"It's insane, Commander," Polni said. The disappointment of the Captain of the Royal Fireguard showed through the soot and grime on his face.
Eron stared up at the fire, steaming yellow against the dark sky. The eerie purple had disappeared some time ago, and the chaos forced everyone to ignore it. He inhaled the delicious smell of burning wood and stone, fighting against the wet mist of water caught in the breeze. If no one was around him, he'd smile at the beautiful sight and the havoc it caused.
"Did you find out where the fire started?" Eron asked, gripping the hilt of his sword.
Polni rubbed his gray beard, drenched in soot and sweat. "No. But we will," he assured.
The man looked like he took a head dive into soot and exited, barely alive. Eron followed his scorned eyes at the group of slaves gathered under arrest. The courtyard would soon be packed with all those found rioting or wandering the grounds without aiding the fireguard. Some wept in pure fear. Some sliced him and security with dangerous eyes. And some tried pleading their cases with their captors.
"We managed to cut the fire short before the Justice Hall, but it will be a while until we have it fully under control," Polni continued.
Eron narrowed his red eyes. They reflected the light of the closest blaze. "How bad are the slave quarters?"
"Gone to ashes," Polni said, shaking his head, thumbs locked into his thick belt. "It will take years to rebuild the section. I will make sure to do a full investigation and update you with the reports on our findings. I think, Ser, these riots will not end anytime soon."
Eron shifted his gaze to the older man and raised his chin. "If so, prepare for many executions to come."
"Hmm," Polni mused, thin lips pressed into a frown. "I do not want to be rude, but can you not stop this fire?"
Eron frowned under the eyes of the nearest soldiers glancing at him. Tarkel had given him amberia leaves to eat to reduce the aches now migrating to his arms and thighs. He still felt chilled with a mild fever and had to allow Tarkel to dab him with some makeup to conceal his reddening face. Yet still, he felt exposed, as if everyone could see or sense that his sooth was gone.
He managed to make his rounds, write quick messages for posts all over the kingdom, and personally subdue rioting slaves who thought it wise to confront him. And through it all, he wanted to scream and crawl into bed. He wanted to see Mageia—the girl—and investigate how to get his sooth back. He grew up falling in love with his fiery gift, and now that he had the opportunity to bathe in it, and possibly be seen heroic by the Crown, his sooth decided to fall to sleep.
Now embarrassment made his skin cold. Not hot. Was that even normal? Of course, he tried—when he found himself alone—to focus on setting one hand on fire. It only made him nauseated and very exhausted. A few times, a faint threatened to embarrass him in front of everyone and become the whispered joke within the royal grounds. But he managed, keeping his mind focused on reuniting with the Purple Thief. That is, if Sii was able to extract her without incident.
"Commander?"
How dare he rush me to answer?
"I fear I may only make it worse," Eron lied. "Plus, I have dire duties to perform because our kingdom is under present mayhem."
"You could at least try something," Polni grumbled with a shake of his head.
Eron caught eyes with a few glances in his direction, and he clenched his sword's hilt until the designs printed into his skin.
Why in the hell did I come here?
This was a terrible idea, showing his face when he could literally do nothing.
"Commander!" a man shouted from behind him.
"What is it?" he asked, facing the soldier weaving his way through the crowd.
When he closed the distance between them, Eron growled despite his heart skipping a beat. It was a temple soldier.
"What do you want?"
The young man panted, out of breath, sweat pouring down his face. He'd been running. "Have you seen Prince Grisonce?"
Eron retrained his face from showing disgust. "No, I haven't. Why?"
Polni then took the initiative to barge in. "Actually, I just saw him about a half hour ago, maybe. He rescued Rasheem from his chambers and rushed him to the infirmary."
"Damn it," the temple soldier said. "If I hadn't gone to the Royal Leave first and crossed through the palace, we would've crossed paths."
Eron didn't care about Gris or his worthless manservant. There was only one reason why a temple soldier would be running all over the place searching for Gris.
"Get to why you're looking for him."
"The Purple Thief woke up," the temple soldier said.
Eron silently gasped, hoping the darkness and lack of torchlight would hide the joy leaking from his eyes. "I assume you told the king," Eron stated, trying to deepen his husky voice.
"I did," he said.
"I will return with you," Eron said. The temple soldier nodded and began to walk away. He turned to Polni, wearing a disappointed expression. "Have this fire gone by sunrise, Captain."
"We will try, gods be," he said. Then Eron saw it. A quick glimpse of disgust or scorn crossed the older man's face. He knew the man pondered on why he wouldn't stay and help. Fire was the air he breathed, after all.
Eron quickly walked away before the man's feelings circulated amongst the others. He knew how the old man worked. His unwillingness to give assistance would definitely be in his report. And if he could not wake up his sooth tonight, then he would have to search his aching head for a believable explanation to the Crown.
~*~*~
Gris could feel Eron's hand in the tragedy before him. The man was a monster, an evil pawn of Dawnis, with no heart and no limits. He didn't know what to do. Where was Mageia?
He ran to Lord Hercones' side. The old man was panting and coughing for air.
"Hercones."
"Grisonce," he said, reaching for him. He took his hand and looked at the doctor for a hint of hope. But the doctor sorrowfully shook his head, and Gris knew what that meant.
"Hercones, what happened here? Where is Mageia?"
"They took her."
"Who?"
"Two of them. Soldiers. Fast. Fast."
"Did one of them have blue eyes?"
Lord Hercones' eyes widened; his pupils dilated. Gris' heart constricted as he held back tears.
"Hercones, please. Did one of them have blue eyes?" he implored.
"Yes, I think. Find her. Find her."
"Did they say where they were going?"
The old man's breathing croaked and came in hard strides as he fought for air.
"Your Highness, he doesn't have much time," the doctor said, taking hold of Hercones' hand. He lowered his head in prayer over the priest. "May the gods forgive him for any wrongdoing. Accept his mind, his heart, and his soul so he may live the rest of his days in peace in the Serene in hopes of reuniting with all those he loved. Amen."
Lord Hercones squeezed the man's hand and gave one last inhale. He exhaled in a bloody gurgle. One last tear streamed down the elder's face.
Silence took the room. Lord Hercones' grip loosened. The nurse beside him broke into tears. The doctor gently laid him on the floor and closed his eyelids.
"May the ferries carry him to peace," the doctor prayed, drawing a sign in the air over Lord Hercones' head.
Gris clenched his hands and squeezed his burning eyes closed. Now that Lord Hercones had passed on, his mind returned to Rasheem, who too could die from his injuries tonight. Then a hand touched his shoulder, shaking him back to reality.
"Gods, no."
"I have sent word to the king and the commander," Dargany said.
Gris stood and stared at the messy bed. For the first time in his entire life, he didn't know what to do. Anger and grief filtrated his body to the point he didn't want to move. He didn't want to speak. He didn't know which feeling to allow control.
"This just happened, so they might be close," Dargany suggested.
They might be close.
"Did anyone hear or see anything abnormal?" Dargany queried, taking lead of the situation.
The nurse and the doctor shook their heads. The temple guards who were still alive stared weary-eyed at their leader, dead on the floor.
"Okay, I want this infirmary locked down," he ordered the guards, who nodded, prepared to do anything to keep from crying. "No one in and no one out."
"Yes, sir," they said and headed out the door.
"Get out of my way!" someone yelled from down the hall. "Oh, gods no! Move!"
Ser Conner burst through the soldiers and into the room, with Lord Maurice behind him.
It didn't take the Chief Knight of the Priesthood more than a second to see the priest on the floor. "No!" he shouted in a grief that almost stole Gris' breath. The knight, whom Lord Hercones raised, ran to be by his side. Dargany pulled a numbed Gris out of the way so he wouldn't get knocked in the face by the man's armor.
"No. No. No. No. What happened? Gods above, what happened?"
"He went peacefully," the doctor assured, holding the knight in his trembling armor as he wept over the priest.
Gris stood shaking to the bones. He turned to leave, but Dargany grabbed him.
"What're you doing? Are you okay?" the soldier asked, searching his eyes as if any minute he would break through and read his thoughts.
"I need to be with Rasheem," he mumbled.
"No, no. He's in surgery, and you're in shock," he said, holding him to stop him from walking. "You need to sit down."
Gris shook his head. "I need to see my friend."
"He is in surgery, but he will be fine."
"What if he's not fine? What if ... What if Joras cannot ..."
"Gris, look at me." Dargany took hold of his face. "Get yourself together. You do not want to break down right now. You must stay strong for Rasheem. Do you hear me? We will pray. We will do something. But Gris, you need to sit the fut down—"
Someone entered the room, and Gris' gaze shifted to him. His devilish eyes stared at the empty bed, the dead nurse, and then at the emotional scene across the room. A temple soldier was on his heels, mouth agape in shock.
"Gris, are you listening to me?" Dargany's muffled voice returned.
"What happened here?" Eron demanded, approaching with his red brow clashing.
Gris peeled away from Dargany's hold, and his rage released with a fist to Eron's face.
A/N
Hello again!! One point for Gris!!!
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-LeQuita