like I’m not late for dinner after all.

According to Euryphel’s personal schedule, which he’d been given access to that morning, the prince was currently mediating the biweekly Council of Princes.

After stumbling through the palace for a solid fifteen minutes, Ian thought that he’d finally tracked down the council room, a spacious assembly hall in the outer palace. As he approached its ornate doors, he could see the vitality of people within. Euryphel’s familiar energy signature sat at the back of the room, flanked by four others, and around twenty other people were concentrated between the front of the room and a two-tiered balcony in the back.

All in attendance were practitioners.

He recognized that many of those within the assembly room were powerful, and some likely had the means to detect his Death energy coat. Deciding to try being discreet, he reformed the coat’s energy into a small soul gem, adding it to the rest. Doing so caused his hair to rise, as though he had caught a chill.

Ian decided that it would probably be best to join most of the observers in the balcony, and so went left around a spiral staircase upon entering the council room’s threshold. As he reached the seating area, he stealthily slid into an open seat situated as far to the left as possible and obscured by the shadows of the balcony’s recessed ceiling.

Euryphel acknowledged Ian’s arrival, locking eyes with him before returning his attention to the current speaker. Two princes facing the dias seemed to notice, giving each other quizzical looks, but neither bothered to turn around and follow Euryphel’s gaze.

The entire room felt dreary and tired, like the occupants had been engaged in a war of attrition. Euryphel’s expression was coolly composed, and he didn’t appear the least bit tired, but Ian figured that the Crowned Prime was just itching for the council to come to its conclusion. Hadn’t it been over six hours since the meeting started? Ian had no idea what they could talk about for so long.

Though Ian tried to be unassuming by slouching against the wall, he could feel the stares of several people in the balcony.

I guess it must be more entertaining to discuss the arrival of a newcomer than whatever is on the agenda below. From what Ian could gather, they were in a heated debate over the pros and cons of eliminating an embargo on Selejan alcohol.

Trying to imagine sitting through hours of such debate made Ian extremely thankful that he wasn’t saddled with the wellbeing of an entire country and all the menial duties that came with it. He supposed that Euryphel may have grown inured to the dry realities of ruling when he was still a child. Perhaps if one grew up attending meetings and weighing in on the affairs of state, it wouldn’t seem so bad.

Ian sighed in resignation when a contingent of three older, well-dressed men walked over to his side of the room, sitting down next to him. What I wouldn’t give to be a Dark or Light practitioner, he thought gloomily. He could then just make an illusion to hide himself.

“And who is this?” the one in the middle asked, his voice lowered so as not to be disruptive. Thick white hair and classical features suggesting that he had once been a handsome young man, though a deep scar on the left side of the man’s face, cutting into his cheek and jaw, made him seem a bit more rugged and worldly than his formalwear would suggest.

Ian felt that the man looked familiar, and wracked his mind for a name, but fell short. He leaned forward and straightened his back, smiling pleasantly. Time to put Mother’s lessons on manners to good use.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Ian said, bowing his head respectfully toward the elders. “My name is Julian.” He intentionally left out his last name. “And what are the names of the esteemed gentlemen?”

“Pyramin Iffis,” the white-haired man replied with the trace of a smile.

I wonder if he’s related to Ajun’ra, Ian thought, recalling the Dark and Remorse practitioner from the Godoran command layer.

“Barra Kestrelius,” the man to the left said, his gray-brown hair and clean stubble promoting a sense of subdued competence.

Ian recognized this man’s last name right away; it was the middle name of the previous, albeit short-lived, Crowned Prime, O’osta. Barra Kestrelius was likely the late prime’s maternal relative.

“And I am Ramark Jacobi, Faction Head of the Progressives,” the last man replied. His long, gray hair was tied into a prim high bun and fastened with an elegant, if simplistic, hair ornament. It looked almost like the ornament Euryphel wore next to his ear, except rather than looking like an arboresque crown of sapphires, it was ovular and socketed one large topaz gem.

Ian knew a thing or two about the SPU’s congressional politics. Enough to know that while there were numerous different factions, the two at the forefront were the Conservatives and the Progressives. He also knew that Euryphel’s own political agenda more-closely aligned with that of the Progressives, so he began to breathe a little easier.

He bowed his head again, meeting the eyes of the three politicians. “Please excuse my ignorance. To what do I owe the pleasure of drawing your interest?”

 Iffis smirked, looking down at the dais. “To be honest, we three have long-since tired of the trifles down below. The conclusion to this topic is already foregone, but another thirty minutes of discussion is, unfortunately, unavoidable.”

“Which side do you predict will be victorious in the vote?” Ian asked.

“The embargo will be lifted,” Kestrelius said. “All this posturing is just a matter of keeping face. The embargo has harmed us more than it has Selejo, as I warned it would from the very beginning.” Ian detected no bitterness in the man’s words, only a sense of self-assurance.

Iffis crossed his hands in his lap, giving Ian a warm smile. “Is this your first time in court, Mr. Dunai?”

“Technically–” Ian paused. So, they’d known who he was from the beginning. Or at least as soon as I opened my mouth. Although he never noticed it himself, he knew other people could clearly hear his Solarian accent.

The men began to chuckle quietly. “None of us missed it when the young Crowned Prime acknowledged your arrival,” Jacobi explained. “Fate, indeed.”

Ian frowned. “Fate?”

“Destiny,” Kestrelius added, as though Ian didn’t know the word for fate. Just because I have an accent doesn’t mean I’m not fluent, he thought. Swellish is my first language, gentlemen...

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“You, and the first prince, are connected by fate,” Iffis explained patiently. “That’s all we meant.”

Ian nodded his head slowly. He’d already known that. From what Euryphel had described of his End affinity, it sounded like the prince had fate with anyone powerful that he interacted with in his daily life.

The way that Iffis said it didn’t make it sound like a common occurrence, however.

“I’ve decided to work for him,” Ian acknowledged. At least for the near future, he added mentally. “It’s unsurprising we’ve sown fate.”

The three men shared a look. “Yes, well, you’re lucky the first prince was able to strong-arm the rest of the princes into recognizing you,” Jacobi said. “There was quite the heated battle earlier regarding your appointment as a personal retainer.”

Ian was wholly unsurprised, but winced with sympathy on Euryphel’s behalf. “He mentioned something like that was going to happen.”

“We’re quite excited to see part of the resulting agreement fulfilled, however,” Iffis said, giving Ian a wolfish smile. “A demonstration of your power to the princes and the assembly.”

“When?” Ian asked.

“It was deemed a matter of strongest urgency,” Kestrelius said listlessly.

“Tomorrow afternoon, before breaking the midday fast,” Iffis clarified.

Suddenly, wind swirled throughout the room, causing a person leaning on the balcony to stumble backwards.

“Time’s up!” Euryphel’s voice rumbled harshly. “Next speaker.”

Ian wondered just how much longer the Council would drag on.