Wreath of Lilies, Cauldron of Poison

Interlude 4

Lady of the Theater

While the excitement was ongoing in the Palace Garden, the Kitchen was still a warzone as ever.

“I dun care wha’s happening out dere. The sky fallin’ or sum demon chargin’ in. Long as I’m in this kitchen, all’s we gonna do is cook,” Mr. Grover growled.

“Brienne! How’s the potatoes?!”

Mr. Grover started shaking his pan, but gradually stopped when he realized that no one’s answering him. He put his pan down and craned his head to see across the room where he saw a batch of unpeeled potatoes and a neglected knife stuck on one of them.

“Where the hell’s Brienne?!”

It just so happened that that very girl was walking across the hallway where Knights in well- polished armor were standing guard, a basket of clean laundry between her arms. She walked with her head tucked down, seemingly afraid of the imposing men.

“Stop.”

The woman jolted in surprise and slowly turned her head. “Y – yes?”

“Where are you going with that basket?” One of the Knights asked.

“I – I need to change some beddings, Sir Knight,” she said hesitantly.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s…for sullied beddings, Sir. Blood’s might hard to scrub clean.”

“Oh,” the Knight said with a sudden understanding when he saw the reaction of his fellow Knights. “Ooh….on your way then.”

As soon as she was out of an earshot, she looked left and right before sidling to a dark corner, where the maidservant then produced a distinctive ring from a hidden pocket in her undergarment. Scratching the side of her breast slightly with a frown of discomfort. It was a good hiding place, but it did chafe a fair bit.

Gone were the scared and timid expression, in its place a purposeful, sharp one. The hunched posture was straightened, and drooped shoulders retracted. Brienne let a thin smile form as she put on the ring.

Rendezvous within the Palace was nothing unusual, especially for young, handsome men and dreamy young girls. But image need to be maintained. She knew this well, as she had her first time in one of these rooms.

But now is not a time to revel in memories. The ring was an Item Ring. And from it she took out a set of wizard clothes and two lumps of cut wood. The latter she then put behind her cheeks to give her a more pronounced jaw. The clothes were something she took from an unfortunate student of the Tower.

She then ripped her hair apart, which turned out to be a wig. She had almost no hair upon her head, as they were cropped up to barely a centimeter off the base of her head.

She then put on another wig which she took out from the Item Ring. This one ginger and curly.

A bit of make up here and there and then…

Brienne the gullible maidservant was no more.

Her collaborator had painstakingly look for a maidservant with little skill and plain appearance.

She was the perfect woman to impersonate. Plain and unattractive. Her timidity and tendency to never look at other people’s face was a boon to her profession. She did not even have to put on too much disguise. It was all in the quality of one’s acting.

And who was she if not a prodigy of that very art?

Even if her own family met her on the street while she was in disguise, they would not have even spared her a glance.

She stored all the items for her change in her Item Ring and walked towards the outer garden with all the confidence of someone who was supposed to be there.

In the barren garden just below the Audience Chamber, it was chaos.

An hour had passed since the cannon was fired and some of the Wizards who powered it were screaming and convulsing on the ground. They were being restrained by other Wizards who were still fine.

“How many fell?” Klein asked as he watched his Knights trying to help the fallen.

“17. 13 Knights and 4 Wizards. It appears that just being around the Power Source without the binding had detrimental effects for the sanity of the men, especially for those with lesser strength of mind,” his adjutant said. “We are calling for help from the Wizards who were standing by at the barracks to come and heal the fallen.”

“Hrgh. Did anyone else except the Wizards got anywhere near the Power Source?”

“No. I made sure of that.”

“Hear that?” the man turned towards an old woman in a pointy hat with a large hole on it. She was the leader of the Wizards there. “So how - why are my Knights on the ground blowing bubbles, Archmage Thalia?!”

“I don’t know,” she said without making an excuse.

“You don’t know?! How can you not know?! The Towers made the damn thing!”

“I said I don’t know. Because we don’t know,” she replied again, her face stone cold. “We created it using an ancient knowledge we found at dungeon. Half of this is something entirely new to us. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to gather all the Wizards still conscious to reseal it.”

While this exchange was happening, Akira was standing by the cannon, his gaze transfixed at the massive barrel. For some reason, the strange effect of the Demonbane Cannon did not affect him.

The handsome Commander slapped his forehead and let his trusty adjutant to take care of the rest.

“Damn it. Those Wizards will be the death of me,” Klein said as he stood by Akira’s right.

“Oh, Lord Klein…”

“You have misgivings, Lord Akira?” Klein asked as he gave his slumped shoulders a friendly tap.

“I…I would be lying if I don’t. I mean…that thing is…” Akira glanced at the reprehensible thing hidden under the red cloth. “The cannon was impressive, of course. And the strength, I don’t think I can replicate such power even if I do my best with Grunford. But…”

“I understand,” the friendly Knight said with a soft sigh. “I too, have doubts about this. Especially after seeing what it did to my Knights…” the man’s eyes were clear in his abrupt silence.

“...then again, what do I know, eh? I’m a soldier, I just do what my King tells me to do. To question the decision of His Majesty is not something I can do,” he said with a hint of self-pity. “But you…you should go forward with what you believe in, Hero of Calendia. You are a symbol of hope. A symbol of Junnaveil’s love to the people of Calendia. You can leave the dirty work to us.”

With that, he gave him a final squeeze on his shoulders. After that he left to check on his men.

Akira, now left alone, squeezed Grunford’s scabbard. His face scrunched up with doubt. Unnoticed to him, one of the beads implanted in the eye of the dragon carving on the sword shone.

He was a Hero but compared to the veterans like Klein and the King he was a mere fledgling. A symbol of hope? And yet the King and his aides made all the decisions without telling him. Only telling him when it was already a done deal.

“I am a symbol,” Akira bit his lips until it bled to try and distract himself from his feeling of insecurity. “…nothing more.”

The woman who was Brienne mixed in with the Wizards who were helping the fallen men and women and managed to get close enough to the cannon.

She did not like this kind of job. Ones without ample time to prepare. But she had to do it, otherwise, why be her at all?

With that thought, she made her way up the platform and her eyes fell onto the orb.

And what she saw made her feel weak-kneed.

Bulbous, gloopy meaty mess with eyes that gazed at her with such glee that it made her heart fell to her stomach.

The faces on the blob were those of groaning and screaming humans. The pipes that were connected to the orb were stabbed haphazardly into the blob of meat, with the the growth from its bulbous form starting to eat into the pipes.

The moment it looked at her, one of the faces smiled and ate itself with its grotesquely yellowed teeth. And then it revealed a face much like hers. But not the face she was wearing right now. But the real her.

The woman swallowed the bile threatening to escape her mouth and winced at its acidic and bitter taste.

Even without understanding what she just saw, she knew that this hope, this fearsome weapon of Calendia was made with the body part a Demon. And not just any Demon, but something at the level of a Demon Lord.

“Hey!” Akira climbed up the platform and pulled the female Wizard who was looking at the orb. “Are you mad? Didn’t you see the others on the ground just now?”

It took the her a short while before her eyes regain their focus. “W-wha - ? S-sorry.”

“Do you need me to take you to your friends?”

The woman assuming the identity of a Wizard dug her nails deep into her palm to keep herself from falling and forced out a smile. “No, that’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

With that, she scurried away towards the other Wizards.

She saw the looks on the fallen Wizards. They were laughing, crying, seething, as if they had lost their sanity.

She felt a shiver on her spine and quickly left the place.

She walked with a fast pace towards an empty room and quickly assumed the form of a woman of high breed in a Ball dress. Not too fancy, but gaudy enough to show that she had money.

Even in her distress, she must not let out a hint of her real self. She had planted this belief into her mind ever since she decided to leave her old family.

Quickly she made her way towards a carriage, almost undistinguishable to that of an upstart baron. Once she was in, the driver shook the reins and they were off and none’s the wiser.

After they were a few meters away from the bridge, the driver slid open a wooden panel by his seat.

“Long night tonight, Milady?”

“Don’t want to speak,” she said. Her stomach felt cold and unpleasant.

“Understood. Shall we head on home?”

“No. Not home,” she grimaced. She needed to share this secret with her collaborator as soon as possible so she could quickly forget.

“To Prince Elhart’s Mansion.”

It was almost midnight when the woman arrived at the back entrance of a large mansion. Normally she would have visited from the front. But today was not a normal day.

An elderly gentleman’s gentleman came out as soon as he saw the carriage. He did not say anything as he welcomed her in. It was not because he was impolite, but because the man was deaf and mute.

It was how the owner of the mansion preferred his most trusted steward. And he made him so.

She was guided to a dining room filled with precious paintings and beautiful chandeliers. The walls were painted with purple and there were carvings of various animals on the large glass window to the left of the dining table. Two maids and two servants in prim outfit stood by the wall while two men in white clothes and white apron were serving a man.

Or what became of a man when he was left to indulge without ever stopping.

Fat, bloated, and ugly.

Those were words that she would use to describe this man before her.

Sitting behind a large table made of rare wood, lavishly decorated with gold, the unshapely man daintily enjoyed a sip of water from a crystal goblet before cutting a duck breast sauced with luscious blood red sauce.

“You are not finished? Didn’t you start this afternoon?” she asked.

“I took short naps along the way,” the man said firmly. “To gorge is to show disrespect to the food, after all. Proper rest after a few courses are paramount.”

The man gestured with a wave of his stubby finger for her to sit at the other end of the table.

As she did so, a servant came over and poured her a fragrant tea on a cup that would cost a regular man a year of his salary.

The man did not bother with her any further as he resumed enjoying his meal.

For him a full course meal was to be faced with the utmost propriety. To indulge was to face a battle of attrition. The finest of food, the finest of wine, and the finest of tableware.

Knives and fork were his weapons. Fine clothes were his armor. And all the food before him was his opponent.

Such was his indulgence.

And such was his prerogative. The prerogative of Prince Elhart of Attenburgh.

“I still cannot see how you can you be so different compared to your brother, King Gerard.”

“We are different people. Of, course we will be different. He chose the path of throne while I chose the path of a gourmet. He has his difficulties, I have mine.”

“I wonder what kind of difficulty someone like you have?”

“Walking, for one. And staying alive,” the man guffawed. “Just like any other job, high difficulty means high standard. And high standard means high pay,” the man said, licking his fingers in delectation. “Just as yours truly. As I am sitting here enjoying my meal, I am sure that no less than a hundred men is thinking about how to slit my throat. And some of them might even be in this very room.”

At this word, some of the servants gulped and stood straighter.

The man smirked at the effect of his simple suggestion and continued.

“Nevertheless, I paid them very well, far above the income of the common cook,” the man said as he gently put the bones of a perfectly roasted duck. He scraped the sauce left one the plate with a piece of crusty bread and popped it into his mouth. It was a rude gesture, but the Chef standing beside him exhaled lightly with a look of relief.

“The sauce was spectacular. I will have it again tomorrow with a roasted piglet.”

“The sauce will be a bit different, Prince,” the Head Chef, one with a permanent frown and a curled mustache said with a nod. “It will need to be a bit sweeter to cut through the fat.”

At this, the other servants took deep intakes of breaths.

“Did I not say that I want the same sauce?!”

“Then I will make two batches,” the man said without missing a beat. He had been the Prince’s Head Chef for 3 years and understood him very well.

“Then so be it! Two batches. Do not disappoint me, Huber!”

“Have I ever?” he asked with a haughty smile.

“Hmhm,” the man smiled back.

After the short and tense exchange, Prince Elhart then waved his hand to order everyone to leave the room.

As soon as they were gone, he tapped a golden statue next to him and immediately a barrier was released.

A thin smile appeared on his lips when he saw the look on her face.

“A new toy of mine. It can create a barrier that will keep our voice from escaping the vicinity for 10 minutes. Very convenient. Very expensive.”

“…You can flaunt your toys later, Elhart. I am not in the mood today.”

“Oh, and what could make the “Lady of the Theater” be sour of heart today?”

“It’s about the new weapon you told me about.”

“Hmm…yes?”

“You are right in your fear. The Power Source is a Demon. And not just any Demon. Something dangerous enough to cause men to go mad. I managed to stay sane because I only got a glimpse of it.”

At this new info, the fat man shook his head. “I see. I see. Arlond, you damn fool. Your hate is going to be the death of us all. And that brother of mine too, he fell for that man’s whispers.”

He was silent for a few moments, his gaze nondescript. “And now, what will you do with this news?”

“That is my business. Your job is to hand me information. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Indeed. I am content with simply enjoying my life with good food, good wine, and a good show,” he said with a short laugh. “Ah, that reminds me, during the 3 months of your absence a new girl rose to prominence in the Royal Theater. Quite the darling of the crowd, that one. Some even said that she could replace you as the Lady of the Theater,” he said, a hint of glee in his tone.

“Well, we’ll see about that shall we? L'actrice is not one to shirk from a young filly’s challenge.”

With that parting words, the woman left.

Even to the end, she did not ever take off her disguise. The man had even begun to forget how she was supposed to look.

“Then again, that coldness. That bravery. To dare infiltrate the Calendian Palace armed with only disguises. Truly, she had a heart of steel.”