ARC 3 - HALLOWED

CHAPTER 9 - THE LORD AND LADY

The clothing fit as well as any set of armor Raegn had ever worn. The undershirts were comfortable and didn’t bunch beneath the thick tunic made of a yellow so deep it might have been covered with gold. White stitching stood out from the fabric as intricate detailing and he swore that most of it served no purpose other than to create a pattern rather than hold the outer layer together. The black breeches, too, were snug enough over his waist and thighs that he might not require a belt, though one had been provided all the same.

“You look every bit the part,” Merced noted.

Raegn frowned at himself in the mirror. Looking the part didn’t make him a noble—his blood did. The leaders of his people didn’t wear fancy clothes or throw lavish celebrations. This did little more than make him feel like an impostor, both now and then.

“And now, for the masterpiece!” Declan exclaimed, pulling aside the curtain at the back of the shop.

Tera didn’t so much enter the room as she did invade it with her presence. A band of braided hair ran alongside her head towards the back with subtle waves rippling beneath that fell just below her jawline. And the dress...Raegn had never imagined such a thing. The deep blue fabric clung to her through her torso, yet somehow the material still allowed itself to show shadow and further highlighted her form. The bottom half gushed toward the floor in layers like the petals of a delicate flower. Her shoulders were bare and beneath her arms deep segments of sheer silk plunged toward her waist, coyly revealing the skin beneath. She stared back at him and his cheeks reddened in pace with hers, but he could not tear his eyes away.

“I think you’ll be needing a cloak, Caloman. We’re likely to see our first snow of the year any day now.”

Tera shot daggers at Merced, but allowed him to place the thick cloak lined with fur over her shoulders. The Inquistor left a hefty sack of coins on the counter which Declan immediately dumped across the wood. The three were already headed out of the shop by the time the tailor started to count, Merced whistling and guiding them back toward the Church.

“You uh, you look good,” Raegn offered.

“I feel ridiculous,” Tera muttered.

He chuckled softly. “So do I.”

“It’s all the more awkward when you don’t put your hands on her, you know. You’re a man. Act like it.” Madam Vansantan gave Raegn a light slap on the back of the head as she patrolled around them.

“Yes, Madam. It’s just that this outfit is hot and my hands are—”

The old woman stopped behind Tera, leering at him from over his partner’s shoulder. “These lessons are of less import than the real thing? Is that what you mean to say?”

“No, Madam.”

“Then lead her.”

Raegn squeezed his eyes shut before taking one of Tera’s hands. He placed his other on her waist while mouthing a quiet sorry.

“It’s fine,” she whispered. “I could use the warmth anyway…” Her eyes were downcast but snapped upward as Madam Vansantan began her humming once more.

They made it through each dance in their new attire, not perfectly, but well enough to appease the old woman. She took her leave and would not hear a word of thanks despite their best efforts to give them.

“Here,” Merced said while tossing them each a sack of clothes. “I doubt you’ll want to wear that while we travel. You can put it on again at a location I’ve arranged near Caulmond’s estate.”

Raegn was thankful that the Inquisitor was handling the logistics of the mission. He’d barely had time to eat that morning and had brought nothing but himself—not that he’d been told to bring anything else. Still, Merced could probably do with a decorum lesson or two from the Madam. Would it kill the Inquisitor to show a little compassion rather than treat them like mindless Initiates?

Raegn changed back into the standard Templar attire in what he guessed was a room used by the clerics to care for Elysium’s populace. There were no sheets on the bed and the bucket had a meager amount of water to wash in, but the room did provide the bare necessities. The place was drab, though, and he couldn’t imagine anyone would want to stay long. For someone without a roof over their head even this stone prison would be praised, he supposed. His boots felt better than the stiff shoes Declan had given him as he tugged them over sore feet, but the fabric of the Order-issued shirt and pants that had felt smooth seasons ago were akin to burlap in comparison to the fine cloth of his noble outfit.

After changing Raegn headed back out into the antechamber. He expected Merced to make more targeted comments while they waited for Tera to return, but the man had become oddly apathetic. It was unlikely the Inquisitor would be nervous, but if planning a mission was anything like setting battle plans there could never be too many mental rehearsals. Perhaps his handler was attempting to run through every foreseeable possibility.

“I’ll never understand what takes women so long,” Merced grumbled suddenly. “Go and fetch her, will you?”

Raegn hesitated, the request catching him off guard, but a glare from the Inquisitor drove him from the chamber in search of Tera. He walked quietly down the well-built stone hallway as though being loud might startle his partner. A foolish thought, but staying quiet would also help him hear which room Tera was in. Earlier he’d seen her enter one of the rooms only a few doors from where he had changed, though he wasn’t exactly sure which. He tested one, the sharp knock earning him no response. He tried again, slightly louder, and heard a muffled reply. Maybe Tera had laid down and fallen asleep. Hard to fault her given how late they’d returned the previous night. And how early we had to get up this morning, he reminded himself. Raegn pressed against the wood and found it unlocked.

“Merced asked me to—”

Tera stared at him as though he’d struck her. She stood at the far end of the room, dress and Order-issued clothing laid out on the bed nearby. Her arms darted to cover bare flesh, but Raegn had already seen and been turned to stone by the sight. Time slowed and stretched to years, the two becoming statues locked in an eternal gaze. Raegn’s throat was dry, he realized, when he tried to speak a word of apology that would not come. There was little to do but accept his fate as he backed out of the room and softly closed the door.

“Well?” Merced asked upon his return.

Raegn left his eyes on the floor, engrossed by the precision with which each stone was cut. “She’s almost ready.”

The location Merced had arranged was indeed near Lord Caulmond’s estate. So close, in fact, that it happened to be one of the guest houses immediately behind the manor. They’d arrived in a small carriage and moved to the back of the property under the guise of a delivery, then waited for the servants to disperse before moving to the guest house. Being part of the house staff was apparently the Inquisitor’s cover—a less on-the-nose option that hadn’t been afforded to Tera and Raegn.

Tera made sure to slide home the bolt on the door to the small bedroom before laying her dress out on the bed. Embarrassing as it had been she knew it wasn’t his fault; she’d been in a rush to clear her mind and forgotten to secure the lock. Still, she threw a small, silent tantrum as she recalled how Raegn hadn’t said a word during the trip that wasn’t a direct answer to one of Merced’s questions. Some help Nalani had been, telling her to do something without bothering to say how. Tera calmed herself, but her eyes fell on the dress and she sighed. It would be no more revealing or extravagant than anything else worn at the event, but she felt just as exposed under his gaze while she wore it than when she’d been naked.

With a quick huff, she shed the standard Templar rags and slid into the dress only to realize she had no way of lacing up the back. The tailor’s helpers…daughters…whatever the two girls had been, had helped her in the shop. She chewed her lip, deciding between her two options. There might not be a better time than this, she convinced herself. She stuffed the shirt and trousers back into the sack while fighting to keep the dress around her shoulders. The cloak helped some as the weight kept the fabric from sliding as she skulked out of the room and across the hall.

There was a shuffling from inside at her soft knock and she stepped back as the lock clacked. The door swung open and Raegn, still fastening the last of his buttons, filled the entry.

“Tera?”

The furrowed brow wasn’t one of anger, but it still stung. She’d hoped for a smile or even the dumbfounded stare he’d given her when she’d walked out at the tailor's shop. “I need your help with the laces,” she murmured.

Raegn opened the door the rest of the way and stood aside to allow her to enter. His room was the same as hers had been, wooden floors with a large rug beneath the bed and several tables and chairs to fill the space. The sun was setting and without any candles to brighten the room the twilight seemed to draw in the cold. She shuddered some as she let the cloak drop onto the bed.

“They’re supposed to alternate which is on top when they cross, right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

His fingers were warm and brushed against her as he threaded the strips of fabric up from the small of her back towards her shoulders. She could hear his steady breathing and wished she could feel the heat of it on her neck.

“There, I think that’s it,” Raegn said and stepped back.

Tera turned to face him and took a deep breath to test the tightness. Declan had been kind to choose a material that had some give so she wouldn’t feel like she was suffocating the entire night. The tailor had also been kind to give them outfits that were elegant, yet not so much so that they might draw unneeded attention. When she first learned of the mission Tera had doubted that Raegn might look regal enough. With a fresh shave and combed hair, however, the only signs of his actual claim to nobility were a small scar near the temple and the intensity that constantly lingered on his face. Even that disappeared when he smiled, though.

“Thank you.” The words lacked confidence, sapped of their strength by her thoughts of what came next. She knew what she wanted to say, but couldn’t figure out how to say it. Idiot! Just say you’re sorry! she scolded herself, but when she turned around to try Raegn was already speaking.

“Of course. Shall we?” he asked and offered out his arm the way the Madam had instructed.

A small smirk crossed Tera’s lips despite her frustration at losing her opportunity. The discomfort Raegn had for etiquette made him stiff, but somehow it seemed to fit the part of being a stuck-up noble. Arms locked, he led her down the stairs to the common room below. Merced was waiting to guide them to the front of the estate and they waited in the shadows for a moment when there were no other attendees arriving.

“The doorman won’t be surprised about your irregular arrival,” Merced whispered. “Once inside, do nothing to draw attention to yourselves or your true purpose. I will find you sometime later.” The Inquisitor turned to leave but rounded on them again with a large grin. “And try not to fuck this up for me, will you?”

Tera rolled her eyes, but when Merced disappeared around the corner she exhaled and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut. All she would have to do is put up a barrier. Nothing more. She looked to the man on her arm and wondered if he was anxious as well.

The doorman opened half the entry for them and the moment they stepped inside a servant was upon her to relieve her of her cloak. Tera obliged him, but shivered in the cold wind that blew in while the door closed behind them. A few steps further in and the room revealed itself to be a large rectangle with several open archways leading into other areas. The ceiling was high above and an interior balcony supported by intricately carved stone columns overlooked the entirety of the ground level.

In one corner a small choir sang with several minstrels strumming away on various stringed instruments. The sounds of music and chatter filled the room and the feeling of dread in Tera’s stomach turned to one of hunger at the smell of roasted duck. Raegn led her out from under the threshold and stopped next to the head servant. The two spoke softly, but she heard Raegn give their names. The head servant scanned the scroll and nodded subtly once he’d located the correct line.

“Lord Raegn Edelgard and his betrothed, Lady Terosa Caloman,” the head servant announced.

Tera’s grip on Raegn’s arm turned to a vice and she glared up at her husband-to-be. Somewhere in the background of all the noise she swore she could hear Merced cackling like a loon. Even she had to fight to suppress the smirk that replaced her ire. Poor Raegn looked positively horrified, eyes wide and all color absent his face. To his credit, he managed to maintain enough composure to step forward and guide her into the room.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going to—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted. She took a seat in the chair Raegn pulled out for her. “No one listens to those ridiculous introductions anyway.”

Raegn nodded and took a seat next to her. “So now we wait?”

“Now we enjoy the party,” she corrected. “But yes, it all amounts to waiting.”

The other guests milled about, enjoying the music or forming small groups to talk. They were fortunate it was such an extravagant event with enough in attendance that they could remain in the background. Were it a more intimate affair they would be expected to partake in the conversation and that might lead to intrusive questions. Like when the wedding is, Tera thought.

“Care for something to eat?” Raegn asked.

The request took Tera by surprise. Eating was hardly an activity to partake in and still be prepared to foil an assassination. These events did have a tendency to last until dawn, though, and the thought of avoiding food that long was an awfully dreadful one. More surprising was that Raegn was the one who suggested it. If he was nervous he was good at hiding it. More likely he’s just hungry given how much he talks about food, she told herself. It was one of the only things Kai said he ever talked about, in fact.

Tera quickly learned that all the gab was somewhat well-founded in knowledge. Raegn helped her identify a few of the assorted cheeses for the one she remembered from her estate’s kitchen and he could somehow smell the difference between the two sauces offered to accompany the duck and bread. Once they’d returned to a seat it only took some light prodding to keep him going. She caught herself gawking at him while he explained the intricacies of seasoning blends and which of the spices were most pungent. Somehow the descriptions he offered improved the already impressive flavors of the food and she began to believe that the warrior-heir of Bastion had actually grown up in the kitchens of his home. It was both an amusing and endearing thought.

“And you learned all this in the Far East?” she asked.

Raegn chuckled. “I loved my home for many things, but the food was shi—awful,” he corrected and cleared his throat. “Sorry. The food was awful and bland. No, all of this,” he waved across their plates, “is from working with Erkan.”

“Erkan?” Tera looked at him quizzically.

He gave a few nods. “He’s the cook for the Highlord and other leaders within the Order.”

Odd. And unfortunate if that’s his real name. It wasn’t a very common one and the lesser-known legend of the Eviscerator was still whispered in the backs of taverns and told to misbehaving children.

“Do you know him?” Raegn asked.

“No,” she replied quickly. “No, sorry. It’s just impressive that you learned this much in hardly more than a fortnight of kitchen duty. I wouldn’t have taken you to be passionate about anything other than fighting.”

Raegn’s cheeks flushed and he was suddenly very hungry given the size of the bite he took from his plate.

The night drew on and they spent their time enjoying the food and finding creative ways to avoid conversing with the other nobles in attendance. The wine was good, though they were careful to drink slowly less they become too intoxicated to perform their duties. Still, the sweet liquid brought memories of when she’d first met Raegn. She looked up at him, his unyielding face surveying the room, and longed to run her hands along his jawline again. With a hard blink Tera shook the thought from her mind and tried to refocus on their mission.

Guests mingled on both floors, some overlooking and clapping for those who partook in the dancing, but it was easy enough to remain near the wall beneath the balcony and out of sight. Lord Caulmond sat in a large chair atop a small platform at the head of the room. The man wouldn’t be so brazen as to defy Elysian law and call it a throne, but he’d certainly postured himself to ensure all knew he was the master of the event. Servants tended to his every movement while he watched his guests dance before him.

The whole celebration was arrogant, they both agreed, but there were worse things for a rich noble to spend his wealth on. That Caulmond had chosen to give any of his riches to the Church rather than spend it all on whorehouses and fruitless wagers could even be considered a blessing. The two took to guessing Lord Caulmond’s age after realizing that neither of them could remember the number from the scroll Merced had let them read several days ago. Caulmond’s beard was almost fully gray, but bits of brown still clung to his jaw. There weren’t many wrinkles on his face either and he certainly wasn’t balding.

“He’s got to be fifty,” Tera insisted.

“No,” Raegn replied with a shake of his head, “he’d have deep creases in his cheeks by then. I’d say he can’t be older than forty.”

“An expert, are you? Do you plan on having that much gray by then?”

Raegn gave a laugh that drew a smile from her lips. Seven Heavens, how his face brightens when he smiles. Tera took another sip of wine to hide her face.

“I’d hope not,” he said, “but if it comes I might as well embrace it.”

“Probably for the best,” she teased. “You’d look ridiculous with a shaved head.”

“No more than I do now, I’m sure,” Raegn said with a roll of his eyes.

“If you two are quite finished?” Tera nearly jumped out of her skin at the words that slithered into her ears from behind. She glanced over her shoulder to see Merced holding a tray of empty goblets. His black servants coat and neatly collared white shirt were a tad loose, but otherwise he looked every bit the part of the staff. “Stay close to Caulmond.”

“What? Now?” she asked.

“Yes,” Merced whispered. “There are five of them. I can’t remove one without alerting the others, so we must wait for them to make the first move.”

A fat lord with jowls like a dog given the amount of excess skin called out to Merced and berated him for bothering the guests. To the Inquisitor’s credit, he played the fumbling servant, professing his apologies and disappearing into the crowd. Even with their grim handler gone, the mood had swung. Raegn didn’t seem capable of peeling his eyes from the crowd as he surveyed those in attendance.

“I doubt you’ll be able to find them,” Tera whispered and took his hand. “Come on, if Caulmond sits in that mockery of a throne all night we’ll have to be on the floor to be near him.”

Raegn swallowed and gave her a shallow nod. She noticed that his hands were clammy as he led her from their table and it seemed he couldn’t hide his nerves any longer. Tera could hardly blame him. She took a few subtle glances at those around them, fully aware she was ignoring the advice she’d just given. Every smile seemed made of daggers, every hand tucked in a pocket or waistband suspicious. Would it have killed Merced to tell them who they were watching for? And five? Being put on the defensive and waiting for the horrid surprise was bad enough. Doing it knowingly outnumbered was near insane.

A new song began with a single woman’s voice from the choir carrying a solemn melody while the strings chased her tone. The two began the dance, full of slow steps and joined only by the hands. The song progressed and the strings drove forward in pleasantly plucked notes while the woman’s voice became silk. High tones lingered in the air like soft whispers that wavered on the wind. The rest of the choir echoed behind and the floor filled with swirling movement and flowing dresses.

It was...pleasant. Raegn’s focus had returned to her rather than the crowd—the intricacies of the dance required it. What’s more, Tera no longer felt ashamed under his gaze. She wanted him to look. In fact, she would demand it of him. She allowed herself to be led through twirls and endured being separated by the choreography, always eager to close the gap once more. The singer’s voice drifted higher like crisp snow blown from the peak of a mountain while the choir maintained the melody below. Tera stepped in too far, but it was a willful mistake. Raegn’s heartbeat matched that of the strings as she laid her head and hand against his chest. Were this their regular life she hoped she might find the same comfort in it. Even as things were, it felt right for her guard to fall.

“Caloman, now!”

Separating herself from him was an effort full of frustration, but the barrier formed in time. An arrow shattered against the shimmering gold. Tera glanced at the flurry of movement to her right and was abruptly shoved out of the way. She maintained her balance, and the barrier, to see that Raegn had caught a noble running at her by surprise. He grabbed the would-be assassin by the arm and rammed his elbow into the man’s head. The fake noble was driven into the ground with a knee to the back. A knife slid from the man’s limp hand as both he and Raegn toppled onto the tile.

Another arrow impacted, but met the same result. Several paces behind the barrier Lord Caulmond had risen from his seat and glared out at the crowd.

“Go!” Merced yelled.

Tera looked toward the Inquisitor and saw him point at the balcony above. A man dressed as a servant dropped a bow and vanished down the hall in a flat out sprint. Her eyes widened as Raegn gave chase, bounding upward on little more than air. Were his feet…glowing? The final step faltered, but he managed to grab hold of the ledge and pull himself onto the second floor.

“Get inside the barrier,” Merced called out.

The Inquisitor was slowly backing toward her, forced into the middle of the floor by three others bearing down on him. Merced had produced a knife from somewhere, but the blade was noticeably shorter than the three held by his opponents. Tera ran to Lord Caulmond, dropping the barrier for a moment only to reform it around them both a moment later.

“What a shit way to celebrate my birth,” Caulmond growled. “Though I suppose I have the Church to thank for ensuring I can try again next year.”

Tera grunted some half-thought reply. She would have been agitated with the old man’s attitude if her attention wasn’t fully spent on the pending fight. If Merced couldn’t handle the three she would need options. She might be able to take the last one if Merced killed two, but being in a dress and unarmed was little help to that end. And running seemed like a poor choice given Caulmond’s age. Perhaps she could hold the barrier until Raegn returned—if he returns, she corrected herself.

Appearances aside, the person Raegn had chased was an assassin. The others had hidden knives so it was safe to assume Raegn’s quarry would be armed as well. Unfortunately, she knew for a fact that he was not. Tera’s hands strained at the thought and the barrier thickened. She hadn’t gotten the chance to apologize. He had to survive. Fate couldn’t be so cruel as to deny her that chance. The first moment she could get him alone in the Citadel she swore she would.

A new dance began on the floor, this one paced by the shouts of fleeing guests and filled with streaks of red. Merced was barbarous in the way he fought. Fingers tore at eyes and the dagger was absent any grace, instead used to repeatedly punch into its victims far more than Tera believed necessary. The armpit, neck, inner thigh—all were prime targets for his blade. Ruthless as the dance was, at its end the Inquisitor stood alone at the center, the stem of a rose surrounded by three fallen petals.