98: To the desert

To the desert

A state of emergency was declared by the Archduke on that fateful morning. 2

Such a proclamation, usually reserved for grave crises or times of war, was accompanied by whispers and rumors of a near-duel between the Commanders of the two knight orders within the confines of the manor. The reasons behind the deterioration of the father-son relationship remained shrouded in secrecy, as probing too deeply into the matter carried the peril of jeopardizing one's life.

Lanark's once bustling streets now lay desolate, void of the usual hustle and bustle, except for the vigilant presence of patrolling knights. The state of emergency imposed strict regulations, with civilians who ventured outside their homes facing a single warning before facing immediate punishment for further non-compliance.

Adela stood by the window in the Archduchess's quarters, her hands tightly clutching the parchment that had been delivered to her by the majordomo after it had been passed on from a guard stationed at the door.

Her fingers traced the furious scribbles, noticing how at numerous places the ink stained the parchment as if the words themselves were the piercing blows of Arkin's sharp sword.

For the fifth time, she repeated his words in her mind.

I entrust my mother to you while I am in Latora, and once my business there is concluded, I shall proceed to Galondy and then to Kolhis. Farewell.

Her gaze lingered on the last word, bereft of a name or title. Arkin's struggle to address her appropriately in this new relationship of theirs was painfully evident.

I am still me... and he is still him...

How could she blame Arkin for embarking on a quest to find himself in the desert? Could one truly be expected to move forward without a past of their own? Is he in the wrong for seeking to uncover the Archduchess's secrets and the truth about the merchants?

Growing up with a sense of something missing when it came to Grace de Lanark, she wondered if she herself had a right to withhold judgment.

"What is it?" Grace de Lanark asked in a weak voice, interrupting Adela's train of thought.

Adela wanted to protect her mother from the burden of the news, but she found herself lacking the strength to do so. She turned towards the Archduchess who lay frail and bedridden in her lavish quarters, resembling a wilting flower torn from its familiar garden and transplanted into foreign soil. Her attempts to assume a different guise, much like a flower changing its colors to weather a storm, were futile.

"Adela... Just reveal the contents of that parchment already," Larissa implored, lying beside their mother as she tenderly ran her fingers through the Archduchess's flowing red hair.

Adela's lips parted only to close once more.

"Adelaide de Lanark, I am on the verge of throwing myself out of this window!" Grace uttered in frustration, not for the first time. Yet this time, a genuine fear of her intent gripped Adela's heart.

"...Arkin sent news, mother. He has departed for the desert," Adela replied, brevity coating her words, leaving Kolhis out for now.

Grace sprung up so abruptly that the room seemed to spin around her. She grasped onto Larissa's arm for support.

"Who saw this?" The Archduchess pointed a trembling finger at the parchment in Adela's hand.

"Nobody. It was sealed with red wax, and I broke the seal myself," Adela replied, steeling herself for the impending storm.

"You are the only one who can stop him!" Grace sobbed, struggling to rise from the bed. "No one will impede you, even during a state of emergency... He... He must not discover the truth about me..."

Adela had closed the distance between herself and her mother, tightly gripping her quivering hands. Her eyes locked with Larissa's who was holding their mother from behind.

Larissa's hazel eyes lacked the hunger for the obvious question that should have consumed her thoughts. And in a single breath, Adela realized that Larissa knew the truth about their mother's past as a former Healer.

Does this mean she knew about my abilities too? Adela couldn't be certain. She was lightly shaken by her mother, brought back from her musings.

"Can you not hear me, my child?" Grace's voice quivered with desperation. "You must intervene and stop your brother! Otherwise, all the years we've endured will have been for naught! They will undoubtedly seek his execution!"

Adela didn't need to inquire why; a bastard child of the Archduchess would shame House de Lanark for all eternity. Emanuel de Lanark wouldn't hesitate to pronounce a death sentence.

"They have spies lurking in every corner! I was left with no other option! If I could rewind the clock, I would make the same choice again!" 

As Adela beheld her mother in this new light seeing her true self for the first time, pity was the only emotion that stirred within her.

"Fear not, mother," Adela squeezed the Archduchess's hand. "He could not have ventured far," she reassured placing her other hand over her own heart.

Grace's eyes fixated on the spot where Adela's clenched fist rested, a poignant reminder of the burden she had once carried before passing it on to her daughter. Waves of guilt washed over her as she pulled Adela into a tight embrace wishing she could at least share that pain.

"You always believed you took after your father, but it is me you resemble," Grace sniffled, shaking her head vehemently as if denying her own words. She gently pushed Adela away and looked into her olive-green eyes. "You shall never share my destiny," she declared, a sudden fierceness in her tone. "You are everything I am not."

Adela silently observed as her mother leaned back into Larissa's supportive embrace allowing herself to be guided back to the comfort of her bed. Sensing that their exchange had reached its limit, Adela made a motion to leave the room, her footsteps carried her towards the threshold when Grace's voice caused her to pause in her tracks.

"Bring him back to me."

Unable to withstand her mother's agony any longer, Adela hastily left the room, her mind inundated with vivid recollections stored deep within her consciousness. Each memory depicted a pivotal moment in Arkin's life, and in every one, the Archduchess stood with her back turned, yet her eyes surreptitiously stealing glances at him.

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