An Ocean of Lies (AFOS II)

Chapter 14: Laurentius

The stairs were endless and his shoes hadn't been made for such exertions. But between his stomach complaining and his magic focused on keeping the contents of the tray where they belonged, he didn't notice the incipient blisters on his heels. Volstad really wanted to be alone, none would go up there on purpose or just to pop and say "hi".

Was his head feeling a little light up there or was it just his imagination, the lack of proper food and rest? Just a few more steps and the torture would be over. Or, depending on how Volstad took his visit, it would mean the beginning of worst torture: that, he wasn't looking forward to. Would he believe Adela sent him? Where was that dreadful letter of hers? With all the fuss, he had forgotten all about it. He could feel his heart pounding all across the staircase, the sound thumbing on the walls, cracking them— oh, there it was, tucked nicely in the doublet. His heart quieted.

He placed the letter, as neatly as a wrinkled letter could be, on the tray, next to the empty cup. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Nothing. He knocked again, clearing his throat, loudly. Nothing. Was he asleep? Maybe the door was enchanted. He placed the tray on the floor, carefully, then put his hands over the door, examining its aura. A faint hum of magic reverberated into his palms, traveling through his veins. A magic he wasn't familiar with, at least not entirely, a tickle that pierced every cell in his body: spirit magic. He had only used it once, with Jo, at the Faradian Forest. The rumors were true, it seemed. Volstad was using spirit magic in there, it was oozing from the door, maybe infused into it for creators knew what protection spell. He regretted leaving Koldo's wand back in Ontur, his plain old magic would do nothing against spirit magic, in whatever form. He couldn't reverse-engineer the incantation.

He sat on the floor, ate a couple of dried apricots while looking into the void, contemplating his misery. Volstad wouldn't eat them all anyway and he needed the fuel to think. Another tray laid in a corner, half-eaten, but clearly not by Volstad. Ants. The little bugs came and went in a tidy line from a crevice under — Laurentius' eyes sparkled— oh, could it be? From under Volstad's door. Much like the wards around the palace, they were only meant to keep people out. That was too easy. Time to stand up and hope Volstad didn't kill vermin on sight.

One good thing about ants, as he learned through the years, was that none noticed them unless they were in groups. He made sure to enter the room through a different crevice, for as he learned years ago too, the hard way, ants knew when you didn't belong to their colony, and that meant things could go bad, quickly. He hadn't gone through all that trouble only to end up mauled by a mob of angry bugs, had he?

Volstad's tower wasn't as lavish as the rest of the palace. The drapes on the walls and windows were plain white, the carpet on the wooden floor was just... brown. Colorless. He had a small desk, buried in papers, a white divan where he slept, by the looks of it, and a couple of firedust fixtures. Nothing more. Tidy, boring, yet classy, much like the man standing dangerously above him, pacing from one extreme of the room to the other. His beard was magnificent, salt and pepper, perfectly groomed, simple yet somehow impressive. Regal. He remembered seeing him around Ontur, flaunting his magic around, with his ornate staff and impeccable embroidered capes: that was another man, altogether. They couldn't possibly be the same person, could they? But back then, King Markel had been alive. He had been his advisor. Maybe he needed to put up a show for him, clearly, all the palace's luxuries belonged to the late monarch. That little oasis in there was all Volstad. Was that a romance book he saw at the feet of his divan? Monsters didn't read romances, did they? He wasn't supposed to feel curious about him, or sympathetic: he was the enemy, wasn't he? Jo had told him what he said, about Laverna, about him being the good guy in all that. That she sent assassins after Gerard. But, could that be? Looking at him, he didn't seem like the monster Jo's grandmother painted him to be. And by now, he knew better than to fully trust the old crone. He was there to give him the letter and investigate as much as he could, wasn't that the plan? He was charming enough to accomplish it, wasn't he?