CYRDEL SONASSON, heir apparent to the Alkaran Throne, is a budding inventor against the wishes of his father, the King. But when a friend from the Inventor's District needs help, he has to drop everything and come to their aid, even going as far as...
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2410 Crescin 20, Kindreth
Cyrdel cleared his throat. Standing on the podium once again didn't terrify him as it first did. He craned his neck up to meet the advisers' gazes. It wasn't that hard to do after everything he had been through in Penleth. Everything seemed so easy after having to deal with killer spores, if he was asked.
"And that's how we stopped the spread of the plague shrooms," Cyrdel finished his story, recounting what he did in Flaron. "The Custodian has informed me that he will ensure they will get the export quota filled up as soon as harvest season rolls around."
His stomach twisted at the version of the story he told to the advisers. He ended up carving Ravalee from the narrative. Airene had been clear about it: the Court of Varis couldn't know of Ravalee's existence. The woman had all but glowered at Cyrdel all the while as soon as he showed up on her doorstep with her niece in tow. Now, Ravalee was forbidden to leave the hut and Cyrdel could only see her every three days. Bummer.
"You're saying they have been dealing with this issue for a long time and they didn't tell us?" Master Philine scratched her chin. "Why haven't they consulted the Temple about their symptoms? Or the healers in Diven?"
Cyrdel frowned. Did they really not know? "Most farmers in Flaron get their daily wage to survive," he said. "They'd rather go to work than waste opportunities to earn by taking care of themselves. That's the reality I had to face upon going there. I assume the Court is going to remedy this in the near future? Our workers in Penleth needed it greatly."
An assortment of nods and scratches of quills against parchment ensued. Cyrdel pursed his lips. "For the real reason of this conference—"
"Yes, yes," Master Nerira waved his hand in the air in impatience. "We will open a discussion with the Temple of Memory and bring forth your concerns regarding policy changes."
Inwardly, Cyrdel was already pumping his fists in the air. On the outside though, he allowed himself to display just a small smile. "That's a relief to hear," he said.
Master Philine hummed. "Don't expect quick results, Crovalis," she shuffled her notes to put away. "These things take time."
Cyrdel bobbed his head. "I trust I don't need to run errands for you in the meantime?" he asked, leveling his gaze at his father who sat upon his throne like a stone statue. His eyes burned against Cyrdel's. "Because like it or not, I've got a friend to visit and great news to deliver."
Silence coated the hall. Even the next speakers seated in the pews behind him fiddled with the hems of their tunics or looked at the pure, white walls or out in the huge windows just to avoid eye contact. Cyrdel blew an amused breath. "Well, that's it for me, then," he ducked his head in a respectful bow, for once not feeling the ire he was used to having upon doing the gesture. "I must be off."
Then, he turned and walked off the raised dais, feeling all the eyes targeted on his back. It continued until he reached the tall twin doors opened wide, showing him the vast lobby and the ornate stairs to take him there. As he tore through the corridors leading to his rooms, he allowed himself a small chuckle. He did it. He finally did something worth telling. Imagine, a person like him was able to help so many people. It was a damn good feeling to have.
