Memories of Last Night

"Your Highness? Prince Aleric?" The attendant, Johann, asked, watching as his beloved prince scribbled meaningless words down on the paperwork. Aleric was always up to the task of doing organizational, ruling tasks. He could take down stacks of files, requests, and legal proceedings like it was no harder than eating breakfast, and yet today, he could barely get through a single sheet. 

'Is he getting sick?' Johann fretted, 'I told him not to work so hard-' 

"What?" Aleric responded, eyes dazed. He looked like he was somewhere else. "I am fine, Johann. Just thinking through something." 

The response brought little confidence to the nervous attendant who watched as his liege continued scribbling on the paper...completely out of ink. It was clear something had happened to the Prince, but Johann had no idea what. Or, more importantly, what to do about it. The normally vigorous eater had poked at his breakfast this morning, had been staring out the window during a morning meeting with palace accountants, and had even worn a frilled shirt with a large collar. It looked lovely on him, but the Prince hated wearing such expensive, detailed garb. He almost always wore the same few tunics that made him look like a peasant. It was all Johann could do to convince him to at least use expensive fabrics to make them. 

"Your Highness," Johann coughed, "I believe the ink has run out." 

Aleric looked at his dry quill, and then up at his attendant. Johann was much older than him, a doting middle-aged man with wrinkles and early graying from years of worrying about others. He wore a clean-pressed suit and acted as everything from a butler to chef to an attendant for the royalty he served. To Aleric, he was the closest thing to a father, and the prince trusted the man with his life. 

There were few Aleric felt so strongly about. 

"Apologies, Johann. There is something that has me feeling amis- that you can help with." He quickly followed up his statement, recognizing he might give the poor fellow a heart attack if he thought the Prince was facing something unfixable. 

Johann's eager, worn, brown eyes stared into his own. 

Aleric sighed. "Are...there any cases of blood consumption in humans?" He asked, feeling silly the moment the words passed his lips. A gentle blush crept onto his ears. 

Johann paused. "Blood consumption?" He repeated, hitting every syllable as though he had never said the words before. "Well, I can certainly look into it. If it will ease your Highness's worries." 

"Keep it discrete, Johann," Aleric commanded. The old man nodded before striding towards the door. It opened with a squeak, pausing as he turned back to the prince, a look of concern reappearing on his face.

"Your Highness...you were not directly subject to this 'blood consumption,' were you? If so the entire kingdom should be up in arms-" Johann began, working himself up into a frenzy only to be stopped by Aleric shaking his head, waving his hands to stop. 

"No. I am fine. See to the matter, but if you don't find anything it is of no concern." He assured him, watching the attendant leave, the door closing behind him. It was only when the click of shoes down the hallway was no longer audible did the prince drop his head onto the stack of unfinished paperwork with a groan. 

It wasn't like him to lie to Johann. At least, not about matters like this. Then again, what matters were like this? Last night felt like a fever dream. 

Yet it wasn't. When he had awoken this morning the marks, while having faded unusually fast, were still present. It had forced him to wear one of his least favorite shirts to hide prying eyes. If anyone saw, the rumors would be fiercer than wolves. He could imagine it now; Prince Aleric has a crazy lover who likes biting! Prince Aleric is not invincible, someone bit him and therefore he is not to be trusted with the throne! 

People loved stuff like that. 

In an arc his head pulled up off the papers and followed his body as he leaned back into the large chair, gaze now facing the ceiling. 

'Where are you now? What did you do to me?'

His hand reached up above him, and his eyes looked over the fingers that had been up against her not even a day earlier. 

'What have you been through?'

He hoped she was eating well, that strange girl. She had been so thin. Her wrists, ankles, waist, and even chest- 

The blush on Aleric's ears spread to his cheeks, making him look like a fresh tomato against the contrast of his white hair. He slammed his head back down against the paperwork. 

***

When morning arrived, I was nervous to find I had little memory of the night before. 

My back ached from having slept in a doorway for most of the night, but not as much as it should have for a full night's rest. 

Something sweet wafted from my bag, and as I rummaged through it I found...Hecklben's Right Eye. So I had gotten it, root and all. The memory eased its way back into my mind with visions of sneaking about the Royal Palace and into the greenhouse. 

And then, experiencing extreme dizziness. Not the same kind as when I had been poisoned, but something almost the opposite of the sensation I felt while forming Contracts of the Soul. Instead of that roaring, trembling heat, it was a sapping, exhausting chill. Had I run out of magic? Could that happen?

I needed to ask Yiriele, but I felt fine right now. Better than fine actually, almost like I had eaten a wonderful meal. Had I snuck into the palace kitchen? A memory of a taste better than any I had ever had ached at the back of my mind, but I couldn't place it. There was no time for it now, even if the thought made me drool. The fighting ring would be competing tomorrow. Today was the time to sign away my life, place my bets, and to find the best route to ensure the poison would reach the mouth of the intended prey. 

First, the poison needed to be prepped. Shoulders, carts, and customers created a weaving maze back to Yiriel's shop. Along my journey, I saw even more wanted posters with my red eye. It seems the guards hadn't given up on me yet. Once I arrived, and this time knowing how fussy the door was, I did a starting run and rammed against it with my shoulder. 

A slew of curses streamed out from inside, followed by the sound of something breaking. 

"Who the f-" Yiriel said, halting when she saw me. 

"Is the equipment prepared?" 

Her eyes narrowed, leaning down to pick up a glass vial she had dropped in surprise. "For what? Also, knock? Please?" 

Heckleben's Right Eye dangled from my hand, crumpled flower and all. 

"That herb..." She trailed off, face moving through a series of expressions as she realized what I had done last night, "You seriously- bolt the door behind you. My equipment is downstairs." 

I flipped a series of latches along the iron frame, effectively shutting her shop down for the day. Upon hearing the clicks she pulled her woven wool hat off, freeing her elven traits. Her ears twitched as she turned to me. I unraveled my bandage, following suit, freeing my left eye. Us two strange, out-of-place characters gazed at each other before heading down to Yiriel's alchemical lab. 

'So much equipment.' 

Down a set of stairs into a basement below the ground was a dimly lit series of tables, desks, and lengthy setups of glass equipment. Flasks, cylinders, beakers, funnels, and more, everything you could need for standard concocting. All perfect for Hecklben's Right Eye, the roots of Heckleben's Lily, which required a series of steps to extract and ready the poison for consumption. 

I hummed, pleased that the lab had everything I needed to work. It was good to be back in a familiar setting, surrounded by tools I recognized. Preparing poisons was soothing work that cleared the mind, so long as you were careful. 

I must have been looking a tad too giddy because Yiriel let out a displeased 'hmm.' 

"Did you...rob the palace greenhouse?" She asked. I strolled over to the coal stove. It attached to a chimney pipe that went up through the basement and likely ended at the roof, dispelling harmful gases. Nearby matches gave means to strike a flame. Combined with a pile of kindling a comfortable heat began to grow within, flickering light in the dark room. I tossed a small, metal pan onto the stove, a perfect choice to set the roots on, which snapped easily away from the rest of the flower. 

"Do you take me for a thief, Yiriel?" I joked, giving her a sad look. She frowned. 

"A thief AND a killer. I am not all that attached to human life, but did whoever you spilled deserve to die?" 

"I wonder," I replied, happy to see the root beginning to crumple and release steam. 

Yiriel's contemplative gaze was heavy on my back. From our contract connection, I could sense she was both wary and impressed with me. I could also feel she was torn about our contract; she looked down upon me for forcing her into it but also felt positively towards me in other ways. I couldn't place why, however. 

So long as she obeyed, it didn't matter to me. 

'Life isn't fair.' 

Sufficiently dehydrated, I flipped the hot root off the pan and onto the counter. While it cooled, I collected the rest of the tools needed to prepare the concoction. 

The next few hours were spent below ground, heating, cooling, and mixing compounds. Yiriel left for the market and brought back food, some of which she offered to me. I took note that she handed me the oldest-looking bread and sad, dimpled fruits. She might have expected me to turn them down or look disgusted, but I took them happily and ate well. This girl had no clue about the stuff I had eaten to survive in the past. Trash. Rotten meat. The days I spent vomiting after consuming foul foods, desperate to fill the hole in my stomach. Compared to that, this was on par with Michelin three-star cuisine. 

I could see the wheels turning in her head as I scarfed them down, not sparing a glance at her higher-quality fruits and grains. 

By the time I finished each step of concocting, my face was covered in soot and sweaty from the heat. The clothes Yiriel had lent to me were caked in dirt. Stairs creaked under each step back up to the top floor. The air was far cooler up here compared to the fiery heat building up downstairs. I emerged into the foyer and looked around. A note on the table wrote 'out for a while. don't touch anything,' and beside it was a pair of neatly folded clothes. It was my white ruffled top and dark pants I had stolen the other day, along with the chintzy mask I had worn in front of Diane. I frowned. That thing had been a poor decision. I liked masks, but I should throw that one out. It had no style, no intrigue. But where would I find a new one? 

A problem for later. It was time to make the journey back to the fighting arena.

I had to gamble my life away.