Chapter 581: Familiar Streets
Familiar Streets
Martel slept on a cot that night. When he woke, the room was cold as no servant had come to start a fire in the hearth, but this did not bother him, and the breakfast was as delicious as yesterday. He began to understand why rich people made such a fuss about servants; the amount of labour and skill involved in creating such a tray every morning, presumably for every member of the household and their guests, had to be considerable.
He found Eleanor in the library, and she looked up from her book. "How was the Lyceum yesterday? You were gone all day."
"Same as when we left it, really. It's only been a year, after all. But I enjoyed seeing our old teachers."
"I'll have to make the same visit myself. What do you intend to do today?"
"I think I'll just walk around the city. Save further reunions for tomorrow." While Martel had savoured being back at the Lyceum, he still felt worn from talking all day.
"Very well. By the way, my parents told me to invite you for our solstice celebration, tomorrow night."
An expression crossed Martel's face. "Maybe I shouldn't. I imagine Cheval will be there?"
"Yes, but I do not see why that should keep you. He has already sent you to the Tenth. What else can he do?"
Nothing worse than the Khivans, probably. "Still, I'm just not comfortable in this crowd. They look at me, they see a Tyrian peasant who happens to have magic. After the summer we've had, I'm not in the mood to ignore remarks and overlook provocations."
"Nor should you." Eleanor placed her book on a table and got up to approach him. "If anybody speaks an ill word to you, reply at your leisure. None of these silkworms have ever seen battle they have no right to look down on you."
Martel gave a wry smile. "And when my temper runs away with me, and I start a fight?"
"My father will be happy, probably. He practically instigated one the first time you were here." Seeing the uncertainty on his face, she added, "You and I are tied together, Martel. My father wants you to prove yourself in front of all his guests, validating my choice to be your protector."
He had not considered that, though it reminded him of the saint's feast back in Esmouth. The way they treated him affected how they treated her.
"And my mother will be delighted that her celebration is the talk of the town," Eleanor added with a smile.
"I only care what you want, really."
"I want my battlemage to crush anybody who dares disparage him."
"Well, alright."
***
As Martel left the house, he went straight south this time. Once he had crossed the noble quarter, he reached the bridge district. It had more of the hustle and bustle he expected; while winter storms made the main harbour quiet during the season, barges and small vessels still traversed the Alonde River, causing plenty of traffic between Smallport and the city itself.
When Martel first had come to Morcaster, the sheer number of people had made him dizzy; now, he found it familiar to be once more surrounded by people of all sorts, along with beasts of burden and carts, crossing the streets in every direction. At the same time, his old dislike of people coming too close had returned. Thankfully, other travellers knew to shy away from a battlemage with a haughty expression on his face.
Martel made his way to The River Pearl. From the outside, the place looked much the same. It still offered the same services, by the looks of it; perhaps it still had the same staff, although he did not recognise the guard standing outside. Certainly, it would be under new ownership, given the previous one was dead. While Martel had mixed feelings, most of them negative, towards Lady Pearl, he had spent many hours inside her establishment. All of them in the company of Ruby, whose body he had left behind deep underground. Feelings of guilt emerged at the thought of having not only failed to protect her, but also abandoned her body after the fight, denying her even basic funerary rites. Almost abruptly, he tore himself away and continued.
***
Still walking south, Martel reached the end of the bridge district where it met the Khivan enclave. The residents stared at him, usually with suspicion or outright hostility in their looks. He did not blame them. He was not only Asterian, but a mage. And he was not only a mage, but a soldier in the legions that currently fought their relatives in the old country.
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Already from afar, he saw it. Towering over the old, wooden houses, a colossal insula rose in the middle of the district. It could house probably hundreds. As Martel walked towards it on familiar streets, he stopped just shy of the main square in the enclave. He looked to his right where once, a watchmaker's workshop had lain. Nothing remained but debris. It looked as if work had begun clearing space for the next insula.
Bitterness met regret as Martel looked from the remnants of Shadi's home to the enormous building just down the street. A stark, physical reminder that Cheval had won. His schemes had reached fruition, Martel had failed to stop him or keep Shadi in her home, and by gaining the duke's enmity, Martel had earned a place in the Tenth.
Revisiting all of these memories, Martel felt his fury rise. Not the short-tempered anger that made him act without thinking, but the slow-burning wrath that made him want to dedicate all his powers towards destroying this man.
Martel exhaled, knowing it was a fool's errand. He could never contend with the resources at the duke's disposal, and there was a risk that his actions might fall back on Eleanor. Martel walked onwards, but before leaving the enclave, he crossed the square to enter the small Khivan temple. The few worshippers inside looked at him with various emotions, none of them positive. The priest of the shrine walked towards him, but he seemed afraid to speak. While Martel recognised him, it did not seem he recognised the wizard. Wordlessly, Martel dug out some gold coins and placed them in the hand of the priest before he left.
***
Martel continued to the harbour, almost as a matter of routine. He had often gone this way in the company of Shadi, and it felt right to tread the same path today. But he had already seen the docks since his return, and he realised that he did not actually have any interest in revisiting the place.
Hungry, he looked around for a tavern that might serve him something to eat, which he found with ease. Yet as he stepped inside and considered what to buy, an odd sensation struck him. The smell of food, especially the different kinds of charred or spiced meat, made him feel uncomfortable, almost nauseated.
It took a lot for Martel to become ill, as he enjoyed the good health generally given to those with magical talent, and this felt more like when he had been seasick during the journey, though he could not understand what might provoke such a reaction in him. His appetite lost, Martel left and set a course straight back to the home of House Fontaine.
***
As he stepped inside, the majordomo greeted him. "Lady Fontaine request that you join her in the wintergarden at your convenience, but preferably before supper."
"Oh, sure." Martel removed his cap and gloves. "I'll just get rid of these, and I'll go see her."
"Please, allow me, sir." The servant took Martel's items of clothing; seeing the mage look in different directions, he added, "The wintergarden is through there, sir."
Martel went the described way, and if nothing else, the scent of flowers in bloom helped him reach his destination. This deep in winter, it was almost strange to see so much green as he stepped into a room with great glass windows, noticeably warmer than the rest of the house. Martel suspected some kind of enchantment lay upon this place, which, along with the large amount of glass, probably made this the most expensive room in the house, perhaps save the library.
The lady of the residence sat on a couch, looking up at him with a smile as he arrived. "Sir Martel, thank you for joining me. Please, be seated."
"Certainly." Martel sat down in the other end of the couch.
"Has my daughter conveyed our invitation for tomorrow night?"
"She has. She claims you are aware that you are inviting a fire-touched battlemage to your celebration."
The lady laughed. "We are."
"In that case, I accept."
"Good. I asked you here for another reason, though. It concerns Eleanor."
Martel wondered how close this conversation would lean against the one he had already been through with the master of the house, but he said nothing and waited for her to continue.
"You are aware that I have experienced the grief of losing a child. While my youngest daughter has been returned to us through some miracle, I spent years looking at her lifeless body, assuming she would never wake. I may not have truly lost a child, but I am intimately familiar with the pain this causes."
"I can't imagine how that would feel."
"Only a parent could. And this experience has changed my outlook. I do not care about ambition, rank, or status where my children are concerned. Only that they are safe. While my husband has been most consternated by Eleanor's decision to join you, I could not care less. Except that this so clearly demonstrates her loyalty to you, and given her sense of duty, I have no doubt about the lengths to which she will go in order to protect you." The noblewoman turned her eyes towards Martel, who noticed how similar they looked to her daughter's. "My question to you, Sir Martel, is whether she can expect such loyalty from you."
"Undoubtedly!" The question felt absurd to Martel. Who or what else would he be loyal to?
"This is unequivocal? Forgive me for pressuring you, but if I am to experience the pain of losing a child again, I shall quite certainly go mad. It would ease my mind to know her companion has the same dedication to her safety as the reverse."
Martel realised that Lady Fontaine had no idea what Martel and Eleanor went through, or she would realise how superfluous a question it was. She did not know how it felt to leave the fragile safety of the camp to enter enemy territory with only one other person by his side, one person he could trust. How it felt when they fought together, placing their lives in each other's hands. How it felt after every fight, when the sounds ended and the smoke cleared, and Martel frantically looked around until his eyes found her and confirmed she was not wounded.
He frowned, trying to think of how he could put all this into words that would convince the lady. "I would rather watch the Empire burn to cinders than see Eleanor be harmed in any way. In fact, I'd start the fire myself if it came to it."
"Given your profession and predilection, I take it those are not empty words. Very well, Sir Martel, I appreciate the conviction of your answer and that you would indulge me. I shall see you at supper." She rose from her seat and left the wintergarden, leaving Martel alone in the bloom.
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