Chapter 58: Awakening

Iris von Rhenia had perfected the art of looking attentive while being anything but.

It was a skill every noble lady worth her ribbons had to develop early, but Iris was truly exceptional at it. The trick lies in the eyes, you see. One had to keep them fixed somewhere sufficiently close to the speaker but not directly aimed at them, while occasionally tilting one’s head ever-so-slightly to suggest contemplation. At first, she’d had to think about it, carefully orchestrating every motion, but now it was second nature to her.

The current recipient of her performance was Professor Morris, who’d been rambling about the history of the Sacred Tongue to Class 2-A. These theoretical lessons were by far the worst part of the otherwise rather pleasant Fundamentals of Magic class, and this particular topic made it even worse out of sheer pointlessness.

Who wouldn’t already know the tale, anyway? The Elysian Empire’s degeneracy and sins had brought forth an abominable Cataclysm, and Saintess Elowen and her eleven apostles, after a hundred days of prayer, received a revelation from the Goddess allowing them to speak the Sacred Tongue and, therefore, cast magic. With that magic, they stopped the Cataclysm. All our current knowledge of the Sacred Tongue stems from the remaining writings of those twelve people, and a long process of guesswork by dull academics like a certain professor.

If there’s anyone in this room who hadn’t heard this story a thousand times over by their fifth birthday, they must have had rather wanting governesses.

The truth was that Iris’s mind was somewhere far beyond the Elysian Empire or the Sacred Tongue. It was, as it had been for several days now, on one Clara Casewell.

Iris tapped her index finger softly against her desk. I will not think about her. I am not thinking about her. Dismissing Clara had been the correct decision. The only decision a daughter of House von Rhenia could have made under the circumstances. There was no use dwelling on it, no point in wondering whether Clara wearing her burgundy lace at the trial had some sort of meaning to it.

Iris glanced down at her notebook, where, at some point during the lecture, she had drawn a rose with a frown on it.

A vassal serves her liege. That is the order of things. If one’s vassal cannot abide that order, then one releases her. There is nothing further to consider.

She would have to mention to Emma that the breakfast tea this morning had been brewed with insufficient leaves, resulting in a flavor that was far too thin. It was the sort of thing that Clara would never let happen. Not that Iris missed Clara; this was strictly a factual observation.

Beside her, Felicity was passing a folded note to Charlotte without a shred of subtlety. What is she, a junior maid? Iris briefly considered intercepting it on principle, to remind the two of the importance of decorum even when gossiping, then she decided she lacked the energy to care today.

Professor Morris asked a question, and several hands went up. To no one’s surprise, the one who answered correctly was Vivienne. The braided girl used to infuriate Iris thanks to her earnestness and her proximity to a rather inconvenient blonde, but after Vivienne showed willingness to play the game, she’d earned a modicum of Iris’s respect.

Iris was just settling back onto the very serious work of not thinking about Clara when the light in the lecture hall changed.

“What in the…” Edward half rose from his seat.

Iris turned to the window.

The sky was red.

And not a sunset’s pleasant red, especially not at this time of day. The whole world looked like it’d been dipped in wine.

“Professor?” someone asked. “Professor, what is—”

Professor Morris was already next to the window. He stood straight, his eyes narrowed seriously at the horizon, reminding Iris of the day he’d defended her from Lochlann.

“Aperiantur oculi mentis,” he chanted.

And his eyes went wide.

“Students, listen to me very carefully and don’t panic. I want you all to make your way to the main auditorium while I speak with the headmaster. I will meet you there shortly. Do not, under any circumstances, leave this building.”

Iris, of course, tried to leave the building. Whatever this tastelessly colored sky meant, she was sure she’d be much safer next to her family at the Plaza than here at Claves. Unfortunately, Professor Morris had gotten far too good at reading her intentions, and he’d sent Professor Harwick to block her way.

A remarkably speedy mobilization, I’ll grant them that.

And so she complied, making her way to the auditorium with the rest of her class. Students from other classes slowly joined them, and the auditorium was just big enough to hold everyone, though it was considerably less pleasant as a holding pen than as a performance venue.

The students of Class 2-A sat near each other in the back. The confrontational mood that had become characteristic of their class had somewhat lessened since the play, as if everyone had aired out their grievances and collectively decided to move on. Mostly. There were still the usual rivalries and tensions, but even Helena’s painful everyday acting had just turned into an expected-if-inconvenient daily fixture instead of a great annoyance.

“It’s obviously an eclipse,” said Charlotte.

Felicity shook her head. “An eclipse does not turn the sky red.”

“Um,” Vivienne raised her hand, “actually, there are specific types of eclipses known for that. I believe they are referred to as blood moons, in folk wisdom.”

“We’re resorting to folk wisdom now? It must truly be the end of days,” Vainglory said.

Iris nodded approvingly. At least someone here still has their head on their shoulders.

The viscount continued, “I don’t think this is a simple eclipse. The vision spell that the professor cast before he panicked. I did it, too.”

Helena clasped her hands together. “How lucky we are to have someone with such quick thinking! What did you see, viscount?”

“It was… strange, to say the least. A pillar of energy rising from the east all the way into the sky. But it wasn’t how magical energy normally appears. It was thicker, and much darker. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“My money’s on a dragon.” Edward crossed his arms behind his head.

“There are no dragons,” said Lochlann. “Don’t listen to his nonsense, Ciarán.”

The second prince sighed. “You insult me, Brother. I’m fourteen, not four—I’m practically an adult.”

Iris cleared her throat, and Edward laughed. Ciarán glared at her, but she didn’t care. She had no sympathy for the unruly boy whose knight had killed Major Ricardo, and she didn’t even know why the Second Prince was still at Westwick, anyway. Why couldn’t he just go back to the palace instead of staying with Lochlann? Didn’t the two hate each other?

Still, did Rowena really kill Ricardo? Because Clara’s theory didn’t seem that impossi—

No, Iris. Stop thinking about her.

Edward continued proposing increasingly more ridiculous explanations for whatever was happening, much to Lochlann’s irritation. After another half hour of banter, the sky shifted.

“Oh, look!” Helena excitedly pointed at a window. “It’s returning to normal!”

Before their eyes, the red faded into blue. It seemed the professor had been worried over nothing, and this had just been some short-lived phenomenon. Yet Professor Morris announced that they’d sent some soldiers to verify what had happened, and for now the students should stay put.

How annoying. Well, I suppose this isn’t any worse than a history lesson.

After a dreadfully long time stuck in the auditorium—enough for the smell of cramped students to become quite detestable—the main doors finally swung open again.

And the one who came was… Papa?! What is he doing here?

Iris ran up to him. Up close, she could see his tailcoat had been torn, and there was dirt all over his breeches.

“Papa, what’s happened? You look dreadful.”

“Iris.” His tone was heavy, and her stomach sank. This couldn’t be good. “There’s been an incident.”

“An incident? Is Mama okay? What about Conrad?”

“Yes, they’ll be fine. But Miss Casewell is… in a complicated situation. Come with me.”

Clara. No.

Iris steadied herself. It was an almost impossible feat, but she wouldn’t allow herself to break in public. “Let’s go, Papa.”

“Wait, Your Grace,” said Lochlann, walking up to the duke. “We’re coming with you.” Behind him were Ciarán and Helena. “Miss Casewell is currently in our service, so if something’s happened, we need to know.”

Papa thought for a moment, then nodded. Iris didn’t find it in herself to argue.

Papa led them to the upper floor of the Westwick Plaza, toward one of the suites that was currently unused by the household. Besides their royal brattinesses and Lady Naivety, Professor Morris had also joined them, at Papa’s request. He was asking Papa question after question about what had happened, but Papa hadn’t really answered much of anything besides ‘an incident’. Oh, and Emma was there too, of course.

Papa placed his hand on the doorknob and turned to look at her. It was a brief look, barely a second, and his expression didn’t change in any meaningful way. But Iris understood what it meant. Prepare yourself.

He opened the door.

Mama was inside, seated at a table and drinking some tea. Her dark hair was the messiest Iris had ever seen it. Conrad sat beside her, his riding outfit in an even worse state than Papa’s had been. There was a bandage partly visible above his collar.

What happened to them?

Iris looked at the bed.

Clara was lying on top of it. Her face was turned slightly to the side, eyes closed, and her chest rose and fell, so at least she was breathing. But…

Her right arm lay stretched on the bed, palm upward, sleeve pulled up to her shoulder. It was swollen and bloated, and her skin was pulled taut and discolored like overripe fruit. But it was what moved around it that made Iris gasp. A thick, purple miasma swirled around Clara’s arm.

“What is that,” said Iris. It came out flat, like she didn’t have enough in her to finish the question.

“Miss Clara!” Emma yelped.

“Corrosion, I think,” said Mama. “Emmet, come and look.”

Professor Morris knelt on the left side of the bed, his expression torn between academic fascination and something that looked a lot like fear. That was when Iris noticed that, on the other side, there was someone else beside Clara, sitting on a chair pulled close to the bed.

A certain Albion lordling. Holding Clara’s left hand.

“You. Let go of her. Now,” she hissed.

But he ignored her, his eyes fixed on Clara.

“Iris, darling, perhaps you should know that it was only thanks to him that we managed to save Miss Casewell,” said Mama.

“Save from what?”

“She was abducted during her investigation into Major Ricardo’s death,” answered the duke.

Oh Goddess, is this because I dismissed her? If I’d been accompanying her, maybe with a few von Rhenia soldiers, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

I even told her to make sure the truth came out. When I should have realized how dangerous that could be.

This is all my fault. I should never have let her go.

“By who? Who did this to my vassal? And what does that have to do with the sorry state of her arm?”

Conrad spoke up. “The one responsible for this is dead. He was hit by the same corrosion that is currently in Miss Casewell’s arm, but his situation was much worse, and I had to put a regrettably swift end to his life before things got out of hand.”

“It’s a shame that we won’t get a chance to question him,” added Mama.

Professor Morris used his magical vision spell, and his glowing eyes went wide. “Your Graces, if this is truly corrosion, I believe we have no choice but to sever the affected limb before the miasma spreads to the rest of her body.”

Mama sighed. “That is what I feared. I’m so sorry, Iris.”

What.

“Isn’t amputation a bit premature?” asked Lochlann. “I could summon the royal physician to have a look. There could be some other way to treat this.”

What.

Papa shook his head. “This is not something medicine can combat. I can assure you that losing an arm would be a blessing compared to what would happen if this spreads further.”

“Nobody is going to cut Clara’s arm off without my permission!” Iris’s cry came out in a much higher pitch than she intended. “Have you all gone insane?” She sat on the bed, taking her rightful place next to Clara.

How could amputation be the answer? Her face was so peaceful, she didn’t even look like she was in pain.

The room fell silent, save for Emma’s crying. Papa came closer and put his hand on Iris’s shoulder.

“Iris. The corrosion is spreading through Miss Casewell as we speak, and, if it goes further than her arm, it may become impossible to treat, and lead her to a terrible fate. I understand you are upset, but as a member of House von Rhenia and as her liege, you have a duty here.”

My duty as her liege… Yes, a liege has to defend and protect their vassals, and sometimes make difficult decisions in their stead. Tears flowed down Iris’s face.

“Are you certain there is nothing else we can do? What about your healing magic, Papa?”

Papa didn’t answer immediately. He looked at her for a moment, then moved over to Clara’s side.

“Sanetur corpus.” The ametrine on his cane shone, and a soft light washed over Clara. Except as soon as the light touched the miasma, it vanished. Papa held the spell for a while, the golden light growing brighter and brighter, but the result didn’t change whenever it collided with the darkness.

Based on his reaction, it was clear he’d already tried this before. Which made sense. If this were something that could be solved by magic or by doctors, Papa wouldn’t have pulled me out of Claves for it. He wants me to understand the situation my vassal is going through.

“I see,” Iris said between pained sobs. “If there really is no other way… fine.” The word came out jagged, and she hated the sound of it. “Do it quickly, before I change my mind.”

Iris moved closer to Clara, taking her left hand in hers, because if this was going to happen, she would be the one to support Clara, and not Warren Righton. He turned to face Iris, but didn’t resist what she was doing.

“Conrad,” said Papa. “You’ll do it, and I’ll heal the wound afterwards.”

Conrad nodded and stood up. He reached for the saber at his belt, drawing it smoothly.

Iris shut her eyes, holding on tightly to Clara’s hand, sobbing even louder than before.

I’m sorry, Clara.

“On your word, Father.”

“Procee—”

“STOP.”

The shriek was so loud Iris almost thought the room was shaking.

She opened her eyes.

Helena Rosewood stood at the foot of the bed with both hands outstretched, the topaz ring on her finger shining brightly.

Conrad frowned. “Lady Rosewood, please, now is not the time for childishness.”

Helena looked intently at Clara’s arm. “I said no! I don’t want any more pain! I think this is quite enough!”

Lochlann reached out to her. “Helena, please, this is not our—”

“NO!”

Her shout had a physical force to it, reverberating so harshly across the room that the windows rattled and Mama’s teacup toppled.

Light came forth from Helena’s ring.

It traveled up her arm, then her shoulders and down her torso, until every inch of her was luminous.

Her feet left the floor, and she floated halfway to the ceiling.

“What…” Conrad stammered.

“Sanetur corpus, claudantur omnia vulnera, et corruptio quae intravit expellatur in aeternum.”

Helena’s energy poured into Clara as the words echoed.

The darkness pushed back, dissipating the light just as it had with Papa’s spell, but more light came in like an unstoppable flood.

Helena continued, her voice louder with each word, “Vigor vitae restituatur, sanguis purgetur, spiritus renovetur. Mens obscurata clarificetur, et omne malum quod in carne et ossibus latet exstinguatur.”

An incantation this long… How? How is she doing this?

As the words came out, the light around Helena grew intensely radiant.

Her honey-blonde hair lightened past its original shade. At first it turned golden, but then it kept going until it became entirely, eerily white.

“It’s… It’s a miracle!” said Lochlann.

“To think a new Saintess would appear before our very eyes.” Professor Morris scribbled as fast as he could, trying to keep up with Helena’s words.

“Quod fractum est sanetur, quod extinctum est accendatur, quod periit reddatur. Lux vitae in omnes tenebras penetret, et nihil mali in ea maneat amplius. Corpus et anima et mens in unum redigantur, sicut ab initio fuerunt. Vivat! Respiret! Surgat!”

The miasma retreated, inch by inch, until it was purged entirely.