Eric followed her into the corridor, and down several other rapid turns, before ending in a small office. It wasn’t her office: it was just some clerk’s room. She shut the door and turned on a Silence Node. The Spymaster was dressed in dress attire similar to what Shannon wore at the soiree, but she still had her hood and mask that disguised her features.
“Thanks for seeing me,” Eric said.
Persim pulled her mask down and her lips were taut. “You made my life difficult.”
Eric leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “I assume because Seraphine is very upset with me.”
“That is accurate.” Persim let out an exasperated sigh. “I spoke with Naomi, and she told me of your coming plans. That’s fine, going into the Twilight Depths to get stronger and all that. But she also told me about the inklings of a coming war you uncovered in your investigation. She said to talk to you for more information.”
Alright, Eric thought, here we go.
Naomi had determined exactly what to say to whom, and how much to reveal to each person, and how to couch the information to disguise Eric’s foresight.
“When I captured the Steward, I interrogated him.”
Persim raised an eyebrow at that. “That explains the clothes being gone. You tortured the information out of him?”
Eric nodded. “That might be why his mind was gone. I’d never done it before, so I may have pushed too far.”
Her gaze hardened. “What did you learn?”
“The Empire of Pwish are the ones who used their Summon Stones—”
Persim interrupted, “We knew that much.”
Eric shook his head. “It’s because they wanted extra might to back up their intention to retake the Petty Kingdoms of Diaphan, Nairos, and Gorrund.” Persim’s eyes widened, and Eric continued, “The Petty Kingdoms all have a defensive pact with Bhlast. If Trok is to meet with Bhlast, as is planned on the twentieth of spring next year, and sign a defensive pact—”
“We’ll be drawn into the war,” Persim finished. “And while we’re at war, the Allied Cities of Chisholm or Flescion could use the opening to assault us from the opposite side.” She frowned. “Right now we are on good terms with Flescion, despite the prince’s prior debacle. But, I’m dealing with that.”
“What?” Eric asked. He knew what she was talking about, of course. Several years ago, the prince had gone overseas on a diplomatic mission and had made a major faux-pas and insulted the theocracy of the womb. It had soured relations.
Persim nodded. “The prince screwed up relations. Thankfully, that Judge seemed to be on neutral terms, and if anything, was happy that we wanted to broach trusting relations by inviting her in to help with the Steward’s case. Well, we sent the prince—disowned, by the way, the announcement will be made today—to be judged and sentenced. Flescion won’t attack us if we sign the planned defensive pact with Bhlast.” She frowned. “So Alp told you all of this?”
Eric didn’t reply, instead saying, “That still leaves the Allied Cities of Chisholm. If war were to happen between The Empire of Pwish, and a defensive alliance of Bhlast, Trok, and the Petty Kingdoms, then that leaves the city-states at our eastern flank.”
“You’re saying ‘our’.”
Eric frowned and stood up to his full height. “Do you doubt my loyalty to the kingdom after all I’ve done?”
“No,” Persim replied. “I doubt your honesty.” She snapped her fingers, and a Sigil flared to life on the back of her hand—the same golden sparkles of the Judge’s Skill flared out. “I learned a Skill from that visitor: it was a pain in the ass to learn, but I got it down. Eric, tell me honestly. . . what are you hiding?”
Core-cracked, Eric thought. Okay, I can wing this. It only identifies half-truths and lies. I can just keep telling the truth without revealing the source.
Eric said, “I’m hiding the fact that I’m from a now-extinct future timeline.” Eric clapped his hand over his mouth.
What the fuck?
[It’s not the Skill the Judge used in the courtroom. It’s a different, similar Skill. This is not good.]
Persim’s eyes went wide. “Creator above.”
Eric looked up at her and moved to the door, standing in front of it, and activated Cinderscale Shroud, covering his body in the draconic armored form. “I can explain!”
Persim drew a dagger and took up a defensive position. “You better start fucking explaining. Right. Now.”
“I . . . fuck me . . . okay, I’m from a future. Hold on a second.” Eric activated his bracer. “Darius, you there?”
“Darius Dromond? The retired hero?” Persim asked.
Darius’ voice came over the bracer. “Eric, I was just getting ready for the wedding. What do you need?”
“Persim learned the truth of my existence.”
“Ah . . . well—”
“She’s right here,” Eric added.
Darius’ voice was terse and tight. “Give me a moment.” Persim was about to speak, but a rip in space appeared next to Eric and her, and Darius stepped through the red portal before it snapped shut. “Persim, pleasure to see you again.”
Persim looked between Darius and Eric. “Eric, what is this?”
Darius sighed. “Look, Persim, I was a bit shocked when I first learned as well. Now, I could wipe your memories going back up to an hour and pretend this never happened.” He looked at Eric. “But, considering Eric hasn’t asked me to do that, I think he wants you to stay informed.”
Persim scowled and backed toward the corner. “You could try—”
Darius flicked his hand, and Persim froze in place. “I am over level nine-hundred, Persim. You do not stand an inkling of a chance. You thought I was just some level three-hundred hero and retired adventurer turned Artisan? No, I am far more.” He looked at Eric. “What do you want?”
Eric dropped his Rote. “I just want you here to back me up.” Eric cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you everything, Persim, but time is short until I have my marriage.”
Eric shared everything about the Titan, including what they had learned about the deity infecting the consciousness of the slumbering being, and the spreading infection. He told of the need to clear the mega dungeons with the primal forces, the world war, his prior experiences with the Admiral and Steward of the prior timeline—everything the Spymaster needed to know in the big picture.
She had calmed after the first minute, and by the time his whole seven-minute run-down was done, she was somber and staring somewhere on the ground between Eric and her. “That . . . I . . .” She took in a shuddering breath. “Thank you for telling me.” She looked at Darius. “I understand the need for secrecy. I . . . I know the reason for this secrecy.” She then looked at Eric, and her voice took on a sharper tone. “What now?”
Eric smiled. “Simple. The Summoned clear the Twilight Depths. I get Marley Baxter appointed as Steward—”
Persim began to ask, “How are you going to do that—”
Eric kept talking over her, “—we finish curing the kingdom of its ills to prepare it for the impending war. Then when we know it can stand the impending threats, we Summoned go and clear the other mega dungeons to stop the Titan from cracking Elyndor open and killing us all. After? Or maybe during, if needs must, we help end the war on whatever fronts the kingdom calls us to.” He sighed. “That’s all.”
Darius let out a chuckle. “You make it all sound so simple.”
“Overarching plan,” Eric replied. “Naomi is the super smart and intelligent person, not me. I just have all of the knowledge from my Paths Within and the events of the now-extinct future timeline that seem to happen in the exact same way—except for the changes I make and the consequences of those changes.”
“That explains it,” Persim muttered. “That’s why you’re able to recall so much.”
“Any other questions?” Eric asked.
Persim shook her head. She glared at Eric. “Why do you trust me so much? I could go and convey this directly to the king. Why shouldn’t I?”
Eric walked over to her. “Two reasons. First,” he pointed at Darius. “He has a Skill which can destroy you instantly, and replace you with a duplicate that knows everything you know, acts like you, and will serve his will.” Persim’s eyes went wide at that, and Eric continued, “Second, if we needed to, Darius could literally wipe your memories, right here and now, going back an hour.”
“That would be easier,” Darius quipped.
“But you’re not doing that,” Persim said. “Again, why? Why risk my knowing?”
“Because you actually give a damn,” Eric replied. “I know you, Persim, from the other timeline. You are the only good person on the small council—I mean truly good-hearted. You want nothing but Trok’s prosperity and the people to thrive. You have no ulterior motives. Trok dies if my plans don’t succeed. If we Summoned don’t clear all five mega dungeons and stop the Titan’s birth, everything is destroyed.” He moved closer and lowered his voice, trying to fill it with as much sincerity as possible. “You can help us, Persim. Help us save Elyndor.”
She stared at him for several seconds, and Eric counted the beats of his heart, hoping that he wouldn’t need Darius to use Demonic Duplicate to kill and replace her. If needed, Eric would call on his ally to do so—the fate of the world was at stake after all—but the Spymaster was a genuinely good person.
Please, Eric thought. Don’t make us do that.
Finally, she gave him a curt nod. “I swear to secrecy. Elyndor must be saved. Trok will prosper. Having your foresight is going to be invaluable.” She reached into her pocket and handed a gold loop to Darius, and one to Eric. “Communication earrings, directly to me. We’ll keep in contact.”
Eric immediately attached it to the top of his ear, out of sight, under his hair. “Whenever you need to reach out, I’ll be in touch.”
Darius sighed and put the earring up to his ear as well. “I always hated these things. Remember the last time? That Necromancer up north?”
Persim replied with a slight chuckle. “That was nothing compared to what it sounds like we face now.” She cleared her throat. “You’ve got someone in Flescion working on this anti-plague Skill, so no need to worry about that. I can get my spy network working toward figuring out this impending world war situation, and looking into this possible cult freeing the Titan.” She pulled her hood and mask up. “Now . . . you have a wedding to go to.”
“I do,” Eric said. He opened the door, the Silence Node shut off, and he turned to give the two a nod before heading toward the main hallway. After inquiring with a servant, he made his way to where the other grooms were waiting.
The other men—James Marshall, Peter Ghulara, and Cecil Valagonia—were holding wine glasses and chatting as they sat on couches.
James Marshall was a bulky man. Not fat, not skinny, but just large, with a big frame and square-ish head. His hair was a deep black and nearly a buzz-cut in how short it was, and he was clean shaven. The man raised his cup. “Ah, the last of our group.”
Cecil stood up. “Eric Baxter, eh? Making my good friend happy.” He held out a hand to shake.
Eric shook it, and then took an offered glass of bluevine from a servant. “Yes, Misty is happy, as am I. I believe we have you and your lovely bride to thank for this momentous, four way wedding.”
Cecil heartily laughed. “Shannon is fiery, just like her red hair. Creator above, I love that woman. Yes, she was very convincing.” He looked back at Peter. “You weren’t wrong about her feistiness.”
Peter smiled, but it was a half-hearted smile. Eric knew it was because the man was just marrying for appearances alone. Still, needs must, and this was the only way to ensure the Ghulara family was in the Summoned’s pocket. The man would have to deal with going to their farm estate a few times a week to keep up those appearances.
Eric looked back at James. “We haven’t met before. How are you getting along with Naomi?”
“She is a genius,” James replied. “Definitely more than my match in intellect. A perfect match for me, to be frank. The type of woman who is willing to give me plenty of time to myself, which is exactly what I sought. Depths below, it is a blessing that one of you Summoned happened to be like that.”
Cecil nudged Eric with a light elbow push. “I haven’t forgotten about your offer to do some double date events with our partners. It might have to wait a bit, but it sounded fun.”
James raised his eyebrows. “What’s a double date?”
Peter answered from the couch, saying, “It’s just going out as a pair of couples to do some activity. Dancing, partying, lots of options.”
“Ah,” James replied. “Not quite my scene.”
Eric nodded. “More into games of strategy, I imagine?”
“Yes,” James said with a grin. “You?”
Eric laughed a bit at that. “No! Depths below, no. I’m not good at games of intelligence or wits. I’m a dancer, through and through.”
James chuckled. “Then I’ll make sure Naomi and I stay near the side of the dance floor so as to not embarrass ourselves. I have two right feet, as they say.”
One of the servants rang a small bell near the door, grabbing all of the grooms’ attention. “Gentlemen, the main chamber is ready for you.”
Eric set his wine glass down and followed the servant down the corridors, making sure his clothes were on properly. He spotted Persim’s silhouette in a hallway, and gave her a curt nod which she returned.
Oh, I should tell the others.
Eric glanced down as he walked and tapped out a message to Naomi, asking her to check the listen-in-logs, and then redistribute the information: since she was constantly listening to everyone’s devices on her ‘master’ device, her Paths-side database.
The king’s main throne room, the one that would be used for holding court, was filled with four sections of pews—one for each of the old blood families and their guests—and then there was a gap for people to walk down before another set of four sections of pews were placed for other upper nobility and their guests.
The king was seated on his throne already, looking every measure of royalty and in stable health, but Eric saw the mass of pillows supporting him from behind. Two healers were flanking him as usual.
He has to be on his last legs, Eric thought. He’ll pass away before winter, just like the prior timeline. Good to know that things aren’t changing unless I change them.
The death of the king meant that he could do exactly what he planned on doing. The unforeseen boon he had acquired was about to give him a new piece on the field that he had not planned on being able to play.
The four grooms were each directed to a circular rug that had been placed in front of the rows of pews for the different families, and waited. The entire hall was abuzz with people talking, chatting, conversing with one another. Eric didn’t care for a single one of them—he was looking at the chair next to the king’s throne.
It was a simple, elegant, white chair, with a straight back, a single cushion, and long arm rests. He knew exactly who was going to be sitting there.
The crowd fell silent as Castellan Marcella Clairemont came out of a side passage, dressed in some of the most courtly attire possible, and carrying her staff of office. She walked in front of the king, below his dais, and tapped the staff on the ground several times, gathering everyone’s attention. “Please, quiet and settle.”
The room calmed, and the doors at the farthest end were shut. At the Castellan’s gesture of the staff to the right side of the room, a small orchestra began playing a tune that was composed of strings and woodwinds. They played out a hauntingly happy melody, one that Eric knew well, as he had heard it played when he had attended other people’s marriages.
The doors to the left opened, and the brides came out of another passage. Eric spared a glance for Isabella Ghulara, the woman who Peter would be marrying. She was a farm girl for sure, with tanned skin, sun-bleached blonde hair, a stocky build that showed she was no stranger to working with animals or in a field, and yet he also had an air of grace around her denoting her station of nobility. She walked past Eric, to Peter who was on his right, and took her position next to him, grasping his hand.
Misty came up to Eric and stood next to him, and he clasped hers.
Shannon and Cecil were to their left, and farthest down the line was James and Naomi.
Two marriages of convenience, two with actual emotional connection, Eric thought. Interesting how it all works out like that.
[It is rather interesting. I am happy that you were able to integrate yourselves into all of the old blood families. That should make your efforts of stabilizing the kingdom and improving its infrastructure, defenses, and security for the coming conflict much easier.]
Agreed.
The king cleared his throat, and made to stand, but fell back into his cushions. “Before the ceremony begins,” he began. “I have an announcement.” The room was silent. “As you can see, I am in ailing health . . . I doubt I am long for this world. My son Richard Tremaunt II, has been missing for some time now, and none can find him. Not only that, but people have come forth, and verified accounts have been lodged of several crimes he has committed. He is not worthy of being my heir.”
The room broke out in mutters, and the Castellan had to bang her staff once more for quiet.
“I denounce Richard from the line of succession.”
The room remained silent.
The king continued. “Thanks to the efforts of the Summoned, the daughter that the traitor Alp Nash told me to cast aside has been found, re-Classed thanks to the efforts of our Magistra of Integration, Seraphine d’Orveil, and returned to her rightful place.” At that the princess, Amber, walked out from behind the throne, and whispers exploded from all around the room as she took the seat next to the king. “I name Amber Tremaunt, first of her name, as my heir.”
Eric was the first to let Misty’s hands go and clap. A moment later, others broke out in applause. Eric made sure to shout, “Hail the king! Hail the princess!” Moments later, others took up the cheer, and Eric made eye contact with Amber. He saw the look of thanks in her eyes.
And now I’ve got your loyalty, Eric thought. Well, more of it, since I was the one who saved you.
The king coughed a few times, then waved his hand, and the Castellan tapped her staff again for silence. “My daughter has agreed to bless the couples on my behalf, as her first act of office.”
Eric gripped Misty’s hand and the duo raised their hands, holding them up in front of them. The other couples followed suit.
Amber stood up, walked down to the Castellan, and grabbed a series of white ribbons. She first went to Eric and Misty, and her face was nothing but a huge grin. “Thank you, Eric,” she whispered. “Please release your beloved’s hand for a moment.”
Eric glanced at Misty, and Misty gave him a nod, and Eric did so.
The princess took a few steps back. “Blackflame Warlock Eric Baxter, step up on the dais.”
Uhm . . . okay, Eric thought, I have no clue what is happening, but I can’t say no.
He stepped up onto the dais, and the princess walked over to the king, whispered in his ear, and then grabbed the sword that was sheathed in a scabbard leaning against the throne. She reverently held it in two hands, though seemed to struggle with the weight, and then cleared her throat. “General Kristoff Iron-eye, attend to me. Eric, kneel.”
The General immediately got up from his seat and moved to the princess, holding the blade for her, and touched it to Eric’s shoulders as the princess spoke.
“You and the Summoned saved me from a life of slavery and exploitation. But, you were the one who actually rescued me from that horrible place and spirited me away. I have promised royal favors to your allies, and while I have already promised you a royal favor as well . . . I have had time to think. After obtaining my true Class calling of Princess, and speaking with the Index’s mana constructs, who in a moment of epiphany gave me guidance—”
[I was able to use a mana construct to sort of nudge things in your direction. You’re welcome. This should help our plans.]
Eric’s eyes widened at that, and the princess continued despite Indedroma’s mental interruption.
“—I have decided that a further reward is warranted. I hereby name you knight-errant of Trok.”
The room exploded in whispers, mutterings, and stirrings.
Through all of the words, one sentiment consistently came through. “Knight-errant? There hasn’t been one named in centuries.”
The Castellan tapped her stave, and the room quieted. Amber continued speaking, “Do you accept this title, and swear to serve the Kingdom of Trok as its faithful servant and protector, for here until the end of your days?”
“I swear it,” Eric said, immediately.
“Do you swear to travel anywhere on Elyndor that duty may call you, to ensure Trok is protected from threats both foreign and domestic?”
Ah, smart play, Eric thought.
[Exactly why my mana constructs advised her in such a way. Knight-errant means you can travel for those duties. And my mana-constructs can drip-feed her information, alongside the Spymaster’s information since she’s now in-the-know, so we can have a further legitimized reason for your travels to other mega dungeons.]
“I swear it,” Eric replied.
The princess took the sword from the General, returned it to the king’s side, and then dismissed the man. “Stand and return to your wife.”
Eric did so, and clasped Misty’s hand. She gave it a squeeze.
Then, Amber moved back over with the ribbon, and tied their hands together. She moved to each couple and did the same, then moved back to her seat. Loudly, she proclaimed, “As your hands are now bound, so too are your fates. As husbands and wives, your lives are intertwined. Together, you shall face the challenges of life, and persevere. May your days be long and fruitful. As the old blood of Trok, I hope that this unified day of celebration brings the kingdom closer together, as the founding families tighten their bonds. Summoned and old blood—this is a blessing the creator has bestowed upon us. Thank you for attending, and may The Index guide your Path.”
She took her seat, and thunderous applause broke out as the couples turned around to face the audience who were present. Eric turned to Misty and couldn’t help the emotions running through him as he felt that warmth, that pure delight, running through him from toes to top. Misty was crying tears of happiness, and he kissed her, holding her closely for creator-knows how long. He didn’t care—at the moment, he was just with her.
After the applause died down, Eric separated from Misty, and the two just shared a happy laugh with one another.
The Castellan tapped her staff. “The King must retire, but Princess Amber invites you to the secondary throne room, where an after-party has been generously donated to by all four families whose children are being married today. Congratulations to the newlyweds, and please, follow the servants.”
Eric and Misty, along with the other couples, were the first right behind the Princess and her retinue of king’s guards and servants, while the King himself moved off with the aid of his healers and a few others down some chambers.
Eric glanced at the other Summoned to gauge their reactions. As expected, Peter and Isabella had that polite-happy look on their faces. Naomi and James looked authentically happy, but not the level of happiness that Eric knew he felt, or that he saw with Shannon and Cecil. Those two were absolutely ecstatic, and Eric couldn’t help but grin as he saw a reflection of himself and Misty’s own level of infatuation in the two.
The back room where a trial had been held not too long ago had been converted to a massive dance and feast hall. The orchestra had surreptitiously moved from the wedding room back here, and were already striking up a more lively tune. Tables had been set with food, and the whole setup was more of an hors d'oeuvre style of arrangement, where people would just grab a plate and get bits and pieces of different dishes that were constantly being resupplied and freshened up.
Misty pulled Eric over to the orchestra, and asked for a very specific song. “Can you please play Valkior’s Adoration XI?”
“Of course,” one of the cellists replied. There was a pause as the orchestra quickly conversed, and as Misty and Eric moved to the center of the dance floor, the melody kicked up.
“I didn’t know you liked this type of music,” Eric said as the two engaged in a very complicated, almost Nordic-sounding, ragtime-stomp style song that was upbeat, and was energy intensive with lots of back and forth movement.
“I feel like showing off,” she replied.
Eric couldn’t disagree and thankfully he was quite familiar with the style of dance as it was often performed in the Petty Kingdom of Nairos during celebrations or festivals of large, fortuitous events—and a renowned saint arriving and curing a plague was definitely grounds for a fortuitous event.
The room filled out with attendants and Eric couldn’t care in the slightest—he only had eyes for Misty and the fun of the moment. But, the song was a short-lived one, as it was only about two-minutes long, and was quite exhausting. When they finished, there was raucous applause, and the two, breathing heavily, did a little bow, and headed toward the refreshments.
Eric was mentally prepared for the barrage of congratulations and took them all in stride. Misty was equally as busy, and by the time they actually got their hands on some water another ten minutes had passed.
Princess Amber approached Eric and she had a small grin. “Pardon me, Chirurgeon Misty Baxter.”
Misty looked over at her. “Princess Amber Tremaunt.”
With formal introductions out of the way, Amber resumed the more casual address. “May I borrow your husband for a more simple waltz?”
Misty glanced at Eric. “Who am I to say no to our future Queen?” She gently untied the ribbon, and then re-tied it around her hand. Then, she gave Eric a kiss on the cheek. “My knight-errant husband. Go serve our Princess.”
Eric took Amber’s arm and went to the center of the dance floor—where several other dancers made space. The two started a slow, traditional waltz despite the beat of the music being a little fast for it.
“Thank you, Princess,” Eric said just loud enough to be heard over the sound of feet on floor and music.
“Just Amber, please,” she replied. “You earned your title. The Index told me that you are working directly for The Paths. That is why I wanted to talk to you.”
Eric smiled and continued the waltz. “I am a servant of Trok, but Elyndor asked for my help when I first arrived.”
“I assumed so. Summoned have always heralded unique times. All I know is that The Index advised me that you will need to be able to freely travel across Elyndor to ensure the world’s survival, and that Trok would prosper as long as I supported your efforts. You have it.” Amber led Eric in a complex four-step movement that took them away from a pair of dancers who had come closer—possibly to try and overhear their conversation.
Eric leaned in closer and slowed the pace, whispering, “I promise I will not abuse your support. I do not want to do that, ever. I will work to keep your trust.”
Amber pulled away a little and Eric could see the genuine sincerity of her smile. “That is a brilliantly honest answer.”
“I would like to use my royal favor.”
“Already? Very well.”
“Convince your father to name Marley Baxter to the position of Steward.”
She looked quizzical at that. “If I may ask, why?”
He made sure to speak between movements, continuing his statement as they closed next to one another, as to not be too loud and thus be overheard. “Tenebria’s lower-city, and Trok as a whole, are going to be dealing with the fallout of the prior Steward and Admiral’s bad deeds. Who better to steer the supplies and coordination of responses than the man who has, quite literally, been coordinating healthcare for the vast majority of the population? He knows what is needed in the capital, so giving him the power to make those changes on a broader scale will support the health of the country. A healthy populace is a strong populace. And Trok needs strength for what is to come—I’m sure the Spymaster told you a bit.”
Amber curtly nodded at that, still keeping her polite smile, but Eric knew she had been given some insight by the Spymaster, as it was obvious the king was on his way out the door, and soon enough Amber would be taking over as Queen. “I will make my father see reason. Your favor will be granted, and if my father will not see reason, then your favor will not be considered used.”
The song came to a close, and Eric bowed the traditional Elyndian bow. “Thank you, my Princess, for everything.”
She pulled up from the bow, and took his arm as he walked her to the edge of the dance floor. “No, thank you, Eric, for saving me and removing all obstacles from me and my birthright. I may call upon you to serve me in the future if a task needs a more . . . violent hand.” She glanced sideways at him. “Be aware, the woman who helped me re-Class thinks she has some pull over me—she does not. But, she thinks she does. Use that how you will.” She returned Eric to Misty, who was talking to Shannon and Cecil. “Misty, your husband is quite the dancer.”
“Don’t I know it,” she replied. Misty re-tied the ribbon around her and Eric’s hands. “My thanks for returning him and not taking him.”
Amber giggled at that. “If he was not infatuated and already married, I would have considered courting him.” She looked at Eric. “I may call upon you for counsel soon here. But, if you will excuse me, I have others to speak with.” She vanished into the crowd.
Shannon let out a low whistle. “Damn, the Princess likes you, Eric.”
Eric squeezed Misty’s hand. “I’m married now. Off limits, and I have eyes for only one person.”
After some chatter and a few comings and goings of various individuals across the spectrum of nobility, Eric and Misty were able to get some time to actually eat and drink. Eventually, though, the few moments Eric was dreading finally appeared.
Seraphine, her husband Tristan, and Xeraphine approached him and Misty.
Ah, core-cracked, Eric thought. Okay, you knew this was coming.
Seraphine dipped her head, a polite smile on her face, just like when she first met the Summoned. “Blackflame Warlock Eric Baxter, Chirurgeon Misty Baxter . . . congratulations on your marriage.”
“My thanks, Magistra Seraphine d’Orveil,” Eric replied. “I see you and your husband look healthy and hale.”
“We are,” Tristan replied, also with a polite smile on his face. He seemed less ‘forced smile’ and more casual, as if he was thinking, ‘it is what it is’, and just wanted to move on with life.
Xeraphine, the person who Eric was dreading speaking to, said, “Extra congratulations are in order for your ascension to knight-errant. That was a surprise no one saw coming.”
“I certainly didn’t,” Misty said, seemingly wanting to take a position of superiority in the conversation. “But it gives Eric the leeway to go anywhere the crown needs him to go. The trust the Princess has placed in my husband, all because he saved her from a life of slavery and exploitation?” She squeezed Eric’s arm. “He has a good heart.”
Xera’s smile twitched slightly. “Yes, he does. If you will excuse me.” She turned and rapidly departed.
Thank you for dealing with that, Eric thought. I really didn’t want to have to try to assuage her.
Seraphine glanced after her younger sister, then put her eyes back on Misty. “What are the plans for you now that you are newly wed?”
Eric sipped some of the bluevine that Benson had already checked from his hidden position along with the other servants on the side of the room. “Well, third Class acquisitions in a few days, and then us Summoned are continuing our work in the Twilight Depths.”
“Why?” Tristan asked. “You have married into wealth. Surely you do not need to risk your safety anymore.”
Eric shook his head. “That is not why. I need to be strong to serve the kingdom in its time of need.” He looked at Seraphine. “I am level one-hundred and sixty-nine.” At that, her face paled and the smile cracked a bit, and Eric continued, “I intend to complete the Twilight Depths with my allies, and then find every wild dungeon I can, so that when my Princess and future Queen calls upon my service, I can respond and do what must be done. I am a Reaper, that is my Path, and I will deal with the enemies of Trok in as humane a way as possible—all threats external or internal.”
Tristan chuckled. “Well, fellow Reaper, I must say, you are developing quickly. Already you are past my peak of power.” He sighed and swirled his wine. “Perhaps I should descend into the Twilight Depths once more. What do you think, dearest?”
Seraphine shot a look back at him. “Perhaps, my beloved.” She then looked back at Eric and her smile was back, the mask back in place. “Well, Misty, in the meantime, what will you be up to?”
“What I have always been doing,” Misty replied. “Helping those who need help. Medicine for the poor. But, Eric is still going to have some king’s guard contingent, and therefore I’ll have some assigned to me.” She lowered her voice and whispered, “I think one of the Spymaster’s men will also be assigned to keep an eye on me!”
Eric grinned at that. He had already discussed those two items with the Castellan and Spymaster before the wedding day. With the threat of the Steward and Admiral dealt with, the huge presence of the king's guards wouldn’t be necessary. And, with the Summoned firmly tied to Trok, being contained to the capital was no longer required. But, the Summoned would still have a king’s guard and one of Persim’s spies assigned to them and their spouse, just as an extra safety precaution.
In this case, Eric mentally added, both Misty and I will have to share one Heavy Knight and one Spy. I’ll probably have the spy, and her the Heavy Knight. That would be the best: give her the visible protection to ward off anyone trying something foolish.
Seraphine nodded. “Wonderful. Well, I wish you both the best.” She bowed. “Pardon me, I must congratulate the other Summoned.” She departed with her husband.
Eric hugged Misty. “Thanks for dealing with the awkward part.”
“Not a problem at all, my husband,” Misty replied.