Chương 30: The Imperial Bloodline (6)

A young man strode in wearing a dark riding coat over light armor, one glove still tucked under his belt. He looked to be around Teren's age, with pale blond hair tied back loosely and a face handsome enough to make the scowl look practiced. Dried mud marked his boots. A shallow cut had been bandaged along his jaw, and he carried himself as if the wound offended him more than it hurt. Two guards stood behind him, looking distinctly embarrassed.

"Your men tried to keep me out," the young man said with a scowl. Duke Ordaan's voice cooled.

"They were only obeying my order." The young man stopped. His eyes moved from the duke to the mage, then Yaros, and finally to Teren. His expression changed.

"Why is there a filthy slave in your chamber?" Teren felt the insult, but not deeply. He had already been called worse since arriving in this world. He decided that whoever could openly raise his voice against the Duke of Karthane was not someone he wanted to offend on his very first day in the palace, as much as he wanted to retort back. Ordaan's face did not change.

"He is my guest. You will not speak of him that way." The young man looked Teren up and down. For a moment, he seemed ready to argue.

"Cassian!" Ordaan said. The young man's jaw tightened, and he looked away. But only for a moment. He turned back to Teren with a sneer.

"What kind of guest arrives barefoot to a duke's chamber anyway?" The duke looked at the young man.

"His clothes are hardly your concern, Cassian." Cassian only gave a dismissive scoff. Edras turned to the duke.

"Your grace, I should take him to the guest wing."

"Go. I'll have the household staff informed that both of you will be staying in the guest wing." Teren followed Edras toward the door. As they passed, Cassian did not step aside until the last moment, forcing Teren to turn slightly to avoid brushing against him. Up close, Teren could see a controlled strength in the way Cassian carried himself. Whatever else the young man was, his confidence did not seem entirely empty. Cassian gave him a faint sneer.

"Try not to dirty the rugs." Teren ignored him and kept walking. The doors closed behind him, but not before Cassian's voice carried through.

"I came straight from Gate Seven of the dungeon. A fifth-tier troll had killed one man and injured two more before I put it down, and your guards still thought—" The door shut fully. The rest was cut off. Teren glanced at Edras.

"Who the hell was that?"

"Cassian Rovanar," Edras said quietly.

"Duke Ordaan's second son. He's nineteen, the same age as you. He'll begin his third year at the Academy in a few weeks."

"He seems pleasant." Edras gave him a flat look. Teren looked back at the closed door.

"And he killed a fifth-tier troll in the dungeon?"

"With help from the gate guards, I would assume. But Cassian is already a third-circle mage."

"Is that considered high?"

"For his age, very. Students beginning their third year are required to have reached first circle to continue their studies. The better students sometimes reach second circle by then. Third circle at his age is certainly rare." Teren frowned.

"But how did a third-circle mage kill a fifth-tier monster?"

"The numbers don't correspond exactly," Edras said.

"A fifth-tier monster would still be extremely dangerous for a third-circle mage alone. The gate guards must have helped, but bringing it down at Cassian's age is still very impressive." Teren stared at the door again. Third-circle mage already, and he had killed a fifth-tier monster today. So Cassian really was some kind of prodigy. They walked down the corridor in silence for a while. At the next turn, Edras slowed.

"You did well enough in there."

"Did I?"

"You did not panic. You produced the flame. You did not say more than you should have." Edras looked ahead again.

"For today, that is sufficient." Teren rubbed his fingers. They still tingled where the purple flame had been.

"Marshal Yaros did not seem to trust me." Edras snorted.

"Yaros could count on one hand the people he actually trusts. The duke and I are two of them." This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. A maid approached from the far end of the corridor before Teren could reply. She was middle-aged, neatly dressed, and was careful not to stare at his ragged clothes.

"Master Edras," she said with a bow.

"A room has been prepared in the second-floor guest wing."

"For him?"

"Yes, master. Your usual room is being opened as well." Edras nodded.

"Show him to his room. Provide him with food, a bath, and clean clothes. No visitors unless I approve them." The maid bowed again.

"Of course." Edras turned to Teren.

"Rest. I will come tomorrow, and we will decide how to proceed." Teren glanced once toward the duke's chamber, then nodded.

"Tomorrow." After Edras walked away, he followed the maid down the corridor. The maid led Teren away from the duke's chamber and deeper into the palace. Two guards accompanied them, apparently the protection Yaros had ordered. One walked a few paces ahead while the other followed behind Teren. Both wore dark green and silver over mail, cleaner and better fitted than the uniforms of the guards at the intake compound. Teren still wasn't used to the change. He had begun the morning chained in a wagon as a slave.

Now he was a guest of the duke with two palace guards assigned to protect him. It felt... weird, to say the least. The maid did not speak until they reached a broad staircase with polished stone steps and a carved wooden rail.

"This way, master. Your room is in the east wing." Teren nearly looked behind himself before realizing she meant him.

"I'm not a master of anything," he muttered. The maid glanced back at him, apparently unsure whether he was joking.

"You are a guest of his grace." Apparently, that was enough for her. They climbed to the second floor. The corridors here were quieter, with guest rooms along one side and a waist-high stone railing along the other. Beyond the railing, Teren could look down into a walled courtyard where a fountain ran between trimmed hedges. Long rugs covered much of the corridor, thick enough that their footsteps made little sound.

Paintings hung along the walls between the doors: men in armor, women in formal robes, a hunting party with antlered beasts larger than horses, ships with crystal lamps hanging from their masts. Soon, the maid stopped before a carved door and opened it. The room beyond was larger than even the labor hall in the intake compound where dozens of slaves had slept. A crystal lamp mounted on the wall gave off a soft yellow glow, bright enough to light the room without making it harsh.

A large bed stood against the far wall. The frame was dark wood, carved with leaves and small birds. A thick rug covered most of the floor. Two chairs sat near the window with a small table between them. A side door led to a washroom, where a copper tub was already steaming and folded towels had been stacked on a stool. A wardrobe stood open, showing shirts, trousers, a dark outer coat, socks, and soft leather shoes. One of the guards entered first.

He checked the room, opened the wardrobe, and disappeared briefly through the door to the washroom before returning.

"It's clear." The guards then took up positions on either side of the doorway as the maid gestured for Teren to enter. Teren stopped for a moment as he took in the clean clothes, the steaming bath, and the large bed. After everything that had happened since he arrived in this world, having all three waiting for him felt strange. The maid seemed to notice his hesitation but did not comment on it.

"The clothes may not fit perfectly. They were prepared quickly. A tailor can be sent tomorrow if Master Edras approves."

"They're fine," Teren said.

"The bath has already been filled with hot water, and food will be brought shortly. His grace has also ordered that you are not to leave the guest wing without an escort." That part was hardly surprising. After everything Ordaan and Yaros had said, they were clearly not going to let him wander around the palace without protection.

"I understand."

"If you need anything else, tell one of the guards. They can send for a servant."

"Thank you." The maid bowed and left. The door closed behind her. For a few seconds, Teren stood alone in the quiet room, not sure what to do. Then he crossed to the wardrobe and touched the sleeve of one of the shirts. The cloth was finer than anything he had worn since arriving in this world, which made him notice just how dirty his hands still were. He looked down at himself. His clothes were little more than slave rags, his feet were bare and filthy, and dirt had worked its way beneath his nails.

He must have looked completely out of place standing in the duke's chamber. Maybe Cassian's reaction to his appearance shouldn't have been surprising. Teren stripped and climbed into the bath. The hot water stung a few small cuts on his skin at first, but the discomfort soon faded. For a while, he simply sat there and let the heat ease the tension from his muscles. It was the first proper bath he had taken since arriving in this world.

He scrubbed until the water turned noticeably darker and washed his hair twice before he was satisfied. When he finally stepped out and wrapped a towel around himself, his eyes went to the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. He had worn some version of those same rags in nearly every loop since waking in the slave wagon. As filthy as they were, they had become familiar enough that throwing them away felt harder than it should have. Then the smell reached him, and the hesitation disappeared.

The clean clothes were a little loose around the shoulders and too long at the sleeves, but they were warm and comfortable. The shoes fit poorly enough that he left them off for now. Food arrived soon afterward: freshly baked bread, roasted meat, a thick soup, root vegetables in butter, and a pale fruit sliced on a small plate. Compared to what he had eaten as a slave and a conscript, it felt like a meal meant for a king. He sat at the table by the window and tried to eat slowly. That lasted for less than a minute.

He was hungrier than he had realized, though he eventually forced himself to stop before he made himself sick from eating too much too quickly. Outside the window, night had already settled over Karthane. The air was clear enough that Teren could see far across the city, though most of it lay in darkness. Small points of yellow light marked the busier streets and larger buildings, growing sparser toward the outer districts.

Farther away, rows of lanterns or crystal lamps glowed along the top of the distant city wall. Every so often, one of the tiny lights moved slowly along the wall, probably carried by a guard. Considering the monsters which lived in this world, he had no desire to find out what might be roaming beyond it after dark. Teren remained by the window long after he finished eating, looking out over the city he had somehow ended up in. For a while, his thoughts went back to Earth and the life he had left behind.

His friends, his apartment, the places he knew, and all the ordinary things that had never seemed important before he woke inside that wagon. Eventually, he pushed himself away from the window. Thinking about Earth would not help when he had no idea how to return there. Whether he liked it or not, he was in Karthane now, and dwelling on everything he had lost would only make him feel miserable. He looked down at his right hand.

The purple flame he had shown Ordaan had taken repeated attempts to produce, and even then it had barely been the size of a fingernail. If he was going to survive whatever danger found him next, he needed to learn how to use it properly. He slept badly despite the comfort of the room. The mattress was too soft. The sheets were too clean. Every small sound in the corridor woke him: a servant's footsteps, a guard's low voice, a door closing somewhere down the hall.

Twice he woke suddenly, expecting pain before he even remembered where he was. Both times, he lay awake for a while before convincing himself that, for tonight at least, nothing was trying to kill him.