“It worked.”
Taelison’s voice was choked with incredulity, eyes stuck painfully on the odd clothes and the messy, dark brown hair in the center of the circle.
“Izar is going to kill us,” Zorion whispered, feeling something deep within his stomach cringe back out of abject trauma. Taelison was only capable of silently gaping at the summoning circle, more than a little stunned to have a result when just moments ago they had been so desperate--
“By the Goddess, it worked,” Taelison whispered back, feeling the tears burning at the corners of his eyes finally drip silently to the polished armor of his breastplate before falling to the stone floor. “It worked-!”
“We need to call some maids. We need to inform the High Priest,” Zorion was already drifting into a list of things they needed to do now while the woman in the circle remained blissfully oblivious to the world around her.
“We need to call for the Captain,” Taelison insisted quickly, his knight’s boots making a soft clatter against the stone as he scrambled gracelessly to his feet. He’d been kneeling for hours to draw that chalk circle and now-- “Our fathers can be cleared-!”
“She needs to be recognized, first,” Zorion argued, absently cuffing him on the shoulder before cringing and rushing to gather the woman into his arms. It was a bit of a hassle with his uniform armor and the odd, embarrassing materials that were skin-tight and gave little to no room for imagination about the shapes and curves of her body.
‘Preferably recognized in better clothes,’ Zorion thought to himself with a sweatdrop.
He rushed quickly through the halls and Taelison was quick to seal off the room with a spell and follow in a rush.
“You! Boy! Fetch the Head Maid,” Zorion bellowed to the cookie-cutter servant boy standing in silent vigil at the entrance to a door. “Tell her that the rightful heir to the throne is in need of assistance with medicine and attire and to meet us in the Monarch’s Wing!”
The boy’s face did not shift in any form of emotion, expression perfectly blank as he nodded his head subserviently, the pale blonde hair of his shoulder-length wig shifting forward with the almost elegant motion before he turned on his heel to rush for the end of the hallway. He would likely be going to her office.
“Do you think he’ll take the words directly to the King Regent?” Taelison murmured, furrowing his eyebrows as doors seemed to crack open here and there around them. People peered behind cracked entrances and curtained halls as they started running again, rushing to get to the bed chambers meant for the reigning ruler. Maximus Whitehall had failed the True Heir test on two separate occasions but was still the only person capable of being regent due to blood relations and societal standing. ‘Not that he left much in the way of competition, anyway..’
Taeilson’s mind drifted to the three tests one had to take to be labeled a True Heir.
Each one was more lethal than the last if taken by anyone not in direct line to the crown.
The first was the Orb of Kutora, a crystal ball that took two hands to completely hold, even to someone with the largest palms and muscles. It was rumored to weigh heavier than anything else in the world. Not even magical items were capable of reducing this weight.
To pass this test, the orb, cloudy with thick, vicious silver smoke, would lighten to the weight of a feather, and shine with a metallic-like polish, easily able to be held by a single palm. Should it not lighten, but become shiny, it would recognize a possible regent. Should someone who was not of suitable relation to the crown attempt to take this test, there were two outcomes. The first would be a shift inside the orb, the smoke clearing to a glass-like appearance with next to no visible smoke inside. The second consequence is far more dangerous and is used as a punishment to mages who commit treason.
The Orb of Kutora draws and contains the very essence of the person touching it…
...Leaving it capable of stealing every drop of magic or life a person may have, should they try to pull one over on the royal family.
It remains one of the most renowned and dangerous magical artifacts in the country.
The second test was easier but no less dangerous.
The Royal Crown was set with seven gems, each in cool, cold order. The six outermost gems were all of the same size, each the width and height and shape of a silver coin. The six sapphires were of slightly different shades, the outermost two being pure blue, while the next two were a bright teal, and the two innermost were a rich purple. The main centerpiece of the crown- the reason it was a magical item and why it was crafted in the first place, was the teardrop-shaped gem just above a hundred carats in a gleaming, brilliant aquamarine. The gem was named Dragon of Vitality, and it was a thief’s wet dream.
The gem was not only incredibly large and beautifully cut, but it was sentient.
When placed upon the head of the True Heir, the Gem would use its magic to warp the robust, iron crown into a perfect fit for the head it sat upon, matching the Ruler’s innermost spirit and becoming a true extension of the then-proclaimed Ruler.
Placed on the head of a possible Heir, in the case of a quest toward becoming Heir or King/Queen, the gem would examine the wearer’s blood relation, spirit, and overall intentions. Should a suitable, temporary replacement be discovered, it would remain in its current form. Should the wearer be found inadequate, it would send a sudden, harsh shock through the entire body, varying in intensity depending upon the intentions of the wearer.
The third and final test had not even been attempted by the King Regent. Maximus Whitehall was not so foolish as to flirt with Death a third time and expect to get away with it.
The third and final test was the staff of the Seven Spires. It had a single small gem in each color in accordance with the Seven Great Nations in a line along the upper end. The staff was topped by a large, clear crystal ball containing a single shard of a magical stone that came from the same original diamond that the Dragon of Vitality had been cut from, constantly swirling and glowing with streams of magic collected from past ruling Kings and Queens. The different colors were the tokens left behind by a life of authority and responsibility. A ring of pure platinum hovered firmly around the globe, unmoving despite its seeming lack of placeholders.
At the bottom of the staff were two larger stones of rich blue and deep purple as well, though those had been supposedly crafted for balance and decoration, or so said the description in the item’s magical report.
They had made it to the Monarch’s wing in record time, and Zorion was panting for breath by the time they’d made it, a veritable crowd gathering with rushed whispers and harsh gossip as two of the most renowned knights in the Royal Guard rushed through the castle with a woman in tow.
“Taelison,” Zorion’s voice snapped the blonde back to attention, his hand jumping away from his sword at the man’s tone. This wasn’t the time to be drawing a blade. “Put her hand on the wood. If it opens..”
The rushing whispers and mutters fell almost absolutely silent as Zorion’s firm, point-blank voice rushed through the air like a blunt knife.
The blonde stepped forward and took the limp, hanging hand of the woman, closing his eyes tightly in hesitation before pressing it, open-palmed, to the large black door just inches away.
The servants and rubber-necking nobles gawking less than twenty yards away from them fell absolutely still, and when the first noble lady opened her mouth, likely to make a sneering comment if the scrunch of her nose and the glare of her eyes said anything, the door unlocked with a loud, booming Ca-Click.
It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the hallway, and Zorion took a silent, heaving breath before kicking the doors open and walking inside. The room itself was pristine, magical stones in the place of lanterns giving the room a warm, golden glow as it brought light to the rich black furniture, deep purple rugs, and fluffy pillows of various colors, patterns, and shades. Zorion was quick to rush to the first set of doors past what was supposedly a reception room, into what looked like the actual room itself.
If the room before this one had been lavish, only the word decadence could describe what lied beyond the second threshold.
A large bed wide and long enough to fit his entire squadron was curtained by four large black iron posters, twisted elegantly and leading up to a canopy of thick black velvet and a sheer, gossamer curtain that appeared to have been treated with crystal shards to give the appearance of a night sky.
His steps were quick to dodge plush chairs and low tables to make it to the bed, lying her out as carefully as he could and stepping back with another quick, heaving breath.
“Out of the way- Out of the way-!”
The booming voice of the Head Maid caused a large number of people hovering in the open doorway of the first threshold to leap back and out of her path. The man in her vulture-like grasp was none other than the Court Physician, and he looked like he would rather be walking at his own pace. Nevertheless, the old woman practically threw the man into the reception room before spinning on her heel to grasp the edges of the Monarch Chamber’s doors, heaving in a heavy breath before letting her loud voice carry over the wide-eyed crowd. “Everyone get back to work, now-!”
As if a switch had been flipped, the fiery-eyed, silver snake-haired woman screaming for obedience was gone, replaced with a kindly old woman one often used to describe a loving grandmother or nanny.
“Guests of the Onyx Castle, I beg you to please excuse the interruption to your morning. As you can see, we are handling a minor difficulty. I encourage you to relax with a cup of tea,” her hand waved out, and a line of ten maids with trays of teapots and teacups seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, causing a handful of the nearest nobles to yelp like cats with their tails tread upon. “We will have the matter resolved as soon as possible. Good day.” She did a quick, curtsy, and slammed the doors hard enough to cause the chandelier directly outside the doorway in the hall to tremble.
Back inside the room, Taelison had herded the physician into the bed chambers while Zorion stood as a silent sentry at her bedside, one hand on the handle of his sword and his eyes trained firmly on the door. The older woman took a moment to collect herself, taking a deep, bracing breath before pushing her specs up her nose and walking straight-backed to the second threshold. Her eyes fell upon the bright, sunflower-blonde hair of Taelison first, flicking across his handsome features and settling upon his teary blue eyes before drifting to Zorion, who stood as his polar opposite with sharp, angular features, weary, unhappy purple eyes, and hair cut in a ragged style around his face and neck to flutter around his shoulders. The kneeling knight looked close to crying while the standing knight looked ready to strike the head from the physician’s shoulders.
Said physician was trembling with obvious nerves and doing his best to find the pulse on her wrist using his stethoscope.
“Where did you find this girl?” he asked after a long, awkward pause.
“Why?”
Zorion’s voice was clipped and unfriendly, dark with the promise of death should the answer to his own question not be satisfactory.
“B-be-because sh-she’d dressed l-li-like a m-m-man-!” The physician nearly had to force the words from his trembling lips. Sweat beaded at his brow, the receding line of his hair already damp with it. He looked like a wind would blow him over, undernourished, or under-rested, or both. He dressed in a modest, grey suit and robe, with a medicinal pin holding the shoulder of his white sash together. It was a standard medicinal pin, a bright silver staff entwined with dueling fanged serpents backed by jagged dragon wings.
He’d joked from a young age that it was the least helpful object for his bedside manner.
“It doesn’t matter where she came from, only that she was able to open the doors,” Zorion shot down the man’s obvious questions without care. The man looked as if he’d had a boulder dropped on his head.
“R.. right..” The physician let out a quiet sigh and continued his examination.
“Boys,” the Head Maid quipped.
Taelison jumped as if he’d done something wrong, a clear tell, while Zorion barely offered her a furtive glance before returning his eyes to the sleeping woman beneath the rich black covers.
“We performed the ritual to summon the closest blood relation to a lock of hair from Lady Clementine’s hairbrush,” Taelison hurried to tell her, causing the physician to let out a scandalized gasp and Zorion to facepalm hard enough to leave a small mark.
The Head Maid could only gape at the words that had poured out of Taelison’s mouth.
“The ritual that was made illegal,” she muttered, her voice raspy with age and disbelief.
“..yes..” Taelison whispered.
The elder woman collapsed into the plush settee, burying her face in her hands and saying a quiet prayer under her breath.
“Blessed be the Goddess of the Stone and the six deities beside her. May you have mercy on the souls of my kin and my neighbors and mercy on my spirit....”
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