No empty bottles were on the desk, and no papers thrown about as if a madman had torn through. Nor were there any pins and threads connecting reports in Boldwick’s office.
It was wholly unexpected what Erec found.
The office was more organized than ever before, and that frightened him. A pervading sense of order dominated the space, cloaked with a feeling of loss. After all, there were only four people here instead of the five there should have been. Gwen grabbed him by the wrist, her fingers warm as she steadied him.
Or perhaps, based on how she shook, she needed to steady herself as well.
Dame Robin gave a slight bow to Boldwick; the Master Knight stood at the other side of the wooden desk, his dark eyes taking them all in.
It was as if he hadn’t slept in three days, yet he’d pulled back his hair neatly in a tail. His clothes were immaculately pristine and even pressed.
However, one thing was out of place. A small bowl burned with coals in the middle of his desk—smoke curling to pool at the ceiling before crawling out of an open window to the lush plant life just outside. It carried a faint smell of sage and cinnamon.
“You’ve all made it,” Boldwick said and nodded to the open door. Gwen pulled Erec forward as Dame Robin sealed them in. “Truly, I’m grateful for your prompt response.”
“Of course,” Robin said as she lined up next to the other two apprentices.
Boldwick began to speak—then stopped. Quietly, he slipped a knife out from his desk drawer; in one smooth motion, he lopped off his hair from where it was tied, then threw it into the fire. It crackled and popped as an awful smell filled the space, yet Erec didn’t dare to wrinkle his nose. Boldwick’s attention locked on the flames.
“We all, one day, return to the fire. Just as our ancestors were reborn in it, so we shall reach it in the afterlife.” Boldwick paused, nodding his head slowly. “Alister was a fine man, though I wished he’d take things more seriously at times. He was brave, strong, and more than that, he believed in people. Saw in them the potential for greatness, even after they let him down. There’s much I wish I could have taught him, but now I shall never be able to. Not in this life.”
“I often recall him sneaking flowers for me when he was an initiate,” Robin shook her head. “Damn idiot, but he had a kind soul.”
“Aye, that he did.” Boldwick took a heavy breath. “I swear to you all that I will do better with you than I did with him. I want you to grow strong, live long, and reach your dreams. Even if such a thing isn’t common for lifelong Knights, I will do it for you.”
Erec kept silent, as did Gwen at his side. Staring at the flames—the reality of missing a member of this group sank in. Though he wasn’t as familiar with the man as the others here, the sense of loss that radiated out of them was profound and not unlike what he’d felt when his mother left.
It brought back the pain.
But with it, a catharsis. Boldwick recounted the first time he’d met Alister—his mood elevating when he’d described some nonsense prank the man had pulled. Robin told her own memories, often colored by admonishing him as a junior, and so did Gwen, though he was an inspiration to her.
Thankfully, none of them called on him. They’d let him into their inner circle and let him see their pain, even if he couldn’t share entirely in it.
A feeling of family, almost.
In the end, Boldwick finally broke out spirits—though not the wine he usually drank like a fish. With a great smile, Boldwick pulled free a bottle of whiskey with a fine coat of dust. The cork came out in one smooth and practiced motion.
“I received this when I became a Knight Lieutenant,” he remarked, pouring out equal glasses to everyone. Carefully, Erec picked his up and gave it a sniff—powerful. A spiced apple-like scent. “To Alister, may he have found his peace. And to the future of you all, sure to achieve great things.”
He took down the whole glass in a gulp—Erec followed, the whiskey burning his throat and warming his chest as his glass banged back on the desk. Boldwick refilled everyone’s drinks as they took their medicine.
“Ya know,” Gwen said from his side as Boldwick and Robin slipped into an eased discussion of the past. “Saw you and Bedwyr fight’n together,”
“And?” Erec asked her, squinting. Man, the whiskey was stronger than the wine that’d come before.
“Couldn’t help but think, back when I was a first year, I don’t think Bedwyr was quite as vicious in a battle. Think you’re on the way to pass him by,” Gwen gave him a wink.
“Not sure about that,” Erec said. “But, for the first time, I think I might be fine with that. I might grow stronger than him in a particular way. But I don’t think that’ll make me better than him…” He shook his head. “I’m starting to think that doesn’t matter anymore, anyway.”
“Aw, I wouldn’t say that; I’d reckon it matters a whole lot, y’know? We all have things we’re good at—but he’s good at most. Aside from… some things.”
Erec gave her a weird look and then checked on Boldwick and Robin—luckily, neither of them caught that. “Like what? From my perspective, he’s rounded out in every area.”
“Sure, in Virtues and Academics, yeah. A given. But I mean he’s bad at being close—y’know? Has plenty of friends, but the moment you try to get to know him deeper, he clams up or is just too busy.”
Erec rubbed his eyes, on the one hand, relieved that she hadn’t gone there. “He feels like he always has to be moving ahead. That doesn’t leave much time for personal life. I’m the same.”
“No, you’re not, Erec. Not like him,” Gwen shook her head slowly. “You’re a whole different mess, but that’s fine too.”
“Hey—“
There was a loud knock at the door.
The conversations cut off as everyone looked at Boldwick. He cleared his throat. “Ah, right about time, then.” He downed the rest of the whiskey in the bottle and then called out in a loud and gravelly tone, “Enter.”
The door swung open to reveal Prince Soren—behind him drifted in Lyotte, and a pair of Royal Guards followed them. The distinctive pattern on their tabard and the elaborate high-tech plating to their Armor was beyond compare; out of the most elite in the military, handpicked by the royal family. Afterward, they were entrusted with all the training resources and equipment a person could want.
Elite warrior. During their entire time in the Academy, Soren had never had them at his side, apart from now.
They took a position at either side of the doorway, silent and menacing as they stared down the gathered assortment. Should the Armored Royal Guards attack, it’d be a blood bath.
Prince Soren took the scene in with a cold expression, deferring to Lyotte, who strode in with her head held high. Her eyes burned right into Erec before shifting to Sir Boldwick.
“Master Knight, I’ve heard rumors that you intend to lead an expedition with the intent to make contact with sinners. Such a thing would be a grievous offense to the church and a gross violation of your privileges within the Verdant Oak Order.” She moved past Erec, her fingers curling around his glass and bringing the amber whiskey to her nose. She frowned before setting it back on the table with grace. “What do you have to say to these charges?”
Boldwick snorted. “You know damn well it’s my plan. And your family wouldn’t have heard so unless I wanted them to.” He nodded towards Soren. “He’s your in with the Royal family? I knew that Luculentus had reach within the palace, but I didn’t expect a fucking prince to hitch his wagons to yours.”
Lyotte gave Soren a long look; he held himself back and looked on, not the least worried or concerned with the slightly vulgar words of the Master Knight.
"Soren's a stalwart ally. Like us, he believes that the church's reach has extended too far and that the moderates within the nobility are causing a stagnation that will lead to our downfall.”
Boldwick whistled, raising an eyebrow at Soren. “So, that’s why you defied the King and joined the Knights.”
“It was a necessary first step to accrue the personal power and connections I’ll require to execute my vision.” Soren shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, bored eyes underscoring the act of personal rebellion it must have been to his family. “I know better than to request a spot on the expedition. However, I and House Luculentus, of course, desire our objectives added to your plan. In return, you receive my aid; I’ll expend some political capital to give you your expedition with little oversight.”
Boldwick scratched his chin. “Alright, I’ll bite. Name your price.”
“You take Olivia with you,” Lyotte said easily. “That is all that our house requests.”
Boldwick already planned this. Erec tried to keep his expression straight, aware that the man had calculated Lyotte’s family’s desire.
“Done.” Boldwick raised an eyebrow at the prince. “And yours?”
“Ah, simple enough, I suppose,” Soren said. “I desire you to annex a group of these outsiders. Offer them a place in the kingdom.”
“By the Goddess, that’d kick the church into a frenzy.”
“That is not your problem to worry about. You, of course, accept this demand, correct?”
“…We’ll see; I have no clue who these people are like. Might be harder to get them to go along than you picture in your head.” Boldwick said.
“Might be. But then, all of this is contingent on us slaying the White Stag, to begin with, which we might not end up accomplishing. So, how about we focus on that, after all, if we can conquer a monster of its reputation, I’m sure we’ll be capable of more.” Soren shrugged and looked at Lyotte. “May we depart? Our demands have been given. I don’t see a true contest to them.”
“Yes.” Lyotte nodded politely, her eyes lingering on Erec. “It is excellent to see you, Sir Erec. Best wishes for your upcoming trip.”
With that, the Prince and the future Duchess drifted out of the room, cold air in their wake as Boldwick stared at the door. It seemed he hadn’t been expecting that; perhaps he’d only counted on the duchy providing aid or wanting a part in his mission.
“Wow, aint it somethin’ to see the high-nobility pulling this sorta shady behavior with your own eyes? Makes Colin look downright innocent,” Gwen marveled.
They’d have their expedition as long as they made it back from the battle with the White Stag. Goddess only knew if that would turn out to be a victory or if they’d die in the process. Erec picked up his glass of whiskey, followed his mentor’s suit, and downed it in a single gulp.