Chapter 28

"Words are as red hot molten iron; they must be cast with utmost deliberation lest it is wished to scotch a listening human's soul."

~

The Secret Cell of the Under-Ground Dungeons,

Kingdom of Tristendyre,

The first Phrinight of the Second month,

XXI Year of Regency

Jaycob closed his eyes for a few moments, dark despair enshrouding his chest.

He mused over all of the moments he had spent with his grandfather, unescorted by the disclosure of the true chords that kept them bound: blood and sinew.

With the man's passing away, it felt as if a boulder of heart that Jaycob would ever rest upon had crumbled out of his life.

Swallowing his emotions, he looked down to see the calm and rested face of the old man who was gone.

In the plenty that was his age, Oreius Zephaniah had seen a diverse variety of things over the vista of his lifetime: ranging from love to dread, wonders to terrors.

Slowly removed the cloak of prison uniform to inspect his frail and cold shoulder, he saw scars that were dry and gruesome and hastily covered the coarse fabric over to ensure his companion had not paid attention thereto.

"I will have to personally bury his body", said the Archer, before looking up to see Imogen's tear streaked and flushed face.

As he had spoken, he gauged, by means of his power Grand Sight, the distinct presences of the Regent and the Arch Eccleissor making their way to the secret cell.

Jaycob realised that the heavy airs that had doused the intuition of his power had lifted after the death of his grandfather.

"May we have him here a few moments longer? Or must you pressingly accomplish the task?" asked the damsel with him, seeming sorrowful.

"After the Regents have come and departed. They will need to know he has taken his voyage overseas. Otherwise, they will suspect we have abducted him for personal advantage. He was their valuable resource, reserving certain information", the masked man informed, his gaze barely decamping from the visage of the parted one.

Imogen nodded in silence and closed her eyes. She prayed for the man and Jaycob joined her moment of divine words for consolation.

The sound of footsteps began to rise, breaking the eldritch stillness, before the Archer rose to his feet.

The Regent stepped in, the Arch Eccleissor close behind and gazed at Jaycob, a morose expression in the depths of his eyes- one he had seen much too often when Devland was by his side.

Imogen shifted to arise, holding the large and heavy cape that was on her lap up in her hands. She handed it to Jaycob, its rightful owner, and the man took it with a nod.

It wasn't as much as a minute before he fastened the loose fobs of the vest's lapel to the cape, in the discipline that the royal attire's design would command.

"Your Majesty, the girl has been retrieved and held, secretly", said the well mannered Archer, a palm against his chest and a slight bow.

The charm of his gesture and charisma would, at usual instances, persuade any of Jehoram's foul moods to ease. But that eventide, it seemed not to work to its effect.

The Regent nodded with a tight prim profile that portrayed no rays of appreciation for competence beyond the performance of his charge.

"And what of this old fish? Is he fossilised?" sounded Devland's voice, with much bitter amusement.

"He passed, not longer than a few moments ago, Sir", said Jaycob.

Regardless of the riling, there was no means of serving a spiteful retort, for decorum must always outweigh emotion.

"What a waste of having fed him. He left no benefits to be enjoyed", said the Eccleissor, causing the Royal Archer's silent aggravation to infuriate.

"Did he leave any final words with you?" asked the Regent and Jaycob shifted his glance to the slumbering elder who looked chapped and ashen.

"Naught that concerns you. Must I bury his remains before the night passes?", asked the masked man, his pleasant aura returning.

"In the Sepulchre beneath", said the Regent, all eyes on the body.

Jaycob repeated the respectful gesture of a mild bow and nod before making his stride to a vault in the wall wherein the garments and resources were kept. It was such vault from whence he had earlier given Imogen the dry ensemble she was presently clad in.

"Do you know why you have been mercifully salvaged from your worthy execution?" asked the Arch Eccleissor disagreeably to Imogen.

Jaycob's demeanour may have seemed calm to the idly watching eye, for he was well-versed in the arts of concealing his tensions, but contrariwise, he was unsettled within, for in all his years of fellowship with Imogen, he knew her emotions and their expression were passionate and without due check.

She was one that would pledge her very life for the downtrodden and the very insects of the streets, but if the ill tides of contempt mastered her judgement, she would wage war.

Her spiteful tongue knew no bridle and it oft led to the tainting of her loving image among the folks that witnessed her anger.

In brevity, the girl was about as sly about her moods as a mammoth, for her voice toiled faster than her mind and manners.

In that hour, Jaycob was aware that Imogen seemed to have been in close acquaintance with his grandfather and there was faint suspicion that she was aware of the miscreant means of his imprisonment, and displeased.

"You have nerves calling my unlawful execution 'worthy', you murderers", she began spitting venom and Jaycob's actions picked pace. "I, unlike your ignorant subjects, am aware-"

He hurried his step to the agitated company and was thankful that the restive damsel spared him a brief glimpse wherein he had accommodated a sharp glare. Easily rendered to a staggering silence, she looked like she was searching for words.

"You will learn to hold that unruly tongue of yours and commit your rowdy manners to discipline. A worthless rouge, you are; you should be grateful we spared your criminal life to safety without the anger of the people", the Arch Eccleissor rebuked, his face unlike anything she may have seen with his calm and kindly disposition before congregations.

"And what is this that you mention you are aware of?" asked the Regent, soothing his moustache.

Jaycob, whilst translating the old man's corpse from the cold floor to the robes spread to envelop him, cast a side-ways glance to see Imogen dispensed, like an extinguished candle.

He did wish to help her, but raising strong and outright rebellion at the face of the men of power could not conceive goodness.

Settling her dispute by subtle means would reward finer. All odds considered, the Regent seemed as if he was at discords with himself and such rigid moods could only cause contestations to aggress.

"That you were holding me in eldritch secrecy", she stuttered, making it obvious that she was harbouring more without giving away.

However, the chilled silence made her seem as one that would submit easily, with no depth. There were no more than subsided threats she could breathe.

After all, most children that grew comfortably were as delicate, unlike those raised wild in the rough.

"Abide in what you are told to do at our behest and err not from whence you are bid. The consequences of rebels are grave", said Devland and Imogen nodded.

It wasn't long before Jaycob was finished wrapping the cloth around the body of the man. With his business accomplished, he stood with the maiden and listened.

The Arch Eccleissor began to elaborate the purpose wherefore she was retrieved:

"This is why you have been summoned in secrecy:

The Princess has levanted about a fortnight heretofore and the day of her coronation is at hand. It is a duty emplaced upon your shoulders to play as a marionette resembling Princess Mercedes. We will disguise you, but careful not to slip, for it will cost you your very head. And you, in the perception of the people, are criminal and dead."

~