Time to Read:
Outside of the walls of the clinic, in the chill of the hour, was a small crowd of frowns and worried faces. One or two looked familiar, but most of them were faces Çetžak had never seen. To his knowledge, at the very least.
Likewise, one or two wore green uniforms, while the rest wore civilian robes and looked like they may be passersby who got interested because of the green uniforms. That, of course, wasn’t something Çetžak believed. Having spent years in the Emperor’s mobile elite army, the Ažamür Cavalry as his šüssad’s apprentice, naturally, he could tell a man of the military apart from the commons. The straight, confident posture, the way they carried themselves like they had a sabre at their waist, even when not, the way the tokens were tied to the belt using that specific knot… He could, of course, see all of the small tells of people serving as guards, rather than spies.
None of these soldiers spoke to him, but all of them wanted to have a look at him. He wondered for a second if this was how someone in the entertainment houses felt when mostly men nearly tripped over themselves to have a look at the most popular dancers.
Židad stayed behind for a few moments to ask what could be done about the amnesia, but when the reply was naught of value, he followed Çetžak. As he did, the creaking of wheels and clopping of hooves approached. The group parted to open up the path for a sturdy horse with a brown coat that looked black in the late hour. Speckled in white, it was reminiscent of the night sky when stars shine bright. The carriage was inconspicuous, but the subtly carved wood showed off the wealth of the person owning the carriage.
The carriage came to a halt in front of Çetžak and the curtain of the carriage was raised with a circular fan. The frame in silver and wood caught light from the lantern held by one of the bodyguards, the wood giving off a dull warm reflection, while the silver was sharp and bright. As the light shone into the carriage, Çetžak saw the legs of someone wearing a pair of dark trousers and black leather shoes. The almost-obsidian fabric of the expensive robe had settled on the lap of the passenger. An unused ceramic handwarmer was in the corner of the interior, sitting near the feet of the passenger.
Çetžak looked back at Židad, who merely motioned for him to please board the carriage. Seeing that he intended to do so, Židad placed his fist over his heart and bowed, showing his respect to the Captain Çetžak apparently was.
Without many other options, considering his situation, Çetžak obliged, however unfitting he felt it was that he, who had spent the past the years from age ten on horseback in almost any weather, would be offered anything but a decent horse to ride.
As he moved forward, he placed his hand against the wooden frame to climb in, taking hold of the curtain. The passenger inside withdrew their fan. He raised his gaze out of habit and froze in his action.
The passenger inside may have been dressed in military-styled robes, as extravagant as they may be with the lapel and collar silverwork, but the fan spoke of a different side of the aristocracy. The way the person held the fan to obscure their face partially, with one hand on the foot-long handle and the other supporting the fan itself with a light touch of their finger, showed the elegance and reservation of the high nobility of Zuladiar.
The noble’s eyes shone like gold that reflected sunlight in the shadow of the carriage, as they peered at Çetžak with an unhappy expression over the fan.
Have I done this noble some wrong I know nothing about? he couldn’t help but ask himself, and his hand tightened at the post of the carriage door, the thick fabric of the curtain feeling soft against his calloused hand. What did I do? How do I atone for it?
Even as what he saw was the silk of the fan — painted with a lone branch of an apple tree that had a delicate and beautiful flower, with a butterfly perched near the featured blossom, and one fluttering around but seemingly not ready to land — he inherently seemed to know that this noble was one he found was almost outrageously beautiful. Just seeing their eyes, he could tell he found this person most attractive, in all states; donned in jewellery or in simple garments, with eyes tailed by red or a face left untouched.
When the gently curved eyebrows pulled together, Çetžak couldn’t but help lower his gaze, his heart galloping in his chest and his throat feeling dry.
He knew he couldn’t afford to offend such a wealthy, and important, figure by shamelessly staring for his own enjoyment.
Beyond any expectation, the stranger used the frame of their fan to raise Çetžak’s making the Captain look at his face again, now revealed in its otherworldly beauty.
“Who, exactly, is so preferable to look at that you avert your eyes?” The noble’s voice was soft but stern. “I sit right here, within your field of vision, so is it that you look away in shame, or do I not compare to a surface one rests one’s feet upon? Or did we all, but you, perhaps, miss that someone is hiding ’neath the carriage, hmm?”
In all his years that he could remember, Çetžak had never experienced a stutter in his breath, no matter the situation. However, now he momentarily forgot how both inhales and exhales functioned and the airflow came out in small spurts. He swallowed.
“Young lord, I can only offer my sincerest apologies. I am, however, quite frankly unaware of with whom I have the benefit of conversing.”
The displeased expression made Çetžak heart’s already feel unsettled as it was, but as it further contorted and the corners of the noble’s mouth were pulled down, he felt his heart lurch. The noble caught himself quickly, and the lips were pulled into a tight line, but the frown between the brows was still more pronounced. Çetžak could have sworn he even noted a hint of hurt in those golden eyes.
The noble retracted his fan and raised it to obscure part of his face before he asked, “You are unaware of who I might be? Then, do you know who you are?”
“Çetžak Züčan, and I hail from Atnaš’ar found at the coast by Minaž Khaçar,” Çetžak replied, his voice steady. “I am of the Atnaš tribe.”
The stranger studied Çetžak over the fan. The sound of hooves and feet moving around the carriage mingled with the quiet breaths of the people in the carriages and the hammering of Çetžak’s heart. The noble shifted slightly in his seat, then motioned slightly with his hand for the soldier to finally enter the carriage . He turned to look into the dark hours of the early morning through the small window, his eyes looking at something distant seen only by this young noble from the empty street of the Outer City.
As Çetžak moved inside, letting the curtain fall, and shadows took over the interior, the noble made another small motion for him to take a seat on the floor without looking at him. Unwilling to offend, Çetžak adhered to the request.
He had yet to discern what his relationship with this young noble might be. The silver identity token was not of much help; it only showed that this person had some kind of position assigned by the Emperor or the court.
The noble used the handle to knock on the side of the carriage wall, still looking out of the small window. The coachman smacked his lips, and with a creak of the wheels, the carriage began rolling over the street, the metal of the wheels crunching against the sand and pebbles below. As the carriage shook, the noble put the fan down to pick up the handwarmer. It was a porcelain vessel that didn’t look as if it had been lit in a while, as there was not even a bit of glow in it. If it had been lit at all, there might at best be some lingering heat, but Çetžak struggled to believe that was the case.
He had a nearly uncontrollable urge to take the vessel out of the noble’s hands and light it up again with a lasting magic flame to ensure this person wouldn’t feel the chill of the night. His fingers twitched in his lap as he watched the noble stroke cup where the coal and flame went, and he had to hold back himself from simply taking this stranger’s handwarmer to heat it up.
“Do you truly not recall me at all?” the noble asked as they took their fan in hand again, raiding the fan like a barrier between the two of them.
It sounded more like the stranger simply spoke a thought aloud, with no expectations of an answer. There seemed to be a sort of defeat to it, as if being forgotten by Çetžak was the greatest loss in this world. Yet the voice was pleasant, and Çetžak got the sense that he would have been able to speak with such a person for hours, if they had just been on equal terms.
The soldier needed a moment to gather his thoughts, then replied, “That could be very possible. If I may ask, did we perchance meet when I was past the age of sixteen?”
The noble gave Çetžak a look. It wasn’t quite sharp, but almost had a hint of teasing in it. “You strolled into my bedchamber at that age,” the noble revealed. “You dare to forget who I am?”
Çetžak’s eyes opened wide, the first outwardly expressed emotion he had shows in a good while, as far as Çetžak knew. He had not expected to hear something so scandalous! Moreover, this young noble had not struck him as the kind that would indulge in those kinds of pleasures. Although, he also couldn’t quite say why he felt this so strongly either.
The stranger raised an eyebrow, but a lingering look of mischief could be seen in his, and the corners of the noble’s mouth ticked up.
“Naturally,” the noble added, “I offered my invitation to you, Çetžak, and you took me upon such an invitation.”
Çetžak was stunned.
Although the revelation was flabbergasting all on its own, what truly hit the man was what he was called. This person called him by his birth name. He could not remember when he last had been called such by anyone.
Yet, it did sound correct in his ears that this person should call him by birth name.
A small sigh, no more than an exhale, brought him back from his thoughts. The noble then patted a pale hand on the cushioned seat.
Çetžak took the stranger upon their invitation with some caution. He tentatively changed from being seated on the rug on the carriage floor to the seat. The carriage wasn’t precisely made for two people and there wasn’t quite enough room with two grown people. However, it wasn’t uncomfortable if they squeezed in a little and sat shoulder to…
The soldier noticed the noble was likely a full head shorter than him and so, although they reached past his shoulder while they were both seated, their shoulder touched his upper arm. Çetžak could help himself and looked at where his robe made contact with the noble’s.
He looked for a couple of moments before he moved his gaze to the noble’s face. They still held their fan, obscuring their face, but from the side where Çetžak sat, he could see the young noble’s profile quite well.
The size of this person, the minimal natural curve of their lips as if they smiled…
What a truly endearing person, the soldier inexplicably thought.
Author’s Notes
I just want to remind you all that Çetžak said there were eight blood princes, while U’il is the Ninth Blood Prince. I want you to keep that in mind.
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