Ch#85
Meisel had commissioned a stunning gown in a rich rosy hue from Kuter, yet its weight dragged on her relentlessly.
He wouldn’t actually leave me waiting, would he?
Though doubt gnawed at her resolve, she refused to let go. The festival lights still blazed; time lingered on her side. Turning back now, only for him to appear later, would be an unbearable injustice.
She brushed perspiration from her brow beneath the hood and barked at the maid trailing her.
“Why are you dawdling like that?”
The servant, eyes wandering toward a bustling vendor stand, scurried to close the gap.
“Apologies, my lady.”
“Fetch me some chilled juice!” Meisel commanded, jabbing a finger at the crowded stall.
“Right away!” The maid dashed off to queue up.
One drink, and she’ll be ages, Meisel grumbled inwardly, irritation flaring. Revelers around her laughed and savored the night, stoking her resentment all the more.
While I squander hours chasing a ghost who may never show.
Muttering curses, she scowled at strolling lovers when a voice interrupted.
“Milady, care for a exquisite necklace?”
A cloaked hawker extended the jewelry toward her.
“What? No, thank you.”
He pressed on undeterred.
“Embedded with a charm stone to grant your deepest desires. Utterly unique, impossible to find elsewhere.”
She nearly brushed him off, but a quick look revealed the gem pulsing with a gentle amber glow—far too persuasive for a trinket.
Meisel flicked her hand in dismissal, yet he seized her shoulder abruptly.
“Release me!”
Meeting his gaze, she went rigid. His irises burned a fierce gold, laced with amber flecks and crimson veins, evoking fresh blood or searing metal. An otherworldly aura clung to him, profoundly disconcerting.
“…Why would I buy trash from a roadside seller?” she challenged.
A low chuckle escaped him.
“I’m no ordinary vendor, milady. Think of me as a shaman, if you like.”
“A shaman? Like some seer?”
The term had long vanished from imperial lexicon. Those clinging to life in remote highlands were dismissed as charlatans at best.
He appeared neither slighted nor surprised—merely entertained.
“Name it as you please. We perceive fragments of what’s to come.”
“Does this necklace truly deliver?”
“That hinges on a few things.”
As her fingers stretched toward it, he whisked it away.
“True enchantment demands faith. Donned with pure conviction, it wields immense might. Skepticism renders it mere rock.”
“Then why offer it to me?”
His pupils slit into predatory vertical lines.
“Your aching longing summoned me. A gentleman’s heart eludes you, doesn’t it? One you yearn to claim.”
Her citrine gaze dimmed, then sharpened.
“…How could you possibly know?”
“My deity beholds everything.”
“…Deity?”
“Well? Yes or no? Speak it.”
In a fog, Meisel breathed, “Yes, I want it.”
“Excellent.”
Grinning, he clasped the chain around her throat.
“A gift, just for you, milady.”
Her maid’s voice cut through then, panting as she clutched a brimming cup. Meisel spun around—the stranger had vanished.
Where’d he disappear to?
Her fingers grazed her collarbone. The pendant remained, solid and real. No illusion. Yet a feverish warmth spread through her limbs, thoughts growing thick and muddled.
“Are you well, my lady? You’re flushed,” the maid fretted.
“I’m okay,” Meisel rasped, yanking the juice and gulping it greedily.
Regardless, I’ve come too far. I must encounter the Duke.
The festival’s crowning spectacle was its legendary musical fountain. Precisely on the hour, arcs of water erupted skyward, shimmering beneath lanterns as they swayed to melodic strains.
“Amazing!” the throng exclaimed. Even Tiern, no fan of mages, conceded under his breath, “Well… it’s impressive.”
The masses surged lakeside, emptying avenues and storefronts into hush.
“Are you chilly?” Loic murmured at my side, his frame a bulwark against the breeze.
“Not at all. This is ideal.”
Fountain spray drifted to our terrace, a soothing veil of mist. His keen gaze flicked my way, concern etching that I might be bored. Gusts rumpled his sleek raven locks.
“Lean down for me,” I urged.
He complied instantly, dipping near. Tenderly, I smoothed his disheveled fringe. Beneath the robe, gloves still encased his hands—futile against his affliction, worn solely for my comfort.
The realization pricked tears to my eyes. I drew his hood up snugly.
“A-Annette?”
The motion hauled his features inches away.
“Loic, let’s head down.”
“Now? But—”
“Everything’s under control. Trust me.”
Bemused yet yielding, he allowed my pull. Tiern and the rest gaped from the chamber.
“We’ll manage solo,” I declared. A crowd would invite stares. Tiern’s brow creased; he locked eyes with Loic and held position.
Beyond the threshold, entry guards stirred to shadow us, halting at Loic’s mute command.
Lanterns blazed along deserted lanes, the lake drawing all comers. Our route lay pristine, as if reserved.
“The show empties these paths. Perfect for wandering,” I breathed.
A handful of paces in, Loic halted abruptly. Glancing back, I found him fixed on me amid the fountain’s radiant haze. Shadows fled his face, leaving his mien inscrutable. Breath came shallow—nerves, perhaps.
“Everything all right? Unwell?”
His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. His confession echoed: I’ve never liked being touched.
“Back to the room, then?” I ventured, releasing his robe.
“No.”
He snared my wrist, doffed a single glove, and enveloped my palm in his naked grip—warm, unyielding.
“Hand in hand is safer. We could get separated.”
“Y-Yeah…”
Curiosity burned—why bare his skin?—but he guided me onward, grasp tender yet assured.