POV: Cabil
Location: Herith
------
Herith, an industrialized machine-powered pinnacle of buoyancy—opulent, vibrant, just like the cities seen on postcards. Tall copper constructs and embroidered estates outlined the streets, while tube chimneys expelled thick, rich clouds of Ghryzite. Overhead, spires and pipes hung high as mech-winged riders hovered beneath rocket lines. Seemed like majesty had kept quite a bit of technological advancements to his home district. Dhazesr, or as Cabil would call it, The Land of Corpses, carried an ample amount of Ghryzite beneath rock beds. And sure enough, Mhalfoynt exploited Aegelleon soldiers to forage and excavate burrows hollow for the potent mineral.
It had only been a few short years since Cabil had last been in the safest district of Khorgathe. Through his eyes, Herith stood nearly unrecognizable, from its colorful landscape to its pompous, snobbish people. Well, maybe not completely unrecognizable. The chauffeur dropped him off in an inner-city port on Carrimasse, where he'd take a direct lift to Mancheuur Castle.
A pearl nylon hot air balloon awaited him from afar. Crowned with cabochon-obsidian and jasper gems, he could already see the shimmering through the white screen of fog and passersby. With an operator to his side, he boarded the vessel and cruised the sky. In no time, he found himself hovering over the bridge suspended above a blanket of coral blue. Before him, the King's castle, embedded in the belly of Kerr Mountain.
It was then his falling-out with the Councilman dawned on him, accompanied by a rather hellish fever up his spine. While altercations between the two continued to stagger behind the scenes, one very bold move on Cabil's part had severed the two permanently.
Jerson Ckarhadii, a former exiled chief minister to the King, had channeled his way through a number of escorts, servants, personal maids, and even councilmen during his brief title in the royal home. With the King's trust instilled in him, he'd been one of the last few suspects to the disappearing of residents, until Princess Desonna had stumbled upon his demonic secret. With his word challenged against the Princess' before the King, Jerson was removed from the royal home, stripped of his rank, and exiled off Herith entirely. Enraged, Jerson had broken free from his mask and confirmed what Desonna already knew to be true—the Dessarian sought after her with fangs curled back, lunging at the countering Cabil. The struggle had been short lived, as Mhalfoynt intervened and ultimately forced Jerson into hiding.
Since then, there'd been no reports or sightings of the beast, until Cabil had followed Mhal one night, alone, strolling down Dwentul District—he'd called it an impulse, the man had always looked rather suspicious to the flame wielder. But that night was the night. That was when he'd finally caught him playing with fire.
The conversation between Jerson and Mhal had been all too clear, the agreement still fresh in his mind. With stealth on his side, Cabil had dashed off, straight for King Ethedmon's quarters. Despite his hurry, it seemed Mhal may have had been on his tail all along, arriving just as Cabil approached His Majesty…
"Ah, Vyn, just the man I wanted to see." A twist of rage and panic crossed Cabil's face as Ethedmon addressed the approaching Mhalfoynt, who then stopped by Cabil's side. Poised, graceful, yet stern faced—
Perched on his throne, His Majesty followed, "Now what is this… this cry I hear of you dealing with Jerson? These, accusations of sin and blood? Are you in alliance with cult nobles? Selling the lives of my people to Dessarians?"
"My Lord, you know better than I, I would never tie hands with durja scum, especially that of Jerson." He rested his right hand over his bulged chest, and with a sound smile, he followed, "My loyalty rests with you, my honorable King."
"I certainly hope so. I wouldn't want you to follow in that monster's footsteps. Now, you are my most faithful councilmen, but because of Jerson's betrayal, and for that reason alone is why I've kept my Chief Minister seat cold. All in due time, Vynser, but Cabil here is like a son to me. Whatever he says, I take into high consideration, just as my other children."
"And I'm telling you, I saw the traitor in Dwentul with Jerson with my own eyes!"
"Learn your place, Hargann!" Mhal retorted.
The King chuckled, lighthearted. "I see why my daughter has taken a liking to you, young warrior."
"My apologies, my Lord, but I wouldn't be here right now if I wasn't sure of it. Mhal is in league w—"
"—in the darkness of night, with a shrivel of hatred in your eyes, you could have seen anything, couldn't you? Your impatience and hunger for my class has driven you mad with jealousy. You must climb the ladder just as I. One cannot wish to just win credit into the Kingdom."
"Say what?"
"Excuse us, your majesty. It is late. We will trouble you no longer. Enjoy the rest of your evening." He snatched Cabil by the arm, his body blocking his rough death grip from the King's eyes behind them. Once the escorts confined the grand doors of the throne room, Mhal swung Cabil into the hallway, with a bitterness engraved in his face.
"You piece of sh—"
Mhal hushed Cabil, and before the soldier could comprehend what was happening, the councilman rammed his back against the wall, his malice pressed against Cabil with a strong hand sealing his mouth. "One… you only get one." Mhal whispered, watching the halls before turning back to Cabil. "You may have the old man fooled, but I don't buy into that 'good boy, throw him a bone,' routine. That's some leverage you got there, for a punk low tier kid like yourself. But if I were you, I'd keep comments like that in the burn where they belong, else you'll find your head on a skewer."
Involuntary, this trembling and sweat, a clear satisfaction for Mhal. Cabil was sure of it. As soon as the crook withdrew, Cabil caught his breath, his fist clung tight. He said not a word as a glower stretched between them along the corridor...
--
Cabil tipped the pilot farewell as sunfall stretched beyond the fort. It was a long walk before he noticed the guards stationed by the last bridge tower. With a bit of convincing and his militant badge, they allowed him past the outer wall. Yet, another assembly of weapon-bearing men would surround him. Cabil's restlessness struck a bout of exchanges as arrows from turrets narrowed on him. But within the tribulation of over-cautious antics, a councilman finally granted him keep entry.
Elegant crimson—the warm, royal atmosphere surrounded him, his eyes scanning the foyer from its ornate candelabras to its dinge-stone archways. He could hear his own footsteps pace down the marble floors, the aura quiet and still, until the chatter of two people filtered down the curved stairway.
"I trained the boy myself. Father would be quite pleased."
"Brother, you're pretentious, but I shou—" She froze, both puzzled and alarmed by Cabil at the foot of the stairway. The fighter looked up to the woman in a floral lavender rose wrap dress, her exchange, sheepish.
"Is that a ghost I see?" The man approached Cabil cock-headed, curious.
"Prince Jaider, Princess Desonna." Cabil bowed, averting his kind eyes away from the princess' discomfort amid his presence. Grim-faced, she ran up the stairs.
"Ah, don't you mind her," Jaider reassured him as he made his way down and greeted Cabil with a firm, friendly handshake. "It's great seeing you again, Cabil! An honor to have you visit Mancheuur. It has been too long."
"I need to speak to your father. My request for an audience has been unanswered."
"My apologies, Cabil, but you know my father. If it's not an emergency, it gets lost in the clutter."
"This is an emergency."
"I am sure it is. If you give him some time, I promise you, your second request will not go unnoticed. I will expedite it myself."
"Look, enough of this formal bullshit! I sent that letter days ago. I need to know why Mhal had my sister captured by the same assassin who tried to have me killed over some false allegations! It's one thing to go after me, but he marked his grave going after Sy!"
"What? Mhal? Vynser has no assassins in his arsenal, and even if he did, there would be no reason to go after you and your family."
"We obviously aren't talking about the same person." Cabil shoved his way up the stairs, the Prince suddenly grabbing his arm.
"Hey, calm down, Hargann. At ease! These accusations are farce. I shudder to think what Vynser would do if you conveyed this to my father."
"Accusations?" Mhalfoynt emerged from the depth of the west corridor, his eerie shadow casting over the marble foyer floor.
"You son of a bitch!" Cabil charged over, balling all of his aggression into a hook shot in an attempt to cave that pompous bastard's face open. Before he knew it, his fist stopped, seized by his enemy's clutch.
"That temper of yours, Cabil. It will get you killed one day." He grinned fiendishly. "I have a covert mission for you and your team. Brenius will fill you in."
His glare, a cold piercing glare of a silent threat. Cabil would have to swallow this hate until fate granted him an opportunity.
----
Interested in subbing to my newsletter? Getting exclusive early access to upcoming books? Or maybe following some behind the scenes of my book cover drawing process? Then consider becoming a patron! Enjoy the perks of supporting what I do, and the books I love providing to you, my patrons!
Pa treon: https://www.pa treon.com/andreyalombardi
Psst... want the full book quicker? Sign up here! https://BookHip.com/VVTWBKN