Chapter IX - The Inquisitive Caster
Sunlight beamed through the stained glass windows that lined the walls of the Godhalls, shining down on the crowd of Brilanians that were pouring into the main cathedral for the morning sermon. Over the mingling voices of members of every caste, a beautiful piano harmonized its notes with a youthful-sounding choir, creating an atmosphere of bliss as the collated masses filed their way into the rows of pews that lined the hall of worship.
Hesitantly elbowing their way through the herd of people that filed up the middle aisle, Merliad made their way to the rows designated for Agelasta, grateful that these designated pews were only rivaled in number by those set aside for the Dämian. A brief survey of the people occupying the Agelasta aisles as they shimmied past early arrivals and took their seat revealed that they were one of only a handful of Mage's Guild members in attendance - at least, one of the only ones wearing their official robes. This came as little surprise, for despite having attended far fewer sermons of the Church of Bahamut compared to the average Brilanian, they knew that believers who were also professional casters were a rare breed, owing to the Guild's emphasis on the tangible world over any explanation of how it came to be.
Merliad's purpose for being among those in attendance, however, was nothing so flowery as having been 'born again in the light of Bahamut's blessings' as they'd heard others in the city clamor about. Instead, their reason for being in the Godhalls for that morning's sermon was sat about ten or twelve rows behind them, and as more citizens gathered in the chapel they turned in their seat to sneak a glance at her.
Her name, as they'd gleaned from the Scadarah labor assignment board, was Yselt Imbertus, and that fact alone was enough to raise questions in Merliad's mind. If she was indeed the person Supervisor Clerebold had been referring to in his instructions, was the matter of their identical family names just a coincidence? That answer seemed unsatisfactory, in which case another question warranted pondering: why was the supervisor of the labor unit having Merliad surveil his own relative? And why had Clerebold not referred to her as such, instead addressing her in a manner as distant as 'that girl'? Questions sprouted and branched off from one another to form a confounding web of mystery that hung in the back of Merliad's head, taunting them.
No sooner could they continue mulling over their unanswered queries, however, than Yselt looked to her left and became excited, waving a hand to get someone's attention. At first, Merliad's angle of observation kept them from seeing what she could, but that was remedied as the same boy they'd spoken to in the Library the evening prior shuffled past other inconvenienced Scadarah laborers to sit down on the section of the pew Yselt had been keeping her hand on. There could be no doubting it: from the lean build to the rust-colored hair, Merliad recognized Wymare straight away, confirming their presumption that Yselt was indeed the girl associating with him that Clerebold had made passive reference to.
Merliad continued to watch the two as Yselt struck up a conversation with the newly arrived Wymare, unable to listen in due to the uproar of the masses that had congregated in their midst. Before long, though, Wymare's gaze wandered up and down the cathedral, evidently taking it all in as Yselt continued to talk with him. As he looked around, he seemed to notice Merliad observing the two of them from several rows further up, prompting Merliad to make a hasty turn in their seat to face forward and avoid making eye contact. This surely only made Wymare wonder why they had been looking in the first place if it had not been to issue a silent greeting, Merliad realized, but all they could do to reprimand themselves for this panicked oversight was stomp one of their feet and make a flustered face.
"Thank you very much for coming to today's service, everyone," announced a teenage nun from the altar, queueing the music to fade to silence and for the gathered crowd to cease their chatter. "Today's teachings will come to us from Prioress Bellemay herself, as she will dissect Bahamut's final gift and what it means to us all in this modern era. Please, stand and join us to welcome our prioress in song."
Everyone in attendance stood up to sing along with the choir as Prioress Bellemay slowly walked out from a side door attached to the altar, draped in eloquent white robes with her hands held together at her midriff. Thankful for the distraction, Merliad stood up with the crowd and attempted to sing along, fumbling their way through the notes as they attempted to match those around them who knew the opening hymn by heart. Once Bellemay had taken center stage upon the altar, the hymn drew to a close and everyone sat back down, a silence so pure that people shuffling in their seats could be heard settling over the Godhalls.
"Friends," Bellemay began once the quiet had lasted a few moments, spreading her hands wide and smiling warmly out at the crowd. "It is my sincerest pleasure to welcome you all to our pristine Godhalls on this blessed morning. To those who have traveled in from afar, we appreciate your devotion and are glad to have you amongst us. I would also like to take a moment to extend a special welcome to our fair and most gracious king, for we have been truly blessed to have his majesty with us for today's sermon."
At this, Bellemay raised her hands higher to gesture to the upper level of pews that hung over the chapel, constructed to extend out just to the point where the Scadarah rows ended and the Agelasta rows began. As others in the audience shifted their attention in that direction with excited, albeit hushed, chatter, Merliad turned as well to follow Bellemay's motioning. Just as she'd said, seated on the second floor upon an especially opulent pew was King Perceval himself. Smiling graciously at his name being invoked, the king raised a hand as an affirmative reciprocation of Bellemay's welcoming, a characteristic peaceful look on his face.
"Now, to open my time," Bellemay went on, "I would like to share with you all a certain matter that has come to my attention. As of late, an increasing number of our followers have confided in my girls that they feel... stuck, in many aspects of their lives. I will, of course, withhold names in the interest of privacy, but a great many of you out there may resonate with that sentiment. Perhaps it is your job, your spouse, or even your caste... A great many things may feel suffocating to you at the moment. If you hear yourself in my words, dear followers, know this: each of you has my sympathies and a place in my prayers. The Church of Bahamut will always be here to accept you and all your woes with open arms, and if you open your mind to this along with today's sermon, I truly believe that you will find the answers you seek."
Merliad's attention began to wane as Bellemay continued to speak from the altar. Her message wasn't a bad one in their eyes, but their thoughts were still with the two Scadarah seated further behind them, and they turned their head just a bit to hazard another look without drawing eyes from the now-enraptured Agelasta populating the pews around them. Wymare and Yselt seemed to be talking about something in hushed tones, but as turning any further to read their lips would have aroused suspicion from those around them, Merliad resigned themselves to paying attention to the sermon again, waiting on pins and needles for the time where it would conclude.
. . .
"Ahhh... Doesn't the air today feel especially fresh?" Yselt asked, looking to the sparsely clouded sky as she proceeded down the sidewalk of Rìo Ghaile's central road with an eager spring in her step. "The air in the castle is always so old and stale. Compared to that, it's like a whole new world out here!"
"It's a nice change, you're right about that," Wymare answered. Although his outward demeanor did not exhibit the same energy that Yselt practically radiated as she took in the sights of the bustling main street, there was a peaceful smile resting on his face, showing that he was indeed enjoying himself. "So, where will you take me first?"
"Well, I don't know about you, but listening to all that prattle from the prioress was good for working up an appetite." Yselt turned and walked backwards for a few steps to face Wymare as she spoke. "What say we visit that bakery first? It's not far down the avenue from here."
"I'd be glad to. My stomach's calling out to those warm, flaky pastries already."
"Ooh, now you've got me even hungrier, you bully! I think that makes it your treat!" Yselt giggled at her playful name-calling, turning back around and hurrying down the lane with even more enthusiasm than before. Wymare could not help but find her energy amusing as well as contagious, laughing softly as he followed her lead past the many people who lined the sides of the street.
A few buildings behind him, Merliad made their way down the street with caution, carrying a few texts they'd been meaning to read under their arm to make it seem as though they had other reasons for being out and about besides tailing their targets. In the interest of appearing as civilian as possible to avoid drawing attention to themselves, they had shed their bright and obvious Mage's Guild robes back in their room in the castle, now donning a basic-looking coat to go over their usual dress.
Their abundance of precautions was not due to some grand plan to blend in with the common Brilanian masses. In truth, they simply didn't know else to appear unassuming while maintaining close enough proximity to Wymare and Yselt that they would be able to do what they were being made to do with any level of competency. Clerebold had demanded that they report to him what they were up to, after all, and Merliad had a sneaking suspicion that such an order called for more than just where they deigned to spend their afternoons.
Maintaining the space between them and him as they followed in his steps, Merliad eventually saw Wymare turn and enter a bright, vibrant shop, its front windows lined with delicious-looking croissants, cakes, and pies. In their heart of hearts, Merliad was grateful; they'd had precious little time and will to eat anything that morning, so the prospect of snagging a midday treat while following Clerebold's orders seemed like an extraordinary stroke of luck for them. Thus, they too approached and entered the shop, savoring the rush that came with the mixed smells of fresh-baked bread and sugar that greeted them upon entry.
"Welcome to you," said the apron-wearing lady behind the wooden counter, displays of even more pastries set up on both sides of her to entice the bakery's patrons. "What can I get you?"
"I'll have... a pecan strudel, please," Merliad replied after a long pause to consider their options from the foods listed on the wall-mounted menu. "And a cup of oolong tea, if you've got it," they added, depositing the payment on the counter for the lady to collect.
"Coming right out for you, dear," replied the lady as she took the payment and began working on Merliad's food. With their order placed, Merliad turned to look at the bakery's interior, which was lined with tables and chairs for paying customers to enjoy their meals away from the outdoors. Sure enough, Wymare and Yselt were seated at a table in one of the further corners of the dining space, and Merliad swiftly chose a table across the room from them. It was close enough to listen in thanks to the bakery's low number of present patrons, but far enough away to remain undetected - at least, so they hoped.
"Mmmmmh! Thish ish sho good!" Yselt's voice mumbled through a mouthful of food. Merliad cracked open one of the books they'd brought with them, using it as cover to glance over at the two's table and see that they were already partaking in some jam-filled puff pastries. Yselt eagerly finished her bite, swallowed it, and continued, "I always knew they would taste better warm, but this? This is beyond even what I'd dreamed!"
"Did you truly scrounge for leftovers here that often?" Wymare asked, taking the time to move the bite of pastry in his mouth around so as to not speak through it as Yselt had just done.
"Oh yes, and not just me," Yselt answered before taking another bite out of her puff pastry. "Plenty of street-living Scadarah would try to come by here each night to get even a crumb from the trash. I had to wait for days where it would rain to forage around here so it wouldn't be so crowded... and risky."
Wymare nodded knowingly. "I hear you on that. Where else did you go to find-"
Merliad's eavesdropping was interrupted when the apron-wearing lady who'd taken their order before stepped in from the side of their vision, carrying a plate with their strudel and a steaming cup of tea on it. Their focus on Wymare and Yselt had been so deep that the appearance of the bakery employee gave Merliad a brief start, which they tried to hide to avoid seeming suspicious.
"One pecan strudel and a cup of oolong tea," said the woman as she set Merliad's food down on the table. "Can I get you anything else?"
"Oh, n-no, that's quite alright," Merliad replied, their voice shaking a bit from surprise. "Thank you very much."
The lady nodded and walked back to the counter, leaving Merliad to sigh and turn to their food. Picking up a slice of the strudel from the small plate it had been served on, they took a bite out of it, savoring the flaky texture of the dough that had been baked a perfect golden brown and the nutty flavor that the pecan left on their tongue. It was truly delicious, and a sip of the piping hot tea to wash it down complimented the pastry perfectly.
"Say... I've told you an awful lot about how I grew up. I believe it's your turn to share. Go on - tell me about where you came from."
At this query from Yselt, Merliad's attention again went back to the two's conversation. They resolved themselves to enjoying their strudel and tea while directing their focus to the reason they were here, only savoring the food briefly rather than relishing in the delight it brought them.
"What, me?" Wymare sounded surprised that his companion had asked such a question. "Well... I tell you this truthfully: there's not much to say about it. But if you're asking, my earliest memories are of the orphanage in Colkirk where I spent my whole life prior to coming here. My mother and father were both street Scadarah, and they surrendered me to the local government out of mercy. That's how I came to be under the orphanage's care, and after I turned seventeen, I'd officially 'aged out' of the place, and they shipped me to the labor unit."
Wymare bit into his puff pastry again, signaling that his tale was over. Yselt had a sympathetic frown on her face, replying, "I... see. I suppose I've heard tell of how Scadarah young are often surrendered by or taken from their parents to be placed in foster care, but to think it happened before you even knew them... I'm-"
"Sorry?" Wymare cut in, finishing Yselt's sentence before she could get the final word out. "There's no need. If I never knew them, what reason have I to be upset about losing them? It's in the past now."
Yselt's expression seemed to indicate that she sensed Wymare wasn't being entirely honest about his feelings in regards to his parents, but she decided against chasing up that matter, instead going back to her puff pastry. Merliad, meanwhile, paused their eating to furrow their brow at what Wymare had attested to. The barbarity of an infant child being stripped from the care of their family because they'd been unlucky enough to be born in the lowest caste was not lost on them, and it drove them to question just how the royal house of Brilan could parade about as though all was well in their kingdom when the social structure on which it was built seemed so rotten with injustice. Then again, they thought, perhaps they were not an ideal vessel for such commentary.
"So," Wymare spoke up after a moment of silence, "Where do you suggest visiting once we're done here? I imagine the owners of this place won't take kindly to loitering Scadarah, after all."
"Oh! Well, let's see..." Yselt rubbed her chin as she thought. "We could walk along the castle wall boulevards. They've got trees planted along the inner perimeter, so you'll hear some birds in song along those ways if you're lucky. We can make our way to the north wall from there, and we can browse the shops along the path if you feel so inclined."
"Sounds like a plan to me." Wymare finished off his puff pastry and stood from his chair, stretching his arms and legs to alleviate the stiffness that had set in. "You can take the rest of the pastries with you, if you'd like them."
Yselt looked as though she'd just been handed the keys to the royal treasury. Stuffing the rest of her currently half-eaten puff pastry in her mouth, she wasted no time in scooping up the remaining two and making more pleased noises as she savored the warm sweetness of the jam. Wymare laughed at her behavior again, and as the two turned away from their table to exit the bakery, Merliad quickly ducked their nose deep into their open book to avoid being recognized. Thankfully, Wymare seemed to not notice them, and they were soon back on the main street to continue their day of leisure.
The bakery's dining room was now empty save for Merliad, their strudel half-eaten and the teacup emptied of its contents. Contemplative after listening in on the conversation that had just taken place, they closed their book and stared blankly at the top of their table, a serious look on their face. Now more than ever, the question of why Clerebold was so invested in monitoring a boy who came from nothing and a sister he was loath to acknowledge plagued Merliad's mind. There was no motive they could ascertain from what the supervisor had said when he had blackmailed them the previous evening, and there seemed to be nothing of particular interest about either of them from their current observations. Was there something about them that Clerebold was aware of but had withheld? Or was he simply suspicious of the two without proper cause?
Merliad sighed and shook their head. No possibilities within reason were revealing themselves to them, and they surely wouldn't come if they just sat in the bakery all day, either. Merliad began to gather their things, still feeling guilty for tailing Wymare and Yselt for reasons they weren't even aware of but now determined to clear the fog that obscured the truth of the matter. They rose from their place at the table and were about to leave when they cast a passing glance over the leftover strudel still on the plate, reflecting again on the conversation they'd just eavesdropped on.
When Merliad departed the bakery, they determined the quickest route to the capital's perimeter boulevard before turning around and walking to the alley that ran alongside the bakery. They hastily ensured no Scadarah squatters were occupying the dingy space, and once they had done so they placed the leftover pecan strudel near the trash bin where it would be out of sight of the employees but readily available to any person or animal that came upon it. With that, they swiftly turned around and made their way down the street again, leaving the pastry behind without looking back.
. . .
Night had long since come to overtake the Brilanian sky by the time Merliad made their way down the stairwell to the Scadarah labor unit's quarters. They had tailed Wymare and Yselt all across Rìo Ghaile, somehow having gotten away unnoticed by either of them over the course of the day. Now, however, they were ready to hang it all up. Their feet were screaming in pain from how much more walking they had done than was ordinary for them, and the combination of exhaustion and stress had done a number on them mentally, leaving them drained and very much ready to retire for the evening.
However, there was one last task that they needed to complete: reporting to Clerebold.
Merliad nervously walked through the halls of the Scadarah labor unit's living quarters. With each room they passed, they could feel piercing glares from the laborers sitting in their rooms. As far as they knew, it was uncommon for Mage's Guild affiliates to visit this section of the castle, and the fact that they'd returned to wearing their Guild-issued robes only made it clearer to the Scadarah dwelling here that they were an outsider - but, more importantly, above them.
But why was that? Because Merliad has simply been luckier than them? They certainly didn't feel as though it had anything to do with the intrinsic qualities that made the laborers who they were. Was it fair to them for the realm in which they were born to filter them out of opportunities for advancement in the world just because they'd come into the world already at the bottom?
Merliad shook their head in exasperation and quickened their speed, too tired to sort through the disorganized mess that their thoughts were becoming due to all of the questions that had been revealing themselves. All they wanted to do now was get their meeting with Clerebold over and done with so they could take a well-earned rest. With that simple goal in mind, they walked up to the door at the end of the hall with the 'Supervisor' plaque hanging from it and rapped on the wood twice with the back of their hand.
"Enter," the voice of Clerebold responded in its usual chilly monotone. As Merliad opened the door and stepped inside the supervisor's office, Clerebold looked up from the documents at his desk and smirked upon seeing who had come knocking at such an hour.
"Ahh, it's you," he said, feigning warmth in his voice for the theater of it. "Please, come in, and close the door behind you. I don't want a draft to come through here and scatter my things."
Silent, Merliad did as they were told, pulling the door shut and standing in what little open space there was between Clerebold's desk and the mounds of documents placed around the office. Clerebold turned his chair around to face Merliad, grinning and bringing his hands together in front of his chin as the anticipation of the moment seemed to bring out a sinister glee in him.
"Well then... I don't suppose you came by for an idle chat. By all means, inform me of your findings. I swear on my position, you have my full and undivided attention."
Merliad took a deep breath to clear their head before reaching down to grasp a rolled-up parchment that had been sitting in the pocket of their robe. "I took the liberty of transcribing all that I saw and heard into a written report for your records. It's complete with the time of day for each section and where each event took place."
Clerebold's grin grew wider. "Very good," he replied, snatching the document out of Merliad's hand as soon as they held it out. "It seems the Guild has done you a bit of good after all. Grasping the art of the written word is at least above what I would have expected from a troglodyte like yourself." He relished in his insult before unraveling the scroll and beginning to read what was written on it.
Too tired to return the weasely supervisor's harsh words with any strong reaction, Merliad waited to the side for Clerebold to finish reading and dismiss them, their duty fulfilled and the extortion finished. As Clerebold's eyes skirted left to right down the parchment, however, the sour look that was becoming more and more prominent on his face gave Merliad the impression that perhaps their release wouldn't be as easy as that.
By the time Clerebold finished reading the report and placed it on his desk, his look was one of annoyance and confusion wrapped together into a disgruntled mess. He looked up to Merliad from his chair, asking, "So, in short... they attended sermon, ate at a bakery, and were general street rats about the capital? That's it?"
"They also went to their morning assignments," Merliad replied. "That's how I followed them out to-"
"I am AWARE that they completed their assignments, you heathen," Clerebold groaned, resting his forehead on his index finger and thumb. "Were I not privy to such knowledge, I would be neglecting my duties quite flagrantly. What I was asking was this: is this truly everything you saw and heard them do? There wasn't anything else of note?"
Merliad shook their head. "I followed them over the course of the entire afternoon and into the evening. I'm not sure what you wanted me to find out about those two, but if it's not there then that's no fault of mine. Why are you so deeply obsessed with them, anyhow?"
Clerebold's left eye began to twitch as his face turned a light shade of red. "Hear me well, reprobate," he spat, voice shaking with scorned anger. "Take up that tone with me again, and I will take great joy in raining a blazing storm of hellfire upon your entire life. When I give orders to lesser beings like yourself, those orders are not meant to be questioned. When I-"
"Listen, supervisor," Merliad interjected, "I'm not here to argue with-"
"DO NOT INTERRUPT YOUR SUPERIOR, INSECT!" Clerebold shot out of his chair and slammed a hand against the wall as he let out his enraged shout, shocking Merliad and dissuading them from speaking their piece. The enraged supervisor's chest rose and fall with each exaggerated breath, and the scowl on his lips looked as though it had been engraved there by a sculptor with how deep it was.
"We may both be Agelasta, you and I," Clerebold growled after a tense moment of neither him nor Merliad saying anything, "But do not let that skew that exceptional analytical prowess you casters are so proud of. I have EARNED my position and the innate privileges that come with it through years of work and sacrifice. The only thing YOU did to earn your caste was run to the capital with your tail between your legs and grovel at the feet of those pathetic, magic-obsessed apes until they took pity on you. I... am better than you. Incalculably better."
Burned under the scalding malice in Clerebold's rant, it was now Merliad's turn to appear frustrated as their cheeks flushed with shame. All they wanted to do now was leave the office and hide away in their room, but with Clerebold still hunched over near the door they didn't feel safe to make a break for it. Their only way out of this grizzly confrontation, it seemed, would be with words.
"...I'm sorry you're upset, supervisor," Merliad began after taking a breath to steady themselves. "But unless you make it clear what sort of information you're after, then I can't help you any more than I have now. Petty jabs at my work won't get me to find it any faster."
The seething rage that was coursing through Clerebold's body was still plain to see from the look on his face, but it seemed as though Merliad's words of reason had done their intended work of bringing him down from the peak of his anger. With a discontented scoff, he brushed his robes with his hands and sat back down in his chair, still glowering at Merliad with the same hateful stare.
"...Follow them once more tomorrow," Clerebold eventually ordered. "This time, however, forget the girl. The one I want is the boy. I need ample reason to dishonorably expel him from my care before he ends up bringing my reputation as a supervisor down with him. Find where he goes, what he says; the direction he breathes, even. You will do this, and if you deliver what I require this time, it will be the last I am required to speak to you - a matter of celebration for us both, I'm sure."
"Tomorrow?" Merliad protested. "B-But I already spent the whole of today neglecting my studies for this! If I keep that up, the upper echelons of the Guild will surely be unhappy with me."
"Where, precisely, did you happen upon the blasphemous idea that the balance of your schedule is any bother of mine?" Clerebold hissed, leaning into the annunciation of his words. "The moment my report of your breach of precepts lands on the Guild's desk, a lack of time to study will be the least of your measly concerns. In fact, were I a betting man, I'd say your time will be more occupied with running from the Dämian thugs as they chase you back to whence you came."
This added threat sent a chill down Merliad's spine. Was forceful deportation something Clerebold had the influence to do? For a mere supervisor of Scadarah laborers, it seemed unlikely, but Clerebold had already gone so far as to blackmail and threaten them over one person. What he was capable of when truly pushed to the extreme, only time would tell.
"Do not test me, you filth. Now get out of my sight." With that, Clerebold turned his chair around again and buried himself in the files upon his desk, setting Merliad's written report for that day off to the side. Their conversation was over, and so Merliad gratefully took the opportunity to slip through the door to the supervisor's office, sighing with relief once they'd closed it behind them.
"Oh! Merliad, what a surprise!"
Merliad's blood ran cold as they recognized Wymare's voice coming from their right. Alarmed as they turned to look in the direction his voice came from, their mind began to break down under the stress when they saw that, indeed, Wymare was standing not far down the hall from them, a casual smile on his face as he approached.
"It's nice to see you. I thought I recognized you at this morning's sermon, but you didn't seem to see me."
Merliad's expression was one of sheer panic as they scrambled to form a response that wouldn't incriminate them, eventually spluttering out, "Huh? Oh, yes! Then! I, ah, forgot to... brush my hair. Yes! It was, ah, j-just dreadful, so I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself... Haha... hah..."
Wymare's smile became a bit crooked as he tilted his head in confusion at Merliad's unusual behavior. This indication alone made Merliad wish they could sink into the floor and disappear forever, but this overreaction was swiftly assuaged by a shrug of Wymare's shoulders.
"Well, if you say so. I thought it looked nice," he replied. "Anyhow, what brings you down here? It's awfully late for a member of the Mage's Guild to pay a visit to the labor unit's quarters."
"I was just talking to your supervisor," Merliad heard their own voice answer before they were able to think it over. Immediately, they regretted their reflexive honesty - what possible reason could he use to explain this visit away to Wymare aside from the actual, ugly truth of the matter? Had they blown their cover so easily after such a long day of spying on him and Yselt?
"Oh, it was you in there?" Wymare seemed concerned, much to Merliad's surprise. "I heard him yelling at someone in his office, so I was coming to see what was going on. I hadn't expected it to be you, though... Are you alright?"
A pang of heartache stabbed through the veil of panic that was draped over Merliad. The fact that the person they were being extorted into spying on seemed to be trying to comfort them after what they'd just gone through in Clerebold's office made their guilt over their actions all the heavier. They sighed, relieving pressure from their body along with the breath, and answered.
"Y-Yes, I am. It's... nothing you need to concern yourself with."
Wymare didn't seem convinced by their answer, but he decided to leave it well enough alone. "Well, if you say so. Say, if you're not busy tomorrow evening, would you be opposed to more evaluation of your studies? I could take the time to meet you in the Royal Library again."
Merliad bit the inside of their lip. "Um... Not tomorrow. I'm afraid that I... have other matters I must attend to. Apologies."
"Oh, no, it's no trouble," Wymare assured. "Some other time, then. I should see myself back to my room now; I'll need some sleep after such a long day, you know? See you later."
With that, the boy waved, turned, and disappeared back down the hall that led to his and Yselt's room. Merliad looked ahead in the direction he had been standing with a blank stare, a depressed frown creeping its way onto their lips.
"...Yes. I do know," they replied softly, their words echoing off the stone walls for nobody to hear.
It wasn't long before they made themselves scarce, heading back to their room to sleep off the pervasive loathsome feeling they were presently saddled with. The idea of crashing on their bed and falling into a deep sleep was as enticing to them as it must have been to Wymare, but not for quite the same reason. Where Wymare was heading off to rest after a day of being out on the town, Merliad only longed for the void that would free them of their invasive thoughts, even for just a spell.
. . .
The following afternoon, Merliad was seated in the Royal Academy's cafeteria, nonchalantly eating away at a salad they'd prepared for their dinner. With each mouthful of leafy greens and crunchy carrots that they took in, they surveyed the open space of tables and students, waiting in plain sight for Wymare to show up once his classes let out for the day. An average day left for far less time where Wymare's whereabouts wouldn't already be simple knowledge to Clerebold, and thus they wanted to ensure that they would be able to make the most of the time where tailing him would lead to new information to report.
During their meal, Merliad looked down at a leaf of spinach that was exposed at the top of their salad. For some reason, Clerebold's words from the previous day echoed in their mind at that moment, and they made a sullen face at the vegetable. Did they really deserve their place in the Mage's Guild? What if Clerebold had been correct in his assessment that they had just cheated their way up the ladder upon coming to Rìo Ghaile? Were they even worthy of wearing the robes of a caster?
To fight this bout of insecurity, they plucked the leaf of spinach from their salad and placed it atop a magic textbook they'd brought along in case the wait for Wymare dragged on too long. Pinning the top of the leaf and the chopped-off stem down to the cover with two fingers, they used their free hand to trace a triangle in the vegetable with the tip of their finger before tapping the center of the leaf, focusing their will through their finger and into the spinach.
Within moments, the spinach leaf began to glow and morph, eventually growing into a full bunch of spinach leaves, complete with their own roots that sprawled out from the bottom in a vain search for soil. Merliad smiled, feeling a boost of confidence from how naturally life magic had come to them at that moment. No matter what Clerebold could have said about their worth, the feeling of magic surging through them when they used it as they had just done reinforced their self-confidence. With their pride reassured, they proceeded to pick up the spinach bunch and bite into it, continuing their salad with a new supply of leafy greens for the dish.
As Merliad ate the spinach, however, they looked up and noticed a familiar head of rust-red hair sitting at a table across the cafeteria from them. They raised their body up a bit to see over the crowd of students also seated in the cafeteria, and sure enough, Wymare was about halfway through his tray of food and chatting with Yselt, who was sitting at his left. Judging by the looks on their faces, it seemed as though they were discussing something serious.
Once again, conflicting feelings swirled in Merliad's chest. On the one hand, they were hopeful that whatever they were talking about would be enough to get Clerebold off of their back, but on the other, they felt quite bad that they were hopeful about a matter that would see Wymare expelled from the labor unit if it went their way. But even with that guilt acknowledged, the threat of losing their place in the Mage's Guild and being chased out placed a very real fear in their heart, and that fear was powerful enough to make them comfortable enough with the consequences of what they would report to go through with it.
Quickly finishing the rest of their salad and packing up their books, Merliad waited at their table until Wymare and Yselt got up, disposed of their emptied trays, and began to leave the cafeteria. They seemed to be in a hurry, and so Merliad got up and went after them with a similar level of urgency, not wanting to lose track of them on the way to wherever it was they were going.
As they made their way through the crowd of students, Merliad could not help but continue to reflect on what Clerebold had said to them during his furious ranting. No longer were they stuck on the insults hurled at them and their legitimacy as a caster, however; instead, they were now thinking about the reason Clerebold had given for extorting Merliad into surveilling the two Scadarah laborers.
"The one I want is the boy. I need ample reason to dishonorably expel him from my care before he ends up bringing my reputation as a supervisor down with him."
The way Clerebold had uttered those words had been so casual that it shocked Merliad. It was evident from the labor supervisor's general demeanor that he placed great personal value in the significance of his caste, but to go to such lengths that he would actively ruin other peoples' lives to preserve it seemed unreasonable. It only compounded on the feelings that had been stirred in Merliad by Yselt and Wymare's stories from yesterday at the bakery: Brilanians seemed to place an unhealthy level of emphasis on a person's caste, even when the people who were being hurt by that system had fallen to the bottom of it through no fault of their own.
As Merliad pondered over this, they followed Wymare and Yselt into the castle, through the main hall, and up toward the castle wing that housed the Mage's Guild. Their route was strange, as there was no discernable reason for Scadarah laborers to come that way now that their classes and assignments were done for the day. Were they heading to the Royal Library? But then, what was the cause for their quickened pace? The end of public visiting hours in the library was still quite a ways off.
Merliad set aside those pointless questions for the time being, resolving that they would find an answer once they reached the destination Wymare and Yselt were heading for. Thus, they weaved through the branching hallways of the Mage's Guild, the issue of one's caste still nagging at them in their mind.
What was the point of a caste? To Merliad, all the evidence they had seen seemed to point in the direction of a simple, dirty answer: to make it easier to divide and subjugate Brilanian citizens. After all, if it was helpful enough to assign labels to different categories of magical spells for the purpose of identifying them and setting them apart, then the same would surely be applicable to people, as dehumanizing as that concept felt. They didn't know for sure if that was the caste system's original purpose, but that was clearly how it was being implemented and enforced now, and that made Merliad frustrated. What right did people like Clerebold have to tear down others who were good human beings at their core, all over where they stood in the social hierarchy?
As that question burned in their mind, Merliad followed Wymare and Yselt around another corner that, to their recollection, only led to a side passage with a few closets and spare meeting rooms for the Guild. By the time they rounded the corner, however, they had vanished, with only one more hallway branching off to the left from the one Merliad was currently looking down. Deciding to leave their bag of books on the ground for the moment, they tiptoed toward the final hall and peered around the corner, expecting to see Wymare and Yselt doing something.
Instead, they were surprised to see that the hallway was empty. No Wymare, no Yselt, no other casters; there was nobody at all.
At first, Merliad was dumbfounded. How could the two of them have given them the slip from this part of the Guild wing? There was nowhere to hide and nowhere else to go from there, and they were sure they'd followed them exactly to this point.
Then Merliad noticed something strange at the end of the hallway and, baffled, spoke the obvious question that came to mind.
"...Since when was there a door at the end of this hall?"