100. A Royal Reception

  For some time now, Serac had privately been working on a ‘theory of the Circlet’.

  It’d all begun with Trippy Version 1’s Shriving. When the Unmoored soul of REVOLVER’s previous wielder was forcibly removed, he’d taken the Penitent’s Circlet with him. But then at least one part of that Circlet had since reconstructed itself, in a partial band that sat in Serac’s right temple. This had also coincided with the intrusion by a third entity that called itself ‘king’ and spoke through Serac whenever the need arose.

  She had several hypotheses as to the identity of that third entity, none of them conclusive nor verifiable as yet. One guess was that it was somehow Trippy, who might’ve survived the Shriving in some form to now opportunistically stop by to say hi or offer his timely assistance. Another possibility was Serac herself—or a remnant spirit of her previous life (lives?), a glutton for punishment who clearly hadn’t had enough of the afterlife and all its trials and tribulations.

  Whoever this third entity might be, its identity wasn’t of pressing concern—at least not yet. What was important, however, was for Serac to be aware of its fickle presence and use it to her advantage. It knew things Serac didn’t. Its visits, while rare, invariably alerted her to opportunity or warned her of danger.

  Presently, a flash of pain in her right temple traced the shape of her ‘partial’ Circlet. It’d come in the middle of King Tyr’s speech, as Serac gazed upon the man’s impressive frame and reckoned with the fact of his marriage to an ascended Rakshasa. Just a flash—too brief even to elicit a wince—but it was enough to set her mind afire with questions and concerns.

  Questions like: just how has this woman lived for some 400 years, triple or even quadruple the natural lifespan of your average Rakshasa? And more importantly, how has she managed to keep her looks and figure all this time?? What’s her secret???

  And concerns like: is this the same woman who ‘called’ to me from inside the Realm-cave? The one who had a pet name for Mulaharta and wanted to have an ‘endless feast’? If so, that’s definitely super sus, right? And what the hell’s up with her [INFERNAL Instrument: DIAPHRAGM]? That’s the same one Bayu the Jackass wielded down in the Damnatorium!

  Indeed, Serac was so taken by this Loha of the Reticent Tribe that she barely paid any attention to her husband the Realm Immortal. Which might’ve been just as well, as Zacko seemed to doing the attention-paying for both of them.

  “I gotta say, Shark Bro,” the Manusya said with his unflappable irreverence, inadvertently addressing one of Serac’s unanswered questions, “this supper looks way too fancy to be prison food, unless it’s one of those ‘last meal’ type situations. What’s the occasion?”

  “Why, the occasion is you, outrealmers!”

  [Designation: TYR DJOFULSEN—the Great Pacifier]

  [Aberrant Race: Yaksha]

  [Aberrant Class: Realm Immortal]

  [ZEALOUS Instrument: TAMPER]

  Tyr Djofulsen, the bull-shark-typed Yaksha, had replied without missing a beat. If he’d been offended at all by Zacko’s usage of ‘Shark Bro’, he didn’t show it.

  “Only this morning,” King Tyr continued, “I received word of the rivers returning to Rotgard. The unexplained withering of the Roots has been a thorn by my side these past few years. I’ve lain awake at nights, worried sick for my Roots-dwelling brothers and sisters. Imagine my surprise and delight, then, when I hear that a pair of outrealmers had shown up out of nowhere and provided the solution—all on their very first day of ascension! Come now, spare no detail. How did you rid the Roots of their malaise?”

  At this, Serac and Zacko exchanged another look. The Manusya had both eyebrows raised, as if to say: is this guy for real? Whereas the Rakshasa’s brow was knotted in a skeptical frown.

  It was rare indeed for Serac to be the mistrustful one of the two, but such was the effect of having seen the wretched state of the Rotgardian people—and of the ‘warning’ from her third entity. On any other day, she might’ve been quickly taken in by King Tyr’s friendly words and affable manners. But not today. Today, she fully intended to watch and learn.

  “You had something of a giant worm infestation inside the Roots,” Serac took it upon herself to answer, with her keen eyes flickering between the royal couple. “An ascended Hellspawn called Mulaharta. Know anything about it?”

  For a moment, King Tyr’s jolly expression flattened into one of frank surprise. Crucially, he gave his wife a sidelong glance, as if to gauge her reaction.

  Queen Loha, for her part, hardly reacted at all. She’d been wearing the faintest of thin smiles—one that barely reached her eyes—ever since the outrealmers’ arrival. Where her husband was warm and welcoming, Loha was cool and reserved… and that didn’t change one bit at the mention of a certain Flesh-fiend.

  No words were exchanged between the couple, but King Tyr appeared to have gotten a message anyhow. He hastily turned back to his outrealmer guests and spoke with a distinct note of sheepishness.

  “That… is an extraordinary discovery, indeed. You must tell me all about it,” he said, then cleared his throat. “But all in good time. First, you both must be famished after the adventure you’ve had. Come, sit, and make yourselves at home. No one meal could ever be just rewards for the service you’ve provided, but I should think this one might come close! Bwahahaha!”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  And with that earth-shaking laughter, the king went right back to his jolly self. He didn’t wait for an answer, as he himself began to fill his plates and cups with the delicacies on offer.

  Serac watched it all with a deepening frown. This Queen Loha, despite her silence, had communicated something to her husband that made him change the subject. But what? And how?

  She turned to Zacko for answers, and was met by a knowing smirk and a slight shake of the head. The Manusya seemed to understand exactly what had happened. Not only that, but he thought it so obvious that it needed no explanation.

  This only made Serac burn hotter with curiosity. She turned to her only other source of information, asking with her inside voice: did you get it, Trippy? What did Loha do, some kind of magic?

  “Magic? No, not exactly,” came the prompt reply, sans judgment. “I believe this is a classic case of one member of a marriage wearing the pants in the relationship.”

  Pants? That didn’t help her at all! Neither did she think it was particularly accurate, given Queen Loha was clearly wearing a dress. An elegant and timelessly chic one at that, so much so that it served as a painful reminder of the exoskeletal tunic Serac herself had been sporting since First Hope.

  But then her stomach chose this moment to rumble—loudly enough that the whole table could hear. It drew another good-natured guffaw from King Tyr, an amused snicker from Zacko (how dare he!), and no reaction at all from Queen Loha.

  Cinnabar face turning even redder, Serac buried herself in the food before her. She decided then and there that interrogating a Realm Immortal and his pants-wearing wife could wait—at least until she’d taken care of her dwindling [Satiety] gauge.

  In her haste, she’d barely paid attention to the first item she grabbed: some kind of pastry with a sugary, fruity filling. She bit into it, then her cinnabar face immediately lit up into a bright shade of orange.

  “Oh my gods!” she exclaimed. “This is amazing! What is it?”

  “That, my dear, is peach pie.”

  All mouths stopped their chewing at once as all eyes turned to the voice. For it was Queen Loha, speaking for the first time.

  Where her husband was loud and coarse, Loha was soft and carefully measured in her speech. Even so, she now looked across the table at Serac with a warm smile that crinkled her eyes. The effect on Serac was dramatic, as she instantly felt her earlier hostility melt, replaced by a fuzzy sort of appreciation—though she couldn’t say whether it was because of the smile or the peach pie that filled her senses with its fragrant sweetness.

  “It’s one of the recipes I’m most proud of, if I should say so myself,” Loha went on, still smiling. “I’m glad you enjoy it, Serac. Please, have as much as you like. There’s more where that came from.”

  Serac was momentarily stunned into silence, having had no memory of introducing herself to the royal couple. But she quickly remembered that Loha was a Wayfarer, with access to the same Pathsighted information as she. Besides which, they were the king and queen. Why wouldn’t they find out everything they could about the first outrealmers to ascend to their Realm in 381 years?

  With that reminder, Serac went right back to interrogation mode. Sure, Loha might bake a mean peach pie and take genuine pleasure in others enjoying her food. But the queen was clearly hiding something, and Serac intended to find out what.

  But first… what a peach pie! Serac found herself unable to stop, ignoring all the savory options on the table as she stuffed her face with dessert. The pie was sweet but not overly so, pleasantly flaky yet mouthwateringly juicy, and best of all, it tasted something like home. Which was amazing in itself, given the paucity of Serac’s knowledge about her own ‘home’.

  However, even at the height of her food-borne euphoria, Serac managed to feel a stab of guilt. For she’d remembered Petter Svensen and his [Stone-cooked Ulvknall Liver] that had been the very first thing she’d tasted in Pretjord. The liver was good, and she still had fond memories of an impromptu picnic in the woods, but if she were perfectly honest, Chef Petey couldn’t hold a candle to Queen Loha and her peach pie.

  Everyone here is a cook, and that means I’m nothing special. It’s honestly a small miracle that I haven’t been sent down to Rotgard.

  That was when Serac widened her eyes, as she recalled another reason to remain hostile towards the royal couple.

  “You said there’s ‘more where that came from’,” she blurted in the middle of a mouthful, letting fly bits of pastry as she did. “Does that mean you can bring out more food? In addition to what’s already on the table?”

  Tyr and Loha exchanged a look, then the latter turned to Serac with the same generous smile.

  “I meant what I said, Serac. But given your current Karmic Level, I would’ve thought this is more than enough to sate your—”

  “Show me.”

  Loha’s smile faltered for a brief moment, perhaps put off by her guest’s sudden bluntness.

  “I see you’ve barely had anything other than the pie,” the queen observed. “Won’t you try them? This pot roast here is another one of my favorites. I’m sure you’ll—”

  “It’s just that I can’t get enough of your peach pie. And I want seconds and thirds and maybe even fourths. You’ll bake me some more, won’t you, Loha? I can honestly say I’ve never had anything better.”

  Despite her gushing compliments, Serac’s own smile didn’t reach her eyes. She knew she was being rude and perhaps even playing with fire because of it. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Zacko and his one raised eyebrow were thinking the same thing.

  Yet, even now, the cold metal band in her right temple tingled and buzzed, not in fear of danger, but in anticipation of opportunity. Somehow, either she or the memories imparted by her third entity knew that this bold impudence was exactly how she ought to approach this royal couple.

  Tyr and Loha exchanged another look, but there was a visible shift in both of their attitudes. For a brief moment, the queen’s expression contorted into an almost childish pout, as if pleading with her husband to come to her rescue. To this, King Tyr responded with a subtle yet unmistakable nod.

  “Very well,” Queen Loha suddenly declared, but not before stifling a defeated sigh. “Far be it for me to refuse our honored guest, especially one so taken with my cooking. Come closer if you wish, Serac, and Zacarias too. After all, it’s not everyday you get a front-row seat to the magic of my HEARTHSTONE.”

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