The tragedy of Bellflower was how much like its name it no longer resembled. When Lord sunstriker had reached the zenith of his power and influence, he had used it to assemble his mercenaries at the foot of the Olympus he had sought to create. In its day, Bellflower had been little more than a village of farmers and tradesmen who began to cultivate a culture based primarily around providing for a commonwealth. There had been nothing too ornate about the collection of cottages outside of their structure of ivory and white-washed walls with blue dome roofs, giving a circular nature to the center of the town. With how the homes and businesses were situated, it made a spiral that pulled people inwardly to the center where a large indoor bazaar was housed. With only a stretched dome roof, most of the bazaar was open-air where merchants could set up day pavilions where they chose and could sell anything from market-fresh vegetables to dried and cured meats to silks and spices. Over the years, Bellflower had amassed a generous wealth which was often used to provide for those who wished to settle in and make it a permanent home. When Lord Sunstriker came in to establish his foothold, he manipulated the government of Bellflower to use their wealth to buy munitions and build a high, metal wall around the village. By the time anyone got to it, the city had been fortified, and many of its people either driven out and forced to leave their belongings or remained in the city and afraid.
The military of the Phoenix Queen had been able to liberate much of the city, although some of its choices in decimating the wall had very strong negative effects on the people. The queen had made a note to visit Bellflower to see the damage for herself, but such was the loss of life that it was almost too much for her to bear, and even in her speech of being willing to provide from the royal coffers to ensure they could rebuild -- it didn’t seem quite enough. Bellflower was now a shadow of its former self, standing in the gray light of dusk. To the east of the city, much of the wall that had kept everyone outside of it still remained, almost in defiance of what little rebuilding they had managed to accomplish. It was difficult to rebuild when so many had lost their valuables and traders no longer felt safe in a place that was so easily persuaded to treat their people egregiously.
Emiline and Dorkus, the young girl who had mentioned knowing Harland Rhys, made their way to Bellflower in under two days by horseback. Both of them would have infinitely prefered a quicker portal, but no magus was available to try and scry a position near Bellflower that would have been suitable. Without a proper mage to do the job, they took the horses from the livery and made their way east and away from the comforts of the main castle.
“Speaking from earlier,” Emiline said as she turned to her riding companion; the girl with the tawny hair and long neck, “I take it you know Curator Rhys fairly intimately.”
“I know him well enough.” Dorkus replied.
Emiline believed as much of that as she believed in the sudden apathy in her tone. Dorkus had thought to keep her personal affairs out of the conversation, if anything said earlier had meant much at all. Now, as they approached Bellflower, Emiline seemed very interested in just how deep the relationship with them had gone. To anyone else, this might have been an opening to dig as deeply as one could reasonably expect to go, but for Emiline, this was an opening to something that had been plaguing her now for days.
“How well? Do you think he will receive us?” Emiline asked, her eyes narrowing on the speck in the wooded distance that was the remnants of Bellflower. Dorkus shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“He might.” She replied with nothing more said.
There had been little time to inquire further as to Dorkus’ cryptic meaning, and with the village now coming into clear view, Emiline thought little else of it. This was not a social call nor one to expect Dorkus to entertain an old flame, but to get answers. As they trotted into the village, Emiline could see the cottage from her peripherals. They were just on the outskirts of the town near the rickety inn she had first encountered the small group who would help her dispatch Lord Sunstriker. From the inn to the cottage was perhaps no less several hundred yards. If nothing else, Emiline committed this to memory.
The ramshackle inn and tavern -- aptly named the ‘Sleepy Hollow’ -- was just as run-down as Emiline remembered it a year ago. The interior was nearly falling apart, and that was complementary to how the foundation looked, or the patrons. The wooden walls were warped and slightly singed from the battle and from time; the floorboards weak enough to begin to give way and creak ominously even as someone as light as Dorkus took steps. One might have mistaken her for some heavy-set warrior with how her boots thudded loudly when she took each cautious step. A moldy-scented musk was the first thing to invade them both with a sensory overload. There were no cobwebs to speak of, and for the most part the lighting managed to keep tabs on even the darkest corners of the room, but it did little to enrich the patrons into not hovering like prisoners over their drinks. The tavernkeeper had changed over the course of a year; his graying beard was now stark white and his eyes that had once burned a bright green from the fire of revolution were now dulled and heavy-lidded as he wiped the same area down as he had just moments ago. It was the same blackened scorch mark that had been there when she first arrived.
“Hello,” Emiline spoke up to grab his attention. At first, he entertained the notion of not having heard her, as he no longer recognized her any more than he recognized himself. However, when Dorkus came into the light, he regarded her with something of a passable smile.
“Aah, my Lady Fingrip!” He announced with mustered pleasure. “And--” He paused just long enough to look up and peer at Emiline. When the ghosts of his past caught up with him, his smile crackled a bit through strained lips. “Lady Verdantarrow.”
Emiline simply nodded.
“What can this old wretch do for you young ladies? I am sorry to say that we only have one vacancy, but I am sure Lady Verdantarrow will not mind. It is her old room.” The tavernkeep spoke primarily to Dorkus, but his words were not lost on Emiline. To this, Emiline elected to step in and grab the tavernkeep’s attention one last time.
“We haven’t need of a room tonight. We are staying in the chapel. Tell me, is Curator Rhys available?” Emiline posed the question, watching the man’s facial expressions as he replied.
“If you mean old Harland, he should be up at the chapel. When you see him, you tell him Ryan says he needs to retire and let Magnus take over. The man can barely see anymore.” The tavernkeep said, nodding his head in absolute declaration. Emiline smiled candidly, and tapped the bar twice as a means of agreement. As Emiline turned to exit the tavern, she noticed the quizzical expression stamped on Dorkus’ face.
“You’re concerned?” Emiline asked, opening the door for Dorkus to exit first.
“Somewhat.” She admitted, partially.
“We aren’t here to heckle your boyfriend.” Emiline said rather bluntly, which caught Dorkus by surprise. Though she recalled her initial reaction to talking about Harland, she hadn’t figured Emiline to be the type to use it as a barb. Unwilling to question the veracity of Emiline’s claim, Dorkus decided to make her sentiments very known.
“He isn’t my boyfriend and never was.”
Emiline stopped, but did not turn around to regard Dorkus with anything direct. “My apologies.”
***
The pair stalked off toward the chapel that rest on one of the arms of the spiral that languished outwardly to the west. Unlike most of the buildings in the city, the chapel had been refurbished and completely rebuilt. The paint on the front wooden panels was fresh enough that even from a distance, it could be smelled among the burning of incense and the distinct scent of warm supper. Through the bright, white light of the candles and lanterns inside, shadows moved across the walls as several individuals seemed to be sweeping and preparing for something. When Emiline stepped up toward the two open front doors, an elderly human man was the first to drop his broom and open his arms. With the smile he bore, it was never any wonder why he felt the need to widen his arms out like he did; Emiline was convinced he needed that much space to carry the weight of his joy at outsiders being present.
“Come! Come!” He beckoned them gleefully. “You are most welcome here, strangers!”
“Strangers?” Dorkus chimed in with a laugh, “We are not strangers, Harland. It’s me.”
Perhaps it was the insinuation that a near-blind man could tell who ‘me’ was purely by a voice he had likely not heard in years or the fact that he seemed to be able to do just that, Emiline found herself snickering just under her breath. Harland had completely disregarded the sound, instead making heavy, lumbering footsteps toward Dorkus as though the weight of his glee was now a physical barrier preventing him from rushing at her like he wished.
“Dorkus?” He asked in disbelief. “I… I didn’t think you would come back. Not after--” He paused, his footsteps stopping abruptly. The young man behind him watched with no painted expression on his face, as though watching the old man work his way toward the little elf was of no consequence on him or his plans. The moment he stopped, both the young man and Dorkus exchanged glances that spoke volumes of the interaction they both had. The young man furrowed his brow in a darkened, accusatory way whereas she looked almost burdened with guilt.
“Never mind that. You are my friend, Harland, and I am only upset that I have not come to see you and your beautiful chapel sooner. I got your letter that they sent you fifty gold sovereign to rebuild it. You used the money well.” Dorkus continued on, dismissing whatever ghosts of the past Harland had been clinging to. Emiline looked back to the young man to examine his reaction, to which he seemed satisfied that the subject was not breached and his father was still pleasant as ever.
“I was about to ring the evening bell.” Harland announced proudly.
“We feed some of the homeless that still reside in Bellflower.” The young man chimed in behind Harland. It was only when his voice filtered into the conversation that Harland turned around with an open palm.
“Dorkus, this is little Magnus,” Harland presented the young man with as much pride as any father could boast. Although he could not see the silent interaction between the pair of them, Emiline could review it as clearly as anything else she had seen between two people with a mutual distrust for one another -- even if this distrust was purely one-sided. Suddenly, it dawned on Emiline what Dorkus had meant when she figured only he - Harland - would receive them well. By this time, Emiline had figured that even if Magnus and Dorkus had a history that was painted in shades of red or gray, it would not hinder what she was looking for, or rather, hoped that it didn’t.
“I remember him,” Dorkus spoke with a false smile.
“Magnus, you remember me telling you all about Dorkus, yes?” Harland asked, nearly begging for Magnus to say no just so he would have a reason to lavish praise on the woman like some treasure returned to him before his terminal breath.
“Yes, father,” Magnus spoke softly, being careful not to completely decimate his father’s hopes.
“I am sorry to interrupt this reunion, but I have some questions for you, Curator Rhys.” Emiline had a talent for being able to cut through anything with a knife: fruit, meat, people and conversations. Rather than allowing a bite to assume the position of her inquiry, she allowed a bit of silence to linger between her announcement and her inquisition.
Dorkus quickly looked to Emiline, now realizing suddenly she was still there and they both had a purpose. Apologies and reminiscing would have to happen much later. “Yes, right,” Dorkus laughed in spite of herself, “Harland, this is Agent Duskfeather. She came with me to inquire about someone who you might have had contact with recently.”
Harland’s demeanor changed so dramatically that even Emiline was a little taken aback by it. Harland quickly lowered his arms down and took up the broom he had been so eager to remove from his person if only to greet wayward souls. Magnus, equally as stunned by his father’s change, took a step back to reassess what was going on and what person that could have met him recently would put a damper on the reunion his father had been so merry about. Dorkus and Emiline exchanged glances this time, both of them questioning the other if something had been said that was amiss.
“Harland?” Dorkus asked, slowly taking one step forward and into the chapel.
“I am sorry, Dorkus,” he mused with a sigh, “I don’t think I can help you. I don’t see as well as I used to, and I haven’t been here all that often. Magnus takes care of most things for me these days. I am usually at home with Barbara now that she is ill. Magnus still lets me set up for our weekly suppers, though. You and your--” he hesitated a moment to search for a proper word. When none could be found that suited what he supposed Emiline to be, he went with the more polite response -- “your friend are welcome to join us. It isn’t much.”
Dorkus glanced to Emiline, this time in search of a proper response.
“We can stay. For supper. We have a room at the inn.” Emiline lied, smiling casually to Magnus and then to Harland who was staring attentively at the floor in front of him. Dorkus had thought about correcting Emiline, as they hadn’t secured a room or anything of that sort -- in fact, she remembered Emiline telling the tavernkeeper they were staying at the chapel for the night. The moment Dorkus drew in air, Emiline cast a quick, and decisive glare to the woman. It was only at the sensation of ice being trailed up her spine that Dorkus insisted upon herself to say nothing. Ever.
With the conversation steadily becoming non-existent, Emiline -- for once -- was pleased that a throng of people had begun to flock to the chapel. With Magnus and Harland busy tending to the hungry and destitute, it gave Emiline and Dorkus plenty of time to sit, wait and discuss a plan. Although they were ushered to sit near the front where they could see Magnus and Harland up close, Emiline politely declined and took herself and Dorkus toward the back where they could keep tabs on everyone. The chapel’s interior was no bigger than a one-room flat, but with the pews shuffled away, small tables and some overused chairs were put in such a way where more people could sit and comfortably eat. Emiline figured the maximum capacity with the pews was roughly forty-eight people, if they were allowed to stand against the walls, and tonight it appeared they were housing at least sixty-three with only a few people standing against the walls. The whole room was one large breadbox with waxed and shined floors, a pulpit at the most northern point and a high, vaulted ceiling with a narrow attic space just above the pulpit. The attic was not large enough to house anything of use except perhaps a few boxes of leaflets and some small decorations for the holidays, which meant that the chapel had a space beneath it.
“Emiline?” Dorkus spoke up with a spoonful of meat-and-potato slosh in her mouth. “Why do you think Harland started acting strange? I’ve never seen him react that way before.”
Emiline looked up, naturally, but only out of annoyance as she was shaken from her thoughts. “I’m not sure. He could very well be hiding something. We hadn’t even mentioned who it was he might have met, so I believe he knows who we might be looking for.”
“Do you think she threatened him? You know, with Barbara being ill?”
Dorkus seemed far more concerned than Emiline had originally tagged her to be. This only fueled Emiline’s need to quiz the young girl on just what had transpired before she became an agent-scribe. Emiline leaned in propping one elbow up on the table to curl around her half-eaten bowl. “What exactly happened between you and Harland? I noticed Magnus giving you quite the stink-eye when we arrived.”
“You noticed it, too?” Dorkus asked sheepishly.
“I would have to have been dead not to notice it.”
Dorkus steeled herself for the inevitable. Before Emiline could begin her line of questioning, Dorkus took a much larger bite of the sloshy stew. There was nothing particularly appetizing about it: left over cured meats and dried vegetables steeped in some kind of bland broth, but Dorkus seemed content to use it as a crutch to be as evasive in her responses as possible. “Harland and I were very close when he was growing up. We were as close as two people could be without… you know…”
“Being intimate?” Emiline asked, allowing herself the fortune of her lips curling into a smile.
“Yes, that.” Dorkus replied briskly. “In any case, Harland and I came here together when his parents died and my family didn’t want to leave him to nothing. My father figured one day we would grow up and get married. Despite all things, he was actually okay with it. He respected Harland.”
Emiline scooped up a spoonful herself, deigning to at least try the slop. “So what happened?”
“Life.” Dorkus replied shortly.
To this, Emiline tilt her head off to one side to study the tawny-haired she-elf. No more than perhaps five or six feet high and a few stones worth in weight, she did not seem to have any of the advantages of a woman who would find herself in the throes of passion, nor did she have the personality of one who would enjoy that level of company.
“Life?” Emiline echoed in question. “Whose life? Yours or his?”
“I got scared the day of the wedding and I ran. I ran as far as I could go and I didn’t look back. When I finally did feel the need to write him, he wrote back and told me he was married and expecting his first son - Magnus.” Dorkus revealed. It was only after she mentioned that part -- as quickly as her mouth and voice would allow her -- that Emiline swallowed the lump in her throat with another bite of the awful bits of broth coagulation. Dorkus could see the look on Emiline’s face, even if she didn’t dare look up to confirm it.
“You know,” Emiline began as she swallowed, roughly, “you’re not the first person to make a mistake like that and regret it later. Some lives are series of regretful decisions.”
Dorkus paused herself to watch Emiline. She knew the elder agent was right across the table, but for the moment, she felt as if she were speaking to someone leagues away from her. “You?” Dorkus asked.
Emiline nodded.
“So the thing about you and Lord Sunstriker--”
“His son, actually,” Emiline corrected her with a becoming smile. “At the time, when my family was being held against their will, Dariel had come to me and proposed that if he helped me dispatch his father he would see me made an honest woman if for the child I was carrying.”
Dorkus could only sit stunned. Rumor had floated around for some time about the reasoning that Lord Sunstriker had to ensure the lineage of his offspring, but never had it settled with anyone that he would have taken Emiline’s innocence so callously. Up to this point, Emiline hadn’t spoken of it with anyone -- not even the queen during one of their many private sessions together to discuss the future of Liambridge. Even now, as the topic was breached, Emiline’s face didn’t shift or break the otherwise seamless nature she was displaying to Dorkus.
“Wh-what happened?” Dorkus continued, now entirely sunken to the story.
“Just what you and others know. Roanae discovered his son’s betrayal and immediately killed him. We sent our best men and women out to end that bastard’s life, and they did.” Emiline appeared only too proud of the words she spoke, but as Dorkus continued to stare at her, she knew precisely the question the young girl wanted to ask. Emiline cleared her throat. “That is a story for another time.”
Dorkus let out a soft groan.