Peace in Ferendaux

Aquila, in one of the palace’s offices, sits across the table. Between him and Raum is an ornate box, its lid off, which is lined with red velvet cushioning. Upon that cushioning is spread the many fine splinters of a soul, fractured by even indirect contact with Phoenix.

The total death toll numbers to 631.

If Raum had been a little smarter, a little more insistent, that’s 631 deaths he could’ve prevented. As he considers this, he can’t help but stare at the floor.

“Your judgement in warning the stations was fundamentally correct," says Aquila. He sits easily in his chair, back straight and fingers lightly knitted, with what seems the coolheadedness of a capable leader in crisis. In reality, it’s just the coolheadedness of a Machiavellian who faces no threat of consequence. “Simply, that they broadcast their intentions to alter their programming was an error." Aquila smiles. “Such is the fear of too abruptly jolting the routines of your customers."

Really letting your hair down around me now, huh, Raum thinks, though the consolations do numb the edge.

Moreover, this means Raum’s read of the situation was correct, Aquila reminds. This death tally could have very well reached the hundreds of thousands. To fixate on the imperfections is to disregard the breadth of his achievement, and the lives he hence has saved. Which may, Aquila notes, include mine.

Raum disputes that, if he had just let the information flow naturally through the official channels, it would’ve reached Aquila, he would’ve figured it out, and he would’ve handled the instatement of the order properly.

Aquila asserts that the official channels are not so efficient that such a minuscule detail as the purchase of a recorder would have reached Aquila’s desk within two days. There is incredible luck and incredible initiative in what you have done, Aquila slides the lid over the box, stands, and smiles to Raum reassuringly.

The message in that smile is clear. ‘Don’t beat yourself up over it.’

Easier said… still, he’s right, fundamentally…

Aquila slides the box off the table and begins making to leave, but pauses to consider Raum again.

“—You may claim a chamber in court tonight, if you wish," Aquila offers.

Huh?

“I shall be here into the night, once I have addressed this," he waves to indicate the city, “business. I wish to be available, and I suspect you may use the relief." Further, Raum’s already committed more than enough service for Aquila today, and ought consider himself off-duty from now. Start resting up for tomorrow.

The concern from Aquila does warm Raum’s chest enough to smile. Aquila departs, handing the box off to an underling waiting in the hallway, and marches on to a balcony stage overlooking the outer palace lawn, upon which many citizens are assembled. Without hesitating a breath, he delves into an address about the tragedy, mourning for the lives lost, condemning the wickedness of the terrorists, boldly affirming that the spirit of Asphodel will not bend to these threats, and ending with a definitive, furious challenge that Phoenix Valens face Aquila directly, instead of using his underlings to torment noncombatants like a knave. Even as Raum crosses the palace to think, echoes of applause for this pronouncement linger in the halls, for straight minutes.

After he closes the heavy door to an empty sideroom, he finally finds some silence.

Two major concerns have stricken Asphodel today. Raum has been debriefed on the status of both.

First is Mason. Though Aquila did encounter him in the tunnels, and managed to lure him away from the crypts for a successful escape, he failed to draw him into the ambush waiting at the church. Rather than pursue Aquila out of the tunnels, Mason simply turned around. Since the guards in the crypt have reported no sign of him, he is either still in the tunnels or has escaped into the city through an alternate exit (there are many and Mason, as the former vice-head of Asphodel’s national intelligence network, and as a friend of Aquila’s who often played in these tunnels, unfortunately knows all of them). In either possibility, Aquila has judged sealing all except the most heavily guarded tunnel entrances — such as the one in the palace — as the best plan. Mason is now either stuck in the tunnels or stuck in the city.

If he’s in the tunnels, the guard unit is ready there to intercept him. Aquila has arranged a supply line to this unit and will keep them there for a week; if Mason is still a no-show, then he will either be dead from dehydration or he will not be in the tunnels, and the wards can be presumed safe for reactivation.

If he’s in the city — frustratingly, were it not for the additional chaos, he would have already been caught. Aquila keeps Ferendaux’s patrol routes close to tunnel entrances for exactly incursions like these. But with people dying all over the city, such patrolmen were naturally called out of their normal stations to respond. So nobody’s seen him.

Now there’s not much to do except keep an ear for him, double down on guards (both for himself and Raum), and start proactive sweeps of his likely hiding places. Probably, more than just emotional support, there’s an element of safety in staying away from the Whitewood Manor for now.

If there’s any question of his aims, by the way, he’s looking to shove a sword in Aquila. That slavery business still has him t’d off. Tee hee.

Though Raum wonders whether going ahead with the party tomorrow, instead of waiting to secure Mason first, is wise, Aquila has affirmed this course as optimal. Aside from the hassle of rescheduling the party, and the hit that would incur on public morale, if Mason is bold enough to target Aquila during such a guarded and public event, well, he is essentially throwing himself into prison. The guards have his description, and Aquila will have traps all over this thing.

When was the last time Aquila’s traps worked? Is all Raum can really say on that.

But the guards here must be capable. He’ll, also, stay vigilant.

So issue two: Reyl. She has, as predicted, broadcast a snippet of Phoenix’s voice over a public radio channel. As with the majordomo, everyone who heard that broadcast died. The grisliness, suddenness, and randomness of it, turning a completely mundane and even joyful aspect of life into a deathtrap, combine to make this tragedy uniquely terrible.

It’s caused considerable damage. But when Raum puts aside his emotions and considers it all rationally, he can’t help but regard it as an extremely weak move.

Sure — the radio stations announcing their shift in schedule tipped her off that someone had seen through her real plan. You could call her firing it off early an adaptation to the circumstances.

But for what?

If the goal was to cause chaos, and force Aquila into addressing her as a serious threat, so that he might be tempted or cornered into forfeiting Raum, she failed. The disruption wasn’t nearly enough. It was, very obviously, never going to be enough.

She only hit one channel. She could have easily hit every channel. She didn’t — so what does that say?
She also hit a crap timeslot. Mid-morning is not the ideal time for radio; breakfast, lunch, and dinner are. Why not wait another two hours?

All she’s really achieved is telegraphing to Raum and Aquila her present state and resources.
Her last known location is now Sebilles — which means she was well enough to travel to Sebilles.
And she’s sufficiently armed that Aquila now knows to take proper countermeasures against her. Beyond just that gauntlet, he can actually deafen himself at will. Now that the possibility of her having some strange, dangerous magic is ruled out, he literally just needs to show up and she loses. In other words, Aquila just needs to ‘offer’ to ‘negotiate’ again, get her in the room, and she loses.

If she’d just done nothing, even if it took another month or season for another good opportunity to come, she would be in a vastly stronger position where ambushing Aquila over the radio might actually work. In fact, give it one more day and Raum would be openly moving into the Cardinal House. But as it is… as it is, Raum can’t help but wonder if she’s just given up.

In only a month? What’s that half-heartedness? Doesn’t sound much like his sister.

But that’s the image that coheres in his mind when he aligns these pieces together. Reyl, seated against the wall in some rundown attic, fires off the recording, then tosses it to the floor and buries her face in her hands. Raum retrieves his portable radio, and stares down at it, steeling himself.

She doesn’t want you enough to keep you. Pushing aside the nausea, his trembling fingers press down on the transmission button.

He missed his opportunity in Deram. But now feels like the right time to ask her, again, to surrender.

The words don’t come as fluently. He wonders if she’s even there, listening. But slowly he dredges out those sentiments he already drafted in those destroyed letters, though not with the same touch of levity. Reyl’s desperate, Raum’s in control, and more than anything, she ought to come home.

He signs off from the transmission, sighs, presses the butt of his palm to his forehead. The only reply from the radio is static. Without even thinking about it, he knows he will send this same message out nightly, and keep this radio on him constantly on the off-chance she will respond.

That, for now, is probably all he can do.

Or is it?

Though he’s an off-duty guest in the palace at present, he judges it unwise to throw himself into court, where everyone will be hungry to mine rumours about today’s disaster, and Aquila’s response, out of Raum’s brain.

And more importantly, thinking about the palace just makes him anxious again about Mason. Like Raum could turn a hallway and bam, the guy knew a route, he’s there.

But wouldn’t that be nice if it happened? If he caught his father alone in a hallway, could Raum not talk this whole situation down?

One hell of a feel-good fantasy, that. Indeed, as Raum wanders the halls and chambers, Mason does not spontaneously pop out of anywhere, nor do any conspicuous ingress points assert themselves. What Raum actually does come across is a servant struggling to reorganise a bookshelf, and, determining this as good a use of time as any, helps her out. When that’s done she advises the gardener may have work too. And when that’s done he advises that the dovemaster may have work too. That Milord Whitewood is doing menial labour disorients particularly everybody, but once he sells it as a curiosity, that uneasiness fades.

The evening comes; purple light falls upon the palace grounds. Raum prepares to leave the dovecote for dinner and bed, says goodbye to the dovemaster, and just a minute or two after the sun disappears completely under the horizon, runs into Aquila, apparently on his own way to the dovecote. The automatic relief Raum feels upon seeing him, that he didn’t get attacked or die in the short time Raum was absent, underscores how anxious he truly is.

Barely a second after observing, ‘he’s safe’, though, the anxiety tightens Raum’s chest again worrying, ‘has something gone wrong? Why’s he here?’.

So what’s up? Come to look at the birds?

Aquila laughs and assures everything’s fine. He’s just taking a break after hours of finangling comms and monotonous deskwork. Though, it’s a little disconcerting that his presence itself has become a signal of trouble.

Raum returns his slightly amused, slightly self-deprecating smile. Well, it’s been hectic.

I almost envy that you may call it that, mutters Aquila, staring distantly over the palace. But he shrugs, dismissing his own comment, and tilts his head with a grin. No, he’s not here to look at the birds. He’s here to invite Raum to games over dinner. He’s tired of work at the moment and keen to just hang out.

Hey, Raum is down for that. What the heck?

Excellent. Aquila smiles and leads Raum back to the palace, chatting about this and that. You’d be surprised how tedious governing can be, when the ramifications of your choices remain distant. Moreover, you’d be surprised how many of the truly important decisions happen outside the board rooms…

They situate themselves in a small room overlooking the chambers of court. From this vantage point, they can watch everything going on downstairs, while remaining unseen themselves. Aquila gestures Raum to settle himself into one of the armchairs around a small table, while he files through an assemblage of games and retrieves a chess board.

A servant takes Raum’s dinner order, while Aquila seats himself in the chair opposite and sets up the board.

Feels like a proper VIP booth, Raum muses, thinking back on his mother’s clubs.

“Naturally," Aquila grins, and offers Raum his preference of white or black. Rooms like these, to take respite from court while eavesdropping on its dealings, are an essential fixture of any royal house. Aquila glances to examine court, but nothing too exciting seems to be going on. He hums lightly, then continues. Decent chunks of money have changed hands in rooms like this as well, since gambling is an accepted vice here.

Really is like his mother’s clubs then. Raum moves out his pawn, then stretches his arms behind his head. Invite some landlord here for a night and sounds like a scheme for keeping down taxes.

Tah hah hah, Aquila laughs. Truthfully, there was one Viscount…

The conversation flows on, through stories, anecdotes, gossip, jokes. Aquila asks Raum about culture shock, Raum asks Aquila about the old kingdoms. Raum divulges his thoughts on humanitarianism, Aquila contemplates the potential of wireless electricity. It dawns on Raum, slowly, that this is the first time he’s ever talked to Aquila without feeling that lens of constant evaluation upon him. What dominates in its place is a sense of liberation, that he’s free to truly talk about anything, and Aquila will probably like it and respond with his own unguarded thoughts.

Aquila’s posture gradually shifts so that he is draped horizontally over the armchair, not looking kingly at all. Actually, this is also the first time Raum has ever heard Aquila enjoy the act of talking just for the sake of talking. Though that observation should thrill him, what spears through Raum’s heart is unease.

He leans forward in his seat, knuckles curled over his mouth, as he stares down at the chessboard.

“Hey, Aquila…" Raum glances up, struggling to phrase it. “Should we really, be, you know."

Raum trails off, circling his hands.

“…If you will call me without a title, you should hope I see no issue to this conversation.“ Aquila picks up the silence. “I did not let even your father get away with that."

“With everything," Raum tries again, “I just… did what I wanted."

Aquila’s eyes half-lid with contemplation. He points to Raum as if calling a bet. “Why do I like you?"

Sorta, it’s more like…

Why me?

Why trust me?

All I really did was return a brooch. Everything else was just… just…

But even with Aquila’s prompting, Raum fails to articulate the thought. Seeing that Raum is contemplating whatever he’s contemplating seriously, Aquila straightens his posture, lightly knits his fingers, and gazes down at the chessboard, before flicking his gaze up.

“You might ask why there is such a phenomenon as falling in love," Aquila muses. “I recognise in you perspectives that I will never have, though I desire their influence near me. Truthfully, if we might take them individually, the specific traits that entice me are not rare." Aquila tilts his head. “To find them in such a combination, however, upon a background with reason to cross mine… that is peculiar.

“I would say, the qualities that shape you are not easy to emulate with flattery," Aquila takes a rook with his pawn. “Perhaps it is simply a matter of being the right person."

Because you’re you.

If this is the kind of honey Aquila can produce, Raum would gladly spend the rest of his life lapping it out of his hand.

Trying to discourage him with anecdotes of fuckups and East Welding sexcapades feels overwhelmingly stupid. Doesn’t he already know?

…But what if Raum went back to that? How can Aquila be so confident…

“Else, I might note," says Aquila, “if you have done all this," Aquila gestures to the palace and beyond with one hand, while the other promotes that pawn to a queen, “in accordance with your desires, then I am doubly secure in my judgement. Continue that, by all means."

all of what ALL OF WHAT lying cheating wheedling running fawning meddling meddling meddling meddling making TROUBLE

AND BUT WHAT IF MY DESIRES ARE TO GET DRUNK AND TAKE FIVE HUNDRED DICKS IN A WEEKE—Raum plants his hands over his eyes, his face underneath burning red. Though not hitching yet, his breathing does grow more than a touch ragged.

“Have I spoken poorly?" asks Aquila.

“No," manages Raum, drawing his hands away. “I—ugh," he cringes, wiping away tears.

He takes a breath, calms himself minutely. Aquila’s gaze on him is a strange mix of intrigued and bored. Raum stares over court, sighs, returns to the chess game in silence.

“I just don’t wanna fuck up," he says.

Aquila tilts his head. “And how might you do that?"

Oh god no does he really have to answer that.

“Truthfully. How might you?" Aquila folds his hands in his lap. “Perhaps we will imagine another man, in your exact circumstances. How might he undermine the successes he has claimed?"

Well. There’s lots of ways.

But after mentally discarding the most outrageous and frivolous, the one that truly concerns Raum is — what if there was someone new.

Someone who would spoil him more. Who would give him more. Who made fewer demands of him. Who spent more time with him. Whose nature was more tender. Who would hold him. Who would adore him. Someone who could provide all of this, even more than the goddamn king.

Does that kind of person exist? Honestly, they don’t even have to. His mind dressed Aquila in finery, and it worked to direct Raum to his side.

What if he dropped Aquila for such a person? Backstabbed him? Betrayed him? Even him, in the end.

But the more he considers these fears, strangely, the more they dissipate.

I love Aquila, Raum thinks with a bizarre kind of certainty. And it’s not that beams of light spear out from his head or a rush of joy shoots through Raum’s chest at the thought. It’s just a fact. I love Aquila. Raum doesn’t even imagine them in bed at this. Hell, Aquila can’t even do anything in bed. It’s such a silly idea he could almost laugh. What swish of sheets? What brushing of skin? But still — I love Aquila.

An immense surge of gratitude wells inside Raum, though he can’t grasp why. He breathes out lightly, a smile rising in his cheeks.

“—Guy might romp downstairs fling his pants ‘round his head and go home with a strapful of fivers."

Aquila pauses, the only hint of reaction being a slight upwards tilt of his chin. But that, paired with his speechlessness, is enough for Raum to deduce that he’s at least a little disgusted.

Raum’s smile quirks bitterly. “It was Ordanz."

Aquila nods, the slight tension in his shoulders releasing, with acceptance. “You fear those habits have become compulsive?"

“Y’know, funniest thing," Raum tilts his head, “I ain’t had a single thought like that in my brain since coming here."

Raum leans back in his chair, a little mystified. Was a change of environment really all it took?

“Guess it’s been less stressful…" he muses.

Aquila falls silent, his eyes widening slowly.

“Euhm?" asks Raum.

“Raum Lethi Whitewood," says Aquila.

Raum straightens in his seat.

“Since your arrival to this country," Aquila begins, “you have been locked in a burning building…"

“Yeah."

“…left in the wilds, subjected to death, housed with assassins…"

“Nnnnyeah."

“…imprisoned without resources, paraded for execution, embroiled in a terrorist attack…"

“Yeah."

“…survived open waters, combated the scourge of Lacren, endured my own, ah, eccentricities…"

“Yeah."

“…suffered temporary madness, and faced terrible news within your family, among other atrocities…"

“Yeah…"

“…this has been less stressful."

Well it hasn’t been a damn cakewalk. But, “…yeah."

Aquila slumps back in his chair, closes his eyes, feathers his brow.

“Iunno, nobody’s been yelling at me so much…" though framed like that in retrospect it is all a little odd, huh…

“Hah," laughs Aquila. “Hah! Haha. Raum."

Raum straightens his back.

“My judgement is firm." Aquila leans forward. As if sharing a terrible secret, he grins with a hiss, “This country will war itself to cinders before such a culture may reign."

Speared with the sharpness of Aquila’s venom, Raum flinches.

Raum hates Ordanz? Right. Like Raum fucking knows what hate is.

Aquila hates Ordanz. Were that country a person, Aquila would slaughter it. And that is a sentiment uniform across Asphodel. Raum chokes. Did his stupid life anecdote just convince Aquila to declare active war?

But as Aquila leans back and smiles, that anxiety melts away.

“How stabilising it can be, to know what you do not wish to become," he observes.

A tenseness pent in Raum’s every muscle releases all at once as a sigh. Like a master of acupuncture going in with his needle, that one observation dislodges a knot that has been lodged in Raum’s body for decades. Its presence now is so normal, that only by its loosening does he even realise it was there.

Alongside a rush of blood and energy comes a rush of heat and tears. For once that heat doesn’t sting. The light and fullness in Raum’s chest feels beyond real, with the tears themselves as airy as a delicate sunshower. He’s cried in delight before, even in relief before. But this is the first time he has cried with the sentiment of: thank god I heard that, thank god I’m here, I’m going to be alright.

He breathes in and out wispily, laughing between light gasps. Ah, man, get it together…

Aquila reclines over his chair again with a smile.