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Arcanist - Chapter 93
🕑 Added 2025-05-08 14:16:22 +0000 UTCA quartet of strings played in the backdrop, music soft and easy on the ears, just high enough to shade the low murmur of conversations being shared among the guests. The light of the mana lamps, all decorated specially for the purpose, changed with each shift in the rhythm.
Tap, tap, and tap. Valens clicked the heels of his pumps as he tailed the servant. Tap and tap was the rhythm of his dancing. It was not too obvious that he would draw looks from the crowd, just a simple rhythm to practice what Selin had taught him prior to his arrival.
I look like a fool, don’t I?
He hated to admit it, but it was the only way to vanish into the crowd. Become one of the many charlatans participating in this event. A group of ladies, humming gently under the silken veils over their faces, stood by the high pedestal upon which stood the statue of a mighty knight, covered in a pristine glass case. Right across from them were the men dressed in tailcoats, holding sparkling glasses of wine in their hands, faces taut as they surely conversed in matters of grave importance.
There were dozens of them everywhere, but Valens was more interested in finding his so-called friends in this crowd.
Through the side hall, up across a spiraling staircase, the walls adorned with jewelry and busy with portraits of important-looking people, the young servant guided Valens until they arrived at a silent wing of the mansion. He paused at the sight of a golden-clad door, turned and glanced at Valens as if to see if he was ready, and knocked on it when Valens nodded at him.
Three knocks, then the young man reached for the knob, turned it round and opened the door. Rather than entering himself, he drew back to the side, bowed slightly and gestured at Valens.
“Please, this way, Mr. Kosthal,” he said in that practiced, emotionless voice.
“Thanks,” Valens said, and just as he was about to enter, he tapped the young man on the shoulder. “I don’t look like someone has rammed a cane up my ass, do I?”
“I—what?” The young man’s eyes widened, his mouth parted slightly open in hesitation, lower lip trembled.
“Never mind,” Valens said, shaking his head. He left the shocked young man by the door and entered.
The door closed hesitantly shut after him as he reached for the Resonance.
Frequencies rushed at him, painting the picture of the room’s interior in his mind. Lined across the back wall was a giant bookcase filled with old tomes, their backs worn in time. A couch sat comfortably in front of it, golden tassels hanging from the edges of it, touching the red-brown carpet on the ground.
One, two…
A total of three people waited there by the windows, a woman and two men. The closer Valens neared them the more he found it hard to believe his senses. Surely, he was thinking, that frame couldn’t belong to the figure in his mind. Surely, he thought, there must be an error.
She wore a floor-length gown of deep sapphire silk, the bodice tightly cinched with an expertly fitted corset beneath, adorned with hand-embroidered silver thread and seed pearls, forming delicate vine patterns across the bust and sleeves. Her neckline plunged gracefully off the shoulders, framed by scalloped lace and edged in tiny crystal droplets that caught the light of mana lamps like frost.
Her sleeves were short and puffed, and around her neck was a choker of black velvet clasped with a diamond brooch. Pinned in her long, blonde hair was a comb of mother-of-pearl and a spray of white feathers, bobbing gently as she turned slowly to face him.
“This…” Valens’s voice trembled as he stared wide-eyed into her face. “Celme, is that you?”
“You’ve kept us for too long,” said one of the men beside her, who turned out to be the lawyer Sarek, clad in a suit equally rich as Valens’s. “Marcus thought you wouldn’t come at all!”
“Stop staring at me like that,” Celme said, huffing her way to the couch, laboring with her dress at each step. Clearly she wasn’t used to being the princess, and that sent an air of relief down Valens’s chest. “I don’t like this any bit, just like you.”
“Who said that?” Valens said, then found himself smiling as he eyed the woman blatantly. “You may be suffering from that richness draped across your shoulders, but I find it refreshing to be embraced by an ungodly amount of silk. Though I have to say the cane and the gloves are a bit too dramatic for my taste.”
“Sit,” Sarek said, offering an inviting hand toward one of the chairs. “We don’t have much time to speak. The ball is about to start. And Marcus, it’s high time you stopped waiting for a woman who was clearly below the general hierarchy this evening. She won’t be coming.”
“Memories,” Marcus muttered heavily. “They are surprisingly rather tough to deal with.”
He lingered there by the window for a long second, then tore his gaze away and sighed loudly. A troubled man indeed, Marcus was. Valens remembered the silence he was offered from him in their long journey to Belgrave. The moment Lightmaster decided to send him to the capital, the man had changed for the worse.
Is this about love? First the Captain and Lenora, and now this… I’m afraid there’s not much I can do here. After all, the only thing a Healer can’t fix is a broken heart.
“So,” Valens said after a moment when it looked like Sarek was about to give him a long speech. “Can you please tell me the reason for this sudden arrangement? I doubt inviting me to a fancy ball was your only option if you wanted to have a little chat. Why go through the trouble at all? You know where I live.”
“Things are changing,” Marcus said, still standing with one hand over the couch. “And they’re changing faster than we thought.”
“Is this a cult business?” Valens probed. “Because if it is, I’m afraid you’re talking with the wrong man. You see, I’m part of the Golden Ward now, working for the Blessed Father to keep Belgrave safe from terrible shadows.”
“An honest man in service of the Sun,” Celme mocked him with a lopsided smile. “How charming.”
“No, my Lady, you’re mistaken,” Valens chuckled. “That word should be saved for the only pearl gracing us with her presence in this room. A Berserker princess in flesh, though I have to say I still seem to remember a certain warrior covered in bloody holes and snarling at me, calling me a heretic, threatening to kill me with her fists. So then, time isn’t the only thing changing, eh?”
“And one would’ve thought becoming a member of the Church would drill some discipline into that head of yours,” Celme said. “I see that is not the case.”
“Careful with her words, as well,” Valens shook his head. “Do tell me what this is about. I have practiced for long hours, and I don’t intend on missing the first waltz.”
“Selin taught you?” Celme squinted at him, blue eyes glinting. “It’s good to hear she’s doing well.”
“I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on, but that is not why we’re gathered here,” Sarek, as expected, quickly shifted the mood. At his words, Celme’s face changed and Marcus frowned deeply at Valens.
What? Is this matter related to me?
“We got troubling news from our friends with whom we’ve partnered recently on multiple missions involving certain Rifts,” Sarek started, looking greatly professional even as the side of his lips curled in distaste. “Their support has been of great importance to our mission. Thus, we intend to keep our ties with them as strong as possible. This matter, however, is threatening to sow discord among us.”
“Friends?” Valens said, chin dipped in thought. For all he knew, Duality Guild was a force that had ties deep in the royalty of Melton Kingdom. The King was the Lightmaster’s brother, for one, and likely there was more to that matter than he was aware of.
“It’s the Ninth Legion,” Celme said, fingers clasped around the hems of her dress.
“What about them?” Valens asked. He heard not a single thing about the Undead since he left that Necromancer’s Rift, which was why it made him curious to hear of them here of all places.
“There has been a case of robbery around a week ago, right after the goods were delivered to the Ninth Legion from His Majesty King Edmund,” Sarek said. “We used secret channels for the operation and carried out the deal with discretion. The transition involved only the members who gave a Sacred Oath to Lord Zodros. Thus, no one knew about the Void Riftshards hidden under the piles of silver and metal.”
“Void Riftshards?” Valens scowled when they all stared at him in silence. “You think I did it? That—“
“Of course not,” Celme said, shaking her head.
“Valens, you misunderstood me,” Sarek said, face serious. “We’re not here to accuse you of something you couldn’t have possibly been involved in.”
“Then why the hell am I here? I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“You do,” Celme said. “But not in the way you think.”
“How?”
“The Ninth Legion carried out a detailed interrogation after they found out about the robbery,” Sarek said. “And it turned out that this matter isn’t the first case. Two more Void Riftshards have been stolen before the three new ones were delivered to them as a part of our deal, but those went under their nose since robbery is not something they’re used to in the Underworld.”
“So it’s an inside job?” Valens said, and the moment he uttered those words his heart skipped a beat.
Can’t be…
“It is,” Sarek said. He exchanged a deep glance with Celme before continuing in a grave voice, “The Riftshards weren’t the only things that were taken. An unassuming Undead Soldier also went missing after that robbery. A simple soldier who turned out to be able to resist the effects of the Everfog of a Master Lich. I believe you know him. His name is Nomad.”
Valens sprang to his feet, fingers of his right hand shaking as he snapped toward Celme. She averted her gaze as if she didn’t want to admit it was true.
“What is the meaning of this?” Valens then asked. It was true that the gemstone filled with lifemana granted Nomad the freedom from Lord Zahul’s control, but that was it. In the end, after the Rift ended, the Undead himself decided to stay with the Legion rather than try something stupid.
“We’re not yet sure, and we’re trying not to assume the worst in this case,” Sarek said, shaking his head.
“The worst?” Valens muttered. “I thought this matter is related to the robbery. After all, it’s just a few Riftshards, no? What could be the worst thing you could do with them?”
“It’s not that simple,” Celme said.
“I’m afraid she’s right,” Sarek nodded heavily. “You see, Valens, while most Riftshards are used as fuel for Gates, a Void Riftshard is the most crucial material for establishing spatial connection between Haven’s Reach and Broken Lands. It is, as Caligians say, the foundation of a Gate.”
“So you think Nomad is going to try something with these shards?” Valens asked. There was a bitter taste in his mouth that nagged him the wrong way. “So what? Let him open a Gate. Don’t we have Gates everywhere in Haven’s Reach already?”
“While I said that, there are other uses of Void Riftshards. They can become the anchor of certain sealed Cursed Rifts as well. Lord knows we have too many of those here in Haven’s Reach,” Sarek said. “But that’s not what I meant when I told you we’re not trying to assume the worst in this case.”
“This…” Valens said, mind reeling as he tried to digest the words being uttered by this lawyer.
Nomad had escaped? He was involved in a shady plot? Just because Valens planted that gemstone in his Heartstone and gave him the control of his mind?
“I’m not sure what any of this has to do with me,” he managed to say in the end, trying to keep his voice straight. “I don’t—“
“Don’t you get it?” Celme said, looking at him straight in the eye. “They think you’re the one behind all of this, and they don’t care about the Riftshards!”
“What? That’s absurd!” Valens snapped at her. “You were there. You knew I did it because I didn’t want him to get lost in that venomous fog. If that’s not enough, I’m just a simple Healer stuck in his First Trial. They think I can manage something like this?”
“We all know you’re more than that,” Marcus said from the side. “A Healer who can fix dozens of people like it is nothing. A Master Mage who can scorch monsters with an Inferno. A Hexmender who can see a person's memories and heal their souls. I think, Valens, you might be the last person in this world to say they’re a simple man.”
“Enough,” Sarek said, silencing him before turning gently to face Valens. “As I’ve told you, we’re not here to accuse you of anything, but our friends have their opinions. Even if Lord Zahul tried to argue against it, the other Liches think what you did to Nomad represents a grave threat to all their kind.”
“No,” Valens said, pointing a finger at him. “They’re scared because someone has managed to save one of their mindless slaves from their rule, but it wasn’t my fault that Nomad turned against them. Perhaps any one of us here would’ve done the same if we’d been chained to a lifetime of servitude in the name of some war. Is it even true? Is there such a thing as the Eternal War, or is this another ploy between the Undead Legion and heads of state to make even the dead pay their dues?”
“You’re right,” Sarek nodded. “It wasn’t your fault, and yet I’m afraid it’s too late to change certain things right now. Therefore, we wanted to warn you without alerting them. They have eyes in the capital but won’t dare to force their way into Mr. Gray’s mansion.”
“Uh,” Valens rubbed his forehead once more, then let his hand fall to his side with a tired sigh.
“Thanks for the warning, I guess,” he muttered, voice dry. “Nothing like a quiet evening ruined by accusations of treason and conspiracy.”
He turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at the trio. “I’ll dance, then. Might as well enjoy the calm while I can, eh?”
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped out, leaving the weight of the room behind as the door clicked softly shut.
Then he heard the steps… Celme was following him.
The stubborn Berserker.
Seemed like she wanted to say a few words to him.
…
Comments
Stephen Pearson
Thanks for the chapter:-)
ReadingObsessed
Or maybe she wants to break in her dancing shoes?
