Chapter 110

Undressed Innocence

“Kingbeasts appeared, by accounts of the Runic Stones, before the Age of Light, and before the Age that preceded it. They, once upon a time, stood hundreds of feet tall, and their shadow could block the sun. Now, they are but the fading remnants of uncertain histories.”

Origin Myths, Vol. X

A wailing scream cradled the innermost walls of one of the residences within the Royal Grounds, shaking the world awake just as the sun’s rays began spilling over the horizon. Dozens of guards hurried through the narrowed and curved corridors, some still half-asleep and in their sleeping clothes, toward the source. The latter was a young maid, seeming no older than eighteen, whom a small group of guards found quickly.

She was leaning against the stone wall, ashen in the face, quivering, almost appearing ready to flatten onto the floor. The doors in front of her were flung open, and one of the guards quickly peaked in, his eyes widening in shock.

Inside, almost at the dead-center of the room, was a naked body, old, wrinkled, and heavy-bellied. Its feet hovered almost a whole foot off the ground, head strapped to a noose hanging from a notch in the ceiling. The guards quickly identified the man as Dacent Vorvil, appearing as aghast as the maid herself, unsure of what they were supposed to do.

“C-call a Royal Physician!” one of them hollered, taking a deep breath and braving himself forward, entering the room. Sensing the lack of stench, he relaxed slightly and walked closer toward the body. “D-Dacent Vorvil?” he called out meekly, poking the leg of the man with a finger, causing the body to wobble for a moment, startling the guard back.

Despite him calling out for the Dacent several times in a row, he'd gotten no reply. The guard braved himself some more and rounded the body, coming to face the front – the noose was tightly wound around the Dacent's neck, leaving an inverted V-shaped mark. The old man's tongue was sticking out, eyes closed, face appearing faintly puffed.

The young guard grimaced and backed away, quickly leaving the room while holding his lips tightly sealed from fear of vomiting his last night’s dinner out. Luckily, he mused, he was yet to eat his breakfast, as he was certain he’d been unable to keep it down.

A Royal Physician arrived only a few minutes later, similarly draped in a nightgown, white and loose, gray hair disheveled. He was an old man, as most Physicians were, but hadn’t complained over being dragged from his bed this early on.

Agnuer didn’t even bother glancing at the guards as he entered the room, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the naked, hanging body. Taking a deep breath, he first did a visual inspection of the body, summarizing that the Dacent was already dead from the facial discoloring and the lack of chest movement.

“Come, the few of you,” he hollered at the petrified guards standing outside. “Help me get him down! And be careful! He will be very heavy!”

After a moment of hesitation, a few guards made their way in and dragged a few chairs, including the one that lay beneath the body, just to the side, over to the center, climbing on top of them. Three guards altogether were required to lift the body slightly for another one to slowly remove the noose around the neck, while the first three gently lowered the body to another four that waited on the ground. Their muscles strained, they barely held out.

Agnuer quickly drove them all away, opening the curtains further as to invite more light into the room. Crouching down, he approached the body and pressed his fingers against the side of the Dacent’s neck, feeling it for a while.

“One of you, go and grab the black bag under my bed,” he screamed at the guards once again, without even looking their way. “Whichever one of you can write, grab a parchment and a quill from the desk over there and write down what I tell you. One of you go inform Her Highness of what had happened, and the rest of you disperse and don’t let anyone come here. Quickly!”

Not wanting to anger one of the few Royal Physicians, the guards quickly obeyed, with one of them entering the room with shaky knees, walking over to a desk in the corner and picking up a quill, a small bottle of ink, and a few parchments before walking over to the Physician.

“What is your name, lad?” Agnuer asked when he saw the boy appear in front of him; the latter looked not even twenty yet, unable to tear away his gaze from the corpse.

“N-name? I-It’s Anton, Lord.” The boy replied.

“First time seeing a dead?” Agnuer asked, lifting the dead man’s chin and pulling the head back slightly, inspecting the marks on the neck.

“Y-yes, Lord…”

“Get a grip,” the Physician said hastily. “One good thing about the dead is that they won’t jump and bite you all of a sudden. You ready?”

“Ready?”

“To start writing!”

“Y-yes, Lord! I’m ready!”

“Good,” Agnuer nodded, taking a deep breath. “Initial observation – male, late sixties, two hundred and fifty pounds, five-foot-six. Got it all down?”

“Yes!”

"Good, you write quickly," the Physician continued slowly. "The man was found hanging from a ceiling, the noose around his neck a common rope. All identifying markers appoint a suicide; cracked fingernails and bruising on the fingers suggest that the man had tried to loosen the pressure around his neck as the noose tightened, indicating a phase of regret after the fact.

"Factors follow the standardized pattern – the noose is a common rope, wound around the neck and yanked up against the body, pressing against the jawline, leaving behind an inversed V-shaped bruising. Initial observation indicates a crushed airway, which suggested that the man was alive for some time, further supported by the bruising on his hands.

"I note that the man had likely contemplated for a prolonged period of time when he stood upon the chair, kicking it away in the moment of courage or alike. Lack of any external bruising, blood, and otherwise, suggests that no other party was involved. Thus, I hereby proclaim this suicide. Did you get all of that?"

“Y-yes, yes I did, my Lord!” the young guard exclaimed, his fingers aching from writing so rapidly, sweat dripping down his forehead.

“Good, you’re a quick writer,” Agnuer said as he took the parchment from the young guard, glancing over it to confirm that everything was written. “If you are ever in need of more Crowns and less patrolling of the halls, come to me. You can become my scribe.”

Soon after, a guard carrying his bag came, and after him did the one with the Princess in tow; when Olivia saw the body lying on the floor, she felt her stomach churn. After all, Vorvil had been her Dacent since she was a young babe, and, in many ways, he was more of a father to her than her actual Father. To see him as such… caused her considerable pain, one that further awoke the wounds from her trip to the Silent Crossing.

She crouched by him, grabbing at his hand. It was already cold, causing her to grit her teeth. Turning toward the Physician, she swallowed a gulp before speaking.

“Ser Agnuer,” she spoke softly. “What happened?”

“It was a suicide, Your Highness,” the Physician replied. “I am afraid that Dacent Vorvil hanged himself.”

“… hanged himself? Why?”

“I do not know, Your Highness,” Agnuer replied, shaking his head and sighing. “Mind is a strange thing; I, or anyone, am yet to understand its intricacies.”

Olivia stared at the listless corpse, incapable of understanding why it all happened. Suicide… she had heard of it but never witnessed it – especially of someone so close to her. What could drive a man to end his own life? She didn't know. She couldn't even fathom, in fact, no less know.

“U-uh, Your Highness… there… there appears to be a letter, addressed to you…” one of the guards spoke cautiously from behind, yanking Olivia from her thoughts.

She got up and walked over, taking the letter the guard was handing her; it was crudely folded, no envelope, with a simple ‘To Olivia’ on the backside of the folded parchment. Her hands shook as she recognized the handwriting; it was quite crude, especially so for a learned Dacent, but she had read words in this writing many, many times before in her life.

“Quicken, everyone,” Anguer, seeing her shaking shoulders, called out. “Carry the honored Dacent to my workroom, and give Her Highness some space. Quickly.”

She ignored the bustle behind her as seven guards streamed in, barely able to lift Vorvil and carry him out. Anguer glanced one last time at the shaking Princess and closed the door behind him, leaving Olivia alone. She carefully unfolded the letter, battling back the tears, and began reading it.

Dearest Olivia,

I lack words to express the regret in my heart; you may find it strange, what I had done, but… I could no longer live with myself, with what I had done. I had watched you grow from a small babe that could fit into my hand, to a beautiful and brilliant woman – yet, my heart was weak and greedy. I had succumbed to the evils and listened to them. My shame, and in part the fear of what would happen to me were my actions to ever be disclosed, is what led me to… this. It was me, the man who sent death at you so mercilessly, all while you were simply trying to save innocent lives. Words are inadequate, as would any action be, so take my life as means of apologizing, Your Highness – though I doubt even that is quite enough. I pray you will stay safe and continue to shine as brightly, and perhaps more so, in many, many years to come. My apologies for all I had done, Your Highness. I wish I were a better man.

Yours truly,

Vorvil.

Olivia's grip on the letter loosed as it fell out of her hands, gently falling for a few moments before landing on the ground. Her shaking intensified, tears streaming out as she was unable to contain them. She felt her heart catch on fire, her whole self immolated by something inner, ineffable. Those words were like blades piercing into her soul, each letter a dagger prickling her already bleeding heart. She had found herself lost, once again, adrift amidst the desired dream – out in the open fields, her mind reeling for escape.

She wished she had never read the letter and had stayed the memory of him as it was. All her life, she wanted to know more – yet, now, she found herself wanting less. Far, far less. It seemed as though the last thread, the last knot of innocence in her life, the last bastion of what she believed the world was like… had snapped, and she was no longer hanging from the cliff, barely holding onto the last straw. She had plunged into the ocean of turbulent and violent waters, of waves as tall as the sun and as merciless as the hail. She dove deeper and deeper and found herself at the bottom, surrounded in darkness, not a shred of light to provide even the tiniest sphere of hope.