carl@fire

"Are we under attack?" demanded Archbishop Leofrick as he stormed down the hallway.

Princess Isemeine followed behind, the last one in the party of five that trouped through the halls away from the Royal Tea Room which she hated so much.

"We're unsure, Your Holiness!" reported the man—one of the King's aides, if Isemeine recalled correctly. He'd been recovering from an illness of his privates until very recently and had been unable to join King Owyne on the supposedly-quick trip that would remove the threat of devilspawn invasion once and for all.

Isemeine still wasn't sure how she felt about such a thing. Her thinking tutor had proposed the idea that one could believe nothing that they did not personally witness, and even then that it was up to a person to decide whether they believed what they saw and heard. Mister Godfry had always posed the most interesting questions out of all her tutors.

She'd struggled with the implications of the kindly old man's words and lessons right up until he'd been put to death many years later for being a devil sympathizer. The inquisition she'd faced after his demise had been harsh, and while she may have managed to imply that she'd dismissed everything he'd said as the ramblings of a lunatic, the court's opinion of her had subtly shifted afterwards.

No doubt the reason I was the one who Father betrothed to the outworlder cretin when he demanded A Princess as his payment in exchange for acting on behalf of the kingdom. The young girl shuddered, but not as a result of fear. Perhaps the thing will tire him out again, and he'll let me alone for the night.

"—Normannus has already gone out to the cliff-watch to call upon his blessings and make certain!" the aide was saying, the name of her husband-to-be drawing her out of her thoughts.

Isemeine's ears perked up. Out of the castle? A sudden inspiration struck her. Treat me like his NPC, will he? She reached out and grasped her mother by the arm. "Mother, hold a moment."

The queen, second-to-last in the Archbishop's retinue, stopped and turned around while the three men continued on. "What is is it, Isemeine?" she asked, seeming distracted, likely from her strong desire to bathe after having a cup filled with tea and her daughter's vomit upend on her during the impact.

"Mother," Isemeine said, folding her arms deliberately and drawing herself up to her tallest height, the crown of her head reaching even a little higher than the older woman's, "I want that thing removed from the castle." She set her chin lower, the position she used when she was preparing to dig her heels in. "Immediately."

Her mother blinked, seemingly caught with her guard down. "But—"

"No excuses this time, Mother," Isemeine declared. She pulled the scarf from her neck once more, displaying her shame. "It leaves now, or I shall ride through the city, uncovered, and speak my mind to all who would know. The people always loved me the most for being so plain-spoken—isn't that what they say, Mother?" She glared to emphasize her point.

In an irregular turn of events, Queen Merwenna found herself on the defensive and at a loss for words. "I…"

"You already know the maids will be gossiping," Isemeine said, driving the implications home. "How I behave after will determine whether the people believe it." Her glare changed to a scowl. "And don't bother trying to lock me in my chambers again. You know as well as I how unseemly that would be."

Her mother's jaw clenched for a moment. "Fine," she said in a tight voice. "Better now while he's distracted than when he'll throw a tantrum over it, I suppose." Her gaze became suddenly calculating. "An effective strategy, Isemeine. Were it not for your…unorthodox views on some matters, I would feel regret that you're no longer in line for succession."

Princess Isemeine, fourth daughter of Charus Kingdom and the only child without the potential to succeed the current ruler due to the possibility of her mind being tainted from the past tutoring of a known devil sympathizer, avoided showing her disgust on her face just as how she bit her tongue to prevent herself from speaking up on behalf of her favorite tutor. Who would desire to rule a kingdom such as this? Even were I to attempt to restore some semblance of sanity, I'd be forced to war against not one, but two religious orders. I don't know that I'd want peace with the devilspawn or the other races after how they've slaughtered and attacked us, but surely there could be some room to negotiate a non-aggression pact that they wouldn't break? Perhaps if I were the one negotiating—

"Come along," her mother said after a moment, a look of slight regret on her face as she turned and began walking.

Isemeine snapped out of her thoughts and fell into step behind her mother out of habit, wrapping her scarf back around her neck. "Will you kill it?" she asked, mostly out of curiosity.

Her mother laughed. "Surely you jest. We'll sell her. Do you have even the slightest idea how valuable she is with all those magical seals on her?"

Isemeine felt her stomach churn. She didn't know what the magical drawings on its body did, but… She shook her head. She refused to consider the possibility. "How valuable is it?" she asked with the hope that this avenue of discussion would bring her thoughts away from the sheer evilness of what her thoughts had brushed against.

"Hm," her mother said, her tone thoughtful. They passed a pair of guards at the end of the otherwise-empty hallway. "Willelmus, Emaurri, come with us," she called without looking back. "I have a task that requires the utmost discretion. You'll receive a bonus of…" She paused for a moment. "One thousand coins for your silence and service on this matter." The queen rounded on them, coming to a stop for a moment. Her brows drew down. "However, if I hear even the slightest whisper of this after, I'll ensure that both you and your families are sent to the inquisition under suspicion of devil sympathizing. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Highness!" both of the soldiers responded in near-unison, no doubt a product of their rigorous training for joining the Royal Guard.

"Good," said the queen, smiling slightly at the reaction she'd elicited. "This way." She led them to a familiar staircase, up two flights, and along another hallway until they reached another door. They passed no other soldiers or guards on that floor, the posts having long been vacated so the Hero could have his privacy.

Queen Merwenna opened the recently-replaced door and walked into the Hero's chambers, a large trio of rooms complete with a balcony that overlooked the city. The quartet of royalty and soldiers moved through the main room into the bedroom, led by the queen who seemed slightly too familiar with the location of various objects that she stepped past.

It lay motionless and unbreathing on the bed, just as it always did when Isemeine had seen it. The signs of recent use were evident everywhere on it.

Isemeine covered her mouth to conceal her intense disgust. Was it ever something that could think?

The idea was not a new one.

She'd first encountered it as a little girl when she'd gone to her father's chambers with a question regarding how the steam engine that the dwarven craftsmen had created—how water—could possibly be powerful enough to move the Royal Carriage and its massive weight. She couldn't move the carriage; she'd tried, thinking it was a trick of its construction—that the vehicle must weigh almost nothing. She'd found that not to be the case.

It had been laying on her father's bed then, just as it was laying on her husband-to-be's now, as he reviewed documents at his desk on the opposite side of his bedroom. She'd asked what it was, never having seen anything like it, but her father had ushered her quickly from the room and distracted her with a the promise of a new tutor to explain mechanics.

The thing looked exactly the same now as it had then, if she recalled properly. It showed no lines from age, no damage from use…

Could it get pregnant? She grimaced at the new and uncomfortable thought. Surely not. It may have a body resembling a woman's—with some differences—but it must be some form of magical construct to endure as it does. She felt a sudden relief. That must be what the magic symbols are for. They supply it with the magical energy it requires to sustain itself. It was never a being that could think for itself.

The body had been wrapped in the sheets from the bed—sheets spun from the finest silk—and hoisted onto the shoulders of the soldiers when she came out of her thoughts.

"—to the Creature Marketplace," her mother was saying. "Let's set it at… Well, I'm certain he'll choose a fitting a starting bid. If a discerning gentleman wishes to purchase her immediately, hm…" She tapped a finger against her chin. "Fifty million."

The eyes of the guards bulged. Even Isemeine was shocked enough that her mouth hung open. That amount of coin could fund a kingdom for years! Only a handful of the wealthiest lords could possibly hope to afford such an amount, and only if they spent nearly every coin to their name!

"Yes, that seems fair," said the queen with a nod. "They can keep fifteen percent; lower than their usual fee, but I think they'll be quite pleased anyway considering their profit."

"Um…" One of the soldiers looked over his shoulder at the item they carried.

"Will it be safe to transport this with just the two of us?" asked the second.

"Of course," the queen scoffed. "It's death for any who breathe even a word that she exists, so none would know unless they'd personally seen her. As long as you keep the sheet wrapped tightly like that, no one will be the wiser."

"Um," repeated the first guard, still looking as worried as any man would if his family's lives were at stake.

Queen Merwenna sighed and pressed fingers to her temples. "You'll be using the emergency tunnel! There's a door near the tunnel's exit that leads into the Creature Marketplace from the back!"

"Oh!" the first soldier exclaimed, his face brightening.

"Of course you would use the tunnel for something involving the Creature Marketplace," the queen said, suddenly suspicious. "You wouldn't publicly walk in the main entrance wearing your armor, would you?"

"N-no, Your Highness!" said the first soldier in a clear panic.

"What Willelmus means to say," said the second, "is that he's overwhelmed by the honor and generosity that Your Highness bestows upon us with this opportunity."

The first soldier jumped slightly. "Yes, of course!"

Queen Merwenna tsked in irritation. "I'm sure. See that it's done as quickly as possible. Return to me immediately with the notice of receipt."

"Yes, Your Highness," said the second, smarter soldier. Being closer to the doorway to the main room, he started towards it and pulled his fellow along behind him before anything further could be misspoken.

Isemeine stepped aside to allow them easier passage. Nothing was visible through or around the silk wrapping. "I'm going, too," she said on a whim as they passed through the exit and into the hallway.

Her mother frowned in greater irritation. "What?"

"I want to be certain that it's gone," the princess said, improvising. She didn't know why she felt the need to be elsewhere, but something tugged at her, prodded her to be somewhere, anywhere but inside the castle at this moment. She felt claustrophobic, except that it was not the result of being in a confined space.

"I had no idea you were so troubled by her," her mother said, irritation changing to amusement. She waved her hand. "No matter, do as you wish. Perhaps the time underground will cool your temper."

Isemeine paused with her mouth open, expecting another battle. Instead of gloating, she harrumphed and turned on her heel to hurry after the guards at a speed that was approaching the limits of how quickly royalty could be seen to move outside of an emergency. She pulled her scarf off, then wrapped it differently to go up and over her hair, which she tucked into the back of her dress. It wouldn't do for royalty to be seen heading for the emergency tunnel unless it were an emergency, either. Her dress was austere enough—and the wrong color—so it was safe to believe that she could be mistaken for one of the lesser nobles so long as she didn't stop to chat.

She caught up with the duo just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, falling into line behind them. "I'll be supervising," she announced, making them aware of her presence.

"As expected," the smarter soldier called back immediately, as though attempting to respond before his companion could speak. "My Lady always has the greatest eye for details."

Princess Isemeine didn't bother to respond, instead following in silence as they meandered through the castle along seldom-used—but still opulent—hallways. Her thoughts raced along pathways that she had no wish to remain on, but she seemed powerless to shift them onto another course.

Abruptly, she caught sight of another soldier racing towards her, seeming to be in a hurry. The sight was unusual enough within the castle that Isemeine turned her head to follow, the woman's speed having piqued her curiosity.

"—cond wave!" shouted a man's voice in the distance. "Ring it quickly!"

She frowned. A second wave, he said? One was strange enough, but two—

They rounded a nearby corner at an intersection, and a fist of soldiers came into view as they ran towards and then past the trio of princess and soldiers.

"—mannus is prepared to block with his blessed shield," one of them, a captain by his ranking blazon and the owner of the voice that she'd heard in the distance just a moment earlier, was calling back over his shoulder. They came to a stop at the T-intersection that Isemeine had just passed, and she paused to listen, stroking her chin as she considered what she heard. "Galiene, you and Christofre make for the mage quarters. I trust in Her blessing—always—but I fear it may not be enough." He gestured down the path that continued from where Isemeine had emerged, and a pair of soldiers forked off. "We continue on to warn Her Highness!" He set off again back the way that Isemeine had come, disappearing swiftly from sight.

The princess turned, spotting her soldiers near the end of the hallway where they'd stopped when they realized she had fallen behind. She began walking again, this time at a more brisk pace. Could it be the seadevils? I've seen the reports of their attacks on our shipping lanes, but for them to come this far inland… A cunning tactic if they were able to to swim all the way up the river undetected by our mages.

One of the soldiers unlocked and pulled the door to the emergency tunnel open as the gigantic alarm bell atop its tower began to ring, then raised his hand again to hold his burden steady where it had been resting on his shoulder. "Maybe not a bad time to be taking the tunnel, eh, My Lady?" asked Willelmus in a jocular tone.

"Not to worry, of course," the smarter Emaurri was quick to add, standing back to allow the princess to enter the tunnel first, as befit her royal stature. "I'm sure your husband-to-be will prevent any dangers with ease."

Isemeine began walking down the long staircase, taking a light gem from its holder on the wall to illuminate her passage down the steep decline. The magic-infused rock grew brighter in her hand and lit up the corridor as though they were outside under the suns. "Yes, I'm certain he will," she said in a flat tone. If only to demand another payment of some kind. With the way he's been eyeing my sisters of late, I can imagine what he'll want this time. At least this will be some small manner of conveying my feelings towards him. She heard the door shut behind her and turned back, confirming that the soldiers and their burden had entered behind her.

They walked in silence for a while, the stairs wrapping back under themselves in a feat of craftsmanship that spiraled deep under the castle. Then it began.

At first it was a faint rumbling that was barely audible. They paid it no heed.

Next, a brief moment later, it grew to a noticeable sound not unlike thunder.

Before they could react, the sound was a deafening roar which rumbled so powerfully the trio was forced to halt and brace themselves against the stone walls or risk losing their footing.