Chapter 59

Star-crossed

“There is no need to dig into the lies to find the truth; it is always there, blinding the eyes. We simply choose to ignore it.”

Mind of the Heretic, Vol. X

Though it hadn’t even been a complete couple of months since he left, Noah found himself feeling somewhat nostalgic as he drifted back into his room, a somewhat spacy, yet sparsely decorated chamber of four, dull walls. He’d already asked Myrell to go and fetch Quickett, while telling Sash to find Evel and Syl and have them wait for him in the dining hall. He was not alone, however, as both Claire and Lyon entered after him, almost tip-toeing into the room, insecure.

Noah ignored them, quickly dragging his feet over to his work table where an assortment of bottles was laid up against the wall, seemingly calling out to him. Nothing has changed since he left, save for the increased security within and without the Palace. Glancing back, he saw the two still standing in the middle of the room, awkwardly fidgeting.

“Take a seat wherever you’d like,” he called out to them. “Flint has caused you some trouble, it seems. My apologies.”

“N-no, of course not,” Claire quickly shook her head. “He saved us. We are eternally grateful.”

“… I won’t stand in-between you two,” Noah’s eyes looked at Claire’s directly, freezing her in that spot. Though she suspected that the strange Dacent and Flint were the same person, something about their countenance was woefully different – the way they looked at people. While Flint seemed detached, she could always spot a trace of empathy, at least to some capacity, in his gaze. He felt sorry for her, she knew; the Dacent, however, didn’t have that. She felt cold beneath those eyes and that gaze, wholly naked, as though he could see past all of her walls without even breaking them down. “But you should understand the waters you’ll be swimming in from now on. Officially, you are my slave, but I’ve no intention of saving you if something happens. Act at your own discretion.”

“O-of course!” she quickly nodded. “I am beyond grateful even for this! Any more would be embarrassing.”

“… you’re a Lady of the House,” Noah said, pulling his attention back on the papers he pulled out and over his table. “You ought to be able to navigate these halls well-enough. Sit down,” he said again as Lyon pulled Claire to the side and forced her to sit down onto the sofa on the other side of the room, opposite of Noah. “If you fancy anything you see, don’t be shy.”

The room turned to silence as Noah slowly began going over his records, jotting down the losses he’d suffered in the Fort and potential ways of making them up. In addition, he scoured over the list of people they’d lent money to, and, much to his surprise, only one person refused to pay back. Of the two hundred that were initially lent out, Syl had already collected an additional forty-eight, lacking only the remaining twelve. He’d suspected a much smaller turnout, but it seemed that his ‘stunt’ had a much greater effect than he initially suspected.

The one person who didn’t return the crowns was a small-time merchant, Etol Foyl, thirty-eight, no wife, no kids. According to the records Olivia sent over, he resided just outside the gates, in a small set of tenement-like houses. Hmm… I guess I can pay him a visit on my way to the slaver’s market…

Just then, he was pulled out of his thoughts by the creaking doors, causing him to glance backward. He was just as he remembered him to be – dressed queerly, from head to toe, in colors defying the order, with a giant grin plastered on his face, and bells hanging from the silly hat and elbows, tingling.

“My, my, you’ve been away for so long, I’d thought you died,” Quickett said, immediately moving toward Noah. “You’ve made me sad, dear Dacent.”

“Gone?” Noah arched his brow, smiling faintly. “Gone to where?”

“H-huh? Didn’t you say you were going to the Fort?” Quickett asked.

“No,” Noah said. “I said I’d send someone to the Fort.”

“Eh? Really? So where were you? I was lonely, you know?” Quickett said, leaning onto his desk.

“Avoiding you, mostly,” Noah replied, taking a sweeping glance of the back room where he saw Claire shaking and trembling, her eyes growing teary. “You’re still the same as always, I see.”

“Eeh~~ how can you be so cruel? I thought we had something special.”

“… eyes always betray the desire,” Noah chuckled, causing Quickett’s eyebrows to twitch. “You can ask, you know? Or… are you too afraid to know?”

“… could it be that it was that someone you sent to the Fort that caused all that hell to break loose?” Quickett asked.

“Partly, I suppose,” Noah said. “It appeared that I promised you something rather outlandish, in the end.”

“So, you failed?”

“I never fail,” Noah said, turning his eyes back to the desk and pointing to the side. “You’d do well to remember that.”

Quickett’s eyes slowly followed the finger until they landed on the two figures sitting on the opposite end of the room, one of whom immediately vanished from his eyes as the entire focus was drawn at the boyish-looking woman shaking and sobbing. No matter how much she changed her appearance, he would have recognized her regardless. Words got stuck in his throat immediately as his lips parted, woefully trying to utter coherent sounds.

Noah put down the quill and got up, stretching; he didn't do well with atmospheres like these when the sensations mellow out and traction reaches almost palpable levels. He looked away from the two lovers and saw a young boy with the cold-stone expression hiding the pain beneath. Smiling to himself, he sighed and walked over.

“Little lion,” he said, causing Lyon to look up. “Escort me on a walk.”

“…” Lyon remained muted for a moment, glancing at Claire from the corner of his eyes; however, it appeared as though she didn’t even register him or the Dacent, her eyes perpetually glued to the clown in front of her. Reluctantly, he got up and followed after the strange Dacent with his head lowered and a feeling there was a haul of arms beckoning at his back, trying to get him to turn around and return to the room.

“What’s it like?” the Dacent asked.

“… what?” Lyon mumbled.

“The first heartbreak.”

“…”

“… don’t be so down on yourself. You’re still rather young, you know?”

“… w-what would you know?!” Lyon stuttered through his teeth, a rational part of his mind telling him to stop talking, yet it all felt too heavy. Too grave. “You probably never even bedded a woman!”

“… oh?” Noah grinned. “So you have?”

“A-ah, uh…”

“That sounds interesting; could you please tell me what it felt like? I am terribly curious as I, per your words, have never bedded a woman before.”

“I… I…”

“… I know very well what it feels like to look at the face of someone you love and see them staring into another’s eyes,” Lyon felt a soft pat on his head as he glanced up, meeting a somewhat limp expression hanging on the Dacent’s face. “And I very much know the feeling of self-loathing you’re trying to ignore right now.”

“…”

“But… it will pass.”

“… I don’t want it to pass…” Lyon mumbled as they continued down the winding corridor of stoned and beautifully decorated walls that he had completely missed. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I always intended to just watch over her and ensure she lives a happy life.”

“… ah, to be young and stubborn,” Noah chuckled. “You remind me an awful lot of my younger self.”

“Eww…”

“Oh, that hurt, young man,” Noah laughed, shaking his head. “But don’t you worry; I have the perfect cure for the heartache.”

“… what?”

“Booze. Lots and lots of booze.”

“…”

Meanwhile, inside Noah’s chambers, the two remaining souls were still standing in silence, staring into each other’s eyes. It took a few minutes before Quickett came to, slowly stumbling over, one step at a time. As he reached the sofa, he extended his arm over and pressed it against her head, then her cheeks, then her lips. They were soft, familiar, shaking. She was there, sitting in front of him, not an illusion or a hallucination like always. But she… made of flesh and bones.

Claire extended her arm up and grasped his hand by hers, pressing it closely against her cheek as she snuggled further in. His touch, despite the years past, was familiar. Extremely familiar. Warm. Calming.

“… it’s really you…” Quickett mumbled, slumping onto his knees and looking up at her smiling, weeping face.

“It’s me,” she said. “It’s really me…”

“You are here.”

“I’m right here.”

“… I…” words, once again, got stuck in his throat. “I’ve missed you…”

“I know. I’ve missed you too…” she wrung both her arms around him and pulled his head onto her lap, bending down and pressing her forehead against the top of his head. “So, so much…”

It was a quaint moment of silence, the sun’s light pressing through the narrow gap in the windows, bathing the two in gentle warmth. Amidst the raging storm the Kingdom was undergoing, the two ignored the peril of reality and retreated into the shell of isolation, their own, little world hidden from the eyes of everyone else. One that they had built up years ago, amidst the hazy, green fields and narrow, mountain-roads winding about the behemoths.

It was just the same, she realized. His touch, his breath, his voice… what she was told to bury forever resurfaced so easily, as though it was always there, just a layer beneath, hardly hidden. She loved him, and all the sins that love entailed. However, would he love her just the same if he knew the truth? She was afraid. Afraid to tell him, to reason and explain what happened. Yet, there was no reason – she knew. For all he knew, she was rescued from a dungeon. Perhaps, for now – she mused further – it was best she kept silent and enjoyed her life, indulging herself in the sweet sensations of reality that she hadn't felt in years, and might not feel ever again.