Magika [Completed]

Chapter 10

Wylerra 100 years ago

Aldeheid coughed up several lungfuls of acrid smoke and squeezed his eyes shut against the stinging pain it brought. The air in the trial chamber was unbreathable, and he got as close to the ground as he could to suck in some fresh air. Shards of broken stone dug into his hands and knees as he crawled across the scorched ground. Blood dripped down his face from where a projectile had nicked him.

He'd told himself he wasn't going to do this. That he would put his foot down and demand that the King call off the trial. But each time he went to confront Baldavin, he was met with a stare that could shatter the ice sheets of the Glacier's Pass. The King was having none of it. It was either do things his way and on his time, or be cut down.

Aldeheid had to admit, he'd always feared his King, but more and more he found himself feeling something akin to helplessness in his presence. He felt like a doll on a string, dancing against his own will. And his cruel puppeteer had brought him to this point, to another catastrophic failure.

A few pretty words echoed through the room and immediately, the air was breathable again. Aldeheid sucked in greedy breaths, desperate to expel the smoke burning his lungs.

A blood-curdling scream reverberated through the chamber. "Catarina!"

When he looked up, the High Priestess was at her apprentices side, two fingers pressed against her throat. Catarina was paler than the snow drifts outside, and her once pristine white robes were smudged with soot. Her head was lulled towards him, eyes half-opened and dull.

"No, no, no, no, no," the High Priestess said, cupping her apprentice's face with both hands. "Get away!" she screamed at the medics as they tried to help her charge.

Aldeheid's stomach churned, and bile rose into his throat. He made a mad dash for the window, and barely got there before he lost his dinner. Even after there was nothing left, his stomach didn't relent, and the frigid air stung his face.

A gentle hand rubbed his back as he continued to dry heave until he was left weak and shaking. He finally pulled his head in and sagged against the wall, his lungs burning from the cold air. It felt as though someone had punched a hole through his stomach.

A pair of polished black boots encircled with steel bands appeared in front of him, and he looked up at the King.

"My office, now." Baldavin turned and walked away, the hem of his coat flapping in his wake.

Aldeheid scowled. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his chambers and forget this nightmare.

They medics they'd had on standby had managed to rush Catarina from the room. Jayer and Jetei were gone and they probably took Wenry with them. Which left only Aldeheid and the Queen in the trial chamber.

"Go," she told him. "I'll send a medic to wait for you in your chambers." She gave his back another comforting rub, and he went on his way.

Aldeheid made the stroll to Baldavin's office as long as he could. But that plan backfired on him, as a leisurely trip gave him more time to think about what had happened. More time for his mind to conjure up images of Catarina's dull eyes staring at him, but not seeing him.

The hall blurred, his stomach churned, and he had to stop to steady himself against a wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing the bile that kept pooling into his mouth. Gods, what have I done? 

Killed another cape. The thought echoed through his mind, making his head spin and his knees weak. But he kept moving forward, one step at a time as it was all he could do.

Eventually, he made it to Baldavin's office, and settled into the nearest chair. The King had already relieved himself of his heavy winter coat. It hung on a rack by the door. He sat behind his desk, one elbow planted on the polished wood and his cheek resting on his fist. The desk was clean aside from a tumbler of rum centered on a coaster.

Behind him were shelves of documents that needed his attention, arranged by priority, then by date, then by sender. The books that dominated the other side, were arranged by topic then by size. Not a speck of dust marred any surface. Even the log in the fire place had been squared off perfectly.

Aldeheid found the neatness of everything somewhat unnerving. And with his soot-stained clothes and singed hair, he felt miserably out of place, a dust bunny marring the pristine room.

Baldavin glanced up at him, but kept his face impassive. "It seems I've made a mistake. I thought that what happened during your first cape trial had everything to do with that woman, and nothing to do with you." He folded the document and slipped it back into its canister.

Aldeheid rubbed his face, and immediately regretted it when he saw the soot on his shaking hands. His body felt out of sync with his mind, and he knew once the initial shock wore off he'd be simultaneously, too tired and too anxious. "You don't seem at all bothered by what just happened."

"And you shouldn't be either. I didn't ask Miria for her apprentice. She volunteered. And did so knowing full well what happened during your first cape trial. It is... unfortunate. But we need to to move on. And by we, I mean you."

"How can you...? I just...?" Aldeheid couldn't get the words out.

"I won't be hearing any excuses." Baldavin looked up at him, brows angled and lips curled into a scowl. "Honestly, this is the type of weakness I expect out of Jayer, but not you." His words hit Aldeheid like a slap in the face. "The future King of Wylerra will not be capeless." He flicked his hands towards the door. "Go, get yourself cleaned up. And cut your hair. It's disgusting."