Now, a couple people volunteered to Beta, but left now contact information, unless I'm a total idiot and the contact information was in the hyperlink name and I think that I will check that out before this is posted. Anyway, if they are still interested, please leave email. Also, any plot suggestions will be welcome although I will get to pairings if and when I feel like it. From this point on I am playing this thing entirely by ear.
Chapter the Eleventh
He opened the heavy wooden door as quietly and unobtrusively as he could, hoping that the lord of the chambers would be busy, far too busy to notice him. And of course, he was wrong.
"Welcome Sir Alex," called a man from the next room. "Do come in here."
Wincing, he closed the door with far less care than he had opened it with, letting the clamor of wood on wood cover the not-noise of his whispered curses. His feet nearly sank through the carpet as he paced his way, silent as a ghost, into the parlor of the suite. Directly opposite the door, in a blue covered couch that emphasized his Conte coloring to perfection, sat the Duke, feet on the table before him and left hand buried in the dark hair of the girl kneeling on the floor. In his raised right hand there emitted an eldritch orange glow.
Delia raised her glossy head to the new arrival, giving him only a sultry look and a predatory smile before laying her head back down upon Duke Roger's knee. Alex knew that that look bode no good for him. Although she didn't work on a large scale like Roger, Delia too enjoyed watching, and participating in, the pain of others. Slowly, the knight raised his eyes to those of the Duke.
"Well, Alex," murmured the Duke, "Someone has been playing their own game on the side, haven't they." The swarthy man's eyes raced around the room beneath half-lowered lids, wondering what to say, to deny that he had known any of Trebond's secrets but at the same time wanting to withhold any information that Roger would want.
"I know that your jealousy of the prince's little squire might be growing, but I'd no idea that it had gotten so out of hand. To challenge him on yourself…" Roger made a soft clicking noise with his tongue while the orange flame in his hand wavered. "It didn't seem terribly unfortunate though, I intended to turn that to the greater plan; slay, or at least injure the dear boy while you fought. But something went wrong," the elder man's eyes glazed over a bit, "something,… It must have been that dratted magic of his, shutting off that…"
This time the Duke's pause seemed more intentional, as though he had just barely caught himself from saying something he shouldn't. And this time, Alex had a fairly good idea what that something might be. The link hadn't reasserted itself then? Good Alex thought viciously to himself. It was the first time since his fifteenth birthday that he hadn't been bound to the man, and if it wasn't there, Roger couldn't keep tabs on him. Finally, finally this might be his chance to get out.
"You need to come to my study tomorrow morning after the third bell. I need to fix some thing with you." With that last statement, Roger's attention clearly went to the girl rubbing her cheek against his knee. If one could call Delia a girl. A wave of his hand told Alex that he was dismissed, and he bowed once before backing out of the door.
Tomorrow morning Alex thought as he shut the heavy oak I have until tomorrow morning to make things right.
Jonathon followed Eleni Cooper out of the storeroom carefully, turning sideways to avoid catching the supplies he carried on the edge of the doorframe. The woman in front of him didn't hesitate as she grabbed towels from a cabinet in the kitchen any more than she had hesitated in ordering her son, the Crown Prince, and Sir Myles of Olau to fetch and carry. Something that should probably have shocked and irritated him but at the moment he was too tired and worried about his friend to care. Or maybe he wouldn't have cared no matter the circumstances.
And Alanna was complaining that I was growing to be too much like Roger. He snorted to himself. My dear Cousin would never have put up with being ordered around by anybody, it's never happened to him in his life! Even the Mithran priests tread carefully around him. But thinking of Alanna's comments Roger brought back the memory of her laying motionless in his arms on the ride here.
The blood had been cleaned off of her chest and he was enough of a Healer to keep any more from coming out, but the smell had been there. The same harsh copper smell that had nauseated him in the battlefield; that still made him avoid the west gate of the city if he could help it, the gate bracketed by butcher's shops. And now that stench of death hung in a thick miasma around his best friend, trapping her inside her own mind and not letting her out.
"Come on then," a voice broke into his thoughts. Eleni stood at the base of the steps; towels piled in a basket on her arm, the other hand placed impatiently on her hip. "We can't stand here all day, young man." Her gaze softened a bit when his worried eyes met hers.
"Can you help her?" he asked seriously, managing to keep his voice on just this side of pleading.
She took a step down, pausing in her impatience to give him an honest answer. "Help? Now that I know I can do lad. I can fix up that wound she's got, you did a nice makeshift job my boy, but it wouldn't have lasted, and I can keep infection from setting in. I can make sure that she stays comfortable and well nourished. All of which could be done at the palace, but that would require them knowing a bit more than she wants them to know. And an illusion wouldn't cut it, they'd have felt it on her as soon as she was brought in, and stripped it off her to keep it from affecting their work. Of course I can help her. But the question you really want to ask is 'Can I cure her?' isn't it lad?"
Slightly sheepish, but no less serious in his concern, Jonathon nodded. "I can give you time, if you needed it," he added. "I can tell anyone that asks that I needed an errand done out of the city, and that Squire Alan was sent to take care of it. You can take as much time as you need."
"Aye, that'd help. If you sent 'Alan' to Port Caynn, I'm sure that my George could get people to mention seeing him about. But that would buy us a week before you need more than a few commoners mentioning seeing the Prince's squire. That should give me enough time to get her chest far enough through the Healing process to not be damaged by being bound down again. But that's just the physical aspect. I'm not sure if I can bring her out of that fugue.
"She's trapped inside her own mind, lad. And while that's not my specialty in healing, I know that she won't be coming out unless she herself decides to. I might be able to influence her decision a bit, nudge her back. But unless we find out what exactly set her into it, no one can make her come out."
The prince's shoulders fell, and Eleni felt a pang of pity for the boy. She knew her son's devastation on the subject, feeling it the moment that he stepped into the house and screamed her name, but it appeared that her George wasn't alone. Though her son surely picked distinguished company. The young man before her was the bright young hope of the kingdom, adored in court and praised by his teachers. But all she saw in her country's hope was the edge of hopelessness and distant eyes as he prayed to every god that he knew.
"You don't have to stare at my quite so intently, my fine man. I swear that I shan't do anything to hurt her." George spoke without looking over his shoulder, his eyes intently fixed at the small pointed face in front of him, willing the eyes to open, the mouth to grin.
Sir Myles, to his great credit in the young King's mind, did not seem at all flustered that his observation was noted. He moved around from the fire he'd been tending, waiting for the requested water to boil. "I doubt that you would, or that you would survive trying."
A grin tugged at the corner's of George's mouth though the rest of his body remained still. He only patted Alanna's forehead again with a dampened towel, the only thing that he could think of to comfort her. "Oh aye, I am terribly affrighted of you, milord."
"Wise of you," the older man said. Eyes wider with respect, the youth in front of him tipped his head back at the added pressure at his chin. With a chilling smile, Myles slipped the small winking knife back into the sheath on the side of his arm.
"That's a nifty little trick you have there," George said taking his eyes off of the prone form on the table. "But you shouldn't trust it too far, I might not have gotten out of this room, but I'd have made sure that you didn't either."
"She doesn't make it out of this, at least one person won't live through night," the grizzled knight muttered.
"Who was it?" younger man demanded, questions that had earlier been quelled by fear brought forth to the surface. Myles's hesitation at answering only rousing further interest. "If you don't tell me, I can still have the information by sunrise."
The older man's eyes darted up, smile lines brought into attention by a quirk in his expression. "Although I might not have the confirmation on your identity…George Cooper, I believe Jonathon called you?" A wary nod answered his not-question. "Don't think I don't know you. Though how Alanna and Jonathon came involved with you I have no idea. But if she pulls through this, you have my word that no one will know of your mother's house. Other than that, I should advise you to be careful in your questions."
Seeing the peculiar flick of Myles wrist that George knew would bring out the small winking blade he had no desire to be reacquaint himself with, George nodded his head in respect and acquiescence. He'd have to speak with the palace-watcher's who had only referred to the man as "the court drunk, of no real consequence."
Myles turned his shaggy head to the King of Thieves sitting next to him, "Though if you ever tire of your current profession, I would be delighted to offer you a job." George was shocked into laughter for what felt like the first time in days.
The young man slid to a stop outside the Healer's wing, barely halting in his momentum before changing directions and darting through the entrance, his dark hair escaping its binding to fly free around his dark, flushed face.
"Alan, Alan of Trebond, is he here?" the youth demanded of the first uniformed healer he saw, a man he recognized as some relation of the queen's father of one of the boys in the newest batch of pages.
"What's that, Tirragan?" the man asked in return, obviously a bit startled by Alex's disheveled appearance. Well, why don't you sprint the length of the palace twice over, and we'll see how you feel?
"Alan, the prince's squire," Alex repeated. "Is he here?"
The man looked surprised, and glanced behind him at the few beds visible along the walls. "Not on my watch, and I've been here for the last few hours. If he's been here, someone must have already checked him and sent him on his way, because I've seen neither hide nor hair of him."
Not likely, Alex thought to himself. If "Alan" made his,…her way in here, I doubt she'd get out that quickly. Not that she'd want to be in here, considering what exactly he'd revealed. Lost in his own thoughts, he almost missed the Healer's query.
"Oh, I just couldn't find him, that's all. Stopped by the prince' apartments, the practice rooms, the cafeteria. And I thought that I'd heard someone say that he'd been injured. Ergo,…here."
The man didn't look impressed by his story, and even Alex had to admit that it wasn't a good one. Hardly up to par for as good a liar he generally considered himself to be. "Well, if you do see him, let me know." Trying to keep his hands from shaking, he took himself back out of the room, wondering where on earth he could look next.
Twenty-four hours.
I am not even going to begin apologizing for how late this is because it is far beyond the point where I can apologize. Four years after I first got the idea, almost two years since I started posting, its awful really. I didn't think that I'd ever get to work on this one again. Then lo and behold, something comes and hits me in the head in the middle of a shower (where for some reason, I always get my ideas) and here this is. I had some strange correlation in the third scene of Myles/Giles and it came out decidedly Ripperish. I mean, if the guy is the spymaster, he really can't be that inconsequential to the court as he always seemed. And there's no way eh could have gotten there without working up through the ranks which would come with some wicked cool tricks up his sleeve. I have developed some vague ideas on how to proceed, but first tell me: Does everything seem according to character? If not, what's wrong? Am I losing anything in plot continuity? How do you like threatening Myles? And also, give me a random word and I will work to include it in the next chapter.