Page 17 of Angel in Absentia (Light Locked #2)
Clea nearly snorted and had to stifle it with a subtle cough that she promptly recovered from.
Idan scratched his face to cover a broad grin before pushing a strand of sandy-brown hair from his face and surveying the rest of the room cautiously.
Clearing her throat, she whispered back, “My father would be ashamed to know that he’s arranged a marriage with a Ruedain man who seems to exhibit Ruedom’s worst qualities of lack of decorum and disrespect of tradition.”
Idan leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him as he wrapped his humor into a contended, unassuming smile. “I pay homage to any man capable of maintaining either of those things in your presence.”
“I’m afraid you’ve fallen for a trick,” she said, eyes still set on the empty stage in front of them and the brown curtain beyond. “I don’t even recognize myself when I wear all of this and catch a mirror. I’m convinced you’ve never actually seen me.”
“Then trick me please. Oh, you must know, people love to be deceived.”
“What is it with people being so content to be lied to?” she said flatly.
“No one actually wants the truth.” He paused and glanced over at her.
“Well, no one who wasn’t deprived of it so thoroughly in her early years.
” His smile faded as he said seriously, “I know you likely feel your conquest in Virday is being overlooked in the wake of everyone’s demands.
I must say, though, I’m glad you’re back. Glad you’re safe.”
She looked over at him, for once breaking her gaze from the stage ahead. “Thank you.”
“For what it’s worth, what you managed was certainly an accomplishment, but if you are to wage war, then I would be at a loss.
What is left for me to do at your side? My staff keep me appraised of your training and readings only so that I train the slightest bit harder and read the slightest bit more.
After what you’ve managed the last several years, I’m now the most well-trained, well-educated man in all of Ruedom. My father near thinks me a genius.”
She knew his words were flattery, as they often were, but she couldn’t deny how good they felt. She nodded in cool acknowledgment, glancing at him sparingly with the faintest hint of humor that she felt she could openly share.
To finish, he continued only with, “I hope to become such a man that while you are restrained to the castle, you find some level of contentment knowing that I am the one fighting in your place. It is my duty that you think to yourself, ‘better him than me,’ and feel safe and content that I represent you beyond the castle.”
Her eyes settled into his, and she wanted to reach for his hand, embracing the thoughtfulness of the gesture. Instead, softly, she replied, “How are you?”
He nodded, acknowledging the limits of her ability to respond but seeing the gesture nested in her question. Another figure passed by her, sitting close. She and Idan both turned to see Yvan settled into a chair to her left. She was dressed in formal Lodain wear, but she looked haggard.
Clea faced forward again, but Idan continued to stare across her as he seemed to notice her rigidity.
“Yvan,” Clea greeted quietly. “You don’t look well.”
Yvan adjusted restlessly in her chair. “A sudden illness.”
“Must be something you ate,” Clea replied, eyes forward. “I told you not to eat the castle food.”
Idan leaned over, scanning her face and then looking over at Yvan. “You touched her?” he asked.
“She keeps doing it and I keep telling her not to,” Clea said. “She’s most obstinate. Iris can get away with it, but many of our servants aren’t partial to Virdain guests.”
Idan leaned across her in the slightest way as he spoke to Yvan. “You don’t touch her. That’s the first and most basic rule.”
Yvan propped her head up in her hand and rolled her eyes with a subtle grunt.
“I told you to be careful and you keep taking it as a challenge,” Clea said and saw Idan hiding his grin beside her. “I can’t control every action of my people. In fact, sometimes I happen to find them quite out of my control.”
“I didn’t like it either at first. I thought it was a joke,” Idan said, inspecting a small scar on his palm as if he’d never seen it before.
“Your Highness, you must have issued a decree to keep her alive. One of the servants heard me tell you that you had beautiful eyes and I found rotten fish skin in my tea the next morning. Here I thought I was a prince and thus had some sliver of immunity.”
“Apologies,” Clea said. “We had new staff in our kitchen who have since been released from employment. I’ll look into it.”
“That’s exactly what Catagard said to me too, and I promise he didn’t look into it. I’m more afraid of the servants here than the guards,” Idan grumbled.
“We take very good care of our servants as service is a high virtue in Loda. As part of the royal family, I am also considered a servant, and so our servants are their own form of royalty. Quite unruly.”
Catagard caught Clea’s smile from across the room as his eyes moved from Idan to Clea to Yvan and back to Idan again with a contented nod.
Clea wondered what he thought, realizing that as the symbol of Loda, she now had Ruedom to one side and Virday to the other.
She imagined, perhaps, that Catagard had noticed that symbolism too, perhaps even seen the strength in it.
Maybe Clea had made a good call in solidifying Yvan’s position after all.
Time would tell. It had been another rather risky and unusual judgment on her part.
For a rare moment, Clea leaned back in her chair and relaxed, allowing her eyes to scan the room of public servants. Catagard stood and announced that the performance would soon begin.
“Prince of Ruedom,” Catagard said, “we give the room to you.”
Idan nodded from beside Clea, standing and taking his place upon the broad stage of wood and stone.
Poised in his refined navy clothes, with a neat, angular face and combed brown hair, he spoke firmly.
His full voice, empty now of jests, sounded strong as it washed across the room.
He addressed everyone to honor the holy day on which the history of their people would now be replayed.
The cast members of the performance were a mixture of Lodain and Ruedain actors and actresses, ferried over for artistic collaboration, retelling the history of their people as it was understood by both cities and historians.
He took his seat again, leaned over to her, and murmured, “We made some modifications I think you’ll like.”
Clea raised an eyebrow, sure that if he made such a suggestion, the rest of Loda wouldn’t like it at all.
He only grinned mischievously, and the play began.
First it told the story of Oliver Padren, a Virdain blacksmith who had mastered the Veilin discipline of reinforcing weaponry so thoroughly that he was elected as the city’s hero.
He could craft weapons so spectacular and bless them so artfully that his blades could cut through the deepest darkness.
Strong and burly, he represented the city of Virday, but also the body mankind.
Second, it told the story of Vanida Rigalia, a clever merchant who ultimately became a premier military strategist in a time of crisis.
She mastered the Veilin discipline of expulsion, able to expel cien from vast valleys with such grandeur it was as if she could turn night to day.
Known for her cunning, she represented the mind of mankind and was elected as the hero of Ruedom.
Third, it told the story of Helina Hart, a brave warrior said to have risked her life time and time again in warfare.
Fearless and bold, she mastered the art of barriers and seals, capable of crafting barriers so powerful that they could trap or block out cien with all certainty.
In her courage, she represented the heart of humanity and was elected as the hero of Loda.
Clea enjoyed the vast theatrics of each introduction, but Ruedom was unmatched in its performances, and unlike Loda’s commitment to simplicity, Ruedom’s theatrics were beautiful and elaborate with rich uses of color, fire, sound, and reflective fabric.
She waited with ease for the next phase of the play and was startled when a fourth hero was represented.
Lastly, they introduced Eras Esperrow, a name unfamiliar to Clea beyond the deepest recesses of her research.
She balked as they explained that he had been unmatched in wisdom and foresight, mastering the art of healing to such a degree that he could restore the essence of time itself.
He was so renowned for his gifts that he was elected as the hero of the city of Salanes, and represented the soul of humanity.
The silence in the auditorium was palpable, an intentional pause left as if for everyone to absorb the implications.
It had been forever since anyone in Loda had openly declared the existence of Salanes.
Clea looked over at Idan, who was already watching her with a grin on his face.
“One step closer to truth,” he whispered to her. “I think we are at last brave enough to take it.”
The words filled her heart with pride, and she glowed, unable to resist a glance at Catagard, who to no surprise was watching her with the same raised brow she’d given Idan just moments ago.
He did not seem distraught or appalled. Rather, he continued to look at her, seated between Yvan and Idan, as if he’d known the truth from the start. She swore she saw the slightest smile, though perhaps she imagined it.
Regardless, she looked back at the play as the Warlord of Shambelin made his entrance. Inspired and surrounded by loved ones, she knew she was ready for tonight’s healing.
Her people would be with her.