Chereads / ESPERSIA: Requiem for a Revolutionary / Chapter 8 - WHERE IS MY MIND?

Chapter 8 - WHERE IS MY MIND?

ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889

"Hold your stance, Zeliot."

Luca's voice sliced through the fog like his blade. I adjusted my grip on the rapier, my weight shifting forward, steady but not perfect. Three months of this, and I'd finally managed to avoid his scowl most of the time. Progress.

Not that Luca handed out praise. "Your grip's too rigid," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he circled me. "Loosen it. This isn't a club."

"Yes, I'm aware," I shot back, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

Luca didn't dignify that with a response, his broadsword already coming down toward my side. I stepped back, twisting the blade to deflect. The movement wasn't as fluid as it could have been, but at least I didn't drop the rapier. It wouldn't have been the first time…

"Better," Luca said grudgingly, lowering his weapon. Clearly, it wasn't quite good enough, but for now, I'd take it.

I'd picked up more than just swordplay over the last three months. Turns out, endless lectures and nights spent buried in books actually stick after a while, whether you like it or not. Trade routes, territorial boundaries, the "delicate web of alliances and grudges that held Indra together" (thats what my tutor would call it) —it all started to make sense. Enough to fake competence, anyway.

Actually, only at first, it had been just that: faking it. Smiling politely through dinner conversations, nodding along when someone named yet another noble house I'd never heard of. But slowly, I stopped faking.

It almost felt familiar…a kind of weird nostalgia that was reminiscent of a childhood hobby.

Take last week. Every week, there's a council meeting with head advisors and generals. Basically, important people come together to decide how best to preserve Indra's future. The Duke has now made it mandatory for his sons to attend every one of these meetings, despite the fact that, other than Alba, we provide next to nothing of value.

At least, most of the time.

Last week there was some argument during a council meeting about Legon's trade monopolies—boring, except that it involved a lot of raised voices and a few veiled threats. I wasn't supposed to speak, of course, but I had one of those moments where the silence begged to be filled.

"If Kurupez's hold on the routes is so secure," I'd said, "why not let them overextend themselves? You know, give them a little rope and see how they handle it."

There'd been a beat of silence, then maybe a few patronizing grins formed around the table. I'd caught Raamiz watching me from the corner of his eye, his expression suprisingly unreadable.

At the head of the table, one of the Duke's senior trade advisors, Lord Esdrel, tilted his head, his expression caught between skepticism and amusement. "An intriguing suggestion, my lord," he said, his tone carefully measured. "Though I wonder if you fully grasp the implications. Allowing Kurupez to overreach could destabilize not just Legon's hold but the surrounding economies tied to their trade routes."

Before I could respond, my father raised a hand. "That is something to be considered, Zeliot. I will keep it in mind."

The room shifted, advisors exchanging hesitant nods as the discussion moved forward. It wasn't exactly a victory, but I wasn't dismissed outright either.

Then there was Luca. He didn't do small talk, but his gruff presence made life easier, if only because no one dared mess with him—or me, by extension. Built like a fortress, with patience like a slowly ticking time bomb, he was the kind of guy you'd rather have on your side than against you.

But… there was something else, something that wasn't quite so clear-cut. Each day, each new practice and lesson, I felt like a bit of the old me—the "James" me—was slipping away. At first, it just felt like a survival tactic, blending in to keep up appearances, but lately, it was something deeper. The strange part was, it wasn't even that bad.

It's like reading someone's diary cover to cover, watching every choice, every described feeling, every memory come to life. I could get it all, understand what made them who they were, without changing me. Thats how my relationship with James is developing to. Not only that, its now become more than just understanding Zeliot's life—it's like the pieces are merging, turning into something I can't quite separate out.

It's jarring and, if I'm honest, weirdly comforting. It feels like I'm becoming someone new, neither James nor fully Zeliot, but a mix that's… well, hard to explain.

"Distraction will get you killed," Luca said, jolting me out of my thoughts. He tapped my shoulder with the flat of his blade, his expression unimpressed.

"I get it," I muttered, resetting my stance.

"No, you don't. Try again," he said, stepping back.

We sparred until my arms burned, my legs ached, and the rapier felt like it had fused to my hand. Like every session, by the time Luca finally called it, I wasn't sure if I'd improved or just survived.

By the time Luca finally stepped back, lowering his broadsword, my arms were shaking, and my legs felt like they were on fire.

"You're dismissed," he said, his tone as sharp as the blade he wielded. "Two days from now. Same time."

Like clockwork. Luca wasn't big on variety, and honestly, I didn't mind. It was one less thing to overthink.

I sheathed my rapier, handing the weapon to Luca, nodding once before turning to leave. As I made my way back toward the estate, the dull ache in my arms spread to my shoulders. Rest would've been nice, but I couldn't afford it—not today. The capital trip was just three days away, and time felt thinner with every passing hour.

I only had a brief window to get things done. The Duke's guards tried to act subtle, but their eyes were everywhere—Raamiz had made that clear. They weren't watching out of suspicion; they were making sure I stayed alive.

This hour after training was the only time they let up, the only time I could move without someone breathing down my neck. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

I pulled the letter from my pocket, its edges worn from being folded and refolded. The seal was already broken—Raamiz had seen to that—but the instructions inside were clear:

Meet the contact. Eldritch Woods. Just as the sun clears the mountainside.

I glanced toward the horizon. The sun was starting to crest the jagged peaks, its light spilling over the estate grounds. Thirty minutes, maybe less. Plenty of time.

Tucking the letter away, I made for the side gate by the training yard. 

"Stick to the script," Raamiz had said. "No improvising."

Sure. Easy for him to say.

The Eldritch Woods weren't far—just east of the estate, close enough to see from the castle walls but dense enough to swallow anyone whole if they weren't careful. Getting there wasn't the problem. Getting there unnoticed was.

The front gate was out. Too many guards, too many eyes. I'd make it ten steps before someone stopped me to ask where I was going. Raamiz had warned me about avoiding suspicion , and walking straight into the woods like I had nothing to hide wasn't exactly subtle.

The better option was the old servant's pathway by the stables. It hugged the eastern wall, mostly hidden by hedges, and spilled out just past the estate's edge. From there, it was a short dash to the woods. If I timed it right, I could slip through while everyone was busy with the morning shift change.

I adjusted my satchel and headed down the side corridor toward the stables. The air here was cooler, the stone walls narrowing as the sound of my steps bounced off them. It wasn't the most well-traveled route, but it wasn't deserted either. One wrong encounter and my plans for the day were shot.

I was just nearing the archway that led to the stables when a voice stopped me cold.

"Zeliot."

Sharp, cutting, and unmistakable.

I turned slowly, keeping my expression neutral. Duchess Gaius stood at the far end of the hall, her gown trailing behind her and her sharp eyes fixed directly on me.

"Duchess," I said carefully, inclining my head.

Her gaze swept over me, and an unconscious chill ran up my spine. "You're up early," she remarked. "And heading in an unusual direction, I see."

I shrugged, adjusting my posture to appear more casual. "Training with Luca doesn't exactly leave me in the best shape. Thought I'd walk it off before it catches up to me."

She tilted her head slightly, her expression betraying nothing, but her eyes lingered just long enough to unsettle. "And the stables offer better relief than the gardens?"

"The gardens are crowded, even at this time of day," I replied evenly. "Too many people."

Her silence stretched just long enough to demand an answer I couldn't give, but I held my ground. Gaius had a way of making even stillness feel like a move in a game she wasn't explaining.

Finally, she stepped aside, her hand brushing against the fabric of her sleeve as she gestured toward the archway. "Don't let me keep you, then. Enjoy your... solitude."

I nodded, careful to keep my pace steady as I passed her. Only when I was through the archway and into the open air did I exhale, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction.

Whatever that was, I didn't have time to unpack it. The sun was climbing higher, and my contact wasn't going to wait.

The path to the woods was quiet, save for the crunch of gravel underfoot and the faint rustle of morning wind. I followed the route Raamiz had described, keeping my eyes peeled for the landmarks he'd warned me about. First was the broken stone pillar just past the edge of the estate grounds—a crumbling relic of some bygone era, its purpose long forgotten. Next was the hollowed-out oak tree, its twisted branches clawing at the sky like it had tried to escape the earth and failed.

The closer I got to the woods, the heavier the air seemed to grow. It wasn't just the damp chill that clung to the shaded path or the way the light seemed to dim under the canopy—it was the silence. A deep, unnatural quiet that swallowed the usual sounds of birdsong and distant voices.

The Eldritch Woods had a reputation. Everyone knew the stories, the warnings passed down from one generation to the next. Tales of travelers who wandered too deep and never came back. Of creatures that stalked the shadows, waiting for anyone foolish enough to stray from the path.

I wasn't planning to test those stories. Raamiz's instructions were clear: Stay near the edge. Don't go further than you have to.

The meeting spot wasn't far, just inside the tree line where a ring of moss-covered stones sat in a rough circle. It wasn't much, but it was distinct enough to find.

Still, the unease prickled at the back of my neck as I stepped into the woods, the sunlight barely managing to filter through the thick canopy above. Every shadow seemed to stretch a little too far, and the faint scent of damp earth mixed with something sharper—like the lingering memory of smoke.

The final landmark came into view as I stepped carefully through the tree line, a circle of moss-covered rocks just as Raamiz had described. I slowed my pace, scanning the area. The woods were thick here, shadows twisting between the trees, and every branch looked like it was hiding something—or someone.

Nothing.

I moved closer to the stones, staying just outside the circle. My eyes darted between the dark gaps in the trees, waiting for any sign of movement. A crunch of leaves, the snap of a branch—anything.

Still nothing.

I glanced up toward the sun. It had climbed higher, almost fully clearing the crest of the mountains. Great. The guy I was supposed to meet was late.

I exhaled sharply, adjusting the strap on my satchel as I stayed rooted where I was. Every instinct told me to keep my guard up, but part of me wanted to shout into the trees to hurry him along. Of course, that would've been stupid.

I took a seat, getting ready to wait for the long haul. However, my rest was quickly interrupted.

The sound of leaves crunching underfoot snapped me out of my thoughts. My hand hovered near the hilt of the dagger Raamiz had insisted I carry, but I didn't draw it. Not yet.

A figure stepped out from the shadows, walking with a stride of confidence that bordered on rehearsed. His long coat blended into the dim woods, and the brim of his hat shaded his face. It was a little unnerving that I could not see his eyes, but I tried to keep my cool.

"You're late," I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

"And yet, here I am," he replied smoothly, as if he were amused by the observation.

He stopped just outside the circle of moss-covered stones, his posture relaxed, as if he was on a beachside stroll." You must be Zeliot," he said, his voice calm but carrying the faintest edge of condescension.

"And you must be the man Raamiz told me about," I said, my grip tightening on the dagger's hilt. "Curiously, he couldn't offer me a name. So how about giving me one?"

I knew I was overreaching. Raamiz had been explicit—don't ask for personal details, don't push boundaries. But this guy's whole attitude rubbed me the wrong way. Late, smug, and acting like he was gracing me with his presence.

The man tilted his head slightly, and for a moment, the brim of his hat shifted, giving me a glimpse of sharp eyes that glinted with amusement. Then he chuckled,the kind of chuckle that screamed arrogance. 

"My lord," he said, his tone now dripping with condescension, "I understand you know very little of the world outside your castle walls, so let me explain something. My name isn't free equity."

I blinked. "Free... what?"

"Equity," he repeated, his tone flattening as though addressing a particularly slow student. "Giving it away for nothing? Bad business decision. After all," he added, his lips curling into a wry smile, "I'm only here because I owe your damn brother a favor. A debt, if you will."

He stepped forward then, the edge of his coat brushing against the mossy stones. "So let's skip my personal pleasantries, shall we?" His voice dropped a fraction, the false courtesy dissolving into something colder. "Hand over what you're supposed to, like a good boy."

Every part of me wanted to fire back, to wipe that smug look off his face, but I couldn't. Not without risking the plan. Begrudgingly, I reached into my satchel and pulled out the folded note Raamiz had prepared.

"Here," I muttered, holding it out.

Before I could even register the movement, the man snatched it out of my hand. His speed startled me—effortless, like it was second nature. He unfolded the paper with precise movements, his eyes scanning the text quickly.

"Hmm," he said, almost to himself. Then he looked back at me, a faint curl of amusement forming. "Your brother really is a conniving bastard, isn't he? Just the way I like them."

I bit the inside of my cheek, my pride taking yet another hit. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. "If you're talking about what's being asked of you... just so you know, that was my idea."

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening as he folded the note and slipped it into his coat. "Oh? Was it now?" His tone was perhaps a touch less condescending, somewhere between mocking and curious. "Perhaps you're not as much of a simpleton as you let on."

I straightened, resisting the urge to respond again, but he was already turning away.

"Well then," he said, his tone brisk, "I'll bid you farewell, stranger. Try not to get yourself killed before this little game begins."

Without another word, he walked back into the trees, his coat disappearing into the shadows as quickly as he'd come.

Still pissed, I spun around and started heading back toward the castle. That guy was lucky I needed this plan to work—otherwise, I'd have had a lot more to say.

Whatever. The job was done. The plan was still intact, even if my pride wasn't.

I glanced toward the treeline, making sure nothing else was stirring before I picked up my pace. The sun had fully cleared the mountain by now, and if I didn't get back soon, someone would definitely notice I was missing.

With a final look over my shoulder, I pushed forward, the castle walls already forming in my mind.

I was halfway back to the estate when something made me stop.

The woods were too quiet, like they'd decided to hold their breath. No wind, no birds—nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. It made the space between the trees feel heavier, like they were closing in.

Then, there it was—movement. Low to the ground, just a blur of something slipping between the trees.

I tensed, my hand brushing the dagger at my side. Probably an animal. Hopefully an animal. But the way it moved didn't sit right with me. I couldn't be certain…but my intuition told me something was off.

Behind me, something snapped—a branch breaking underfoot, maybe. I spun around, scanning the treeline, but there was nothing there.

I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to keep moving. "Nope. Not sticking around for that," I muttered.

I picked up the pace, my boots crunching over leaves as the castle's walls started to peek through the gaps in the trees. But even with the estate in sight, the unease stayed, scratching at the back of my mind.

Whatever was out there, it could stay out there.