He drank some more, but he felt as sober as never before. He let his head hang between his legs. At some point he must have passed out.
“Mordan,” he heard somebody call his name.
He looked up.
It was day-light, but unsurprisingly, the camp was rather quiet.
Octarian stood above him.
He sat up.
Octarian’s hair was wet, his expression rather hard to read.
One thing was apparent; it wasn’t a happy expression.
“I just came from your sister. Don’t say anything, just listen,” he started in a dead-pan voice.
Something about his friend’s behaviour made the hairs on Mordan’s neck stand up.
He raised his hands protectively, but then let them fall.
If Octarian wanted to beat the crap out of him, he would deserve it.
Yet again.
The attack didn’t come.
Octarian stared into space for a second, and then spoke.
“I want to ask for your sister’s hand in marriage,” he said.
“What?” Mordan thought for a second that he had misheard.
“I asked her whether she would marry me once we have your blessing.
I wanted to make sure she would have me as her husband before coming to you,” Octarian explained, his face still impossible to read.
Mordan was speechless.
It was as if some higher power looked out for him.
And for Rica. She could get away from him. He was sure it was something she wanted.
He stumbled to his feet.
“Yes. Of course. Congratulations,” he shook Octarian’s hand.
“Thank you. I will see you later. I need to be… somewhere,” Octarian mumbled, looking anything but a happy groom.
“Sure,” replied a puzzled Mordan. He went to his tent and collapsed on the bed.
What the hell had just happened?
And most importantly; why?
Did Rica tell him what had happened, begging him to rescue her from her monster a of brother?
And Octarian, being the chivalrous fool and saviour of damsels in distress, agreed?
That seemed the most plausible explanation, except for one circumstance. That chivalrous fool would have battered him to a bleeding pulp if he knew… that.
***
Octarian was in a daze.
He walked and walked along the beach until he found a rock that offered some shade, and sank down to the sandy ground.
He still didn’t understand what had happened in the last few hours.
His head was still pounding, making thinking quite difficult. He was trying anyway.
‘Alright, here’s what happened last night,’ he thought to himself.
He had clear memories of Mordan going to his sister.
Then Nadira reappeared. She walked right up to him. He pulled her in his lap, and they started kissing. After a while Nadira stood up, grabbed the last bottle of the liquid she had brought, and pulled him towards the beach.
He remembered them lying on the sand. Nadira taking sips of the beverage to let him suck it out of her mouth.
Laughing, kissing, clothes being discarded.
Then, Nadira complained about the sand all over her body. She jumped up, encouraging him to chase her. He was rather drunk by then, but he kept up as well as he could. He followed her to the eastern tents. He saw the one she disappeared into.
Once inside the tent, he could hear her giggle.
He found the bed in the darkness, and climbed in.
After that, despite all his efforts, he couldn’t remember.
The next thing he knew was movement from the other side of the bed.
His hangover hadn’t kicked in yet; he was most probably still drunk.
Even at this point, he couldn’t remember whether he had finished with Nadira what they had started.
He was determined to remedy it. He pulled the girl close, but she started moaning and thrashing in her sleep.
Then, he saw her face by the light of the first rays of sunshine.
It wasn’t Nadira.
“Oh no, this didn’t happen. By the Gods, what have I done?” he stuttered, clambering out of the bed, noticing a few smears of blood on the sheets, and the wet patch he was lying on top.
Rica didn’t wake up.
He got dressed and ran out of the tent. He walked towards the ocean and collapsed on the ground.
For hours he let the waves wash over him, staring into space.
Once his head was clearer, he made up his mind.
There was no excuse for what he had done. The circumstance, that it wasn’t his intention, didn’t negate the fact that it had happened.
There was only one way to make it right.
Even though he knew that his chances with Ariessa were by now almost non-existent; it pained him that he would be the one severing their ties forever. Even so, if he didn’t marry Rica, he would never be able to live with himself.
He stood up, and went to his tent to change into dry clothes before seeking out his future wife.
When he tried to mention the previous night, she almost got hysterical.
“No, no, please, my Prince, don’t make me talk about it,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face.
Nevertheless, when he asked her to marry him, she said yes.
***
Nadira sobbed inconsolably on her bed.
Noerelle sat down next to her, stroking her hair.
“What’s wrong, my dear?”
“Octarian has just proposed to Countess Rica,” the girl screamed into her pillow.
“It’s wonderful news. For all of us,” Noerelle smiled. Nadira turned her tear-streaked face towards her, her eyes full of pain.
“Do you remember what I told you about becoming the mistress of a Royal? That’s the way you have to go. And now, you will move in with Prince Sunflare as Countess Rica’s lady in waiting,” she smiled benevolently.
“You think he still likes me, my Lady?” Nadira blinked at her through her tears.
“Based on last night; what do you think, dear?”
Nadira smiled.
“I couldn’t have done all I needed to do without you,” Noerelle said, for once truthfully. She pulled out a fat pouch filled with pieces of gold, and pushed it into Nadira’s hand.
“You don’t need to do that, my Lady,” Nadira stared at the pouch incredulously, but pushing it aside.
“You will need some new dresses being the lady in waiting of a Sunflare Queen. And someday, I might need your help. Take it as an advance for future services.”
“Anything, anytime, my Lady,” Nadira replied, reluctantly accepting the pouch.
“Now go, wash your face, and join the others. I have one last thing to take care of,” Noerelle said.
***
Liona was ecstatic by the news of Rica becoming her sister-in-law.
Wolly was stunned.
The two of them sat on the beach at a lavishly equipped picnic basket.
“Do you think Octarian has been in love with Rica all along?” Liona asked.
“If he did; he had us all fooled. Then again, he never proposed to Ariessa.
It seems to me, that he changed his mind at the Windscale Ball,” Wolly pondered.
“And that’s where Octarian met Rica first,” Liona responded excitedly.
“You’ve got a point there, little one,” Wolly loved gossip, and Liona was always a good one to discuss these things with.
“We’ll have to ask him as soon as he shows,” she decided.
“That reminds me; where is everybody?” Wolly looked around. As he couldn’t spot any of their party, he launched into another line of speculation with Liona.
After a while Nadira, Rica and Mordan joined them, along with dozens of their Academy friends and acquaintances.
Soon, they saw Octarian approach.
“Almost at full numbers now, only
Sylvain left to join us,” Wolly announced.
Octarian tiredly smiled at Nadira, walked to Rica, bowed and kissed her hand, and nodded his head towards Liona to follow him.
One look at his face told her something was not right.
“What’s wrong?” she asked with concern.
Octarian took her hands and pulled her into an embrace.
“I don’t know how to tell you… Sylvain’s gone. He left this for you,” he said, giving her an envelope.
She blanched, and opened it.
Dear Liona,
Please, forgive me.
I’ll never forget You.
Sylvain
Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream. Octarian tore the letter from her hand.
His face fell.
“I’ll fucking kill him,” he shouted.
Realm’s Belly, Realm’s Heart Island
Dax grinned at Nocturnia.
“Sit down already, it’s clean. Sort of,” he nodded towards the three-wheeler. She climbed in. He followed suit, and the transporter set off at a speed that, yet again, surprised Dax.
“I can’t believe you never came down here. Ever,” he remarked.
“Look, I’m in charge of the orphanage, I teach hundreds of Unpleasants… What I can’t believe is that you mock me because of this.”
“Oh, fine, we’ll play that game... Right. Another thing I can’t believe is that you are known for being the messiest Equis, yet you throw a tantrum about a bit of dirt.”
“I’m messy, but I hate dirt.”
He looked at her for a few seconds, then threw his head back and laughed.
“Aaaah, I see. The reason why you can resist me is that I don’t respect you enough. I beg to differ. You are attracted to me, not despite, but because I challenge you.”
“Pffft,” with that she emptied her mind as well as she could, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and concentrated on her surroundings.
“Is it because I’m a Pyonian?” he asked in a mock-hurt voice.
“Are you drunk?” Nocturnia shouted. She hated every form of discrimination.
Dax shrugged his shoulders.
“Not yet, but I will be soon. I hope. Belisar will see to that.”
“Besides, I believe that you’re about as Pyonian as I am. A Pyonian Double-Air… yeah right,” she muttered.
“It’s technically possible,” Dax shrugged.
He looked at her taking in the scenery. She was clearly out of her element.
He knew that the gentlemanly thing would have been to reassure her, but he couldn’t help it; he was a Pyonian. Possibly.
“Is that why you chucked Andarian? Because he was just too reliable, too safe?”
For a second it looked as if Nocturnia was about to sap Fire energy from him until he stopped breathing.
“Just leave him out of this.”
He realised now that he had crossed a line. He knew they were here on a mission, but he also wanted to enjoy himself. He leaned back.
“I love you when you’re sulky,” he grinned.
She didn’t react.
“There. I said it. I love you. I bared my soul; yet you ignore me.”
“You wouldn’t know love if it crawled up behind you, and bit you up the arse.”
“You know; I’m quite partial to attractive things biting my arse.”
“You’re such an idiot,” she laughed.
They didn’t have any more time to continue their argument.
The transporter stopped at the main gate of Belisar’s domain.
Knowing the drill; Dax slipped the profusely sweating man a few silvers before the guard thugs had a chance to intimidate him into vanishing in thin air.
One of them strode over to them.
“Chief Prosecutor plus one,” the guard mumbled, and waved them through.
Dax was impressed by the cerebral capacities the muscle man showed by remembering him.
‘Yes, yes, I will let you do the talking,’ Nocturnia projected.
‘Did I say or think anything?’
‘No, but you were about to,’ she sniffed.
‘You just love to hate me, don’t you? One day we’ll be so happy together.’
Nocturnia didn’t register what he thought; she was too busy taking in her environment.
The Fire Ring was illuminated by the red light emanating from this part of the Structure.
Belisar’s district radiated an air of excitement and promise that took her by surprise.
They walked through narrow alleyways lined by buildings that seemed to be there, just to satisfy every single, dark lust of humankind possible. Nevertheless, it didn’t feel as seedy and repulsive as she imagined.
Dax’ voice disrupted her thoughts.
“Here we go,” he pulled out a bottle from the depths of his long leather coat.
They were led through a number of the most stylish rooms Nocturnia had ever seen.
‘Surprised much?’ Dax projected.
‘I’ve never seen anything like this, it’s just… lovely,’ she stammered, not being able to come up with the right word, thus she used the one she used the most.
‘Oh by the Gods, it’s so beautiful. So eclectic. These shapes and those blacks and whites combined with…’
‘Yes, yes, it’s lovely. Concentrate, please,’ Dax interrupted her gushing thoughts, and knocked on a door that Nocturnia could have died for.
Yet another muscle-bound thug leered at them. After locking eyes with Dax for a moment, he waved them through.
Nocturnia had to stifle yet another scream of delightful surprise at the sight of the interiors of the room.
She could sense Dax’ enthusiasm.
Looking at the stunning female form sitting in one of the chairs, she couldn’t help but agree. She was an exotic, dark-haired beauty, clad in a dress that was long in the back, but so short in the front, that her exquisite pair of crossed legs was clearly on display.
‘Could you please reel in your tongue? Someone might step on it,’ Nocturnia projected.
Before Dax had the chance to reply, the door opened and Belisar entered. He turned to Long Legs.
“I have some business to attend to, dearest,” he said apologetically.
“Vurroby nip,” the beauty spat, and stomped off.
“A change of taste. So late in life. Astonishing,” Dax winked at Belisar.
“Nah, it’s Riquinho. He’s an Areshadian with a bit of a temper. He dresses up as a woman whenever he wants to punish me. He knows I hate it,” Belisar shook his head in amusement.
He looked at Nocturnia, bowed, took her hand and kissed it.
“Princess Mountainborn, I cannot express the joy and pride I feel about Your Highness honouring my humble abode.”
“Sister Nocturnia, if you please. And the honour is mine.”
Belisar nodded at her amicably, and then turned to Dax.
“Where are your manners, mage? You embarrass me by not introducing us? I’ll have Riquinho back in a second to have you gutted by his high heels,” he thundered.
Dax held up his present.
“What the Hell is this? The drink you brought me last time, made me piss through my arse for three days,” Belisar raised the bottle towards the light of one the chandeliers.
“It’s paprika-mage-weed brandy. It hurts on the way in, but thrice as much on the way out, so stay close to your water-closet, old man. Or you can just admit to being a wuss, and choose to sip on an elderflower spritzer, like seniors your age should do.”
“Fuck that, mage,” Belisar laughed. A second later, he looked at Nocturnia like a scolded boy. He took a deep bow.
“I’m so sorry, Your Highness, this useless bastard brings out the vulgar in me. I’m not used to such elevated company like yourself.”
Nocturnia couldn’t help but love him.
Dax helped himself to three glasses, and shared out his latest offering.
“We have only a limited time fra
me for serious political discussions,” Belisar said.
“Yes. Alas, we only have a little time till we all get wasted,” Dax explained.
“Not for me, thank you,” Nocturnia smiled.
Belisar and Dax snorted.
“Belly-virgins,” Dax shook his head.
“Gotta love’em,” Belisar agreed.
“If you wish to talk to Belisar, you drink what he drinks, and you drink as much as he drinks,” Dax laid down the rules.
“Them’s the rules,” Belisar nodded.
Nocturnia took a glass.
“We came bearing gifts,” Dax unceremoniously slammed a bunch of papers on the table.
Belisar took a sip of his drink, and took the documents in his hands.
Dax made himself comfortable in one of the outrageously styled, yet comfortable chairs. He was about to enjoy a wide spectrum of emotions displayed on Belisar’s face.
His old friend took the documents, and started to read.
There was concentration.
Curiosity followed.
Then respect.
Astonishment.
Belisar’s eyes widened.
Incredulity.
Utter joy.
Then, incredulity again.
He finally looked at them.
“Is this true?”
Nocturnia and Dax nodded in unison.
Belisar looked at the blueprints again.
He blinked a few times, and then stared into the corner, quickly wiping his eye with a movement he hoped neither of his guests had noticed.
Dax looked away, suddenly interested in the pattern of a lamp in a far corner.
Nocturnia welled up silently.
“We can build a continent-wide network of steamcarriage-lines and stations in all the Fire Tunnels and Rings?”
“Yep. We’ll need two lines in both directions. Two feet tall safety walls will have to be built in every single Fire Ring and Tunnel to make sure the steamcarriages stay in their lanes. Five per section, so we don’t disrupt the work of the embermoss-pickers.
Once it’s all done, we’ll need hundreds of drivers and thousands of station-staff.
And I haven’t even mentioned the humongous amounts of embermoss we will need. At a decent price, now that it has become the World’s most coveted resource,” Dax grinned.
“Thousands of jobs for my people? All that thanks to the Kronurians?” Belisar asked in disbelief.
“You better believe it, my friend. All the bilateral contracts have been signed. We have the highest forms of approval,” Dax assured his friend.