The White Shadow

10. Everything Changed

Firmin walked down the hallway to the dining room. He couldn't delay any longer—already had for perhaps an obvious amount of time. He wasn't hungry. Didn't feel like going to the hall where so many people gathered—the duke's friends, the ones just there to get favor, Gethin, Carson. He never did, yet he did so every midday. Every evening. At least he could have his morning meal ordered to his room if he wanted it.

Footsteps echoed from another room. A door opened from around the corridor.

     Carson turned the corner, nearly walking into him. He stood there for a while, silent. His clothes appeared a little crisper and his hair had noticeably been well combed. A waft of some fresh scent surprised him as well.

     Firmin looked away. Walked on. He heard Carson's footsteps as he continued in the other direction. Good. Although Firmin cared not at all what Carson was up to these days, seeing him just made things worse. Invoked unsettling confusion. A meaningless ache, sorrowless pain. As shocking as it was to believe, Firmin was relieved that Carson had not once showed himself during his recovery.

     He heard someone walk behind him. He didn't turn to see. And he didn't have to. The person soon caught up with him.

     Aethelu. What a surprise. They hadn't talked since that day so long ago. Thinking about it, he did see her from time to time. Perhaps in the occasional meeting, as it wasn't only thanks to Tris she was here. Her potions were considered a very crucial part of killing the shadow still.

     "Firmin," she spoke, as if they were old friends. Still without eye contact or any soft factor to her voice. It was better than when everyone—even Tris, who tried to make Firmin feel better—looked at him with pity or remorse. She didn't call him 'Commander' like everyone else, nor did she say 'oh, Firmin' like Roxanne would. Like saying his name would make any difference. Especially in that pathetic manner.

     "I haven't told anyone really yet, but I have devised something."

     Anyone really. That meant Tris knew. She didn't have any friends as far as he knew, but he wasn't sure how well her lover kept secrets.

     "It is only an idea yet," she said, still not looking at him. "And I am missing most ingredients, but I may have figured a way to make an illusion potion."

     "I do not understand, Miss Aethelu." She'd always dabbled into things he didn't understand, not that he wished to.

     "Illusion potions, isn't that obvious enough? It will make you see things. As a distraction, perhaps, I do not know yet for what purpose."

     Firmin said nothing, just kept walking down the hall. Keeping his gaze fixed ahead. People became a passing blur that way.

     "See, I do not know much yet. But I have ideas. I just need several . . .  things that I do not know how to get. So if you happen to find me the rare plant, I could begin. Oh, it is called the blood grass—supposedly it is red—and you only find it if you steal—well, the riddle of the myth goes this way:

A precious light escaped, descending shower,

a common plant killed, life is power.

Thus the blades of blood grass you wield,

form a barrier like a shield.

Use with the herbs of deception,

and create the desired misperception.

Herbs of deception are supposed to bend perception. No idea if it truly works."

     They arrived at the dining hall. The servants opened the doors and Aethelu, heading for her spot at the table second to the duke's, left Firmin just like that.