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Memoirs 395 - Happenings
🕑 Added 2025-09-21 21:14:44 +0000 UTCThe Shield’s Guild headquarters in Elystead were busier than ever as Livvi pushed through its halls, a fresh stack of documents cradled in her arms and exhaustion stamped across her face.
She’d strung together only a handful of hours’ sleep over the last few days, and it was starting to show. Just that morning she’d snapped at one of her aides for handing her the wrong report, even though it was a perfectly understandable mistake given the state they were all in. She hadn’t raised her voice, but the edge in her tone had been sharp enough to make the man flinch. The memory sat uncomfortably in her chest.
She hated letting the strain creep into her words like that.
Even the coffee that usually served as her quiet reprieve had lost its edge. She had downed more cups in the past twenty-four hours than she cared to count, and still her body begged for rest.
If her father saw her now, he would have scolded her to no end — though he was hardly one to talk. She doubted he’d slept much either these past weeks, overseeing Freybrook’s defences and reconstruction, worrying about her from afar. It was just as well his sense of duty kept him in his city, or she’d probably have found him marching into Elystead himself.
The capital had been a mess of chaos and turmoil these last few days. She didn’t know how else to describe it.
Ever since that strange fortress structure had appeared in the waters of Lake Rellaria—followed by the Undead Council’s citadel—Elystead had felt like tinder waiting for a spark. The people’s mood was taut, a pressure humming through the streets that felt almost physical. The Guild bore a good brunt of it. The Guild bore the brunt of it. Outside its entrance, citizens gathered in an unending stream: some pleading, some demanding, others simply searching for reassurance. Imperial soldiers patrolled to keep order, but even their presence couldn’t entirely dispel the unease that hung over everything.
It was the not knowing that ate at people. No one truly understood what was happening. At times, whole districts felt the ground shiver with distant concussions that rolled through the air. At night, bursts of light flared across the lake. There were reports of black-robed figures appearing and disappearing. Rumours only multiplied. Meanwhile, news from outside the capital kept arriving, speaking of the monster attacks that grew fiercer, with more refugees swelling the city’s outskirts.
Despite it all, Elystead itself had been spared real damage. There were no streets in ruin, no houses broken, and no casualties within the city that Livvi knew of. At least not among imperial citizens. But the prevailing sense was that it was only a matter of time.
Livvi held more hope than that, though she couldn’t fault those who doubted. Even with patrols and official proclamations that things were under control, the sight of a Council citadel hovering over Lake Rellaria, and that fortress standing in its waters, wasn’t easily ignored.
“Miss Knottley.”
The voice drew her from her thoughts. She turned to see a colleague approaching, tired but polite.
“The Guildmaster has requested your presence in the third meeting room.”
She adjusted her grip on the documents. “Did he say why?”
“No. Only that you may set aside your current duties and come as soon as possible.”
Her brow tightened, but she dipped her head. “Okay.”
Offering a brief farewell, she set down the hall towards her office, leaving the documents there before she made her way through the Guild to the upper floors. At the third meeting room she knocked twice before entering — and found Guildmaster Mansfield wasn’t alone. Gratianus Graham and Arnaud Astrey were already seated at the table, both looking up as she stepped inside.
“If you’d close the door, please,” Mansfield said, gesturing lightly.
She did, then crossed the room. Her eyes flicked briefly to the faintly glowing silver-traced steel cube set in the table’s centre. An artifact the Guildmaster sometimes used to prevent eavesdropping.
“Miss Knottley,” Gratianus greeted.
Livvi nodded to him and to Arnaud.
“You look tired,” Arnaud observed, fingers brushing the end of his moustache.
“I could say the same to you, Mister Astrey,” she replied. He didn’t look tired in the same way—there were no rings beneath his eyes or slack in his posture—but something in his air was different. It felt more…subdued than usual. For the first time since she’d known him, she got the sense that he was actually worn.
Gratianus let out a low, coarse chuckle. “She’s got a sharp eye.”
Arnaud glanced at him, lowering his head. “She does.”
Livvi looked between them, then turned to the Guildmaster. “Did you need my help with something?”
Mansfield regarded her for several seconds, then shifted his gaze to the two men. “Miss Knottley. You may not have been aware, but until last night, Arnaud here was missing. He gave no report of his whereabouts — not to us, nor to the Guild at large.”
Livvi’s eyes widened slightly. She turned to Arnaud, who offered only a faint smile.
“Under normal circumstances, that disappearance would constitute a grave breach of conduct. One that would merit severe consequences, even for an S-rank Shielder,” Mansfield continued. “But what he has since shared has forced us to reconsider both the situation and how to proceed.”
Gratianus shook his head with a gruff exhale. “You really should’ve involved me, Astrey. You took things too far this time.”
“Perhaps,” Arnaud said. “But from what I’ve seen, your presence wouldn’t have made much difference. In fact, I doubt she would have agreed to work with us at all.”
“A young lass like that shouldn’t be dragging the Guild around on a leash to begin with.” Gratianus snorted. “But I can’t say I don’t respect her resolve.”
Livvi looked between them again, then to the Guildmaster. “Can I ask what this is about?”
They wouldn’t have brought her here if this was something she wasn’t meant to hear.
Mansfield met her eyes. “Before we answer, Miss Knottley, I’ll need your word that nothing discussed in this room leaves it without my explicit sanction. In addition, we’ll be assigning you a personal security detail and restricting certain movements for your own safety. It’s unfortunate, but would you be willing to accept these terms?”
She stared at him. “…Is this something that requires my help specifically?”
“You are, at this moment, the most suited person within the Guild,” he said simply.
“…Then yes. I accept.”
She didn’t especially relish the thought of exposing herself to risk, but if she could be useful, she wouldn’t turn away. With so many others already endangering themselves for the empire, this felt like the least she could do.
The Guildmaster’s expression softened, a small smile breaking through his reserve. “Good. Then we would like to discuss how to handle your friend. Baroness Hartford.”
The halls of Elystead’s great temple had only looked lovelier on a handful of occasions, Raimond decided — though never quite so heavy with gloom. The morning light streamed through the high stained-glass windows in jewelled hues, painting holy mosaics across the polished marble floors. Yet few paused to admire the sight. Acolytes scurried, priests murmured hurried blessings, and the most solemn of statues seemed to lean forward, listening. There was a pall over the space. A waiting stillness that pricked at Raimond’s nose like the tang of smoke after a fire.
Naturally, this didn’t stop him from gliding through it all with the calm of a man entirely at ease. He was back on the surface, his step unhurried, his smile radiant, his every movement deliberate enough to remind anyone watching that he was not one who particularly lacked for time. A word of encouragement to a kneeling supplicant here, a graceful nod to a weary cantor there — small mercies that might, just perhaps, plant a seed of grace. A seed that could be enough to tip the scales when it mattered. Or not.
He couldn’t say, for he was far, far from clairvoyant. As his recent misadventure in Beld Thylelion had so painfully reminded him.
If he had been as omniscient as he sometimes liked to pretend, perhaps Elystead’s temple—meant to embody Ittar’s glory and light—would not have carried the muffled weight it now did. But the temple mirrored its city, and Elystead had become a place of waiting: waiting for answers about the strange edifice in Lake Rellaria, waiting for the Undead Council’s citadel to depart or descend in ruin upon the capital, waiting for the next wave of refugees with their whispered tales of horrors snapping at their heels.
It was enough to make most feel a twinge of unease. Even Raimond.
He brushed a hand through his golden hair, angling it just so to catch the morning sun as he passed a young sister whose cheeks bloomed pink before she turned hastily away.
Even unease ought to look dignified.
He judged himself perhaps three-quarters through his impromptu morning ‘stroll’ when the sound reached him. A measured rhythm of armoured steps, accompanied by the soft sweep of priestly robes across stone.
Curious, Raimond turned down a side corridor. There, he saw a solemn entourage of priests advancing, flanking a squad of Dawnbringers in their resplendent plate. And at their centre, dressed in still more resplendent robes, walked a masked woman with onyx hair tied sleekly over one shoulder.
Her head turned at once, a sharp, assessing gaze spearing him.
Raimond considered swallowing a gulp.
Technically, he hadn’t done anything wrong yet. But Ava Solnate always had a way of making him feel as though he had. If he weren’t so thoroughly convinced of his own charm, Raimond might almost have believed the woman actually disliked him.
The entourage approached.
Raimond smiled as if he had not a care in the world.
“This humble servant greets the Deacon of Ittar’s Light,” he said with a bow.
Ava and her Dawnbringers came to a stop before him, the weight of their combined attention pressing down. Some of the attending priests frowned at Raimond’s easy smile.
“Walk with me,” Ava’s voice cut from behind the mask, cool and commanding.
He pressed a hand to his chest as he straightened. “But of course. The light of Ittar guides us both.”
Falling into step beside her, Raimond noted how the armoured Dawnbringers shifted outward, leaving them space, while the surrounding priests looked on in puzzled silence. Ava touched the silver pendant at her throat—a tiny setting for a polished black gem—and with a shimmer, a barrier of silence enveloped them.
“Explain your dramatic disappearance,” she said, wasting no time. “Properly, this time.”
Raimond arched a brow. “I have, on occasion, enjoyed a dramatic entrance, yes. But disappearance? Such an unflattering choice of word.”
“Don’t play coy, Raimond. Tell me what happened. I need more than the fragments you offered last night.”
“Hmm.”
He touched his chin in thought. When he had made his return to Elystead the evening prior, he’d sent only the briefest account of his ordeal to his dear colleague. Surprising even himself, he had found something uncomfortable about committing it all to a report not given in person, and he had wanted time to consider which path lay in front of him before he spoke too freely.
Now that Ava was here, there was no postponing it. She already knew the purpose of his journey into Beld Thylelion, as well as what had transpired on the surface during his absence.
“Speak,” Ava commanded.
Raimond spread his hands. “As I said last night, I was taken inside Beld Thylelion.”
“How? Why was no one else able to enter?”
“To be precise, others did. Merely none belonging to our expedition. I presume you’ve spoken with Dean Godwin and the mage factions on my behalf?”
“They are not aware of your return, but I have spoken with them. They are still searching for a way inside.”
“I fear they will find little success now.” Raimond’s tone sobered, his smile fading. “Even if they were to succeed, the Tribute of Dominion has already been claimed.”
Ava halted, turning to him. “…What happened?”
Raimond stopped a step late, meeting her gaze. “Baroness Hartford did.”
He could feel the frown behind her mask. “She was there?”
“She was.”
“…Did you help her?”
“Not intentionally. But that did prove to be the outcome. The Tribute is now hers.”
Ava’s eyes lingered on him, then slid forward again as she resumed walking. Raimond fell into step once more.
“…Did she betray us?” the woman eventually asked.
“I suspect that depends on one’s definition of betrayal.”
“Not yours. Mine.”
“Then yes. She most likely did.”
Ava’s voice cooled, turning dangerous. “Can we recover it from her?”
Raimond sighed. “No.”
She glanced at him. “…You’re certain.”
She sounded surprised.
“I am,” he said. “I’m afraid that whatever preconceptions and neat assumptions you carried about the Baroness, it’s time to discard them. They may be entirely worthless now.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“That she plays by rules other than ours. Perhaps she always did.”
“What rules?”
“The rules of mortals.”
There was a heavy silence.
“…You’re saying she isn’t mortal?” Ava asked cautiously.
“No.” Raimond folded his hands behind his back. “I believe she is. However, the actions she takes are not those of a mortal.” He was quiet for a moment. “…She killed Fate, Ava. Destiny itself.”
“Raimond, if you’re embellishing with your theatrics now, I will—”
“I’m not,” he said simply, looking at her. “Even Ittar’s guidance faltered in the contest she and her opponents played within those ruins. Trust me when I say I don’t like admitting this, but Scarlett Hartford is playing on a board we cannot even see. And to fight on a battlefield you cannot perceive is the purest folly.”
Ava studied him for a long moment, the mask shifting minutely as if she weighed every syllable for falsehood. Finally, she let out a quiet breath. “Then our course changes. If what you say is true, we cannot treat her as an obstacle to be removed. What is she? A force to be redirected or a storm to be endured?”
Raimond’s smile crept back, fainter than before. “A fine metaphor. The latter potentially, though I would say she is less a storm and more…a tide. One does not resist the tide. One learns to ride it. It is fortunate that is what I have spent so much time learning to do with the Baroness.”
Leon’s knee pressed against the bronze-veined carpet, the weight of the palace chamber settling over him like a mantle. The light of the slow-turning mechanical sun caught the polished stone and glimmered against the white plate of the two Swords who stood sentinel behind the broad desk of burnished wood, its surface filigreed with gold.
Beyond that desk, Gartelnas Articius Verddun Teronia, Emperor of the Graenal Empire, leaned back in his chair. His gaze was steady, unreadable, fixed on Leon. To one side stood Evelia Blackwood, the imperial adviser, her hand resting lightly on her staff. The dark folds of her gown clung close, her eyes coolly observant.
Leon had already spoken. He had given his report in full, or near enough: from the beginning of the expedition, through the moment the ruins of Beld Thylelion awoke beneath them, to his passage within and when he had found the princess there.
The only piece he had left unspoken was their final encounter with Scarlett, and the promise he had made to the princess.
Now, he could only wait for his liege’s reaction.
The emperor’s gaze lingered. Leon forced himself not to shift. He had failed as a knight more than once in this. He had found the princess, yet not returned her to the palace. He had not reached the depths of Beld Thylelion, nor could he say for certain who had claimed its prize. And he was keeping secrets. Grave ones.
He had braced himself for fury, for condemnation, for the wrath of a man who for months had scoured the empire for his daughter and might see his realm imperilled by her absence.
The silence was unexpected.
Lady Blackwood was the one to finally speak.
“The princess seems to have gathered some interesting allies in her little rebellion,” she said. “Resourceful ones.”
Leon kept his eyes down.
He had escaped the ruins through a spell cast by the man Skye and the others called Oveth, after which the princess’ group had vanished and left Leon alone on the outskirts of Elystead. He hadn’t understood what kind of spell it was, only that its nature had been necromantic, and this was not a detail he had hidden from His Majesty.
That made the emperor’s composure all the more surprising. The princess travelling with a mage of the Undead Council would alarm any parent. Whether that mage might be a deserter or not hardly mattered.
If possible, Leon would have liked to question Oveth further, but they hadn’t given him the chance. Where they were now, he couldn’t say. Only what they intended — and that he had promised, in his own way, to help them.
“Your Majesty,” Lady Blackwood continued, “would you like me to track them down? With Sir Leon’s help, it should be simple enough.”
Leon blinked, looking up. Simple? The princess had evaded pursuit for months. Surely it couldn’t be so easy now.
The emperor raised one hand. “No. That won’t be necessary.”
He let the words hang before lowering his hand again. “Sir Leon, you did what you could inside Beld Thylelion. For that, you have my thanks.”
Leon bowed his head lower. “Your Majesty.”
“You may go.”
The dismissal came so suddenly that he almost hesitated. But he rose, bowed deeply once more, and turned. His steps carried him through the looming doors. When they closed behind him, he stopped for a moment in the hall, thinking.
He wanted to speak with Scarlett, but not yet.
As the doors shut, stillness settled over the chamber.
Evelia’s eyes remained on the doors. “You do realise he was holding something back, don’t you?” she said in a smooth, unhurried voice. “Your daughter always was rather talented, but I didn’t expect her to sway a man like that so quickly. It seems she’s won some sort of promise from him.”
The emperor said nothing. His hand moved instead to rest atop the plain, leather-bound book that sat tucked at the corner of his desk like a hidden weight.
Evelia tilted her head, studying him. “I would have thought you’d be more concerned about the Tribute. It’s a rather unfortunate state of affairs if it’s fallen into unsavoury hands, isn’t it?”
Gartelnas glanced up at her.
She smiled faintly. “Hmm. You’re far less brooding than usual, Your Majesty. Could it be you know something I don’t?”
He regarded her for a long moment, then sighed softly. “…Can you deliver a message to my daughter?”
Both of her brows lifted. “That depends. What sort of message?”
“A normal one.”
A flicker of disappointment touched her face. “I suppose I could, as terribly mundane as that sounds. Though I suspect it’ll rattle her more than anything. You are hardly the image of reason and warmth in her eyes, after all.”
The emperor looked towards the closed doors. His voice was quiet. “…Remind her that her sister’s day of celebration draws near. She should prepare a gift. There is a craftsman on Ashmere Lane who once made a music box for her mother.”
Evelia watched him closely. “Your Majesty, you almost sound as if you don’t expect to present a gift of your own.”
The man gave no reply.
She let out a low, amused chuckle. “Very well. As you wish. I’ll see that she is informed.”
Comments
Boris
ait’s time to discard them -> it's
Aaron R.
shhshhshshs
Craig
I just got patreon and caught up to current release: I am calling it now: “the kept hours” book that Rosa opened contains a list of all of Rosa’s romantic thoughts about Scarlett.
Hpez
Scarlett doesn't exactly hold animosity for any of them. Especially not Skye or the countess.
Gwydion
but fate is gone. Odds are he might survive now.
Perf
If the Nobles do try to side with the princess, Scarlett can always claim she betrayed the empire by working with Oveth, a member of the undead council.
Atlas Dwarf
Probably going to use his family's network to reach out to Scarlett. Perfect opportunity for Leon's parents to triple down on bad decisions.
Shatteredneon
Tyfc. Im interested to see how the church and shielders guild approach scarlet
Cellinia
I wonder how Leon is going to mess things up this time
Laylo
The Emperor knows about his death. Probably because of the that book; proof he encountered The Other.
Cellinia
Sorry Raimond, but only Rosa gets to ride the Baroness
