His dream was officially over. There was just one choice left, with two options. He could run away, trying to escape his punishment and hoping he could hide away from the wrath of the guilds. And hoping nobody could trace the connection back to his foster father.
Or he could accept his punishment and spend the next ten years in forced labor. Perhaps he would be pressed into the military, defending the border until someday an orc cut off his head. That would at leasthave the benefit of irony. But regardless of which option he chose, he would not be able to continue his studies. That much was clear.
Despite being tired without end, Kraghtol found no sleep this night. His mind circled endlessly around the two options for his future while filling every gap with detailed analyzes of everything he could have done to avoid this — but hadn’t.
Only when the fey-cursed clock tower struck eight times did he sit up, exhausted and drained of everything. The time had come to face the inevitable. By spending the night doing nothing, his chances of running away had diminished, and if he was being honest, he didn’t have the energy to do so anyway. Whatever stupidity had brought him here, it was all his fault, and he would have to own that.
There was no way around this. He didn’t have the money to pay his fine; he didn’t even need to ask the guilds for mercy or postponement, and he knew no one with that kind of money to borrow it from. No, he —
He stopped. That was not entirely true. Hedidknow one person. But no. No, no, no! He wouldn’t — hecouldn’taskhim. That was the lack of sleep talking; entirely crazy. There was no reasonhewould help him, of all people, and the only thing he could hope for was insult to injury.
Still, his mind had latched onto the idea, refusing to let go, like a drowning man holding onto the only driftwood in sight.
As much as he hated it, the only possible glimmer of hope bore the name Valir el Greylune.
Chapter 8
Valir
Finding Valir was not easy. He spent two of his precious four hours until he needed to pay up asking around for any clues on the noble’s whereabouts. He knew Valir lived in the Silver Spires district, but not where exactly. And when he tried to go there to find out, a private guard not unlike the one he entrusted drunk Valir to on the winter solstice turned him away in a polite yet adamant way.
Having no invitation to the noble’s house, Kraghtol had to resort to asking around at the alchemists’ school, hoping someone would have any inkling of a clue. In the end, it happened to be Aniriel of all people who remembered having overheard a conversation between the small group of nobles in which Valir had showed off his wealth by mentioning he usually spent the Masonday mornings in one of the city’s most exclusive bathhouses.
Finding the pompous marble building of the ‘Steam Gardens’ in the Park District took another half an hour, and when the receptionist asked for two silver coins for entry, he didn’t even hesitate. If he couldnot come up with the ludicrous sum in the next one and a half hours, these two coins wouldn’t help him, anyway.
Instead of disrobing and taking the incredibly fluffy towel from the bathing servant, Kraghtol hurried through the steamy hallways, ignoring the many luxurious amenities of the place in favor of scanning the bathing pools. The place was not very crowded, as most people would have to work on a Masonday morning, and even fewer could afford the location. Finally, he found whom he was looking for. Half-obscured by steam, Valir was relaxing in a small pool for two, his arms stretched to the sides, and his eyes closed in bliss. The water smelled of fresh flowers and was in constant motion, either by some hidden mechanism or an alchemical solution. Kraghtol had little doubt it might very well be the latter, because this was no doubt a prime example of the ‘big problems’ the guild allowed to be solved by alchemy.
The visible upper part of the noble’s body was pale and slender, unburdened by any scars or signs of physical activity, and his wheat-blond hair spilled over the edge of the pool.
“Valir.”
Kraghtol’s voice broke the distinguished silence like an axe, but he couldn’t care less about the disapproving looks of the other patrons and bathing servants. It had the intended effect, though, and Valir opened his eyes.
The bathing pool was on a marble platform, which put the noble slightly above eye level.
“Krasen. I certainly didn’t expect to meet you here. Apparently, they let in just about anyone now.”
Valir smiled in superiority, and the last part might have been meant as a joke, but Kraghtol had no time to get upset about it. Instead, he took a deep breath, feeling the anger simmering deep within him. When had that started to be an issue again?
“I…”
It was harder to say than he had anticipated, but there was no sense in false pride.
“I need your help. Please.”
A shade of surprise flickered over the noble’s face before he settled on a satisfied smirk that Kraghtol didn’t like in the least. He heard the splash of water as the noble leaned forward.
“Of course you do. I was already wondering when you would come to take advantage of the solstice situation. Go on then.”
Kraghtol was speechless for a moment, and part of him wanted to leave and turn himself in right now, just to get away from that arrogant prick. When he finally answered, his voice was vibrating with ire.
“This is not — it’s not about the solstice. And I’m not taking advantage of anything. Believe me, if you weren’t the only one whocouldhelp me, I wouldn’t bother you. Forget about the solstice thing. You don’t owe me anything.”
That clearly was not what Valir had expected, and a spark of interest appeared in his eyes.
“Look, Valir, I’m… I’m in trouble. With the guilds. And I need a loan.”
“A loan.”
