Chapter Text
Traveling in the summer, especially by carriage, was a miserable torture not even the most brutal executioner could conceive.
It was rare you wished for another talent, but there was very little your particular discipline could do against the full force of the summer sun. Your attire, the ensemble of a priestess, served you well in looking refined and proper as a representative of the gods, but the entirety of the guimple, gloves, gown, and cote left no skin shown other than that of your face.
As your abilities of mind reading were initiated with skin to skin contact, your ivory clothes were a frequent source of gratitude. But as you felt the sweat drip down your back underneath the many, many layers, you began to question the merit of a magical skill that required you perspire like a boar on a spit.
You, burdened by glorious purpose, were wilting in this heat.
But even the brutality of the season could not melt your eagerness of arriving, finally, at the famed Valdivian Castle. Though you swayed much like a palm tree, your slippered feet stayed firmly planted on the earth, breathing in your new home.
The towers spiraling heavenward loomed over the castle attendants that gathered with you in the courtyard. The pale sandstone walls glittered in the noonday sun; a citadel of power and prestige in the heart of the kingdom. Not even the cathedrals that educated you were so resplendent. Though, you found the precious shade this castle provided to be more worthy of praise than the design of the architecture.
When the heralds sent word of a request for a cleric, the cenobium granted you, you, the tremendous honor of being the one selected. Your talent had been honed since childhood, and as a magical scholar, you were the best qualified for the privilege.
Thus, your traveling inventory was plentiful. Prolific tomes were stacked leagues high in cases and trunks and bags. Anything you might need in your role of castle priestess, you brought with you. Packing light was for migrating waterfowl, not devotees of the divine.
You had no less than twenty servants scrambling around the grass trying to sort, stack, and carry your cargo.
“Is there anything fragile in here, ma’am?” an adolescent, no older than thirteen, inquired, holding one end of a trunk while a similarly aged youth held the other end, limbs tense under the immense weight.
You glided over, inspecting the identification tag. Horticulture and botanical medicine. There were dozens of glass vials inside the trunk, all containing valuable dried herbs in addition to large swathes of texts on how to use them.
“Yes, there’s glass in here. Please be careful,” you instructed in a gentle tone. You noted the gleaming beads of sweat on the brows of the two boys. Such a weight could not be pleasant to bear under this sun, even less so up the winding stairs to your quarters. “Might you need assistance with carrying it?”
They quickly reassured you that they were the best at carrying things, and readjusted their hold on the handles. The two puffed their chests like proud roosters. You hid an amused smile.
“Then I’ll trust you two strong, strapping gentlemen to deliver these things to my chambers,” you acquiesced, giving them a nod of approval. They scampered off with the trunk, sunbeams in their smiles.
“Madam Priestess, where might these go?” a maiden with a long braid squeaked, holding a satchel in her arms like one would a babe. You looked at the tag, mouth thinning at the text. Court Etiquette and Manners, Volumes V-IX. You hadn’t even read through half of the first edition yet.
“If you are not otherwise busy, these may go in the castle library,” you instructed. She nodded once and bounded into an open doorway against the side of the castle.
“Much gratitude!” you call out, hoping she heard it. If the gods were merciful today, maybe she would trip and her cargo would fall in the furnace.
Several other attendants came bounding up to you in a similar manner, all asking various questions of where you wanted certain things, what was in the trunks, and why you needed so much stuff.
You gave each member of staff the same decorum and patience, even though you’re certain your face dripped with perspiration and your eyes were heavy with travel exhaustion. You attributed your dizziness to nerves from arriving at a new location.
It would take well into the day before the courtyard was completely clear of your luggage, with you providing soft instruction as to where most of your items were to be sent.
Several reliquaries were sent as gifts to the King for the honor of your invitation. The cenobium threw a few spare artifacts into an ornate box for you to offer. Nothing ostentatious, more for appearances than anything else.
Most of the tomes were sent to the castle’s library, but there were a few you hoarded for your own collection. For the vials and container of fragile glass, you would keep those in your personal chambers. There was no need to confuse the castle healer, likely already stocked with their own supply.
It wasn’t selfish.
Gods forbid women have hobbies.
For the long hours you worked with the castle attendants kind enough to assist you with your inventory, you made certain to introduce yourself to each person. So far, you were fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of several squires, handmaidens, pages, laundry attendants, knights, masons, and grooms.
The King had not yet made his presence known, but the Castle Steward was present to assist in welcoming you and overseeing the arduous labor of carrying your things.
“Your ladyship,” he announced, “you look unwell. Would you perhaps like to step inside for a brief respite?”
You attempted to correct him, as the title of “lady” was inaccurate, but he did not waste a single moment before ushering you toward the castle entryway. Several attendants scurried aside to make way for you both. You swallowed down a protest, you were doing far less labor than the others. If anything, you were the least deserving of rest: you were the cause of the work!
The protests spluttered from your soft mouth went unanswered. The Steward was a broad man, with sideswept brown hair and a stern demeanor, he would broker no argument in your refusal of a break.
Perhaps they would grant you a cloth with which to wick your damp brow, and be done with it. How much cooler could the inside be? The threshold passed over your head as you gingerly stepped inside, following his encouragement.
You nearly tripped over the long hem of your dress.
The interior of the castle, a miracle to behold, was as cool as a freshwater spring. A delicate breeze fanned your face, though how can wind be generated inside stone walls?
You registered the faint feeling of a sharp sizzle through your skin. Typically unseen by one unlearned in your field, the sensation revealed the temperature was regulated outside of the means of tall windows and thick stone. You darted your tongue out, just long enough to catch that sweet taste in the air. Magic.
But how…?
“This way, my lady.” You were ushered by a heavy hand on your arm, leading you further into the halls. You let your head swivel like an owl, trying to locate the source of the cool air.
Were there charms on the windows? A potion painted onto the stone walls? A rune sewn into the hanging tapestries? Any and all would be wildly exorbitant, even for the king’s coffers.
Servants darted left and right, giving both the steward and yourself a deep nod. You returned the gesture, pleasantly surprised at the courtesy shown to you, a newcomer, a veritable stranger, in this place.
The steward brought you around several corridors, and into a small room. It was marketably colder than the rest of the castle, one could even mistake the season standing within its walls. You clenched your teeth to hide your labored, relieved exhale. Perhaps you were more in need of a respite than originally thought.
You all but collapsed onto a small settee, head low, taking careful, measured breaths.
The steward attempted to brush the back of his hand against your forehead. Expecting this, you grab his wrist with a gloved hand before he opened the cavern of his mind channels to your inadvertent gaze.
“Your concern is appreciated, my good sir, but I will respectfully request that a distance is maintained,” you breathed, suppressing your shrill panic. Your talent when used unexpectedly, was seen as invasive, or worse, an incursion. Better to err on the side of caution. You would follow the rule you always had: do not suffer the touch of anyone.
He took a few obliging steps backwards. Fortune favored you.
“Of course, of course. Poor thing, you certainly do not need my hovering over you! I’ll have a servant fetch a damp cloth, your ladyship.”
“Please, you don’t need to—!” use that title? Fetch anything? Regardless of the end of your sentence, the Steward would not have heard it. He is out the door before you could blink.
Well then.
You perused the new room, trembling in your seat. The walls were lined, floor to ceiling, with bookshelves. But this place was not the castle’s library. Judging by the singular seat, which you occupied, this was more of a private collection. A place to serve as a symbol of wealth more than a resource for the castle’s inhabitants. The air was cold, and there was no sound other than the birdsong outside the window. The daylight was sufficient to light the room, but the height of shelving casted its corners in shadow.
An oasis to recuperate in.
In the absence of any soul present, your shoulders tilted inward in a slouch, and you gave a loud exhale. Your head hung, drooping like a snowdrop, and you braced your gloved forearms on your tense thighs. You don’t dare swipe the pearls of sweat on your uncovered face. The laundry attendants had enough work to do without dealing with your sweat stains.
A movement drew your attention to the far corner of the room. A silhouette ducking further into the ghostly shadows in the room.
Your back straightened, spine going rigid as a marble column. Someone was here. You’d best say something before they thought you an intruder.
“Good day to you,” you nod in the direction of the stranger, voice breathier than you would prefer. Your heart fluttered from being caught unaware, and you prayed your lack of propriety was not commented on. It was your first day here!
The stranger inhaled. A prolonged silence followed.
“You offer a greeting to me?” a mellifluous voice spoke, the hesitation clear in his voice. His silhouette approached, but you could not make out any discernible features, nor anything to note his place in the castle’s arbitrary hierarchy.
Was this a courtier who ranked higher than you, and you blundered one of their ridiculous and pedantic rules?
In for a copper, in for a coin.
You gave him your name, and your correct title as a priestess, “I apologize for the intrusion. Is this your collection?” you gesture your arm in a wide arc toward the rest of the room.
He was silent for a few moments, as if he was measuring your words as you spoke.
“No, no, this isn’t mine. This collection belongs to the king. I am allowed to use it at my discretion,” the sound of a book being placed upon sturdy shelving followed that honeyed murmur.
So he was high ranking enough to warrant access to great swaths of text, and have direct contact with the monarchy, but if you did make a social faux pas, he made no comment on it. What position in the castle allowed access to a private collection? Your mind made a valiant effort to remember the dull half-a-book you skimmed on court etiquette.
“Perhaps you may borrow a book that I’ve brought from my cenobium. I’ve heard from many an attendant today that I have brought far too many,” you laughed politely. You missed the temperature in the room rising by a few degrees.
He stepped into the sunlight, but that did little to provide any clues of his identity.
He was tall, but he did not have the build of a knight or warrior. His black sleeves were embossed in winding patterns, like morning frost on a window. His doublet was plain, as were his boots, but the stitching of his seams glittered gold in the sunlight.
Your gaze climbed to his face, then abruptly halted. For there, descending like a black waterfall, was a veil shrouding his features from your sight.
How strange. Was he a member of a religious order? Some foreign clergy beholden to vows of modesty? The only uncovered portion of his entire person were two large hands, both clasped loosely against his side.
“You would offer such a thing to me?” His voice was soft and low, and you could not make out his inflection. Was he offended by your insinuation that his reading material was insufficient? Or just genuinely surprised at your offer?
“I do not know if you would be impressed by what texts I have chosen to accompany me, but I believe good literature should be shared by like-minded people,” you appeased, giving him a tight smile.
His body language, much like his veil, revealed nothing.
The stranger’s response was interrupted by the Steward rushing through the door, a bowl of water and a damp cloth in hand. Oh, thank the gods.
The temperature plummeted.
“Ah, I see you’ve met the other magical scholar in residence, my lady. My apologies, I had not even thought to introduce you.”
You accepted the damp cloth from the Steward, blinking in surprise. The water-logged cloth dripped from your glove as your hand closed into a fist. Another magical scholar? But you were assured you would be the only one in residence!
“I suspected he would be up here, and what better place for you to cool down than with him in the same room? My lady, meet the King’s Wizard, Hector.” The Steward gestured to the shrouded man, who still kept his body facing you.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” that low voice shimmered through the air. The castle’s impossible change in temperature was not due to a charm, a potion, or rune, but the abilities of one man. Your own talent quite paled in comparison!
You cannot force your jaw to reconnect to your upper teeth, and your eyes shifted quite stupidly as you failed to find your words. Was this…was this some sick slight against the church? Against you?
The Steward leaned down to gaze at you, furrowing his brow and clicking his tongue, “Oh, you poor dear. The sun must have done more damage than I thought,” he gazed down at the bowl of water and then to Hector, “perhaps you can help, my good wizard!”
He gestured excitedly for Hector to come closer with a wave of his hand, and the hesitation in the wizard’s footsteps became all the more apparent.
“Take her hands, my boy. Infuse some chill to ward off the sun’s malady.” His words rattled you out of your numb stupor. The heat in your face, nearly abated by the damp cloth, had returned with a vengeance.
“I do not think—“
“I know your aversion to touch, m’lady, but the Wizard is very talented, and it shall be only for a moment. You may even keep your gloves on.”
You waited for the King’s Wizard, a man you had known for less than ten minutes, to object at the impropriety. The cloth and water were sufficient, there is no need to resort to magic for such frivolities as you. A malady from the sun! You had no such thing. It was just your nerves. And perhaps some shock.
Much to your horror, Hector kneeled before you without a word, and offered his bare hands to you. Each lengthy digit is held invitingly toward you, an unfamiliar cradle. What a strange intimacy, to be invited to touch the one uncovered place of a man who draped the rest of himself in shadow.
The backs of his hands were darker than his palms, you noted distantly, a hysterical observation in your internal dialogue. There was no polite way to refuse him. Not with the Steward standing only three footsteps away!
You returned the sweat soaked cloth in the bowl of water and shakily lifted your hands toward the wizard. Even under the thick layer of alabaster gloves, your hands were dwarfed by his.
Your ability to traverse thoughts through skin cannot be accomplished through cloth, but it became clear immediately that Hector’s abilities had no such limitations. The weight of your hand had not yet fully set into his before a steady wave of cold unfurled within you. The shock of his touch, a sharp crackling running through your clothes and under your skin, immediately made you stiffen.
The jolting sensation of pure magic; it surrounded you, engulfed you. You were, all at once, helpless.
It’s as if all the air in your body had surrendered to his power and obeyed his command to cool you from the lungs, outward. Even the breath you inhaled, a conduit for his control.
The sweat sticking your clothes uncomfortably against your back and legs now had you shivering. It was as if you had leapt, unclothed, into a frozen pond.
A soft hum emanated from the Wizard, but it was no doubt warranted by your stupefication.
You were gasping for air by the time he released you, a small noise escaping your throat without your permission. The dizziness, the exhaustion, the heat suffusing your skin, evaporated. Hector rose to his feet, taking a few courteous steps backward.
What a talent!
You allowed yourself to lean back, perfect posture forgotten. The profound experience washed over you like an ocean tide. Your bosom heaved as you grappled with knowledge newly obtained. Temperature, dictated at the hands of a mortal man. The very air, his instrument. Incredible!
He was as far from a stuffy courtier as you could fathom. What were you thinking? Another magical scholar in the castle’s residence was truly fortune’s blessing!
Any notion of jealousy at his presence here was melted by a blossoming curiosity: what all might you learn from each other?
“Ah, that’s better, my lady,” the Steward interrupted your thought process, inspecting you with a content smile, “your countenance is looking much more at ease.”
You clasped your hands together in agreement, an exhilarated smile painted on your face. It felt as if your skin was sparkling under your clothes.
You turned in the general direction of where Hector had stood, ready to thank him, only to find the Wizard had briskly made his exit.
Oh.
You frowned as you craned your head to peer into the hallway where he disappeared. The fluttering excitement building in your abdomen withered a sudden death.
“And to think, without my help, you could have fainted dead away! It is a good thing I introduced you to the Wizard as I did, my lady,” the Steward continued, hands on his hips, non-the-wiser about your sudden confusion. You did not comment on his misplaced sense of pride for his idea.
Your gaze lowered to the floor, incredulous.
“I do not think he is in agreement with that statement, my good sir,” you exhaled.
Why else would he leave so quickly?
Was Hector now threatened by your addition to the castle? Did you offend him? Your hands fell to your sides, dangling like dead pheasants. Did he not see your potential acquaintanceship as the advantage that it was?
“Nonsense! Hector’s role is to maintain the air and temperature of the entire castle; his presence is in high demand, and he must constantly traverse the entirety of the grounds multiple times per day,” the Steward reassured.
His schedule was demanding, was that why he fled? You averted your gaze from the hall to the Steward.
Maybe he was right. Maybe it had nothing to do with you and it was just a misunderstanding.
“But not to worry,” he continued, “You’ll see him again at dinner. He maintains the temperature of the Great Hall while the members of Valdivian Castle dine. Perhaps you two may speak then.”
Another chance, then?
The opportunity would not be wasted. You were no threat to Hector, despite your similarities in the magical arts. In fact, you could easily see a perfect opportunity to be friends with the Wizard!
He was the ideal candidate. An equal. The gnawing headache of fumbling the court’s ridiculous rules would be of no concern.
You had no choice but to enchant him.
…
In the hour leading up to dinner, you took the opportunity to change into a fresher shift and gown. This was in addition to applying some fragrance to your temples and neck. The gown chosen for this evening was closer to a gentle sea foam than the stark ivory of your travel clothes.
One might think you should be dressed to dazzle, to invite the eye of the man whose attention you sought, but you knew better: you’d sooner attract the vicious, scavenging hunger of every power-hungry courtier in the castle with embellishments of opals and pearls.
No, this would require subtlety.
You needed to look approachable, modest. Non-threatening.
Nobles and gentries and the rest of the higher-ranking members of the castle would be in attendance. Ingratiating yourself among the lords and ladies of the court was a task encouraged by your church.
More importantly, it would grant you an opportunity to advertise yourself to Hector. You were not going to allow anything to sabotage your standing in this castle. Or with him.
Surely, he would understand your intentions. He had to. What Wizard of his caliber wouldn’t?
Your chambers were still stacked to the ceiling with unorganized and unpacked clutter, but you had far more pressing matters to attend to. Like contemplating a makeshift script on how to best broach the subject. The words weave themselves into coherent paragraphs as you gingerly trot down the stairs.
Your languid footsteps echoed down the hall as you internally rehearsed your approach.
Should you be direct and firm? Demure and docile? Your pace quickens as you contemplate which method would be more effective. What could possibly endear you to a man you (may or may not) have already offended?
Members of the castle scurried past, extending a greeting, which you only return with a polite hum, too occupied within your own mind.
It is only when you feel a wet sensation through your glove that you jerk your hand. Alarmed, you bolt away from the sensation, but quickly pause in your retreat.
Beneath you, panting joyfully, a tall, wiry hound cranes its head up. You blinked, unable to comprehend its sudden presence. The hallways were empty of any soul. Another quick glance confirmed this.
It stands as high as your hips. A tall breed, though one you can’t identify. The dog sniffed at you again, extending its long snout to your white cote. Curious, like a small child.
You smile as you extend a gloved hand for it to examine, “Oh, hello. Who might you be?” Its soulful eyes blink at you, unanswering.
Apparently satisfied with your scent, the dog allowed you to run a hand down its back, tongue lolling, “I did not know the castle had hounds. Where did you come from?”
You withdrew your hand to look about the hallway again. The torches flickered, and a cool breeze fanned your face, but it remained empty of all human life.
The hound, less than pleased at your withheld affections, rose upon its hind legs and threw the entirety of its weight upon your torso and shoulders.
You cannot catch your balance in time to avoid crashing onto the floor. The hound, delighted at your new proximity, showered you with rapid kisses as you tried and failed to contain your laughter. You reached up block its affectionate assault, but to no avail. Its long tail swings like a scythe through grass as you try to shield your face from its tongue.
“Swift! Get back here!” a voice echoed from down the hall.
The hound raised its head to peer at the approaching attendant. Based on the leash in his hand, and his stressed expression, he seemed to be the hound’s handler. You noted his use of the dog’s name. Swift. What a darling name.
He stood above you both, brows creased, “Again, girl? You’re going to get us in trouble if you keep doing this,” he sighed, attaching ‘Swift’ to her lead. She seemed happy to let him, her tail swinging madly as she looked up at the attendant with glittering brown eyes.
“Are you hurt, milady?” He offered a hand to you. You seized it, biting back the correction of your station, and steadily climbed to your feet with his help.
“No, I am unharmed,” you dusted off your cote, “but I thank you for asking. Swift is so lovely; I have yet to see anyone so enthusiastic when making their introductions to me!” you laughed. She is also the only member of the castle who has not gotten your title wrong.
The smile he gives is tinged with embarrassment. “I am sorry for that by the way. It’s good you are unharmed, she is getting rather heavy,” he gives Swift a playful pat atop her head. She leaned into the contact, eyes closed.
“Are you attending dinner with her?” you inquired, a hopeful lilt betraying what you wanted the answer to be.
Perhaps Swift could assist you in your objective.
Look, Hector! Dogs like me! I would be a wonderful friend to you!
“Me? No, no. Swift has her dinner in the kennels with the other hounds, but I’ll be there afterward,” he enthused, already urging Swift toward the door, “Good day to you, m’lady!”
You stood quite uselessly in the hallway after that. Waiting a long while after his shadow had disappeared from the walls. Once again, you proved yourself to be a master at squandering potential friendships.
You did not even get the handler’s name!
You kicked yourself as you head towards the low thrum of chatter of hundreds of voices emanating from the Great Hall. The scent of cooked meat pulled you like the current of a freshwater stream.
The hum of conversation built to a roar as you entered the room. Inside, the various members of the castle swarmed in the wide chamber. The kitchen servants darted across the tables carrying large trays of game-birds and beast flesh to the delighted masses. Every rank in the castle, with the king at the back of the hall, to the lower-ranked attendants in the front, all dined simultaneously. The indulgence was almost overwhelming.
You scanned for Hector. Striding into the room, you did your best to dodge attendants carrying pitchers of spiced wine and mead. Several previously met members of the castle extended greetings and lifted their goblets to you, to which you extended a gratified acknowledgement and continued walking.
Despite the condensed proximity to others in the Great Hall, the high ceiling provided a pleasant climate. The high ceiling, and the dark figure standing at the far end of the room, tucked into a far corner.
Blessed be the gods!
You cantered forward, lengthening your stride in an undignified run, the hem of your dress gripped in a gloved fist. An eager hound after a succulent hare. Your improvised script was immediately discarded in your jubilance.
The folds in his shadowy veil shifted as he spotted your hurried approach. As you drew closer, his muscles appeared to draw in. His posture straightened. His fists clenched.
The temperature spiked abruptly before mellowing into something tolerable, just on the comforting side of balmy.
“Well met, Hector,” you gasped. Perhaps running through the entirety of the long room was a poor idea. Your perfume is all but erased under the fine sheet of sweat across your face, “I’ve been seeking your presence.”
Was your voice always this breathy?
“I…mine? With me?” he retreated a step, allowing you a polite distance. “I should think your sun malady has ameliorated by now,” his words trembled, as if dragged from his throat.
You scoffed playfully, “I was never sun sick, but I must let my appreciation of your abilities be known!” you clasped a hand to your chest: you hadn’t run that fast since your adolescence. Perhaps Hector would not notice you fighting for your life. You were built for the cathedral, not the training yard!
“Your command of the air surely must be lauded across the castle! What a divine blessing to be gifted unto you.”
Overt flattery may not be the most dignified approach, but you could never be accused of lying to him. “The Steward said you would be here in the Great Hall, surely we can converse whilst you maintain the temperature?”
He is silent for a moment, slowly leaning to gaze over your shoulder at the rest of the members of court. You didn't have to see them to know they were engulfing multiple meats like absolute hedonists.
At least, you presumed that was where he was looking, the veil revealed very little of where his eyeline was cast.
“Surely, you would like to be introduced to other members of the court? Someone more befitting of your esteemed company?” He tried to retreat further away from you, but was completely encased by the two walls against his back. His bare palms met the stone behind him, as if he was surprised by his position so close to the wall.
You blinked. And just what did he mean by that?
“I…we are of equal status, Hector,” you retorted with an imploring smile, “there is so much we can learn from each other. I understand that perhaps I did not make the best first impression upon you, but that is no reason we cannot be on good terms.”
“The evidence of your good will is…overwhelming, priestess,” he breathed, as if your shrill desperation offended him. You thought if he could disappear into the stone masonry against his back, he would.
“I assure you, I—”
“And if it isn’t the latest addition to our castle!” a booming voice interrupted.
You swiveled, startled, to see that the king had noticed your presence. Unfortunate. The one soul in the room you could not get away with ignoring.
You grit your teeth as you directed your attention away from Hector, and approached the seated sovereign.
May it be known to future histographers and scholars alike that you endured his polite, meaningless chatter with dignity. Your conversation with the king never strayed from the topic of your position and how you were liking the castle. Perfectly dull, perfectly pleasant. You didn’t even flinch when the king’s mistress insulted your religion in that subtle, backhanded way all good courtiers knew how to do.
By the time you wasted all that air on the king, his family, and the upper echelons of his favored few, Hector had fled the hall.
It was not until after dinner that you realized you were absolutely covered in dog hair.
…
There had to be an explanation for this.
Some sort of way you could make amends for the imagined slight you had committed against him.
You were not well-versed in etiquette, correct, and you did humiliate yourself twice, twice! whilst in front of him.
But you were not about to give up. You were not going to let your one equal in this castle slip from your grasp over something so ridiculous. Worse yet, if you did offend him, he may spread the worst sort of rumors about you to everyone!
And with all the power that he wields, the respect, who would dare deny him?
He could say that you were salacious. A spy for the church. Worse, illiterate!
This could not come to pass. It was essential to clear the air with him upon your next meeting.
But there would be no next meeting.
The servants had no understanding of his schedule, and he no longer attended dinner in the Great Hall, leaving you at the mercy of these inconsiderate courtiers and their ridiculous mind games.
You found the hound handler again, Mateo, but he also had no grasp of the elusive wizard’s whereabouts, reporting that it was rare he was seen outside the castle walls.
You, once, just once, found him in the Throne Room. He had fled just as you entered. You were viciously beset by the Queen’s ladies in waiting, held hostage by their insipid questions. Before you could even come up for air, he had all but evaporated by the time you were released.
You stumbled upon him in the kitchen one early morning, the head chef, Stefan, arguing with him about the temperature of the larder. Hector dropped the conversation as soon as your white-clothed figure emerged from the doorway. He left the room scalding in his wake. The chef complained the entire time you broke your fast, intermittently apologizing for his surly behavior. You acknowledged his apology, but you still find yourself nodding in agreement as he pointed out Hector’s faults.
You had soon learned that anywhere you were, he was not.
Even when you did become lucky enough to find him, he ran from you. Ran! A hound and a hare indeed; he conducted himself like you would devour him whole.
Truly, you could not be as repulsive as all this.
After days, weeks, a month of trying. You had memorized the temperature differences that he left in his wake, read every book in his damned library waiting for him to wander in, and persevered through the insufferable attention of the nobility for even a glimpse of his person.
You could expertly traverse this entire castle blindfolded on this fruitless hunt for him.
He rewards your effort with absence. Is this meant to be the hospitality you, blessed by the hands of gods, were to be greeted with?!
If he would not even deign to endure your presence, or the threat of it, longer than a handful of seconds, then only a fool would persist in seeking his attention.
Let it be witnessed by any member of the castle, from the lowest of serfs to the king himself, the Wizard Hector had made his opinion of you very apparent.
And you would respond to him in kind, a thousand fold.