RE: Monarch-Chapter 250: Fracture LV

"It is a sewer, father."

"Which begs the question. Why have you treated it like a bath?"

"For Elphion's sake—"

"The gods have nothing to do with this. A prince must maintain his dignity at all times."

"And what of the King, also knee deep in sewage, parading around in simple leathers like a common man at arms?" I snapped back, vaguely heated, unaware of my tone, what I must have sounded like.

Utter silence fell over the throng, as the entire recovery effort halted. Anxious men and women braced, some actively wincing, as the king, terrifyingly contemplative, slowly waded towards me. Maya shifted beside me, her expression placid, whatever thoughts she held on the matter banished deep beneath the surface.

He glowered up at me, danger in his eyes. "A prince must conform. The King goes where he pleases. Alters what cannot be to what is. If he were to walk nude from the palace to the merchant's gate amidst a blizzard in the dead of winter's crest, the weather is agreeable to such a walk." He gestured down to the sewage at his legs. "And if he chooses to take a midday dip in the piss and shit of his subjects..."

The king trailed off, glancing behind him where several of the black shields were listening in. One of them grinned, and, as if prompted, dropped from the walkway into the muck. "The water's fine, milord."

"And there you have it." Father said, still holding an almost stoic expression, the side of his mouth twitching as he suppressed a smile.

It was strange. Like watching a badly abridged play. The first act—pithy admonishment—more or less intact, only with the violence and penance that followed altogether absent. I was willing to admit he'd changed from the patriarch I knew in my past life. The differences were simply too stark, too consistent for the change in demeanor to be nothing more than a strategic approach. Still, in my exhaustion, I'd committed what my father had once considered an inexpiable sin. Insulting the crown publicly, well within earshot of multiple military leaders and high-ranking officials.

Still wary, I reached out and offered him my arm. He took it—again, something that should not have happened—and stepped up on the walkway. He embraced me openly, then whispered. "Your list of triumphs grows. But this?" He gestured towards the sewer, and the relief effort within it. "This is the first one Whitefall will remember you for. King Cairn. The resurrected ruler who began his reign by delving into the darkness and vanquishing the great evil that dwelled beneath his city."

"I couldn't have done it without your support. If the exits weren't covered—"

"Nonsense. This is your victory. Yours alone. And the scribes will be kind enough to remember it as such. Isn't that right?" My father's attention was directed a few feet behind me, where a man with a feathered hat and grimace for a face scratched down notes on a stone tablet. When the man realized he was the topic of address, he plied us with bows and repeated reassurances.

With my concerns of a kingly eruption fading, I couldn't help look back to the ongoing effort to remove all the bodies. "The lithid may be slain. I'm happy the people of Whitefall are safe. But this... doesn't feel like a victory."

The King followed my gaze. "Aye. It seldom does. Winning a battle is like waking up in a whorehouse. In the moment, all you can see is the cost. Distance will balm the emptiness. Grant perspective."

A crude example. But it gave a small degree of comfort to realize that he was right. The most harrowing conflicts I'd lived through felt more like survival than victory. Looking back on them after the wounds had healed and the faces of the dead had faded made it infinitely easier to evaluate what happened objectively.

And yet.

"May I request a boon for my victory, father?" I ventured.

He leveraged a savage grin in response. "Shrewd. Any king worth his gold would be a fool to not recognize the magnitude of what you've done here today. Ask, boy, and see it granted."

I took a deep breath. "I'd like to commission a memorial for the victims."

"Done."

"Along with cataloguing their names and family history, I'd like to pay for the burials. I'm... actually not entirely sure how much I have to my own name, specifically, right now—"

"More than you'd expect." King Gil provided, looking more than a little pleased with himself. He let me puzzle over it before he continued. "I intended to keep this from you until a full judgment of your character could be rendered, and I have found what I have seen to this point, entirely adequate. The royal apothecary generously lent the cure for the gray plague to every schmuck with a mortar and pestle, and for that generosity, received a small fraction of profit in return. A separate portion was set aside for the cure's creator." He put his hand on my shoulder. "But that gold is for your war-chest. You will not fritter it away as recompense for someone else's mistake."

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I set my feet, unwilling to budge. "It is the only boon I ask for."

"Which is why the crown will cover the arrangements." The king said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

My jaw dropped. "What? That's... unexpected."

"Is it?" King Gil raised an eyebrow, grimacing at his ruined leathers before his attention returned to me. "We will get to the bottom of why this happened. And who, specifically, is responsible. Heads will roll. In the meantime, it happened under my watch, stemming from the indifference of the men and women who serve me. Hundreds denied Valhalla because the pleas and prayers of their families went unheard."

I took a deep breath and added the last part. "I'd like the gravesite and memorial to be located somewhere in the Grand Districts, adjacent to the Fields of Fallen Heroes."

King Gil absorbed that, studying me with a calculating eye. "You want the demi-human corpses recovered here today to be buried near the bodies of men who died in service to the crown?"

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"Yes."

"When many of those humans died at the weapons and magic of the folk you'd inter next to them." He confirmed.

Maya stepped up beside me and interjected. "They may have not done so willingly. But if it was not for their sacrifice, we would have never discovered this monster lurking beneath. A monster that could have easily posed a threat to the crown."

"It sounds like your intention is to piss off every noble house in Whitefall." The King groused.

"In my father's tradition. They will cooperate." I smiled thinly, thinking of House Westmore. "At some point they'll have to. My sympathies towards the nonhumans are well known. It's only logical that my reign would follow the same trajectory. They'll fall in line."

"Bearing in mind they've already received a stark reminder of what will happen if they don't." The king relented. "Fine." He smiled that savage smile again and stuck his thumb at the scribe. "As long as the little man takes this down exactly as it happened."

My mouth twitched. I didn't particularly enjoy mythmaking or self-aggrandizement. Wringing any sort of credit from a tragedy of this scale felt ghoulish at best. But ruling was about compromise. If he could be flexible enough to give me what I was asking for, it was only fair to let him spin it however he pleased. "Done."

There was the sound of shuddering stone, and the ground beneath our feet trembled as a blockage somewhere in a distant tunnel came free. Silence followed. Then shouts. Calls for a priest, or a life mage.

Someone was still alive.

/////

As it turned out, far more than just someone. Hundreds of people stumbled out of the sewer in a daze. Most could walk, though those who had been held the longest had to be carried, thin legs and wasting limbs badly atrophied. Some part of me struggled to believe it. Held on to the possibility that this was some cruel trick.

But as the survivors were evaluated and interviewed—each telling some version of the same tale—a tension in my chest slowly unraveled. In retrospect, it made sense. The lithid's hunger was endless. It needed living victims to feed, and without them, it would have starved.

Speaking to them revealed exactly what one would expect. They had no memory of being taken. What they did recall was being trapped in a memory or scenario that was impossible to escape from, no matter how they tried. A few reported a sensation of movement, being transported beyond the dream, which likely tracked with how the lithid used its appendages to relocate prey and avoid detection.

There was no hint as to the lithid's master, or its greater purpose. Vogrin remained behind, overseeing the Crimson Brand's efforts and investigating on his own. There were enough researchers and bookish mages on-hand to ensure there'd be more information, eventually. But it would likely take weeks to see actual results.

Despite the chilly throes of dusk, the city was alive.

The sounds of tearful reunions and sorrowful agony filled the air.

I wanted to think. To review what happened, and what it meant. To do something more. But interfering with the lithid's delusions had taken a toll. My mind was spent, my thoughts muddy and slow.

Back at the barracks, I remember staring at a soldier's face as he spoke, following the movements of his mouth, and struggling to connect the sounds to the words he spoke.

"...My lord?"

"Say it again?" I smiled. "Got shit in my ears."

The young soldier barked a laugh. "Surely you're coming out to the taverns with us? We've all earned a bit of a breather."

I shook my head, and then, remembering my father's earlier comment, reached in my satchel and fished out a sack of gold. "If only I could. My evening will be spent dining with the Royal Family." I tossed him the sack. "Buy the men a few rounds on me. Make sure everyone stays respectful. Don't leave ‘til morning."

The soldier peeked in the bag, and his eyes widened. "Aye. We'll make a night of it."

"See that you do."

Then the soldier left, or disappeared, or was raptured into the heavens by the gods for all I can recall. The rest of the evening was spent in a merciful blur, allowing the long-denied opportunistic servants to take advantage of my addled state to finally offer proper attendance, scrubbing at every nook and cranny as bucket after bucket was dumped over my head, until the water finally came away clear. They took their leave then, the accumulated steam from the tub a salve to my aching lungs and sinuses.

As the wide mirror above the ornate marble sink fogged over, unconsciousness tugged at my senses, lulling my mind into a gentle twilight between night and sleep. It stands out in memory. Because from the day I returned to Whitefall, to that evening, I'd been vigilant. There was always a small dagger beneath my pillow, or the hilt of a hidden sword just within arm's reach. I typically slept dressed on a blanket resting on the floor, feet pressed against the door as I'd learned from Cephur to protect from assassins and other knives in the dark.

But the threat was seemingly over. My mind preoccupied. And while the thought passed through it to ask my servants to fetch a weapon to keep at my side while I bathed, the inevitable resistance and argument dissuaded me.

Lounging there, basking in the cloying warmth of the tub, I watched, half-paralyzed as movement drew my open eye. A tendril of shadow extended out from beneath the door, traveling upwards towards the handle.

I drew on what little mana I had left to call the spark.

Then the latch clicked.