"But you can call me Veronica." The petite woman peeks out the window, then yanks the curtains shut and whips around to face the sun-knight. "I apologize for my curtness; I have little time."
Eshe smiles apologetically. "My pleasure, Veronica. I am Ser Eshe. Though I don't believe I'll be needing your company this evening, as I just shared intimacy in the bathhouse." They stroll over to the card table and take a seat. "You are gorgeous, make no mistake, but I am spent."
A surprised blush spreads across Veronica's face, one that's soon overcome by a scowl. "I am not some simple whore!" She attempts to simultaneously cross her arms and legs over her skimpy loincloth and bandeau. It doesn't do much more than reveal the smooth skin of her delicate limbs. "I mean, I am...rather, it's...I'm not here for
that
, alright? Ahem. I come to you as a political dissident and a potential ally bearing useful information. There are some things you should know before you meet with Helena."
Eshe frowns. The optimist in them wants to believe she's offering a few friendly tips for proper conduct in court. The optimist in them is rarely correct. "What sort of ally?"
"One who understands Her Majesty's true nature and what She's capable of." Veronica's face scrunches up at the words, as if speaking them causes her pain. "The stories I've read of your Order, Ser knight, all deal with deposing evil tyrants and sorcerers. Queen Helena is both. She wields powerful magic indiscriminately and rules with an iron fist; I should know, for I am one of Her many victims." She pauses for dramatic effect.
Eshe scratches the back of their neck, feeling far too tired for whatever this is. They briefly mull over the accusations: The charge of tyranny is no surprise; in a disordered land, to rule is to have blood on your hands. Sorcery, however, is far more concerning—such power can spread disorder instead of merely perpetuating it. But while they have heard whisperings about the Queen's magic in their travels, such rumors are unreliable. For the adept, 'magic' refers to the craft of sorcery: understanding, harnessing, and shaping the pure energy of creation. Essentially, to be a sorcerer is to imagine all possible futures, and then to channel energy into the specific circumstance which creates what you desire. However, for the vast majority of folk, the term 'magic' is far less specific. Eshe had seen people blame magic for anything from inconvenient rainstorms to a horse living a long life, as well as a whole host of other coincidences and natural phenomena. Thus, they're used to meeting declarations of 'magical' power with skepticism. "What has She done, exactly?"
"She torments the innocent with Her sorceries,
transforming
them into pleasure slaves for Her own debauched entertainment. Believe it or not, Ser knight, I was once a noblewoman—the tall and athletic Lady Veronica Tiern, loved and respected by my peers and the people of Arlunn alike. But I could not abide Her Majesty's wickedness, and so I stood and fought to liberate our kingdom. Our battle was close, with her wielding foul power and I the strength of righteousness, but eventually Her underhanded trickery took the day." She perches on their bed without asking permission, her feet not quite reaching the floor. "As punishment, She made me small and weak, with wild emotions and insatiable...distractibility. Warped me to suit Her perverse desires, so I might serve as a symbol of Her power."
"I...see." The woman seems more likely to be deranged than bewitched—she broke into their room disheveled and barely dressed, started spouting accusations, and claimed to be a former noblewoman. Not to mention the fact that she seems perpetually on the verge of tears. But therein lies the challenge with mind magic: Derangement cannot prove or disprove its presence. Eshe catches the wonderful scent of the food beside them; it would be easy to write the woman off as delusional, hand her over to the guards, and enjoy their meal while it's still warm. And yet...
Prencipelen ava carne
. Tenets before flesh. Sane or not, they have a duty to hear her out. At least chances are good she won't have any evidence. "Do you have proof?"
"Yes!" Nevermind. Veronica exhales in relief, bounding up to them and standing on her toes to plant a kiss on their cheek. They try to ignore the shifting fabric of her loincloth and the supple treasures hinted at beneath. Eshe sighs. Of course. Why are the hottest ones always the most neurotic? The little vixen's face practically begs to be sat on, yet here she is drawing them into some vast conspiracy instead. "Truly you are a kind and just knight, Ser. I can show you plenty of proof, if you'll just follow me!" She cracks open the door, checks for guards, then beckons them forward. Eshe spares one last longing glance at their dinner, then reluctantly follows. Looks like their full meal will have to wait a bit longer.
They don't spend long in the bright marble halls of the royal palace proper. Much to Eshe's dismay, Veronica pulls them instead into a network of claustrophobic servant passages, passing through countless narrow stone corridors lit only by the occasional candle lantern. Their progress is slow; Veronica stops every time someone passes ahead, pressing herself up against Eshe and putting a finger to her lips.
"It's just a scullery maid," they grumble after a particularly long wait, one in which their co-conspirator practically wrapped herself around them in the tight passageway.
"Hush!" She cocks her head to the side, listening carefully. "I know what I'm doing." They certainly believe
that
—especially once they catch a whiff of her arousal.
The stone corridors grow less crowded the further they go, however, and the duo is able to travel faster and much less intimately as a result. In the absence of foot traffic, the cobwebs are larger and the dust thicker. Shifts in direction grow more sharp, sudden, and frequent. Eshe feels as though they're spiraling into the center of the palace, navigating toward a deeply buried secret. Or rather
Veronica
is navigating, traversing the labyrinth with absolute confidence while they stand back and watch.
"You know this place well," they remark after a particularly complex sequence of turns.
"I've worked against Helena for a long time." Veronica swats away a spiderweb, running both hands through her hair to remove any remnants. "Spent gods know how many hours creeping around this place. Euch."
Eshe reaches forward and plucks a strand of spider silk from her hair. "Doesn't seem like a task well suited to a noblewoman."
She glances back at them, a confused look on her face. "Of course it is. These tunnels are perfect for all sorts of affairs: dead drops, clandestine meetings, smuggling." Her face lights up as she begins explaining a topic she's clearly passionate about. Cute, in an eccentric sort of way. "Best part is, the more Helena expands the palace, the greater portion of this system goes unused. And the mason's guild can't be arsed to fill any of it in, especially not since Helena hung half of their leadership. I use these all the time; I came through here today to find you once I heard you'd arrived. Most people don't even know it goes this far. You can hide a body here and nobody will find it for weeks! Ah. Um. Not that I ever have."
Eshe raises an eyebrow. "Sounds like you had quite the operation." Running around the palace having special secret meetings didn't quite fit her earlier description of the people's bold stand against wickedness.
She shakes her head. "You should have seen it, Eshe. If you had gotten here a few months earlier..." The pair turn one final corner, revealing an unmarked, unpainted wooden door. "Well. No point in dwelling on the past when its outcome is right before us. Go ahead." She slips behind them.
They wrap their hand around the doorknob, considering Veronica's words. Folk in their travels had spoken about a failed coup several months earlier, but Eshe assumed it was nothing more than a petty power struggle. But if the petite dissident beside them is really who she says she is, and if there's something of genuine concern behind the door, then they'll have to rethink their understanding of Arlunn—and what they'll tell the Order upon their return. They turn the handle and pull, spilling light from the hallway into the room beyond. It's a lounge of some sort, a long, wide space intimate by virtue of its low ceilings and lack of windows. Plush red velvet carpeting lines the floor and walls, reeking of tobacco, sex, and an assortment of perfumes. Clusters of couches circle colorful glass hookahs and carts filled with various bottles of spirits, as well as elaborate devices filled with iron bands and leather straps. The whole room is soaked with stillness and shadow, to the point where they can barely make out the looming silhouettes in the back.
"Just a moment!" Veronica grabs a candle from the hallway, then wanders the room lighting gold-tinted lanterns to reveal the truth within.
Eshe inhales sharply. "Are they...?"
"Alive?" their companion supplies, slinking back over to stand beside them. "In a sense, yes. They can move and sense their surroundings, but I've never seen one eat or sleep."
"By the Sun..."
Rows of equidistant muscular bodies line the perimeter of the lounge, standing completely still and gazing straight ahead. Shiny skin stretches over perfectly uniform builds, each identical save for minor differences in hair and facial features. Eshe can see no blinking, no drawing of breath, and no errant twitches or spasms from the nude Prometheans. Whether their hearts beat or not, there's clearly no spark of life within them.
"They're called
