Chapter 4: Conjecture and intuition.
"Be wary, Your Highness." The Vicar screeches across the room, his voice cracking under the strain as Royal guards gently usher him toward the exit. "Lies! All lies! The Dark Lord's poison spews from her wicked lips!"
The Prime Magister glares at Aribelle, fuming as the chamber's doors close behind him with a heavy thud.
Prince Orwellin stands motionless, holding up Aribelle's bruised face tightly in his gloved hand. His eyes locked onto hers.
She moans, eyes filling with tears, her throat stiff and dry, neck aching as it struggles to hold the weight of her flaccid frame.
"Y-Your Highness… p-p-please."
The Prince ignores her pleas, his face twisting between various emotions. Anger turns to disgust, fear to confusion. Shifting his head and tightening his gaze, he looks deeper, peeling back the layers of her soul, reaching into the depths of her subconsciousness.
He finds it. Her truth, woven into the very fabric of her being.
His eyes soften, Golden-brown, like dew-drenched tree bark glistening under morning light. The lines of tension across his face fade as frustrated confusion gives way to brows furroughed in concern.
"P-Prince…" Aribelle splutters, blinking through blurred vision.
The Prince startles from his fixation, he lets go, leaving her to collapse onto the floor, splayed upon his furry cloak.
"Spirits above!" He snaps, his voice steeped in self-loathing as he rubs at his forehead. "Not again!"
He turns away from the woman at his feet. "Forgive me, Lady Lindbergh. My behaviour was unworthy of my station. I pray I did not hurt you."
Aribelle, pouts+ intensely, rubbing at her stiff jaws while trying to sit up.
"I think… I'm fine, Your Highness."
The Prince sighs deeply. "Can you stand?"
"Yes." Aribelle responds as she struggles to her feet.
The Prince turns toward her, then quickly raises a hand across his eyes.
"Would you kindly mind making yourself decent, Lady Lindbergh." He quips.
Flustered, Arabelle scrambles to the ground to snatch the Prince's cloak, draping it around her body and pulling its warm furs tightly against her skin.
"Apologies, Your Grace." she mutters. "I-I have no words…"
"No," the Prince interrupts, his voice gentle and comforting. "It is I who must beg for forgiveness. To force you into these conditions is beyond reprehensible. But the accusations laid against you demanded immediate attention."
Aribelle lowers her eyes to the Prince's feet.
"I understand. Though it may bear no fruit, I must beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty. What I've done…"
"I know of it. I know enough of your truth to understand that you are no traitor to my kingdom."
Aribelle's eyes widen in confusion as she stumbles from the shock of the Prince's sudden show of understanding. "My Prince… you know?"
"My gift…" The Prince shrugs. " Or a curse, depending on the day. When I look into the eyes of another, sometimes, I may see their truth. Not through thoughts or memories. Not quite. But the emotions that accompany their actions and the intent that comes with it. Pure, unfiltered."
"Y-You can read… feelings?" she asks, her voice filled with uncertainty.
"Not very well, and not always." He chuckles. "But I think I understand yours, Aribelle Lindbergh. I felt a great sense of duty pervade your actions. No hatred or malice. No ill-intent. You wanted to help."
Aribelle's stiff body releases its tensions as the Princes' words cracks the weight of guilt that had been crushing her.
"However, the reason for your actions remains unanswered." He says gently. "Can you explain to me why you would feel the need to sabotage the expedition? To endanger your sister's life?"
Through choked breath and flowing tears, Aribelle proceeds to explain her plight. Her research, the Guild's secrets and the forbidden magic and constructs beneath the teleportation circle.
As she finishes, the Prince's face loses its color as the room falls to silence.
"These accusations…" He mutters.
Hand outstretched, he whispers a brisk incantation, bringing to life a chair across the room. It catapults itself towards the Prince at immense speed. He catches it effortlessly, swinging it beneath him as he slumps down, his face dug deep in his palm as he contemplates Aribelle's revelations.
With the flick of two fingers, he whips another chair across the room. It stops abruptly behind Aribelle, nudging at her knees. She softly sets herself down onto the cushioned seat.
"The proof needed to confirm these accusations…" The Prince mutters, his face hidden behind the hand resting on his forehead. "And the consequences you will bring, should you find that proof… it would bring about the ruin of the oldest, most powerful organizations in the kingdom!"
The Prince slips his hand across his face, revealing a glimmering eye hidden in shadow.
"Do you have any proof, Lady Lindbergh?"
Aribelle gulps as she wrangles with the intimidation leaking from the Princes' half-gaze. She reluctantly shakes her head.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness. I have naught to show." she whimpers.
The Prince scoffs, the impossibility of it all seems too cruel to him.
"I believe you, Aribelle Lingbergh, but justice needs proof and I fear only divine providence would provide us the evidence needed to prove that your actions were in the best interests of the kingdom. The Royal court will not bend to conjecture and intuition. We must provide hard evidence. And it must be undeniable to stand up against the full might of the Guild and Church."
He rises from his seat, strutting towards Aribelle with a regal benevolence. Smiling softly, he bends to one knee.
"Again, I apologize for my crude conduct." The Prince laments, an honest and sincere regret evident in his voice. He slips a hand into his pocket, producing a small sheet of silken fabric. Wetted with a lick, he dabs it gently across Aribelle's cheek, wiping away dirt and dried tears.
"To… harm you, and besmirch your beauty." The Prince says softly, his eyes quivering with regret. "I fear I may nevermore deserve the graces of the Great Spirits."
Shades of red pulse across Aribelle's face as the Prince moves a hand toward her knee.
"May I?"
She stutters a nod.
Prince Orwellin gently shifts the coat away from her leg, placing his soft finger tips upon her skin with delicate care.
He whispers. Gentle charms ooze from his lips as the golden glow of healing magic emanates from his palm, weaving their way through the cells of her body, soothing her pains.
She exhales. The comforting touch of his skin and magic releasing countless physical and mental burdens.
"I hope this provides some relief." The Prince says, rising to his feet as he dusts off his knees.
"Y-Yes! You have my gratitude." Arienne stutters, bowing her head.
"And you have my word, Lady Lindbergh. Your claims will be investigated thoroughly. Whatever truths lie within them, and I believe there are many, will be brought to light. Justice will prevail in Northenia."
Eyes wetting with gratitude gaze up at the Prince in reverence. "Thank you. Thank you, your Highness! I truly feared my life was already lost…"
"Understand this well, Lady Lindbergh." The Prince says, his tone shifting back to seriousness. "For justice to stand true, you must be held in the custody of the Royal courts until the nature of your involvement in the teleportation incident is fully understood. I shall arrange that you are afforded accommodations suitable of your stature. You are not a prisoner. You are my guest, and will remain in my charge, for as long as your guilt remains in question."
Aribelle nods, trembling at the Prince's words. His decisions, just and fair, provide more relief than she feels worthy of. The thought brings solace as she reflexively reaches for the pendant at her neck.
"Y-Your Highness…" Aribelle whimpers, "M-my pendant. They took my sister's pendant. It's all I have. Please, Your Grace, may I have it returned to me?"
The Prince smiles and affirms her request with a bowing nod. "It shall be returned, m'lady. You have my word."
As the Prince exits the throne room, its heavy doors slamming shut behind him, Aribelle's gaze falls to the floor, her face carved with anguished grief. Fresh tears flowing as her thoughts turn back to her sister.
A half-world away, under a deep black sky brimming with stars, Arienne Lindbergh lay soundly asleep. Her chest slowly pulses with the deep breaths that each release more and more of her exhaustion. Sprawled out across the warm sand, face buried deep into her royal cloak, she snores tenderly.
Warming his hands over a faintly glowing flame crystal, Lukal sits hunched over nearby, coddling his appendages in the soft warmth as he fends off the chill of the cold night-breeze that rolls across the sand. He yawns deeply as he digs behind his breastplate, pulling out an old battered notebook and magic quill.
With cold, tired fingers, he begins to eagerly jot down his daily mission log, a duty he prides himself in.
Day One: A Forsaken Arrival
- We arrived. Safe, unharmed. Location: Unknown. Miss Marika suspects we are in the Forsaken Sands. I tend to believe her.
- Miss Kirica alleges position: 180 leagues east, 1200 leagues south of Northenia. Findings based on astrological triangulation.
- Monster encounter: Giant Sandworm. Light brown body, streaks of black, red and purple. Approx. 200 feet long, 30 feet wide. Extremely aggressive. Territorial? Blind? AVOID!!!
- Casualties of Giant Sandworm encounter. Seven confirmed dead: Silvyr Parrel, Lisvosvan Flintbrooke, Venari Zalumaan, Kaylin Yllarona, Ralnor Glynrie, Ayred Waeswraek, Dekrel Woodengleam
- Two missing: Gegrel Chusk, Chiao Mirika
- Survivors: Captain Arienne Lindbergh, Lukal Kosak, Joselena Kirika
- Captain and I escaped the worm encounter via field of boulders. Unnatural reds, browns and yellows. Odd shapes. Stone stacked on stone.
- Miss Kirika alerts us to her safety just before sunset. Magical sky beacons used to communicate. Estimated location: 2 leagues west of the boulder field.
- Monster encounter at dusk. Rock Scorpion. Large scorpion-like arachnoid. Exoskeleton covered in red, stone-like protrusions. Docile? Passed us openly in the boulder fields. Interaction avoided.
-Set up camp. Nightfall. Eastern outskirts of boulder field. Captain attends to my wounds. I do the same for her. Dinner: Boiled meat and potato bread.
- Remaining provisions: 1 pound dried meat, half pound dried veg, 2 handfuls dried fruit. 1 and half loaf bread. 3 canteens.
- Mission prospects: Dire.
Lukal finishes the log entry with a weary sigh, tucking the book back under his breast plate. He warms his hands around the fading fire-crystal once more as it sputters its last pulses of heat. Looking up, pondering what the next day would hold, a flicker of light catches his attention.
He sits under the vast twinkling sky, eyes locked onto a tremendous bird as it streaks through air, high above him. Its feathers seemingly ablaze as it leaves behind a trail of fluttering embers floating through the air.
He rubs at his eyes as the apparition fades off into the east, chuckling away his apprehensions as his heart slaps against his chest.
"Oh, Great Spirits… what have we done to deserve this cruel fate?" He groans.