Luminous

119 - Imprisoned (2/3)

Coris was held in a cell atop a tower, much like that of Laslarein Hasif. Seeing it was just the fugitive's mother, led by a uniformed palace guard, few batted an eyelid as Baroness Sylvia, Meya and Gillian strode down carpeted hallway after carpeted hallway to the foot of the tower.

Gillian hung back to debrief his fellow guard as Meya and the Baroness scaled the spiral staircase. After the final turn, metal bars came into view, slivers of a shock of dark hair showing between them. Baron Kellis stood before the cell, eyes locked with a younger man clad in lavish purple robes.

"Lexi? Lexi!" the Baroness sent her voice ahead of her, tripping over her dress in her haste. Meya pranced up and caught her arms. The two men spun around, eyes bulging.

"Sylvia?" breathed Baron Kellis. He and the guard hastily stepped aside as the women slid to their knees before the bars. Meya had eyes for none but the prisoner. Coris sat cross-legged on the hay-strewn stone, stripped of his Hadrian Red garb to his white undershirt and trousers. Apart from his tousled hair and the manacle on his ankle, he looked just as he always did. No injuries nor signs of struggle. His eyes widened in fear at the unexpected sight of them.

"Mother, you shouldn't be here—" he sprang to his knees, scrabbling at the bars.

"Don't you dare insult me with that!" snapped Sylvia. She pried her son's hands from the cold metal and cradled them between hers, lamenting,

"Oh, your hands are frozen already."

She lowered her lips to their joined hands, blowing warm air onto his fingers. Although Coris strove to remain stoic, he shuddered as waves of heat spread up his arms. Her heart lurching, Meya dropped her bundle to the floor and untied it with fumbling hands.

"Lexi, we got you blankets," she rambled as she fed the thick cloth through the bars, then the rations. "Flat bread and cheese. Gotta take 'em one at a time then wrap it again yourself, I'm afraid. Got some books, if you wanna read—"

Coris took the parting gifts with slack hands, eyes unblinking, staring in bemusement at Meya.

"And who might you be, fair maiden?" he asked, his voice calm. Meya froze. She raised her eyes to his, then her heart, too, froze to ice at the empty void gazing back, swallowing her in its abyss.

"Coris?" she whispered. Beside her, the Baroness started as if she'd just noticed something. She ushered Meya aside, plunging her hands into the supplies the Graye sisters had laboriously arranged, now a miserable jumble.

"Just my maid, Haselle. Lost her sweetheart last winter. Hasn't been right since. Poor thing," she spoke as if Meya weren't there, as one would when explaining away the antics of simpleminded folk, cramming a pouch of salt and books and whatnot into Coris's hands. "Just take them. It'll soothe her poor heart as much as mine."

"May we continue, Baroness Hadrian?" said a deep voice behind them from the guard in purple. Sylvia stiffened, then hitched up a smirk.

"Will you not give a mother some time with her dying son?" she spited the daring man. "Or are we not human simply by virtue of being Hadrians, Your Majesty?"

She hissed, injecting a hint alongside the extra venom into those two words, answering Meya's questions as if she'd read her spinning mind.

Your Majesty.

Oh, goodly Freda.

Meya raised her eyes fearfully, studying the stranger she had taken to be a mere prison guard. A looming man in his early thirties, with shoulders that had carried corpses, yet his chest remained full and proud, and his eyes bright, piercing blue. Rich swirls of honey-brown crowned his head. Alden Corbyn, as young and handsome as rumored. He frowned at the Baroness as she warmed Coris's hands against her heart, saddened by her unbridled hatred.

"Your son won't die, Sylvia," said King Alden, shaking his head, then motioned at Coris. "Young Corien just told me how he supports my reforms so fervently, he swallowed The Axel, hoping to bring it to me. And if it will return The Axel to Latakia, he's ready to offer himself as candidate for surgery."

Meya's heart skipped several beats, before her head chided it. This was obviously just one of Coris's mind games, made all the more convincing by the fact that Coris did in fact once supported abolishing the Ban, printing books for the commoners and all that. Yet, the king seemed genuinely moved by his passion. And it pained Meya to hoodwink him so.

"Surgery?" Baroness Sylvia raised her eyebrows. She rose to her feet, sardonic smile twisting her beauteous face further, "so you'll allow it, now that it benefits you?"

"Of course not, Syl." Baron Kellis stepped up to shield her in his arms, blue eyes narrowed with disgust at the young monarch. "He'll gut our son like cattle on a hook. Claim The Axel for himself and surgery as a barbaric practice, then abolish it for good. Two birds with one stone."

"Kellis, that is not my intention!" King Alden protested.

"Father, Mother, please!" cried Coris. He rattled the bars for attention, his knuckles white and trembling. "I'm not long for life. At least let my death serve a purpose. Let our guard end with me!"

"YOU—ARE NOT—DYING, LEXI!" Sylvia screamed.

"YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR MIND, SON!" Kellis echoed her. He spun back to the king, pleading in desperation, "my liege, can't you see? He's driven demented by guilt. His brain is addled by laudanum. He's not of sound mind. He cannot consent!"

"I am perfectly sane and rational, Father," said Coris flatly. "Occasionally more so than you, if I'm honest," he added under his breath.

"Silence, Coris!" Kellis snapped.

"ENOUGH!" roared King Alden at last, a hand pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment of rapid contemplation, timed by the pulsing vein in his temple, he surfaced with a sigh.

"I'll hold court in five days' time. He'll be examined by a jury of the wisest philosophers, physicians and professors from our university. They will determine whether he is fit to consent, and undergo surgery."

"Until then, he'll be moved to a secret location. It will be well guarded, well furnished, and he'll be warm and well-fed, to give him the best chance of survival. I will not cast the blood of the innocent upon the altar of progress."

He declared, eyes hard and ablaze setting upon each Hadrian in turn. Yet deep down, Meya spied a well of sorrow and sympathy as he met Baron Kellis's eyes. He, too, had a son, a little prince. Perhaps His Majesty now understood what for two decades Baron Hadrian fought so bitterly to protect. He bowed his head with another sigh.

"I'll leave you to your farewells. Good day."

With that, he turned and left in a flutter of purple silk.