Chapter Text
“I don’t mean to insult your home, Ophilia, but I must admit to being glad we’ve returned to the Flatlands - the cold doesn’t suit me, after all that time in Sunshade.”
Ophilia laughed at Primrose’s statement, shaking her head gently. “I don’t blame you - even now, I still can’t handle the heart of winter in Flamesgrace at times.”
Cyrus hummed thoughtfully from the head of their group as he led them towards Atlasdam. “While your acclimatization to the desert heat of the Sunlands was a contributing factor to your discomfort, I believe your clothing was also insufficient, when compared to that of the rest of our party.”
She arched an eyebrow in response. “Are you trying to imply something about my state of dress, Professor?”
“That was not my intention,” he assured quickly, turning to face her and walking backwards while gesturing towards the others, the map he’d been referencing fluttering merrily with his motions. “I merely wanted to note that it’s a reversal of when we were traveling through the Sunlands with you - the rest of us were quite uncomfortable in the desert, even when we were in Sunshade.”
Therion snorted. “No kidding - you damn near passed out three different times under that stupid cloak of yours. Good thing Olberic was with us, else we would’ve never been able to drag you to the inn before you died of exposure.”
The warrior in question inclined his head. “I have faith in your and Alfyn’s physical abilities, should the necessity arise once more and I am not present.”
“Hey now, it’s probably better if you don’t get to that point again,” Alfyn chimed in, frowning. “It’s better to prevent illnesses than try and fix them after the fact, y’know?”
Cyrus sighed. “I am not planning on it, I assure you.”
“Doest thy constitution maketh it difficult to handle the desert, Cyrus?” H’aanit tilted her head questioningly. “I hast never yet been to the Sunlands, though I doubteth Linde wouldst appreciate the heat - she wast much more at home in the Frostlands.”
“He just got distracted by all the ruins sticking out from under the sand on the way to Sunshade and didn't drink enough water.” Tressa piped up before Cyrus could answer. “Something about the ‘potential of a lost civilization’, but I was only paying attention when he started talking about treasure. Did you know some of the finest gold jewelry comes from the Sunlands? I was really tempted to pick some up myself - for reselling purposes, of course!”
Primrose fiddled with the heavy gold necklace that rested against her neck and collarbone. “Is that so? How much do you think something like this would go for?”
“Enough to keep Cyrus hydrated for quite a few months, I’m sure!” Ophilia giggled lightly. “Perhaps not enough to cover Alfyn’s tab at the tavern for quite as long, though.”
Fairly certain that the conversation - and commentary on his admittedly questionable hydration habits - would carry on without him, Cyrus sighed wistfully and turned back to face front. Soon enough, he led his companions through Atlasdam’s eastern gate, nodding to the guard as they went by.
“Fortunately, the inn is right here, if you would like to rest.” His hand swept out from beneath his cloak to gesture towards the inn, casting its shadow on the gate they’d just passed through. “Otherwise, this is the largest city in the Flatlands, and I would be happy to guide you if there is something in particular you’d like to see before we set out again.”
Therion eyed the well-dressed townspeople with a glint in his eye that Cyrus knew to be appraising, similar to that of Tressa’s excitement at the prospect of a deal, though he was sure to deny it if Cyrus were to bring up the comparison. “I think I’ll be able to entertain myself just fine here.”
“I would thank you not to get caught by the guards, Therion - considering the circumstances under which I left the city, I doubt that my reputation would convince them to release you.”
Therion scoffed, crossing his arms under his shawl. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“An extremely competent master thief who unfortunately recently acquired a Fool’s Bangle on his right arm that would immediately signal his prior indiscretions to any who uphold the law,” Cyrus stated, raising an eyebrow to invite a retort.
Therion’s expression twisted into a grimace, but before he could respond verbally, an exclamation of “Professor Albright!” cut into their banter.
Cyrus turned at the familiar yet nostalgic title - his travelling companions had already stopped using it to refer to him at his request, though it didn’t stop them from using it when they were poking fun at him, as Primrose had earlier. His eyes fell upon a similarly familiar face as well - Therese waved at him enthusiastically with one hand while she gathered her skirts in the other, presumably to keep her from tripping as she briskly approached.
He moved to meet her halfway on her path to reach him, a smile stretching across his face in greeting. “Ah, Therese! It has been quite a while since I last saw you - have your and Princess Mary’s studies been progressing well?”
“Quite well, Professor, though it’s undoubtedly neither at the same rate nor caliber as it would be if you were still teaching.” She glanced away for a moment, as if surprised by her own candor, before intertwining her hands, squeezing them together in a show of nerves. “I actually received a new assignment from Professor Tavaste that has been - er, frustrating, rather than challenging, and i-if you had possibly a moment to spare, I would appreciate it...” She stopped a few steps away, glancing around him curiously as his traveling companions lingered behind him. “Are these your friends, Professor?”
Cyrus pondered the name Therese had provided. He couldn’t recall having met any other scholars with the name Tavaste, but he had also been away from Atlasdam for a couple months - if a notice had gone out informing the academic community of the need for a new royal tutor, surely plenty of new intellectual minds would have emerged from the woodwork to seize the opportunity.
He refocused his attention to the conversation at hand and nodded in response to Therese’s question. “Indeed - we’ve stopped here on our way to Noblecourt. I’d not mind assisting you if my companions would acquiesce to my abandoning them for a spell.” He followed Therese's inquisitive look to see Therion eyeing her from beneath his shaggy fringe of white hair, the unruly locks hiding his expression well. His mouth formed a single word, his voice lost in the bustle between them, which prompted Primrose to lock eyes with Cyrus and beckon him with clear bemusement in her expression, while the rest of his companions slowly dispersed among the midday crowd.
“Of course! I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you in any way.” She pulled her gaze away Primrose and Therion back to Cyrus, upon which he noticed her face was slightly flushed - likely from the heat of the sun beating down on them, which prompted him to offer his elbow and escort her to a nearby bench under the shade of a tree.
“If you would excuse me.” He bowed to her slightly before weaving his way across the stream of people going about their days to reach Primrose and Therion once more. "I presume the rest of our party was able to determine a plan of action for the afternoon?"
“Alfyn found the tavern, even though the sun is still so high in the sky.” Primrose wrinkled her nose at the idea, though Cyrus knew her distaste lay with the time of day, and not the concept of drinking. “Tressa wanted to visit all the street vendors with H’aanit, and Ophilia’s gone with Olberic to reserve some rooms at the inn.”
“My apologies - I would have housed you all at my own abode if the space allowed.”
Since Cyrus had previously lived in Atlasdam, it had made much more sense for him to stay there while they visited and save on the inn fees for their journey. Upon mentioning that he had two guest rooms available that would only fit two people, the rest of the party had immediately started arguing over who would get the luxury of a room to themselves while on their journey. Eventually, they'd staged a stone-skipping contest over a small lake on the way to the city to settle the debate, and Therion's practiced dexterity and Primrose's innate talent for the trick had won them the rooms. Cyrus hadn't been particularly surprised by the victors, though, since Therion had been the one to suggest the means of competition.
Therion waved him off, his lips upturned in a lopsided smirk. “Primrose and I won the right to stay at your house fair and square.”
“'Fair and square', hm? I’m sure that’s not a phrase you get to use very often, Mister Master Thief,” Primrose noted amusedly and ignored Therion’s eyeroll in favor of addressing Cyrus. “Besides that - Cyrus, isn’t that the girl the student that had you expelled from the city?” Primrose leaned in conspiratorially while gesturing towards Therese. “Do you believe it’s best for you to accompany her?”
Cyrus shook his head vigorously, brushing back the strands of hair that fell in his face with the motion. “It was my shortcoming as an educator that resulted in my expulsion from the city - Therese is not at fault for having wanted to obtain more knowledge. It was her right as my student, and I understand her frustrations.”
“You said you got kicked out because she thought you and that princess were having an affair, though. Is that kind of rumormongering also her right?” Therion didn’t seem impressed.
“She raised her concerns to the headmaster, and it was unfortunately misconstrued as such. If anything, I would have to ‘blame’ my circumstances on my inability to see eye-to-eye with the headmaster of the Royal Academy, but that is neither here nor there.”
Primrose looked past Cyrus to where Therese was sitting for a moment and sighed. “You certainly have a way with words, but I feel bad for her, if that’s what you believe her motivations were.” Before Cyrus could begin to question her statement, she pressed on, “If you’re to accompany her, shall we meet you in the main plaza here just before sunset?”
“Yes, I believe that should be sufficient.” Cyrus nodded along with his assent. “Until then, my friends!"
With the expected silent dismissal from Therion and an echo of his farewell from Primrose, he returned to Therese, offering an apology for keeping her waiting in the form of a smile and an extended hand to help her stand from the bench.
As they walked alongside each other towards the Academy, Cyrus inquired, “Pray tell, what is this assignment from Professor Tavaste that is causing you and Her Highness so much grief? I can’t say I have any insight towards this colleague's teaching methods, but I find it surprising that either of you would have issues with an assignment.”
Therese froze slightly at that, her stride faltering before she picked up the pace to keep up with him. “Er, it’s - this particular project has only been assigned to me, actually. Her Highness has a - ah, been given a different thesis to work on.”
“Well, I should hope that Professor Tavaste has contrasted the difficulty of both projects and given you both a fair amount of work!” Cyrus’s exclamation was rooted in concern - he’d never discriminated between Therese and Princess Mary’s assignments as their tutor. Seeing the differences in their thought processes when it came to fulfilling the work he gave them was part of the joy of teaching such bright students, and he couldn’t imagine being able to give proper feedback with two separate assignments when they were being taught the same material. “And what does this particular endeavor entail?”
“I’m meant to draft an interpretation of A Memoir of a Witch , but it’s a translated copy of the original Hornburgian document.” Therese’s expression contorted further with consternation as her explanation progressed. “I would not be able to speak to the quality of the original document, but its translation is - er, rather lacking, compared to other texts you've used as examples in our lessons."
At the mention of the title of the work, Cyrus had delved into his own mental archives, attempting to recall if he’d ever happened across it himself while scouring the Royal Library for source material. Several moments passed with the murmur of the city fading in the background between them as they approached the Academy, before he finally admitted with a slight frown, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of reading that book, which I find rather odd, considering that many of my pre-departure treatises focused on the historical arcane practices in Hornburg. Whereupon did you find such a reference?”
Therese nearly tripped over the entryway to the Academy at his question, flailing for a moment before grasping at Cyrus’s arm to steady herself. “My apologies, Professor, I did not mean to impose! Er, about the book…” She righted herself quickly, averting her eyes and not allowing Cyrus to reassure her that it was no trouble at all as she led the way to one of the independent study rooms. “P-Professor Tavaste was kind enough to procure it for me at my request, since this was an i-independent research project on a topic of my choosing. I did recall your previous papers on the subject a-and wanted to delve into it further, so…”
“Well, I can only applaud the good professor for going to such lengths to further your education! Do you happen to have an inkling as to what topic Her Highness has chosen for her project?”
Therese shook her head, eyes wide at the question. “I’ve not had the opportunity to ask, unfortunately…”
Cyrus sighed wistfully. “If I had been so cognizant of your desire to perform research, I would have striven towards that with my curriculum, but I am reassured to see that Professor Tavaste has succeeded in fostering that drive to cultivate knowledge within both you and Her Highness. I must give my commendations, if we were to meet during my brief stay here.”
They stopped at a writing desk nestled between high bookshelves that Cyrus knew well to be Therese’s preferred study space. It was neat and organized, with nary a book or pen out of place, save for the one book that had been the topic of conversation until that point. It was open with the spine flat against the desk, and a single gilded bookmark lay nestled in the pages, catching the sunlight streaming in through the high windows that encircled the Academy.
Therese picked up the book gingerly with both hands, with an amount of caution that Cyrus felt almost exceeded the reverence that such tomes demanded. She pinched the bookmark from the pages and set it down on the desk before looking up at Cyrus from beneath her lashes, the nerves in her demeanor manifesting in the slight tremor of her fingers as they traced the words on the page, printed crisply in black ink.
“I’ve had a particularly hard time with this passage - if I understood the preceding text correctly, it seems as though she wrote this while hiding from the city guards after her magic had been exposed. I-If I read this aloud, do you think you’d be able to provide some insight?”
Cyrus nodded, though his hands itched to seize the book and start flipping through the pages himself. This was for Therese’s sake - and really, he reasoned, the sooner she was able to complete her assignment, the sooner he’d be able to peruse the memoir himself. “Please do.”
She cleared her throat with a small cough and took a deep breath before letting it escape her lungs in a shaky exhale. The attempt to calm her nerves seemed to work, as her voice remained steady, although not particularly confident, as she read aloud from the book.
“Let the silence be your constant companion as I wish fate had allowed me to be,
Let the breath on your lips escape without setting your thoughts free,
Let the emotions within you never be given voice until the day I may atone,
Lest another sacrifice their voice for you and your sake alone... ”
As Therese’s reading of the passage progressed, Cyrus sensed something was amiss. The tang of magic in the air grew ever more prominent, and as Therese read the final line of the passage, the words on the page began to glow brighter than the sunlight that illuminated the pages.
Cyrus immediately wrenched the book from her hands, not sparing any time for an apology. In that brief moment of contact with the tome, Cyrus could tell that the charge he felt emanating from the book was decidedly not the same feeling of excitement he usually found himself experiencing at the prospect of a new tome, and he realized his mistake too late as the words peeled themselves from the pages, leaving the book blank where they'd been printed. Evidently, it was magic, but its purpose was still unclear to Cyrus, and he began invoking the elemental ward that had served him well since his visit to the Shrine of the Flamebearer after casting the book aside to land haphazardly on the desk. He took a measured step back while chanting the incantation for the arcane shield, eyeing the glowing script hanging in the air warily as they morphed, transforming into runes he could no longer read.
Before he could finish calling upon Aelfric’s protection, the runes shot towards him in a streak of light. He shoved Therese away with the intent of protecting her from the onslaught, but it soon became clear that the target had been him from the start, as the runes wrapped around his neck.
He brought his hand up to his neck in an attempt to grab at them, but there was no physical aspect to the spell for him to grasp. Their onslaught had disrupted his concentration as well, and he felt the white magic he’d been preparing dissipate. After a tense moment, they seemed to settle there, with a burning sensation that made Cyrus press his palm flat against his neck in an attempt to alleviate the pain, to no avail. The glow of the unknown spell subsided and Cyrus trailed his fingers across the area where he knew some mark of the spell now resided.
"Professor! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this would happen! I swear this wasn’t my intention - how could this have happened? Are you injured at all? Is there anything I can do to help?"
Therese’s panicked cries filtered in through the cacophony of Cyrus’s own thoughts as his mind raced to determine what had just occurred. With the intent of soothing his student’s distress and addressing his hypothesis regarding the book and the mysterious spell that had lain within, Cyrus opened his mouth.
No words emerged.