An uneasy silence fell over Erythis and her princely
companion as they descended the stairs together. Her guard, as Adrynar has politely put it, had been reluctantly
dismissed at the prince’s behest. As she left, the sorceress undoubtedly heard
the guard captain muttering something about her still possibly having been
behind the Regent’s disappearance.
The narrow chamber, otherwise dead silent, was filled with
the click of Erythis’ heels and the clunk of Adrynar’s dress boots. As he
went down before her, she could not help but notice how similar the youth
before her was to the Regent, Vynlarion. Deciding to break the silence, she
spoke aloud about the subject: “Prince Adrynar,” given her elevated social
status she felt appropriate addressing the prince as such. The young man looked
back at her for a moment before continuing his descent. “The King has had many
queens in his long life,” she began before pausing as he looked back again,
intrigue flickering in his jade eyes, “How are you and the Regent related?”
The prince looked forward once more, a small, sad smile
playing on his lips. “I’m a little surprised someone as intelligent as you did
not know, my lady,” his voice was laced with the joy fond memories wrought, but
the overarching tone was a sad one – he was evidently still in shock from
Vynlarion’s disappearance. “Vyn – rather, the Regent, is my elder brother.”
Erythis’ auburn brows rose on her forehead in surprise. ‘They share a mother! No wonder they look so similar…’
“I see,” she responded cordially, “You two are very
similar.” The two of them allowed a much more pleasant, if still resoundingly
sad, given their prior topic. As they reached the base of the stairs, Adrynar
paused after placing his hand on the closed door to the back foyer. “Sir?” She
questioned, leaning forward to examine the door. Moving over his shoulder, two
immensely powerful magic auras lambasted her with disruptive force. Her head
throbbed, her stomach lurched and she stumbled backward as she struggled to
acclimate to the impossibly powerful sources on the other side of the door.
Adrynar, too, seemed to worse for wear as he clutched at his
forehead, beads of sweat rolling down his young face. Without his hand moving,
the door was opened, but to their surprise, no great displays of magic were
present. Instead, one figure neither of them expected to see and another that
only one somehow recognised.
Twenty guards were positioned, staff and sword drawn in
either hand, against the walls of the opulent looking room while two figures –
the source of the magical disturbances – conversed peaceably. Adrynar stepped
forward, his tone an incredulous one, as though he did not believe his eyes:
“Father?” The blond man openly gawked at an ancient figure looming surprisingly
powerful.
Donning golden robes of immaculate design that shimmered in
all the light, putting to shame even the splendour his eldest son represented
when in public, he turned to face Adrynar. The crown upon his head stood tall
and proud, its crimson felt looking as fresh and new as it had when the
ornament was created centuries ago. His narrow, skeletal hands were clasped
before him, brushing against a long, wizened white beard. His thin face,
pockmarked with age and disfigured with scars, was weary, but given the
prince’s reaction, Erythis was sure that the reclusive monarch was in
surprisingly good health.
However Erythis herself paid little attention to the King
and instead focused upon the unknown woman. Her hair was silver, though not of
age and instead of some exotic trait. She wore a revealing ebon dress embossed
with golden filigree. Her hair trailed to her waist and was left perfectly
straight. In her hands she held a simple, small wooden box. Her equally silver
eyes turned on Erythis and some sense of recognition also hit her.
“Adrynar, please,” High King Anasterian spoke weakly, his
voice quiet and raspy, “Do show manners when we were entertaining guests.” He
shuffled toward the youth, laying a hand on his shoulder, “But it is very good
to see you too, my son.” The mysterious woman offered a warm smile at the
gesture of paternal affection, but something told Erythis the woman whose bust
and hips curved so perfectly was anything but sincere in her outward
appearance. Motioning to the woman, the aged monarch introduced her: “My lady,”
he said with reverence, “This is my son, Prince Adrynar,” and with impressive
intuition immediately gleaned who Erythis was: “and this is –“
The woman smiled once more, and shook her head respectfully,
“Great king, I pray thee to save your beloved voice for the people. I am well
aware of who this lovely woman is.” She turned to face Erythis, her magical
aura completely focused on her. Instinctively the sorceress steeled her mind
but found her nigh impregnable mental fortress torn asunder like tissue paper.
Panic gripped her as she felt her deepest secrets being ruthlessly examined,
her life, and her dreams. “Lady Erythis Firestorm, it is an honour.”
Erythis cupped her forehead, unable to speak. She found her
entire body had been overpowered and she was simply a puppet of the mysterious
woman, “I am Empress Tesryhi of the Eastern Empire.” The captured sorceress
knew well of the Eastern Empire: it was a foreign land covering an entire
continent that lay an ocean away from the First Kingdom. Her people traded with
them, but rarely did they visit and rarely did her own people visit them. Both
were reclusive, quiet peoples with enormous magical prowess. Their peace was
upheld by vast stretches of ocean and a mutual understanding war between them
could prove disastrous on a global scale. Even still, she was unaware of any
Empress.
The silence that had been wrought on her was cleverly masked
by the Empress’ continuation. Her tall, pale figure moved from side to side as
she sashayed around the room, silencing both prince and king with her very
presence. “I know: you wonder who I am. My dear husband, the late Emperor,
passed just a month ago. I thought it prudent to visit our allies across the
Great Sea to assure them of our continued harmony.” She glanced over at the
king, “However I did not expect to find the venerable, universally beloved,
High King Anasterian to be such a handsome, powerful man.”
Erythis wretched inwardly at the blatant lies, and even
Adrynar seemed puzzled. The king was a weak, frail old man who was likely a
year or two from death. “Now, I hear you are investigating the disappearance of
the Prince-Regent. Do not allow me to delay you further.” Abruptly the
magically enthralled magistrix and prince made their way to the exit. Leaving
their old king alone with the enormously powerful Empress, the door to the rear
gardens shut firmly behind them.
Adrynar collapsed forward, gagging as the magical influence
abruptly left his system, much like a sword being removed from a wound. He
leaned against the palace wall, shuddering before slowly recovering himself.
Erythis too felt her bile rise, but willed it down as she felt her magics come
to bear. Looking over at the recovering prince, her voice felt small in her
throat: “By the gods… it was her… the demon from my dream.”
Adrynar stood upright, studying her, “You have to find Vyn,
surely he will know more. If what you say is true, then he has been captured.”
He moved forward, placing his hands on her shoulders, “You must find
Vynlarion,” he implored her urgently.
Erythis fell silent as the obligation she had previously
agreed to felt all the more serious. The missing regent surely was held by the
Empress and though she did not know where, the sorceress was certainly not
without methods. Returning her attention to the prince before her, she
inquired: “What is it you shall do, then?”
Adrynar’s normally peaceful features grew stern, and
abruptly looked the part of the successor to his missing brother. “I will
govern as regent. I will hold her back, and if need be, my father too.” He
turned removed his hands from her shoulder, “Go, Erythis. Go with the goodwill
of the Royal Family. Bring our brother back and let us end this catastrophe
before it begins.”
Though neither knew of what catastrophe would come, both
were all too aware that the Empress’ stay felt more like an invasion and less
like a visit.
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