Written Wonderland

"Commander Miyamoto," King Ciric said.

Mizu reached the marble throne and got down onto her knee on the carpets to one side of where the king had seated himself. When Mizu looked up at him out of her peripheries, she took in his posture. It seemed like the king was in a better mood today--his leg was draped over one arm of the chair, his elbow atop his thigh.

After a moment, the commander stood up and looked more directly at the king.

"Your majesty," Miyamoto said, absent her usual nod of deference.

Rorrim twisted to sit more properly on his chair, leaning forward with his hands held together.

"You wanted to see me?" The king clicked his lips slightly, and the sound reverberated in Mizu's ears. She fought a flinch but set her jaw.

"I received word from one of my captains that people of the rural villages are being conscripted now," the commander said, and her face barely moved. The king raised his eyebrows.

Though she didn't make it plain, the accusation hung thick in the air. The king stood from his throne and took a step to one side.

"Miyamoto," the king said, in a lilting voice that always made the commander nervous, "there's an enemy coming, and it's like nothing we've ever imagined." His voice got quieter as he spoke, which Mizu had learned to recognize was a tactic to trick people toward leaning closer in. She did not give into it.

"If it's unlike anything we've faced, we'll need more than bodies to defend us," Miyamoto said with certainty.

"Oh, so you know our enemy," Ciric said sarcastically, his voice singsong again. The king came down and clasped each of Mizu's hands. She stiffened, and the guards at the edges of the receiving room did as well, becoming more attentive.

"Mizu," the king whispered, staring intently into her eyes, "magic exists. And do a lot more than our potions and charms."

The commander pulled away from him slowly, turning her face away and keeping her face steely. The king dropped his hands and tilts his head. "We have more to fear from rumblings in the heavens than we do about our mortal neighbors," the king said. "So we need all the bodies we can get."

Mizu did not believe him. "How can you be sure. Are they... speaking with you?" She fought a twitch in her upper lip, but all she showed was the quiet hesitation.

"As they did my father before me," the king said, sitting back on his throne. "We do more than talk, in fact."

Mizu turned her face to the ground at one side, thinking quickly.

"Then why are you destroying temples?" the commander asked, finally broaching the subject.

"You didn't think the gods were any less complicated than we are, do you? Shockingly, not all of them agree with one another."

"Have you seen one, Your Majesty?"

"Yes," the king said, leaning over with his elbows on his knees. Miyamoto narrowed her eyes. That didn't make her feel better.

"That is all, Your Majesty," the commander said.

The king nodded and said, "Dismissed," staring after Miyamoto as she walked quickly to the door across the room and exited.

Outside the door, the commander rounded the first corner back toward her room and was startled by the dark shadow of the king's sorcerer staring at her. She staunched the majority of her reaction with a great force of will. Still, she stopped abruptly, lifting her gaze immediately from where it had been on the floor, lost in thought.

"You heard about the conscription," Rhys said knowingly.

"You already knew," Mizu said with sudden realization.

"He asked me to send the messages," the sorcerer said, crossing his arms. "I'd like to speak with you in my workshop for a moment." The commander stared at him and let her focus retreat a moment--an alternative to closing her eyes. She didn't like this sorcerer. She didn't fully understand what he did in his workshop, and the presence of so many glowing liquid vials made her stomach uneasy. And, though they had spoken--and collaborated on occasion--she typically preferred to meet on neutral territory. Or better yet, the training ground with her soldiers all around her.

Not that she thought her soldiers were enough to stop him.

Finally, the commander nodded, and Rhys smiled at her, walking down a dark hallway toward the workshop.

Mizu did her best not to look around as they entered together--she was close on Rhys' heels.

Closing the door behind her, Rhys left the workshop behind in favor of the overstuffed chairs he had around a small table to one side of the room. While the chairs faced the rows of colorful vials, it at least felt like a space separate from them. Mizu took a long, slow, quiet breath and waited.

Rhys' voice was low and grave when he spoke. "The king thinks he's speaking to the gods," Rhys said, his eyes roving over Mizu's face.

"You don't believe him," Mizu asserted.

Rhys lifted his shoulders slightly.

"Either way, the way he's going about this..."

The commander took a seat in one of the chairs, and Rhys followed her lead. Miyamoto watched him as he settled and brushed his fingers down his long black pants and robe.

"Let me put it to you this way. If you told your army to stop obeying the king, how many of them would listen?"

Mizu was surprised to hear treason come so easy off Rhys' eloquent tongue, but she resisted the urge to widen her eyes. It was a question she had pondered herself lately, ever since she and her men had been told to destroy the temples and capture the priestesses. It hadn't felt right, and the paladins the king sent to make sure everyone followed the rules had been making her increasingly nervous. She couldn't steer their organization, but they seemed to think they could steer hers. They were smaller in number but bold, and King Ciric only encouraged their zealotry.

"Not enough. We can't change the heart of the people with an army."

"No, but you can take power away from the wrong hands."

Mizu said, staring for a moment at the floor. Her hands coming to rest at her knees.

"I can manage the rest," Rhys told her. She looked at him with resolve in her eyes, though she didn't want to agree too readily. There were too many points to negotiate. And what was worth risking the lives of all her men? And what was worth risking the lives of all her men? That question was chief among them. She didn't trust Rhys to do it, certainly not alone. And it sounded like he was going to do it even if she didn't agree. Though she was honestly honored that he trusted her enough to tell her. She could easily betray him to the king. But, why would she? She excepted Rhys was banking on the fact that she didn't have motive that direction.

"You want my partnership, " Mizu stated. "And you're serious about this."

Rhys smiled, his fingers entwining in his lap.

"To be honest, it's overdue," the sorcerer said. The commander found herself wanting to spend a long night speaking about how they would accomplish it, but if they were going to do it, they needed to stay quiet, and there was no reason to alert anyone by spending more time together than usual.

Mizu stood and took a few steps away. Stopping and speaking over her shoulder, she said, "I would like to discuss this more with you. But we need to be discreet."

"I couldn't agree more," he said, standing. He caught up to her and reached out toward her left hand. Instantly, she felt a scrap of paper inside, and though she stiffened slightly at the skin contact, she knew it would contain a time and location.

She slid the paper from him and pushed it in-between her fingers, nodding once before walking out the door.

-Saving Blake's life
-Rorrim x Rhys
-Rorrim x Mizu
-Xavier's conscription

The king was in a foul mood. Lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, the king sighed dramatically, though no one else was in the room to hear him. A pity, really. He generally preferred an audience.

Not that he felt there was much to be proud of at the moment. Though there was a certain satisfaction in how well the first battle against the deserters had gone, the king hadn’t completely rooted them out. He had cut into their ranks, but they were still out there, regrouping and plotting against him, with his son held hostage.

No matter. It wouldn’t take long to come up with the best approach for the next attack, and by then, Rorrim’s rule would be assured.

He also couldn’t deny, however, that the news his paladins had brought of the priestess of Dehaljadrun also weighed heavy on his mind. How had she managed to stay out of sight for almost a decade? Then again, if she hadn’t managed to help the goddess escape by now, it was unlikely she would ever succeed. There was little to worry about.

So why was there still a pit at the bottom of Rorrim’s stomach?

Feeling irritably idle, the king decided to pay his closest advisor a visit.

Phantom’s workshop nearly took up as much space as the king’s own bedroom, and the king couldn’t help but be a little mesmerized with everything in sight. Everywhere, there were magical objects on lighted shelves, thick tomes thoughtfully placed near sleek armchairs, and tables of tools Rorrim had only begun to learn the names of.

Phantom was at one of the tables, painstakingly inscribing runes onto a piece of purple wood.

Just as Rorrim was about to announce himself, Phantom said, “Can’t say I’m surprised that you’re early, Your Majesty.” The man, tall and sun-darkened—though the king had never seen the man out of doors—did not so much as look up to acknowledge Rorrim otherwise. Which of them was in command here? Rorrim, obviously. So why did it never feel like Phantom cared to remember that?

The king cleared his throat and looked at Phantom pointedly.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Rorrim said, moving around the table to be on the same side of it as Phantom. “And whatever it is you’re doing, we have more important matters to discuss.” Phantom still did not look at the king. Instead, he completed his inscription, the burning metal he held cooling as he took a pair of tongs to hold up the small piece of cherry wood.

“Last I checked, protection from the goddess was your highest priority,” Phantom said, raising the tongs and turning so the king might inspect his work. “It’s not finished, but it’s close.”

The king settled somewhat, inspecting the piece of wood but not daring to touch it just yet. Rorrim watched as Phantom moved with grace in clearing the worktable, his shoulder-length dark hair blending with the sleek black of his tunic. Just before Rorrim was going to chide the man for being disrespectful again, Phantom said, “We need to strategize about our plan of attack. The rebellion army is camping along the Eastern edge of Asphodel, and I suspect they will reach for allies.”

Phantom may be his chief advisor and master sorcerer, but the man always managed to get under the king’s skin when he started spewing advice. Did he think Rorrim incompetent?

“That much was obvious,” the king said, understanding that he still didn’t have much to offer and that his defensiveness only made that more visible. Eager to cover that up, the king said, “Why not just send the demons again now while the rebellion is weak and defenseless?”

Phantom stooped to put away a few of his tools in a nearby drawer and thoughtfully stood up, walking over to one of the lighted shelves to pull down a collection of vials, each of them with glowing translucent fluid of every color Rorrim could imagine. He didn’t recognize this magic, and while it certainly caught the king’s attention, he didn’t want to give Phantom the satisfaction of knowing he was interested.

The advisor straightened and looked at the king with a smooth, expressionless face. “Because the demons aren’t ready for another attack. It will be some time before they can be summoned again.”

“We could send the remaining forces to confront the rebellion. We outnumbered them even before they took losses.”

“And leave the capital defenseless?” Phantom chided, raising an eyebrow before shifting to collect a few other reagents.

“No one is going to attack us right now.”

Phantom placed a hand on the table near the king and leaned into it. With a smirk flickering at the corners of his mouth, the advisor said, “Famous last words.”

Rorrim watched the man busy his hands before Phantom said, “Word of the civil war has already spread across the ocean. My agents in Belisse reported the news on the far continent today.” Phantom moved to the other side of the room to wash his hands in a basin of clear water. Drying his hands, the advisor said, “you look weak.”

The king gritted his teeth. He half a mind to slap Phantom across his face, but as usual, the man had a point. Still, he couldn’t just let someone talk to him like that.

“Lesser men have died for kinder words to their king.”

“I’m not a lesser man,” Phantom said, unflinchingly returning the king’s glare.

“So, what? You propose we just sit and wait for the demons? Is there nothing we can do in the meantime?”

“There are other matters that require our attention. Or, did you not want your magical training today?” Phantom asked, having returned to the worktable.

The king felt his muscles relax at the thought of delving into his own magical abilities. He wasn’t a natural sorcerer, that much was clear, but ever since spending time with Dehaljadrun, he had a lot more control over magical forces than before. Though, doing any magic made the echo of her palpable in his body, and that sensation had only grown in the years apart from her. It was a miracle on most days to go more than ten minutes without Dehaljadrun crossing his mind. An ever-present siren song. He thought he understood the myths about her now.

“You certainly haven’t told me anything about whatever it is these are,” the king acquiesced, nodding to the rainbow of vials still on the table.
Following Rorrim’s gaze, Phantom looked at the vials and then turned back to Rorrim with a shrug.

“Those aren’t part of the lesson today,” Phantom said dismissively.

The king gritted his teeth again, fed up with the man’s condescending attitude. Rorrim had enough reasons to be tense and didn’t need more. Slamming his hands down on the table on either side of Phantom, the king looked angrily into the man’s face.

“I think you should start here today, actually, lest I suspect you of treason.”

Phantom, using the handful of inches he had on the king to his advantage, looked at Rorrim and finally gestured toward the vials. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” Rorrim allowed the man to push his hands aside, curiosity beginning to win out above outright malice.

Rhys said, “I would have experimented with them myself, but you’ve kept me busy. I ordered these after I heard someone in the capital had started manufacturing them with intent to sell.”

Before Rorrim could press the issue, Phantom continued, “some of them are spells designed to be used during intercourse.” Phantom, with his frustratingly calm expression, looked casually at the king. He knew Phantom would notice the color that began to appear on the king’s face--the man didn't miss a thing. He was flushed, not out of embarrassment but because his mind was already considering the possibilities.

“Go on,” the king finally said after standing a short silence.

“I haven’t found a willing volunteer yet. I mean to test the safety of them.” Phantom said.

“We could always get one of the priestesses,” the king said, a malicious grin sliding onto his face.

“No,” Phantom said, staring down at his hands on the worktable. Rorrim pulled his eyebrows together. What was this man’s problem? Hadn’t they decided together that capturing the priestesses had been in the kingdom’s best interest? “I said willing volunteers. These spells could go wildly out of control otherwise.”

Taking stock of the situation, the king suddenly had an idea. “How dangerous are they?” Phantom appeared to consider this for a moment, nodding his head from side to side.

“Given how many cityfolk have already given them a go, I’d say the risk relatively low.”

“Then, I’ll volunteer,” the king said, with enthusiasm, “to use them on you.”