Author's Note: Hello, everyone, and happy summer! Summertime means more opportunities for writing, right? Not so far... but I will continue to try to post one chapter a month! Thank you as always for your patience and understanding. And an even bigger thanks for continuing to read Troubled Waters. This story has been a pleasure to construct and a good test run for writing my own original novels, so I'm happy to have readers who are enjoying it as well. :) I know it's been a slow progression for the story to move forward, but I'm happy to say from this chapter onward expect exciting new developments! :)
Happy reading! Hope everyone is remaining and safe and healthy during this time.
Disclaimer: The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, Funimation, and J.C. Staff. Any original characters belong to me.
Troubled Waters
Chapter 7
Incipient
Zelgadis could not keep his eyes off a wilted Amelia.
A dainty crudely painted wild rose teacup laid nestled in her weak grasp, seated upon the delicate fabric of her casual dress. The usually vibrant hues of blue irises turned dark and her full upturned rosy pink lips were sloped downward. Her gaze fixated on the low setting wooden coffee table planted before her, though no excitable activity took place among the china set. Only lemon tart crumbs left behind on a silver tray, and random stacked books remained.
Zelgadis did not need to access her mind to know her inner thoughts. Often rarely dispensed, he felt drawn to her quiet internal emotional chaos. When her grandmother informed her of the handpicked suitors, he swore she had sucked all the vibrancy right out of Amelia.
Normally, he did not fret over others' feelings, but in this instance, he couldn't help but feel partially responsible for her current state. He was in the study after all. He tried his best not to partake, but he certainly didn't foil Vonzelle's plan either. He reasoned it had nothing to do with him. Which it didn't. Still, as a friend, he silently sent his sympathies.
And now here they were, adjourned in the Solar over pastries and teas, discussing vivid details on the intended guests.
"It is only appropriate we host a welcoming ball for our selected suitors," Vonzelle said, perched on the northern velvet chair. "Given we must factor in travel, I believe the end of October will be sufficient enough time for the suitors' arrivals."
Phil nodded, comfortably seated on the sofa nearest Amelia. "Agreed."
"With that in mind, we must consider everything and anything," she emphasized, balancing her teacup and saucer with one hand. "Not a single detail or accommodation must be overlooked. And, of course, we must compile a thoughtful guest list for the ball. We will have to invite the capitals' dignitaries, noblemen, and ladies. This event is a monument for Amelia. Everyone important to our country needs to attend." Her attention turned to her granddaughter. She took a sip. "Will your little friends still be present by the time of the ball?"
Amelia perked and her eyebrows furrowed. "They most certainly will," she snapped before they answered for themselves.
Vonzelle's cold gaze scanned over her granddaughter's 'little friends'. "I see," she said. Her focus settled on two out of the three 'little friends'. "As much as I abhor gluttony, doubling the rations will be essential. And of course, they will need appropriate attire to blend in."
A noticeable ear-splitting clang rang as Amelia's teacup collided with its plate. Zelgadis winced. He or anyone else in the room for that matter didn't require verbal indication to know Amelia's sincere disdain for her grandmother's choice of words.
Alas, Vonzelle ignored such and proceeded. "Now, before any details are discussed I must obtain your event coordinator."
"Oh, you mean a party planner," Phil said.
"Yes, Philionel. A 'party planner'," she reiterated with a sarcastic bite. "Now, who do I call upon?"
"We don't have one," he admitted.
Vonzelle's eyebrows rose. "You don't have one? How on earth do you manage?"
Phil shrugged. "The staff normally just throws one together. It's a collaborative effort. We enjoy the comradery. Getting everyone's opinions and ideas really makes a difference what with keeping things running smoothly around here," he added turning to Amelia for a nod of confirmation.
Normally she would have given one without hesitation. Instead, he found her slouched forward with full cloudy eyes entranced by the mahogany lukewarm tea in her teacup. He exhaled deeply at his daughter's inability to shift mental gears.
Phil's vision of democracy, while struggled to gain acceptance from neighboring countries, flourished inside his castle. The staff had become a tightknit family in of itself. Whenever a special occasion arose, everyone pitched in. And not by manual labor alone. Minds were put to work and views expanded. The democratic system consisted of input from every able body person present; handmaids, foot servants, messengers, guards, the kitchen staff; no person's perspective was shunned.
Handmaids sampled dishes from appetizers to desserts, guards delegated who would take which quarters, cooks addressed how many dishes could be made at a single time, and consideration went into how much servants could carrying upon heavy weighted silver trays as well as an influx of food being dispersed at specific serving periods. And, of course, everyone created an itinerary when it came to taking shifts. Phil even went as far as to consider his employee's personal schedules.
But comradery was a foreign concept to the Marchioness of Doonatel. Servants making blatant demands, cooks controlling the flow of food service, peasant girls giving out opinions as if they were renowned food critics— Vonzelle huffed under breath. No wonder her granddaughter muddled the limitations of social placement between someone of a pure bloodline to the lowly simple commoner.
"Well that is not acceptable," she proclaimed. "I need a reliable living, breathing, and preferably thinking assistant. Not a herd of moaning cattle. Now, whom would you suggest undertaking such an important task?"
The crown prince gave a thoughtful pause. "How about our head maid Miss Krea?" he offered with a confident smile as reached for measly crumbs of dessert. Every bite, even if it was less than half the size of a mouse, had to be eaten. "I appointed her to look after your rooms. As I'm sure you've seen for yourself, she has a great eye for detail—"
"I dismissed the rotund ingrate yesterday evening."
Lemon crumbs planted between two wedges of fingers froze midway into the entrance of Phil's gaping mouth. He pulled the pathetic serving away from his salivating tongue, stunned. "What on earth for?" he demanded.
"She's loud."
"Loud?" he echoed. His brow crinkled. "I've never found her to be boisterous—"
"Her shoes," Vonzelle clarified. "She clogs about my rooms like a thunder beast that peace becomes an unattainable dream."
As much ample evidence Phil had to protest against Vonzelle's dismissal of the poor Miss Krea, he glumly admitted to himself that he should not have been shocked. After all, Vonzelle pickiness led beyond the simple qualifications of suitors and staff. If dispositions were traceable, which they often were, he was certain that his mother-in-law's pettifogging blossomed at the early age of three from mushy foods to frivolous toys.
The crown prince scratched his woolly chin and picked his brain. "Well, uh— I suppose I could suggest—"
"Don't bother, Philionel," his mother-in-law silenced. She leaned forward, shoulders stiff and straight, as she picked up the half-full teapot. "I will simply have to outsource," she decided, refreshing her teacup.
The steam rose into puffy translucent clouds as the boiled liquid hit the bottom of the teacup. A shivering cast of blue irises appeared through the warm fog, slowly glancing at one occupied sofa then the other. "The least someone could do is take notes for me until I obtain a professional." Her eyes settled on the target. She sat back into her embedded posture. "Now, Miss Inverse, you appear to be capable of notetaking."
Lina broke from her drifting thoughts. Planning parties never carried interest for her. Unless the conversation consisted of food.
She frowned and rose an eyebrow. "Oh, do I? Well, I'm glad to get confirmation on that," she replied with a sarcastic bite.
"I don't know," Gourry chimed in. "Have you seen Lina's chicken scratch?" he asked, his thumb pointing to the redhead.
Lina slugged him in the arm. "My handwriting is not chicken scratch!"
"I was only trying to be helpful," he said, rubbing his pained skin.
Vonzelle's attention ventured to the ceiling, as if the heavens had nothing better to do than to listen to an old woman's woes. Her features tightened. "What must I do for some cooperation? Prod people with a stick?"
Oh, you know you'd enjoy it, Zelgadis thought silently.
But in all seriousness, considering Lina as her personal scriber was something to mock at. Lina's fiery hair matched her fiery temper. With a personality like that, Lina was the last person to willingly abide as someone's toady.
"Listen, Marchioness," the sorceress started. "I'm not a secretary girl. Things like notes and scribbling down copies… I'm more of a figure it out as you go along kind of gal, you know?"
"You do not need to testify to me, Miss Inverse," Vonzelle assured, unmoved by the bout of failed persuasion. "I know you're an unacceptable choice by most standards. But given how things are run around here, this is not a typical situation. I can see my options are limited so you will have to do. Now, would you humor an old woman and kindly take some notes?"
Zelgadis watched Lina's temper flare. She seized a piece of parchment and dipped inked feather from the corner table next to the sofa like a viper to its vermin prey. She paused momentarily, then fidgeted with the parchment against the soft terrain of her fabric-covered legs.
She huffed. "What am I supposed to write on?" she griped.
"The coffee table," Zelgadis offered.
Lina gave him a terse look. Well, duh. Never mind what it'll do to my back!
Recognizing no alternative, Lina leaned forward and endured the arduous task.
Gourry's lips lowered close to her ear. "You know, someone should invent some kind of a board with a clip mechanism thingy so the paper can sit easily in your lap."
Lina scrutinized his smile and squinted. "What's with you being an innovator today?" she asked.
"Now, first thing tomorrow morning, I would like the invitations to be ready and handed to the errand boy so they may be mailed out," Vonzelle said. She hadn't bothered to pause out of courtesy for Lina to keep up. "Given proper procedure, Philionel will write the invitations. Once he is finished, perhaps you can incorporate pressed dried lavender into the invitation. Lavender is very demurring. Scents, given in the right context, make excellent impressions. The envelope must also have the Seyruun family's royal wax seal stamped on for formality— and no smears or drips. And for goodness sake, do not neglect to ensure the correct address is printed on each letter."
"Whoa, whoa!" Lina cried out, only halfway through writing the Marchioness' demands. "You just said I would be taking notes not actually doing any of this stuff!" she reminded.
Vonzelle nodded after a sip of tea. "Yes, taking notes for yourself for the tasks at hand. Do not fret, I will not exceed beyond what you're capable of."
Lina visibly bristled. Against the tip of the quill, she imbedded a deep circular stain of ebony ink onto the parchment.
"Once the letters are mailed off, Philionel and I will take our business down to the kitchens," she continued. "Make a note that I would like the head chef to include not only a four-course meal, but appetizers as well. Five should be sufficient. We will need enough food for at least a hundred guests. And we cannot neglect dessert. An autumnal theme given the changing season would do nicely. Come, come, any ideas?"
"Perhaps a favorite of Amelia's?" Phil offered with a smile.
Amelia pursed her lips to retain calmness. The strength of her riled tongue, however, urged the seam of her quivering lips to break. She gave a swift chin thrust to her grandmother. "So, the dessert is the only say I get in this?" she remarked with piercing eyes.
Phil winced. One eyelid dared to pop open to his left. There, he discovered experienced battle-scarred icy daggers equipped to slice and dice his daughter's words.
Vonzelle's poker face trailed from Amelia to her 'little friends'. "Miss Inverse, Mister Gabriev, Mister Greywords— Would you kindly excuse yourselves for a moment?"
Her tone carried more authority rather than a polite request. Amelia jumped at this, right before they inched up from their seats. "They aren't going anywhere," she disputed. "Anything you say to me you can say in front of them."
Vonzelle huffed under her breath. She placed her teacup and saucer back onto the table. "Very well. Suit yourself. I see this was inevitable, despite my efforts to spare you from discomfiture," she resolved. Waves of wrinkles from her forehead to chin exacerbated the crepiness of her skin. "If you're going to protest, hold your tongue for a moment, will you? It is not as if a wedding is around the corner. We simply need an engagement confirmed and arrangements made. Given how much time has slipped by, no thanks to your father's procrastination, we cannot afford for your eligibility to be in question any longer. You should be thanking me. I am doing this for your benefit after all."
"I didn't ask for you to do this on my behalf, Grandmother Vonzelle. I didn't ask for any of this!" she retaliated. "And my friends certainly didn't ask to be dragged into this either!"
Though she was at their defense, Lina, Zelgadis, and Gourry could not resist the temptation to sink their heads into the collars of their shirts. Sidelong glances were exchanged among the three. A distinctive quiver in their stomachs spelled trouble.
"Amelia, please," Phil beseeched, with raised opened hands. "Let's just try to stay calm. We discussed that the letters would have to be attended to."
Amelia's riled temper broke, turning to her father. "Well, of course, but—"
"And you know I wouldn't invite just anyone—"
"And I trust your judgment—"
"And I would never let anyone force you to marry without your consent," Phil emphasized, now holding her petite hands into his. He bared a small smile. "Your grandmother and I would just like you to meet some nice young men so you can know your options. That's all."
Amelia withdrew from the gentle patting of his manly fingers. She flashed a set of pleading eyes. "But—"
"Amelia, enough," Vonzelle said, her voice like a knife cutting through spirited wind. "You shall not question your father's decision. The suitors will be arriving, and you will comport respectfully and obediently for the good of the kingdom. You do not want to make an ill first impression with your future husband."
It was Amelia's turn to remove her tea from her lap. A loud thud of china against wood clattered into the ears of all, followed by an intransigent cast of cobalt irises. She inhaled a deep breath and jutting out her chest with evenly aligned shoulders. "Grandmother Vonzelle, while I promise to be on my utmost best behavior, I cannot promise you that any such unions will come to fruition. I have already said that I do not want to get engaged to any of those men and nothing you say or do will change my mind."
Oh no, Zelgadis cringed. Amelia refused to be dissuaded and subjugated by archaic traditions. Not that he had anything against her standing up for herself. Given the circumstance, he would have done the same. But given her grandmother's polished long fingernails digging into the velvet of the armrests, he feared an explosion in the making.
Vonzelle's snowy eyebrows furrowed. "I will not tolerate such insubordination from my granddaughter. You will seek out the best in those men and choose a husband within the designated parameters." Her eyes slowly journeyed to her left. She gave a long side glance squint. "Anyone outside of sensibility is completely unacceptable."
Zelgadis swiveled his attention down to the floor. Damn, he cursed to himself. He knew there was no need to retreat, no reason to avert his attention. His eyes tilted up enough to see the marchioness's cold stare. He felt like the centered red circle of a target board as her eyes became the ever increasingly close arrow. He shot back up, hungered to challenge her unwarranted glare.
"Now hold on!" Phil interrupted. "I never said she had to choose—"
"I will do no such thing!" Amelia blasted. Vonzelle's eyes bulged as the princess flew from her seat. Her chest swelled up, an index finger pointed straight out, and her petite feet widened their stance. "My mind is already made up. In the name of justice, your 'sensibility' cannot change what my heart feels!"
"Justice," Vonzelle mocked. "Young lady, you don't know the half of it."
Amelia's teeth clenched tighter as her grandmother's sneer pushed free from its corner. "You're wrong! This attempt to control my future is nothing but an injustice to my happiness! I've already told you that I am not interested in Lord Bardolf or any of those other men! When I do choose a husband, it certainly won't be from yours or anyone else's selection! I will get married when I like and to whomever I like! And I certainly don't need your permission!"
Across, the room mouths gaped, lips stilted in time. Even the marchioness, who believed gaping mouths to be unbecoming, found herself susceptible to the natural reaction. Words failed to be voiced even as Amelia marched straight past her grandmother without casting a single glance of regret.
The first to snap out of the contagious stupor, Phil leaped from his seat and cried out, "Amelia, wait!—"
SLAM!
The echoing of the closed-door freed Vonzelle of her paralysis trance. A series of blinks commenced followed by a muttering hiss. "Insolent girl…"
If there was ever a cue to exit, this was it. Slowly, Lina inched herself from the sofa with Gourry and Zelgadis following promptly behind. Phil looked to the trio, as they rounded behind the sofa.
"We'll go talk to her," Lina said.
Phil returned her offer with a curt nod. He focused back onto his mother-in-law; who's facial muscles had tightened with a flat-lined lip. His rumbling voice lowered with a careful tactic. "Now Mother, I know you're upset by Amelia's conduct, but I think it's best we let her cool off for a while. I'll speak to her later when she's in a better frame of mind."
Flinty eyes caught him by surprise. "Later will do nothing. This effrontery is simply intolerable! I will not stand for such blatant defiance. See to it Philionel, that your daughter is poised by the time our guests arrive. Now, where did Miss Inverse go? I need her to calculate the estimated time for each suitor to arrive by our designated date of the invite."
By the time they caught up with her, Amelia's stomping feet had made themselves eminent to the upstairs castle corridors.
They retreated to the sanctuary of Zelgadis's rooms, where Amelia comfortability conducted her frustrations in a constructive manner without privacy invaded. Lina urged Zelgadis to retrieve the book for herself, while she and Gourry sat by as an audience to the princess's parade of venting.
"Grandmother Vonzelle has gone too far!" she blared without care of her rising octave. "She knows Daddy's intimidated by her and now she's using that to her own advantage to get me engaged to a man I specifically said I have no interest in!"
Zelgadis listened from the sidelines, kneeling to reach under his bed. "She has been awfully calculating," he said. As he pushed himself further under the frame, Gingersnap came dashing out. He then bonked his head by the slight elevation to view her flittering duster tail. He cursed under his breath.
Lina flopped backward and smashed onto Zelgadis's downy goose-feathered comforter. Her amber eyes stared up at the pristinely painted sealing. Below, she could hear another muffled rumble but decided to ignore it. She then extended her arms straight out from her sides.
"Yeah," she breathed out. "She was pretty adamant about that Lord Bardolf when Phil went over the letters. For only meeting the guy on a handful of occasions, he got accolades compared to the rest. The more I think about it, it's like we were just her personal audience. I don't know what for. Other than to convince you or something. She kept wanting our opinions."
"Or to simply degrade us," Zelgadis said, finally emerging from under the bed.
Amelia twirled to her crouched bodyguard and pointed fervently with a nod. "And that! The way she treats you guys— it's unforgivable!" Her eyes flared with pumped fists. "No one should devalue someone just because of what class they were born into! She isn't even giving you guys a chance!"
Zelgadis hardly felt himself becoming riled. Yes, the marchioness' acts were annoying and degrading; and he never preferred to be someone's plaything for personal demented pleasure— but what transpired was still of no surprise.
Zelagdis shook his head and leaned against the bedpost with the book in his grasp. "Amelia, for people like your grandmother, it doesn't matter. As far as she's concerned, she doesn't need to get to know us. Someone could be genuinely kind, or highly versed in a subject, or a near-genius and if they didn't fit her qualifications, she'd still impugn regardless of what you say to be the truth. To her, all that matters at the end of the day is money and connections. Lineage. And not one of us has an ounce of any of that."
Lina sat up at this point, stretching her arms backward for support against the mattress. "Besides, you know she'll just go by what rumors people have spread about me and Gourry. And she's probably suspicious of Zelgadis because of his appearance."
"I wouldn't call them all rumors," Gourry held back a snort. "And they're mostly about you."
"But it's so wrong," Amelia testified despite her friend's argument, in the process, diffusing the clenched fist of Lina's hand to Gourry's face. "You guys are my friends! You are welcome here anytime just like she is. Though now I'm reconsidering that invite shouldn't be extended to her. Family or not, that's no excuse to come barging in here and thinking she can do whatever she wants!
"Who does she think she is anyway? Coming into my home and telling me what to do with my life and whom to share it with? I'm the princess of Seyruun! I have rank on my side!" She froze another mid-frazzled step. Her soft fingers brushed against her bottom lip as she bit into it. "But she probably knows I would never use it outside the cause for justice— but this is an injustice!" she cried out, curled hands enclosing around her pumping heart. "A woman in my position should not only be able to decide when she wants to get married but to whom she'd like! How can we advance as a society when we hold potential changes like this back?"
Zelgadis stirred with silent observation, engrossed in every move Amelia made. The tiring frustration in her voice transferred to him as if he could feel the tightness in her throat, her curled toes rubbing against the undercarriage of her heels, and the heaviness of her clenched shoulders. Strange. It had been years since he embraced verbal commiserating.
"You're right, Amelia," he finally said. He kept steady eye contact, holding her attention. "I could not and would not dispute that. But you know more than any of us that the world of politics is a difficult current to change."
"Zelgadis is right," Lina concurred. "I mean, I understand why you're upset; I would be too if I were in your shoes. And as much as we'd like things to be different, it's not easy for dated traditions to change overnight. But in all honestly, what's the worst your grandmother can do?"
Amelia perked from her inner soaking with blinking bold eyes. "What do you mean, Miss Lina?"
"Think about it, Amelia," Lina said, motioning towards the princess. "She may be your grandmother and the marchioness of Doonatel, but here, she really has no power. It's all just smokes and mirrors with her. You know your dad's not going to make you marry anyone without your consent; and if your grandmother was smart, which I don't doubt that she is, then she knows, ultimately, that Phil has the final say.
"So, you might as well just grin through it. Your grandmother can't make the suitors stay forever and she definitely can't enforce a relationship when one party refuses to comply. So really, this get-together is solely just to humor the old harpy… No offense."
It was the first time since early that morning Amelia's lips turned up. Her peachy skin brightened and her irises danced with a glisten of hope. "You're right, Miss Lina. She can't make me marry anyone! It's just the idea of it all…" Her smile shrank, then returned with a nod. "But I do feel a little bit better about it now."
Lina sprang from the bed and gave her friend a firm pat on the shoulder. "Good! Now onto the important stuff!"
Amelia's shoulders slouched at this. "I thought it was pretty important," she muttered.
"So, where's the book, Zel?" Lina cut to the chase.
Zelgadis breathed out through his nostrils. He assumed she'd change the topic of discussion sooner than later. He handed over the book with an extended arm. "Right here."
As the book was placed in her grasp, Lina could feel the weight of its density against her open palms. With her fingers caressing the leather cover, she dove into the book's contents. Her vague expectations crept with surprise. From personal experience, mysterious books typically held myths, lost languages, or perhaps even lost magic techniques. Instead, poetic lines varying from frolicking lambs and sleeping petals graced her sight. Each page she flipped left her more perplexed than before. Her attention diverted to Zelgadis as a cue for an explanation.
"It's filled with nothing but poems," he said. "Amelia and I skimmed through several of them last night. Based on the writings, we couldn't find any obvious significance as to why the book was magically sealed. Other than it may have belonged to the Payne family."
"It must have been theirs," Amelia insisted. "I mean, what were the chances of Mister Zelgadis finding this chest right on the road where they perished? There's just— something not right about all of this."
Lina's voice fell quiet. "I agree."
She shut the book with a noticeable thud and bounced off the bed. Her amateur detective instinct ignited itself and she dove headfirst into the uncharted waters of developing theories. Taking center stage, she stood before her friends, prepared to lay everything out onto the table.
"Okay gang," Lina started. "So, let's say this chest did belong to the Payne family and that they were on their way to Ralteague from Seyruun. The main question is: why cast a complex lock spell on something filled with nothing but literature?"
"Someone was really possessive of their personal belongings?" Gourry suggested.
"Maybe the book is a rare edition," Amelia offered.
"It's fairly plausible," Zelgadis reasoned.
Lina twisted her mouth to the side in thought. After a short, pause her eyes watched the free-flowing tide of curtains before the patio doors. "I'm not sure how without taking a closer look at the context but… We also need to figure out why the Payne family was going to Ralteague from Seyruun and why they brought the chest with them."
"Well, I know that the Ralteague royal family had dealings with Sir Gilliame Payne," Amelia said. "But I'm not sure to what extent those visits consisted of."
"That's why I intended on speaking with Phil," Zelgadis insisted. He was still sore about that. His plans, after all, had gone awry no thanks to the marchioness.
Lina cupped her chin in her hand, its matching elbow cradled in the crater of her opposite hand. "It's a logical route, however… For right now, I think we should hold off on telling or asking Phil anything about the book or the Payne family."
Zelgadis cocked a rocky eyebrow. "For what reason?"
Lina's eyes hardened. "Think. Phil's in a difficult political position with Ralteague, right? In theory, if we have something that might be the object of dealings with Ralteague, then we could very well have stolen property. And we all know Phil's a 'do the right thing' sort of guy. Not only that, but we don't want to give Ralteague a reason for going after Seyruun. So, because of that, I don't think we should say anything to Phil until we know for certain what we're dealing with here."
Zelgadis's eager tongue fell flat. He nodded. For once, his mind exerted gratefulness that someone thought ahead of him. He would not dispute Lina's argument. She made a valid point (as she often did), and in his own depth of self-interest, perhaps the book contained an answer for him. He decided, it was best for him to find out himself and be faced with foretold disappointment, then to have the chance ripped out from his longing aching fingers without any opportunity at all.
"Don't forget the missing cows, the ice cream recipe, or Prince Derek coming either," Gourry mentioned, as Lina had not brought up those keen events herself.
The sorceress stopped in her tracks and gave a confirmative nod. "That we can't forget. You know, it was smart of Phil to accept his letter. Yesterday, Prince Derek claimed he had no interest in courting Amelia; yet this morning we get a letter stating the exact opposite."
"He said that?" Amelia blinked. "I wonder why. As far as I recall, we've never even met."
"I wouldn't take it personally," Lina waved. "But evidently, something changed. And you can bet that King Henry had something do with it. And I'm positive Phil's thinking on the exact same line."
Amelia's expression contorted. A minimal crease drew a line across her forehead like sand to a stick. Her mouth opened with a little tremble as her voice rose a shrill octave. "You mean, Daddy's only inviting him just to spy?"
Lina's eyes dashed to the side, scratching her chin with a nervous tickle against her throat. "Well, Phil never said that directly but uh, he did state just yesterday if the opportunity arose..."
Strangely, Amelia's alarmed eyes softened, the tension throughout her muscles reducing. A wash of relief eased her confidence. Daddy hadn't gone mad about suitors like Grandmother had. His acceptance of an invitation from the prince was nothing more than a political strategy. Perhaps a bit too sneaky, one in which she normally would not agree with… But Daddy's feelings regarding her fate had not changed.
"I see," Amelia eventually said with a slow nod. "Ralteague has been awfully keen on getting their share of the land. I've got an upcoming meeting with the prince about it. But I'm not sure what a land dispute has to do with this book."
"I'm not sure if they're connected either," Lina admitted. "But if Prince Derek is now a suitor, then maybe Amelia, you could get some information out of him about the Payne family. Nonchalantly, of course."
"I don't really know him though, Miss Lina."
"Yeah well, you'll get to know him," she replied with another dismissive wave of her hand. "I mean, that's what this whole hoopla is about anyway, isn't it?"
Blinks rampaged between the princess's eyelids. How ingenious! To use the suitors' visitation as a means of unraveling this mystery had yet to cross her mind. Well, at least the prince of Ralteague. However, that was more than an engaging distraction from the talk of potential unions, courting activities, and swarms of exotic bouquets. Indeed, despite that such arrangements often carried symbols of chauvinism and belittling of the liberated woman her brains could be of use! That would show Grandmother!
"I suppose you're right, Miss Lina." Amelia found herself releasing a broad smile. Her uncontainable glee pulsed and shot through her fingertips, striking one of her typical heroic poses. "For the cause of justice, I will do what I can to fish for information from the prince!— as honestly as I can, of course," she sweatdropped with a weakened toothy smile.
Zelgadis sighed inwardly at this, the lines of his lips tightening with crossed arms. "This is all well and good, but what about in the meantime?" he nagged. "There's nothing to go by. We don't even have a name for the author."
"I think it's safe to assume this book was either owned or made by Sir Gilliame Payne," Lina answered, her index finger poking repeatedly at the cover. "After all, what was he known for?"
Gourry raised his arm to be called on for permission, his legs in a lattice formation. Lina stifled a silly grin. In that moment, as he waited for his name to be called upon, he truly embraced his kid at heart demeanor. She nodded for him to answer.
The swordsman smiled proudly to himself. "Armor."
"And?" she encouraged.
"Shields."
"Gourry!" Utilizing the book, a swift smack to the back of the head sent him toppling down. Lina placed her hands on her hips, lecturing him above his sprawled body on the floor. "I told you, the guy was known for collecting valuable spell books! Some suggest he even made up his own! Don't you remember anything, you moldy brained zombie?"
"But the book is filled with nothing but poems," Amelia corrected.
Normally, another round of book thumping would have been called into action. However, a quick snap of the fingers sprung the sorceress's lips upward with a joyous proclamation. "That's it! Perhaps poems to the average eye, but I bet if we decipher them, we may uncover a secret message— or even spells!"
The tips of Zelgadis's elongated ears pricked. Spells… Lina's reasoning held a promising outlook, based on rumors surrounding the Payne family's mysterious doings. It also reaffirmed that his initial hope had yet to be completely extinguished. His mind went back in time to that night. A flutter coursed through his stomach. He smelled the strange sweet scent of the night air, the thick gloppy mud caking his fingernails, and the striking of his sword against the darkness's trickery… He knew he was alone in those woods. Yet now, he wondered if something was calling him to that sunken chest…
"If he was conducting an underground business, then it's plausible to assume the spells within his books were disguised in case of theft," Zelgadis finally said, verbalizing the pros to this newfound of hopefulness.
Lina nodded. "Exactly, Zel!"
"But how are we going to figure out if these poems are actual spells?" Gourry asked. He had finally found the strength to sit up and rub his sore head.
Lina paused then drooped. "I haven't gotten that far. I guess we'll just have to start reading and see what we come up with."
"Word association might be of use," Zelgadis suggested. "Or onomatopoeia."
"Onomatwhat?" Gourry repeated.
Lina gave a heavy sigh. "Man, we've got a long night ahead of us."
"You've still got to make the invitations smell good too," Gourry reminded.
Like that was ever going to happen.
"Phil can worry about that." She settled her eyes on the book. "My time is better spent here."
