Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 47: Separation

Music is Human Legacy by Ivan Torrent. Play it!

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I've just finished bathing and changing from sweat-soaked clothes into dry, clean ones, when a sharp rapping at my door makes me jump.

As a precaution, I draw Miraterciel. Concealing the athame behind my back, I cautiously open the door. It's just a herald. I exhale in relief, then feel foolish for allowing paranoia to drive my actions.

No, not paranoia. Caution, I correct myself.

"Yes?" He's probably here to remind me of the war council scheduled to take place after my midday meal. I still ask him anyway.

"King Terrell would like to remind you to attend the war council at exactly two in the afternoon," he says. Ah, how predictable.

"Thank you for the gentle reminder, herald." The message doesn't really deserve a thanks, but protocol still demands a polite response.

"Have a good day, squire." He bows. Without waiting for me to return the gesture, he wheels around and stalks off. It's possible that the king had commanded him to relay the message to more than one member of the council, hence the hastiness in his footsteps.

I close the door, sliding Miraterciel back into its sheath. Today would be the day when the council makes final amendments to the plans. It's the day where if there is any dissatisfaction boiling within oneself, he should voice it out. Feeling fatigued all of the sudden, I collapse onto my bed, staring at the ceiling with what I imagine to be absent-looking eyes.

Yesterday, after I hastily consumed a bland dinner of peas and herbs, I rushed to the Galennus Workhouse, demanding to see Sir Isaac despite the relative lateness of the hour. I suspect that the Galenni only tolerated me because of my Champion's status.

At any rate, my trainer looked far weaker than I last saw him: his wrinkled skin was pasty beneath the tan and scars; his breathing was rapid and shallow, as though he were a fish desperate to get back into the water; his whole aura had something off about it. However, he didn't transform into any sort of beast after sundown, so that means he's clean.

Still, I saw guards posted outside the workhouse. Later, I learned that they were there as a precaution, just in case anything should happen to Sir Isaac. Or if he suddenly goes on a rage and decides to kill us all, the Galennus on duty didn't say, but showed through his body language. The old knight would be evacuated to Rutherland today. Hopefully, nothing will happen to him in my absence.

Hopefully.

Somewhat lazily, after a full half hour's worth of staring into nothingness, I peel myself off the mattress, lumbering towards the dining hall. After that, I would enter the inner ring, attending the most important war council to date.

One of the few benefits that come with being elevated in status is that I'm allowed more rest time in between activities. Thus, I'm able to laze around for quite a while after the morning training sessions.

Lunch is a watery broth with some undefined ingredients flung carelessly into it. Ever since Gilbert had invited me to sit with him the other day, I've now unofficially claimed a spot at the table where his friends eat. They still don't talk much with me, only caring to make painfully polite conversation, but I suppose it is better than vermin.

Once I finish the meal, I move to exit the hall. I hover just before the doors, not quite sure what is holding me in place. Then I turn around, meeting a sea of eyes, all focused upon me. Slowly, they all begin act abnormally—squires salute, serving attendants bow or curtsy. Their gazes are filled with an undeniable light of hope.