At first, Sadar struck Hitomi as merely a smaller version of Palas. She had just exited the docking station with the mole man and could see the hazy outline of its cramped buildings and houses at a distance. Only when she paid more attention did she perceive any great difference.
"Here we are, little lady," the mole man announced. "Welcome to the fashion capital of Astauria! Or so they say...heh heh!"
Like Palas, Sadar had been built near the base of a mountain chain, but the latter did not possess the same military advantages. The mountains here were smaller, shielding only one side of the city. They were also covered in a lush forestry far less threatening than the jagged, bare cliffs of the Chatal Mountains. Hitomi squinted to inspect the city more closely, but there was a great deal of fog obscuring her vision.
"It's much colder here than in Palas," she remarked, drawing her shawl more closely around her shoulders.
"It must be the mountain air," replied the mole man. "Much better than that salty ocean stink, eh?"
Hitomi didn't agree, though. Her father had taken her through the Frontier Zone's mountains many times. She had long learned to enjoy the crisp, clean air unique to such regions. Perhaps it was experience that guided her, but somehow Hitomi knew that Sadar was different. There was not a single breeze here. All was unnaturally still, the air stale and heavy on her skin.
Strangest of all, however, was the distinct chill that lay beneath the humidity. It was subtle but unpleasantly lingering. It crept its way into the docked ships, through their feeble garments, and settled into their very bones with disturbing quickness. Not only that, but the chill had come on so gradually that none but Hitomi seemed to have noticed how unnatural, how almost frightening it was. She suddenly longed to be indoors next to a blazing fireplace.
A thunder of cartwheels snapped Hitomi out of her reverie. At least ten coaches were coming their way at top speed. No doubt the arrival of an airship meant excellent business for the coachmen.
Hitomi stood closest to the coaches and was first to hail one. As the mole man stumbled into theirs he was still comparing the weather in Sadar to Palas. Hitomi silenced him with a look.
"There's no time to waste," she said seriously. "We are not here for a change of weather."
She spoke more to herself than to the mole man.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Le Quatorzième
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The Governor of Sadar
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Elsewhere, Millerna Varene stepped out of the coach and onto the cold, damp pavement. She approached a large grey house of medieval design, gloomily enclosed within a fog-filled court.
The iron gates were left open.
The footman, rather than assist with her belongings, dropped the bags on the ground and immediately took off with the driver. Their payment was forgotten.
This was an ill omen. It confirmed, in part, that which she had long suspected and dreaded of Sadar. The usual signs were there—the fog, the instinctive fear of the outdoors, the chill. Millerna was grieved by this, as this was the city that she once considered her second home. She took a deep, shuddering breath and approached the mansion.
She stopped before a tall single-door entrance, which had the facade of a pillar on each side. She tentatively reached for the knocker. The door swung open before she could touch it, and Millerna suddenly faced a surly-looking manservant who had been awaiting her arrival.
"I bid you welcome, Your Highness."
As he spoke, Millerna noticed how his eyes flickered anxiously to and from her face, watching her reaction. He meant to be disrespectful, possibly through the orders of his master, by his use of a most inappropriate title. But to Millerna, who suffered unfathomable degrees of harassment after her abdication, this was mere child's play.
"I bear no such title, sir," she said calmly.
The manservant bowed stiffly.
"Very well, Milady."
He stepped aside to allow her entry into the manor. As she passed him, Millerna caught a haughty gleam in his eye. It seemed to say, 'Indeed, you are no princess, and have no real authority over me.' Clearly, Millerna could expect similar, if not worse, treatment from his employer.
The interview would be interesting.
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Lord Faunus was seated leisurely at his desk. He was enjoying a temporary freedom from his duties, and was sipping at his tea while contemplating the pleasant silence of the house. Merle had been sent away, much to Van's displeasure. The scoundrel had brought it upon himself, of course, owing to his hideous indiscretion as of late. So the cat girl was banished to the Forest as a reminder to Van not to forget his place again. And it happened that Lord Faunus, for whom the cat girl had always been an irritant, was once more able to enjoy the peace and quiet of his dwelling.
Suddenly, Lord Faunus looked up. Something had disturbed his inner peace. He scanned the room swiftly, eyes narrowed with irritation. There was no mistaking this intuition, however. Five men were approaching the house.
Lord Faunus rose from his desk and considered the newcomers, who were seconds away from the door. The telltale sounds of heavy boots and buckles in a synchronized march indicated that these visitors were soldiers. Lord Faunus would not answer the door himself—it was beneath him to address such lowly life forms. Van must do it instead.
Outside, the soldiers were unable to mask their apprehension. Nothing short of their severe military training could have kept them from running in terror from this homely-looking residence. All the way there, the five of them had kept a sluggish pace, hoping to delay the inevitable, and yet it seemed they had reached the rumoured residence of Lord Faunus all too soon.
The tallest of the five stepped forward onto the doorstep first. He was the captain of the group, and the bravest by designation. "Wizard" or not, they had orders to fulfill. He raised his first and knocked firmly against the door.
At first, there was no answer.
The captain knocked again. Again, no answer.
The more fidgety men stole uncertain glances at the windows. One recounted a rumour he'd heard about a Knight Caeli who had forced entry into Lord Faunus's house and was never seen again. Half of the group gave an involuntary shudder. At this, the captain uttered a sharp order for the men to compose themselves. He waited severely as each of his companions grew still. Then, he raised his first to knock a third time.
The door swung open before the captain's hand touched it. He faced a dark-haired youth with blood red eyes and a sour expression.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
The captain had heard of this boy. He was the loyal servant of Lord Faunus, the notorious debt collector—Van Fanel.
"We are looking for your master, boy!" said the captain. "Where is he? Where is Lord Faunus?"
Van's eyes flashed with anger—from being called "boy," perhaps? The captain thought it must be so. He scorned such immaturity and grew more confident.
"Where is Lord Faunus?" the captain repeated loudly.
"Faunus is not here," said Van with gritted teeth.
"Indeed!" spat the captain. "Then I arrest you in his place!"
Two men leaped forward and seized Van by the arms, while a third held a sharp blade against his throat. Unexpectedly, Van did not retaliate. In fact, he looked a little bored. This was a small relief to the soldiers, whose jobs had just been made easier. As Van submitted quietly to being kicked, bound, and dragged outside, the remaining men searched the house. To the captain's great frustration, however, Lord Faunus was nowhere to be found.
"No one was seen leaving the house, sir," one of the soldier reported. "He must have been out by sheer coincidence."
"He will return, then," said the captain stubbornly. "Two of you will stay here. Watch for his arrival but do not let yourselves be seen and do not attempt to fight him on your own. I will bring this boy back and try to return with more reinforcements. Five of us may not be enough to capture Lord Faunus."
As he was marched away from the house, Van wore an amused smirk.
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Millerna was shown into a large study and asked to wait there for the master. No refreshment was offered, but then, this was a political venture—all seriousness and no pleasure.
The room was dark, except for a feeble red glow from some embers in the fireplace. At the far end of the room, Millerna could discern a small bookcase next to a plain wooden desk. Instead of couches, there was a single bench. Not one painting, vase, or embellishment was to be seen. Millerna thought this minimalist arrangement very characteristic of its chief inhabitant.
Feeling a sudden chill, she moved to the hearth and warmed her hands. Millerna recalled how her bags had been discarded by the gate and hoped they would be all right. Despite the manservant's animosity, it was the height of rudeness to let a Lady tend to her heavy baggage unassisted. Surely they wouldn't go that far. Perhaps she ought to ask after her things, just in case?
Following this trivial line of thought, Millerna turned from the fire and moved towards the door to the study. She suddenly gave a start.
Where Millerna expected to see an empty doorframe instead stood the sombre-looking governor of Sadar. Despite his youthful age, he had a sickly pale face and a gaunt, withered-looking figure. His expression did not change as she noticed his presence. Millerna vaguely wondered how long he had been standing there.
"Good evening, Lord Filippe," she said, with a customary curtsey.
"Princess," he replied, inclining his head.
So it was Lord Filippe who perpetuated this trend of using Millerna's discarded title. Millerna made careful note of this, though she had guessed the truth of it for some time.
What he could possibly mean in doing so, she didn't know. For some answer, she examined his blank, ghostlike face. His eyes, once full of passion and fierce determination, were now vacant, lifeless. The stark contrast between his former and current self was disturbing. With some difficulty, Millerna forced her mind back into the present.
"I am no princess, my Lord, as you well know," she said. "I come to you as the widow of your predecessor, Lord Varene. As such, I wish to discuss your recent military stratagems for Sadar."
A flicker of life returned to his eyes—a vague semblance of a sneer.
"I am not answerable to the inquiries of a mere Lady."
Millerna hid her shock. Lord Filippe had always been so scrupulous in matters of politeness and delicacy; this new rudeness did not become him. She refused to waver from her goal, however.
"Why are you bringing your soldiers into the city?" she demanded.
"Why should I not," he asked coldly, "when your own excellent father has authorised it?"
Millerna did not miss the sarcasm with which he referred to King Aston.
"Your regime has turned into a band of lowly criminals, led by a dishonourable a Colonel! They are barred entry from every city in Astauria. Is that not reason enough? How can you even think to let them roam freely in your own?"
"You exaggerate your disapproval," he said simply.
Millerna coloured with anger.
"Every public place, every respectable inn or restaurant will be sullied! People's homes will be raided under some stupid military pretext! It has happened before, as you know, and yet you feign ignorance! Why? You used to be better than that."
But Lord Filippe was not so easily moved. He stared blankly out a tall window in the room. It should have shown a magnificent view of the city, but there was only the same endless stretch of fog.
"You know your own regime, I daresay, far better than I do," Millerna went on. "Tell me, what will you do, with your city in chaos and your army in drunken disarray, should you fall under a demon attack?"
Her two last words made him sensible. Lord Filippe abruptly turned away from the window. He looked at Millerna with a deadly glare in his eye.
"That is enough," he said sharply. "You seek to undermine my control, do you? Don't make me laugh! How can you understand my position? Why, you have lived behind a protective glass all of your life!"
Millerna's eyes flashed with anger. She knew she mustn't fall prey to his taunts, that she was here for a higher purpose, but still she couldn't stop her anger from surfacing. It was too...abnormal, hearing such scorn from him. Millerna was not as prepared for this as she had hoped, and Lord Filippe perceived this instantly. He gave her a grim smile.
"Have I offended you? Of course I have, and it proves that you know nothing! I am well aware of your trifling escapade three years ago in Fanelia, and how you think you know what it is to truly suffer."
Millerna's face went white.
"How did you—?"
"No need to look surprised, my Lady," he said, with bitter amusement. "You do not seriously think that I am so without resources? Yes, I know all about your relationship with the Fanelian Royal Family, as well as a certain Knight C—"
"Lord Filippe!" she cried, alarmed.
"Yes, how very tragic for you," Lord Filippe went on cruelly. "I hear his body was never found. When Fanelia was destroyed, you came crawling back to Astauria to find quite the change of circumstances! From once being the most beloved, the most admired, the most positively spoilt, you became less than nothing—forgotten! You were too quick to take your status and connections for granted. And the result? King Aston estranged his only remaining daughter, the Meiden family was disgraced, and you, Queen of Moral Superiority, married Lord Varene for his wealth and status!"
He paused briefly to examine her reaction, looking smug, and looked over her thin face. It was then that he suddenly noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes.
"You look unwell," said Lord Filippe, frowning. "What…?"
And then he realized. It was written all over his face—a dawn of understanding gone horribly wrong, somehow sickened on the way, in discovering too much. Millerna had seen it before. She watched tiredly as his contempt turned into complete shock.
"Did a demon...?"
"Yes."
His face went through a series of rapid changes, but his expressions were too vague for her perception. Disappointment? Fear? Disgust, perhaps? Millerna could not tell them apart, she no longer knew him well enough. At some point, he looked like he felt actual physical pain, but she couldn't be certain.
He must have had many questions for her, but as he did not ask her any, Millerna guessed that he answered them himself. He seemed to wonder, for instance, at her condition at that moment—at how she had been saved. Too soon, however, he realized who was responsible, and his bitterness returned.
"It seems that you have not lost all of your former acquaintance."
"I know what you are thinking, Lord Filippe," warned Millerna, "but you would be wrong. He is not responsible for the attacks. His abilities are not of that nature."
"Indeed," replied Lord Filippe, unconvinced. "Well, I shall find out soon enough."
"What do you mean?"
No response.
"Lord Filippe, what do you mean?" she asked, more urgently.
Lord Filippe said nothing still. The ominous gloom from before was seeping back into his features, his eyes growing blank again.
"Answer me! What have you done?" cried Millerna desperately.
"A convenient choice of ally, my Lady," he mused, ignoring her question. "If all of Astauria should fall, you would be spared."
"How dare you! Do you even realise what you are saying?"
"Enough. I am tired of this," he announced.
At this, his manservant stepped inside and waited expectantly for Millerna.
"You are excused, my Lady. A guest room has been prepared, and you may use it if you wish. I expect you gone by tomorrow."
"I am not finished!"
"That is unfortunate for you."
"Wait!" snapped Millerna at the manservant, who had taken hold of her arms. "At least tell me—I said, WAIT! Tell me, Lord Filippe—why are you having me followed? What interest do you have in my affairs?"
Something flickered in his eyes again, stronger than before, and Lord Filippe stiffly turned to face the wall. Millerna watched in amazement as his entire frame grew rigid and tense.
He was struggling with words. No common expression, no conventional assembly of words would have been enough to depict all that happened to him, all that he'd been thinking about, within the last three years. There was even less that would have conveyed all that he felt in that moment. How could he explain himself? How could she comprehend it all?
Yet after all that, he only managed to say:
"I'm in love with you."
A stunned silence followed. Millerna tried to speak, to make some reply, but both her mind and her heart failed her. She had nothing to say.
"Get out," he said suddenly.
"Filippe, I..."
"NOW."
Millerna Varene was steered out of the room, still too surprised to resist. Lord Filippe was staring out the window again. The emotion had already left his eyes.
Robo's Note:
Hi everyone, and thanks for reading chapter fourteen! I'm very, very, very sorry for the delay! I'd been writing this chapter in pieces throughout second semester and maybe spending too much time going over details. I'm trying to get ahead this time around, and it looks like I'll have the next chapter ready soon.
I'm trying to develop some less central characters in this chapter, so please let me know what you think of them. I've never gotten this far in any of my fanfiction before and I hope that the story is making sense. If you notice any awkward transitions or confusing passages, please let me know.
Credit to Missing White Wings 15 for her support. Special thanks to thepinkmartini for taking the time to review every chapter in one go—you didn't have to do that, but I was so happy that you did! Thanks as well to f_zelda, Catherine, abbys, A Fan, and InsanelyinlovewithWilliam. for the reviews I couldn't reply to. I'm sorry for the long wait on this chapter and I really appreciate the support!
Don't forget - love!