Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay, I had less holiday than expected, and now have several assessments to prepare for, but I wanted to write this chapter! As always, thank you all so so much for your comments, asks, and interactions! I love it so much! Quick explanation for some terms in this chapter:
A cycle = A day
A cluster = A week
A period = A month
A rotation = A year
An Era = Has no set limit, but is usually around ten rotations, beginning and ending with a significant event
There are five cycles in a cluster, and eight clusters in a period. A rotation has around ten periods. Eras aren't super significant, and Hornet briefly mentioned them in chapter 3, but they're mainly important in keeping track of major events.
Another quick warning, I do discuss the Infection and infection rates here. Given the state of current events, I can understand that this is a sensitive subject. If you'd prefer to skip it, then stop reading at: "Wyrm let himself get lost in the stacks of paper..." until the first line break.
Onto the story!
Chapter 7: Formality
"You did what?"
The Pale King looked at his wife in horror, desperately hoping he had misheard her words. Instead, she levelled him with an unimpressed look.
"I invited Herrah for tea," she said slowly, enunciating every word so that he clearly understood what she was saying. He dearly wished he didn't.
"But- why? I thought you would be meeting in a neutral place, or continue correspondence through letters?"
She didn't even blink, instead turning back to her carving. She had been insistent on making toys for the Pale Vessel and the Rogue Vessel to enjoy when they returned, much to his eternal frustration.
"Because, my dear Wyrm, the situation cannot remain as it is. Telling her she can't even send a search party out? For her own daughter? You may have sent out the Great Knights, but even they have their own duties to attend to. Ogrim and Isma closed off the Silver City, and found nothing in the Waterways. Dryya did not find any sign of the children in my Gardens or the Wastes. Ze'mer and Hegemol are still patrolling the upper levels, but have reported nothing out of the ordinary. Face it, my love. We need Herrah."
"She said she would declare war!"
"No, she threatened to declare war, there's a distinct difference, dear."
By the ancient ones, his wife was insane. And yet, she was happier than he had seen her be in a long while. Ever since the news of the Pure Vessel's desertion broke, she had been borderline giddy. He had known their relationship had... broken down somewhat, yet he hadn't truly understood the extent of it. She had still loved him, but it was distant and fragile, and he did not doubt that she would eventually leave, unable to take the weight of their actions anymore. But now... unless he colossally messed up, it was not a future he could see. He could not deny his relief at that.
Finally, he huffed out a sigh, and sat beside her.
"Very well. Though please keep her at a distance," he begrudgingly conceded, and she let out a light chuckle.
"Not to worry love, I'll make sure she doesn't throttle you."
He watched her nimble claws whittle away at the chunk of wood, carefully shaping it into a figure that one could play with. He blinked.
"Is that Dryya?" he asked incredulously, and she hummed in affirmation.
"It is! I figured that dear Barkley and Leif would appreciate having something to play with!"
Wyrm could not stop himself from choking.
"Barkley? Who in the name of the ancients is Barkley?!"
"The Rogue Vessel, keep up dear."
"No, no, I draw the line, Root, we are not naming a child of ours Barkley! Or Leif!"
She sent him a sly smile.
"So you admit they are our children?"
He let out a strangled sound. Because that was the crux of the issue, the unspoken dungbeetle in the room. The two vessels were apparently fully capable of thought and free will, and undoubtedly his and Root's children. But this was not a conversation he would have now, not with the arrival of Herrah looming over his head.
"I thought you liked Caerwyn? And if we must go for a plant name, then would Chloris not be more suitable? Besides, what if they've given themselves names already? Would that not make this moot?" he deflected, and from Root's disappointed glance, she had noticed his avoidance of her question. Thankfully however, she did not decide to pick at it further, instead sighing softly and continuing to carve.
"Then we call them by their chosen names. They have endured enough discomfort, and I only seek to gift them the affection they have so oft been denied."
Ah, that was a definite dig, and he shuffled uncomfortably.
"Yes, well," he blustered, "don't coddle them too much. They're not used to it, after all."
Wyrm immediately winced. That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Her pale eyes grew frosty, and the frown on her mask only hinted at her true fury.
"I will coddle them as much as I please, Wyrm," she said coldly, and he deflated.
"Of course, dearheart. I... misspoke. I would expect nothing else from you."
She gave an unimpressed hum, but did not shove him away from her or otherwise show her displeasure. She did use more force than perhaps was necessary in carving, and he counted his blessings that she hadn't decided to strike him instead. She would be well within her rights.
"Don't you have retainers to harass?" she muttered after a while, and he quickly stood up. He knew a dismissal when he saw one, and he did not wish to further anger his wife. Wyrm cleared his throat.
"Yes, I do need to go over this cluster's infection report from Lurien, and I'm sure you wish to prepare for Herrah." He paused for a moment, unsure of what else to say, before finally settling on an apology.
"I truly am sorry, Root. My words were callous."
"Yes," she said quietly, "they were. I am well aware of my own failings as a parent. Is it truly awful that I wish to compensate? Do they not deserve some comfort? Should they not both be indulged? How long was the Rogue Vessel alone, left to rot with the-?"
She cut herself off, unable to speak any longer, and his soul ached at her words. He desperately tried to search for some words of comfort, but came up with nothing, instead simply placing a loving claw on her own. Root sniffed softly, but allowed his touch, her larger hand curling gently around his fingers.
They were silent for a moment, simply letting themselves grieve and regret. Finally, Root withdrew, placing her carving inside her craft basket.
"Let Herrah send a search party, Wyrm. I will speak to her and encourage her to stand down."
She did not beg or plea. It was a simple request, a statement made in full confidence that he would eventually concede. But nonetheless, he couldn't stop his grimace.
"It is not that simple," he muttered, running his hand over his mask. "Several people heard her declaration, if they saw a large amount of Deepnest bugs then there would be chaos. They are already on edge as it is, and I am doubtful of my ability to maintain the peace should things get out of control."
"Come now, you know that is easily solved by a declaration of peace. Do you fear Herrah's desire for retribution against the vessels- against our children?"
He sighed, letting himself sag against her.
"You did not see her fury, my love. I truly thought she would attempt to murder me right then and there. If you are unable to convince her of the Vessel's innocence, then I fear she would seek to hand out her own punishment onto them." he explained quietly.
Root hummed at his words, the gentle vibration soothing him as his thoughts raced through his mind.
"I will speak to Herrah, as one mother to another. I know her, Wyrm. She will agree. When she does, you will come and ask for a peace declaration in return for a search party. Then, you will send Lurien a missive, and he will tell the Silver City the news. There will be no war, my dear. And our children shall be returned safe and sound."
"And the Infection?" he whispered. "All of my planning, all of our sacrifices... for naught. I know you suggested speaking to her, but she would never listen to a word I have to say. My foresight is leading me in circles, showing me futures that collapse just as quickly as they appear, and I wonder... is there any hope of succeeding?"
Root stilled, every branch and leaf on her body seeming to freeze at his words. Her eyes were fixed on the carved toys she had been making, each placed into her craft basket with the love and care she so desperately wished to bestow upon children of her own.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"Such thoughts bring no merit. We have to succeed, Wyrm," she said strongly, turning to look at him. "We must. If not for us, then for our children, all of them."
She paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before speaking up again, voice quiet and solemn.
"We have tried your godly solutions, and they have not worked. Perhaps it is time for us to use an earthly approach."
The Pale King shut his eyes at her words, desperately trying to reach a future that could offer some other advice or assistance. But there was nothing except a smear of time and possibilities, each fading away and being replaced before he could even glance at them. There was no other option.
"Very well," he conceded. "Once the children are returned... I will call the leaders to the Palace for a meeting. It is time we were frank with our subjects. But that will have to be arranged later. Talk to Herrah, if you think you can convince her. I have reports to look at."
He left the room quickly, carving a path through the flood of retainers standing in the hallway and ignoring their bows and reverent mutters. He wasn't fleeing, he told himself as he entered his study. He truly did have work to do. Work that could chase away the looming shadow of his failures, of the inevitable meeting he would have to call together, of his Kingdom's fate.
Wyrm let himself get lost in the stacks of paper, eyes skimming over quarterly costs and progress reports, not quite daring to touch the infection rate for this cluster yet. Eventually, after hours of signatures and corrections, he knew he had to look at it. Steeling himself, he grabbed the report, and looked over it.
INFECTION REPORT, SILVER CITY: Fourth Cluster
CYCLE ONE
53 new infections
17 deaths
TOTAL INFECTED: 183
CYCLE TWO
36 new infections
24 deaths
TOTAL INFECTED: 195
CYCLE THREE
9 new infections
2 deaths
TOTAL INFECTED: 202
CYCLE FOUR
3 new infections
1 death
TOTAL INFECTED: 204
CYCLE FIVE
0 new infections
0 deaths
TOTAL INFECTED: 187
He looked over it again. And again.
Wyrm scrambled, claws snagging this cluster's infection reports for the Crossroads, for the Wastes, for every other area, and found the same thing. The first two cycles were normal, but something changed on cycle three, causing the rate to plummet until there was nowhere else to go but down. Giddiness leapt up in his throat, and he let out a hysterical laugh.
The infection rate had completely halted. Not only that, but the amount of bugs infected was going down without any deaths.
Something was curing them.
"Eat my excrement, you fluffy piece of garbage!"
Root watched carefully as her fellow Queen arrived in the Palace Stagway, standing close by to welcome her guest. Usually they did not bother with such formalities, their friendship having grown strong enough to require no proper greeting or ceremony. But with the recent tension and the threat of a conflict looming over their heads, Root decided it would be best to follow the formal rites. Herrah stepped off from the carriage, her mask displaying no sign of emotion, before she approached.
"Herrah, it is good to see you, despite the circumstances," Root said, and the Queen of Deepnest tipped her head forward in acknowledgment.
"Indeed. I thank you for the invite. We have much to discuss," she replied, voice betraying nothing. Root nodded.
"That we do," she murmured, "come, my friend. Let us go to the tea room."
They walked to the Palace in silence, neither of them having brought any attendants, and Root imagined that Herrah was preparing for the approaching conversation. She certainly was, carefully constructing arguments and requests that would solve the threat of war. Were she alone, then Root would have sighed. She had never enjoyed politics, and her kind was not well-versed in the art, instead relying on family and clan-heads to solve issues. Herrah however, for all her disdain of bureaucracy, was an absolute master of it.
She had to be to survive the hostility from Hallownest.
The hallways were quiet, the only sound coming from the murmurs of the ever-present retainers. They bowed as the two Queens walked past, before skittering out of sight, having been ordered to stay well away from the meeting room the two of them would have tea in. Finally, they reached the room, and Dryya stood by the door, opening it for them. It had been the only compromise her personal guard would accept, and Root knew she would hear more grumblings from Dryya about her decision to speak with Herrah alone later. But it was necessary. They needed to speak privately, frankly, and without any perceived threats from an unknown entity.
The two of the glided inside, and Herrah immediately wandered to her usual spot at the table, sitting down carefully. Root followed, her robes swishing softly against the floor as she took her own place.
The door shut with a soft click.
They were alone.
"Tea?" Root asked, lifting up the steaming pot. "It's a special blend from Piones, shipped by the Rometrus family."
"Trading with competitors?" Herrah said drily, well aware of the Scorstinger's rival silk production, but she accepted a cup regardless.
"Only in goods that we can't readily obtain. Your fabric is certainly superior in quality however. Were war to come, then the loss of Deepnest's weavers would truly be felt."
And so, the first move was played.
Herrah hummed at her words, watching the steam rise from the fragrant tea.
"Deepnest is aware of the advantages that come from trading with a kingdom such as Hallownest, and would regret a breakdown of trade agreements as well. The crystals from Seacrest truly do not compare," she replied, carefully reaching out to pluck a pastry from a plate of various treats. She slipped the morsel beneath her mask, and Root relaxed, recognising the gesture as one of diplomacy.
Herrah did not bare her teeth to eat. This discussion would not be one of threats and aggression.
"I'm glad to hear that," Root said, taking a sip of her tea. "The Kingdom of Hallownest is aware of the slight we caused against the Kingdom of Deepnest, and we would hope to rectify this wrong."
"What does the Kingdom of Hallownest offer?"
"A cessation of the restrictions on Deepnest civilians and full clearance for a search party. This would come with conditions, however."
"Such a boon would be favourable, though the restrictions raise some curiosity," Herrah replied mildly, and Root nodded, tugging out the papers that would officially declare the terms.
"The conditions are very simple: we ask for a formal declaration of peace, and request that the Kingdom of Deepnest does not raise their weapons against the Hollow Knight or the Rogue Vessel."
Herrah went very still, her eyes blinking carefully as they watched her.
"You ask that we show mercy to the being that stole my daughter away?"
"I ask for mercy to my children."
They stared at each other unblinkingly, eyes sizing the other up as they tested the waters in their minds, wondering just how far they would go. But before an argument could break out, Herrah sagged.
"My fury for your child fled when my reason returned, Root. So I accept your terms," she murmured, and Root let the tension bleed out from her body, head bowed.
"Thank you," she breathed out, handing the documents over, and the other queen nodded wearily. She scanned them over, carefully noting every sentence and hidden meaning, before relaxing further.
"By the Mother, look at us. I never wished for this to happen, my friend. My declaration of war was hasty and disproportionate to what had occurred. I hold no ire towards you. Your husband however..." she trailed off, eyes narrowed, and Root could not fault her for her distrust.
"I understand. If you wish, you can conduct all dealings with me and my court. But this cold war must end. Your child is dear to my heart as well, and I wish only for our children to grow together as siblings, unfettered by the biases of their parents."
Herrah's eyes closed.
"Such a relationship would truly be ideal," she said carefully, "but I cannot trust the Pure Vessel with my daughter just yet."
Root nodded sympathetically, unable to argue against her plight.
"We can discuss these matters once the children are returned back to their homes," she offered, and Herrah softened, bowing her head.
"I would be grateful to do so. Was there anything else you wished to discuss? With your permission, I would hope to start a search party for my child."
"Oh, of course, of course! Please, go ahead, and-!"
A loud banging sound from the hallway interrupted her, and the two queens whipped their heads towards the source of the noise. Root blinked at the muffled shouts from Dryya, noting how Herrah shot up from her seat, eyes narrowed.
"-can't go in there... private-!"
Someone yelled back, and there was another crash, before the door swung open, smacking into the wall with a loud crack.
Barely a second later, Monomon's assistant burst in, Dryya clinging to his back and trying to bite him. His headscarf was skewed as he looked wildly around, barely seeming to notice his attacker. Instead, at the sight of the Queen of Hallownest and the Queen of Deepnest staring at him defensively, he relaxed.
"Oh good," he said with strained cheer, "you're both here. That makes things a lot easier. The Vessels and the Gendered Child have been spotted in -ow, stop that- in Fog Canyon, and should now -why do you have teeth- be on their way to Greenpath. My mistress presumes that -for fuck's sake!- that they're headed towards the Forgotten Crossroads, and has called for Nailmaster Sly to track them down."
With a grunt, he threw himself backwards to dislodge Dryya. Her guard let out a shriek, and scrambled off, launching herself towards the table and knocking the teapot over.
From the hallway, the Pale King's voice echoed.
"Eat my excrement, you fluffy piece of garbage!"
Root shut her eyes, and took a deep breath.
At least it was good news, she thought.
"No," Hornet said as they walked through Greenpath, "absolutely not."
Ghost gave a silent grumble, and tried to gesture, but their sister was having none of it.
"I don't care if it's more discreet, I'm not going through Crystal Peak!" she exclaimed, violently shoving a bush to the side from her position on Hollow's shoulder.
Ghost's taller sibling looked at the shrubbery with sympathy, carefully giving it a pat, before continuing onwards, ignoring the two squabbling on their shoulders.
The siblings were getting close to the Crossroads, and had decided to pass the time discussing possible routes. Hornet was adamant that they could traverse the Blue Lake, but Ghost vehemently disagreed, instead arguing that going through Crystal Peak to reach the Resting Grounds would be safer and keep them out of sight. Hornet did not like the idea.
"It'll be full of miners!" she pointed out, arms looped around one of Hollow's horns. Ghost shrugged at her words, and mimed putting on things. They could just disguise themselves as rocks if needed. They sincerely doubted that the miners would notice, not if they were all as fixated as- as Myla. They ducked their head against Hollow's other horn, taking a moment to gather themself. Hornet noticed the mood change, and was quiet until they composed themself again.
Ghost gestured again, and Hornet sighed.
"Look, let's reach the end of the Crossroads first, and then we can decide. If it seems like we can't go through the Blue Lake, then we'll go through Crystal Peak. Happy?" she conceded, and Ghost nodded. Hollow gave a happy chuff, and continued to meander through the grassy paths, until they finally reached the entrance to the Crossroads.
Hornet let out a shuddering breath.
"This is it. The final stretch," she murmured, and Ghost nodded solemnly.
Soon they would reach the Resting Grounds and could ask the Seer about the Radiance. Soon this would all end. A shiver of excitement ran through their body, and they clutched Hollow's horn with trembling fingers.
They were all silent as Hollow traversed into the Crossroads, too wound up to speak. Ghost marvelled at how... loud the Crossroads were. Before they had been mostly silent, with only the tapping of the infected breaking the quiet. But now, they could hear murmurs of traveller's, the exclaims of merchants, the grinding sound of wheels against the dirt.
Ghost was very used to death. They had wandered through an empty kingdom, filled with the lifeless husks of those long gone, with only a handful still clinging on to the glory of days past.
This... was not like that. It was vibrant and bright, loud and joyful, and if they could cry, then Ghost believed they would.
Life was wonderful, they thought. Absolutely wonderful.
Hornet twitched suddenly.
"We're being watched," she hissed, and Ghost froze. Hollow stumbled slightly, but otherwise showed no sign of hearing her, even as they carefully scanned their surroundings.
"Get to the Market Hall, then head down," Hornet said urgently, "maybe we can lose them in the crowd."
Hollow nodded imperceptibly, waiting for both of them to latch on tightly. Ghost waited with baited breath, watching for any sign of a follower.
Something scuffed against the dirt, and they whipped their head around, startling at the sight of a young looking bug on the floor.
They locked eyes. Hornet blinked. Hollow tensed.
"As... As the apprentice of Nailmaster Sly, I order you to stop!" The bug cried out, waving their wooden nail at them.
"You are a moron, Mato," someone hissed, and an identical bug crawled out. Ghost stiffened at the words, unable to look away. Mato's brother stood up, and cleared his throat.
"By the orders of Monomon the Teacher, I, Nail Apprentice Oro, hereby take you into custody!"
While Ghost stared at Mato, Hornet and Hollow gave each other a look.
"No," she said drily, "absolutely not."
"I told you that wouldn't work," a third voice said quietly, and another brother stepped forward, watching them with half-lidded eyes.
And Sheo lurched forward.
To those who skipped, the Pale King discovered that the infection rate was decreasing, and was very smug about it.
"Why didn't Lurien notice the decreasing infection rate?"
I imagine he only stamps the forms with his seal, and doesn't really read through them since he's slightly stressed at the moment. Also, he's a bit busy keeping the city in lockdown, and so just... shuffled the papers off to his retainer.
"How long have the siblings been 'missing'?"
They've been in the past for around three days, but went on their road trip on the morning after they arrived. So: they've been missing for around two days now, with this chapter taking place on the third day.
"What the hell is the Silver City?"
The City of Tears! But since it didn't start to rain until after Hollow was sealed, I gave it a different name!
Timeline so far:
Day 1, night time: Siblings wake up in the past
Day 2, early morning: Siblings go feral, their disappearance is discovered
Day 2, afternoon: Siblings travel to the Wastes, and disguise themselves
Day 2, evening: Herrah goes to the Mantis Village. PK and WL talk and then go to bed. Hornet and Ghost fall asleep while Hollow is hunting.
Day 3, morning: The siblings meet Quirrel and go through Fog Canyon. Monomon sends Quirrel off to the White Palace and goes looking for Sly. Herrah receives her invitation for tea.
Day 3, rest of the day: this chapter.
As always, I hope you've enjoyed the chapter! Leave a comment, and come talk to me on tumblr!