附近出来卖的学生怎么约

Chapter 221: King’s Bearing

The woman jumped, then looked up at him, shocked. “I-I… I came here looking for you.”

“Why is that?” Argrave kept a stern face.

“The application for… for your status as High Wizard has been approved. Em—and… and for one ‘Anneliese.’ A conclave of High Wizards will witness you cast a B-rank spell, and then interview you about magic. The details are here,” she said, handing off a rolled scroll quickly as though it were aflame.

Argrave looked down at the scroll as the woman hastily left, then smiled and pushed open the door.

#####

“Quite a hefty list of Magisters,” remarked Argrave as Elias stood before him, waiting for his thoughts. “Very good. Well done,” he complimented Elias.

“The hardest part was just getting them to agree to meet,” Elias shook his head.

Argrave nodded. “If these people pay attention, they know you’re associated with me, and would know why you want to meet. The Magisters that stay in the Tower are two breeds—ones interested in Order politics, or ones interested in Order scholarship.” Argrave tapped the paper with his hand. “This mental categorization matches up well, it would seem. The scholars could care less about me. Once again, well done, Mina, Elias, Galamon,” he thanked each in turn.

“What now?” Mina crossed her arms. “Play them against each other, try and get the best service?”

Argrave wagged his finger. “Not a chance. I can’t afford information leaking about my plans. Even with an S-rank mage as an escort, I need to obfuscate my movements. Vasquer can and will tear me apart if Felipe gets a read on my path.” Argrave held up the paper. “The fellows here on this page? They’re snakes, each and all. I have to choose well, elsewise I’ll find myself wrapped by a python after they sell me out.” Argrave turned the paper back towards himself, gaze growing distant as he thought. “Anyone know when—”

The door to the room opened, and Argrave turned his head quickly. Anneliese and Nikoletta entered.

“Good timing,” Argrave complimented. “Have fun?”

Anneliese stepped closer. “It was an enlightening outing.”

“On two counts, I bet,” Argrave nodded. “Look at this, Anneliese. I’ve got an approval of our advancement test to High Wizard, and a list of opportunists. Considering you’re an Honorary Wizard only, it seems your advancement stands to be a bit different.” Argrave walked to the scroll he’d been given earlier and held it up, double-checking.

“Interesting,” Anneliese nodded, gaze distant as she thought about that. “We can discuss it later.”

Argrave nodded and tossed the scroll aside, watching as the parchment rerolled naturally. “Sure. Right now, I think we should talk about connecting our opportunity with the right opportunist.”

“I can give my thoughts on each,” Elias raised his hand.

“Yeah… sure,” Argrave nodded, though internally he was thinking about the fact that Galamon had gone with them and it was an unnecessary addition.

“Have you any initial ideas?” asked Anneliese, coming to peer over his shoulder at the paper.

“I’m thinking…” Argrave took a deep breath. “Maybe Mina’s had a good idea. Pitting people against each other.”

“What?” Mina crossed her arms defensively when her name was brought up out of the blue.

“Nothing unites rivals like competition,” Argrave lifted his head up. “I’m thinking… maybe two of these meetings coincidentally happen at the same time. And maybe two of these Magisters just so happen to have a heated rivalry with the other. It’ll be difficult to make happen, but it could have some stellar results…”

Elias frowned.

“What?” Argrave looked down at him.

Elias said delicately, “You want to put two S-rank mages who hate each other… in the same room? And agitate them deliberately?”

“People are people, regardless of how much damage they can do,” Argrave dismissed without worry. “I know what I’m doing. But if you don’t want to be there, that’s fine.”

A look passed through Elias’ eye—it was the look of someone who was about to force himself to eat something foul.

#####

A small gathering of people numbering around fifty convened in a large, ornate marble chamber. All the marble was black, veined with gold. It was a rectangular building, and all of the walls were decorated with giant statues of silver, candles at their feet. The ceiling was large and open, a grand image painted across all of it. If one were to follow it, one could see the tale of Vasquer’s founding; Felipe I riding aback the great snake Vasquer, his legion of snakes combatting an army of elves while the 96 gods of Vasquer watched on with smiles on their faces.

In the center of the room, stairs descended down to a central point where a large granite coffin rested. Black roses budded around the edge of the coffin, their stems bright gold. A banner of Vasquer hung over the coffin’s lid. All gathered bore Vasquer ancestry, though some to a lesser degree than others. Two in particular stood above the crowd, both because of their literal and figurative presence: Orion and King Felipe III.

Orion, garbed in all black, had his hands behind his back. His nails dug into his palm, dripping blood that flowed back into his body like some poor imitation of an Ouroboros manifested from viscera. He stood just beside the king, his face displaying his anger undisguised. The king, with his long black beard and longer black hair growing grayer every day, had no obvious emotions. The two looked very much alike, all the way down to their eyes.

“There should be thousands gathered to honor him,” Orion said. “A private funeral with only family does not befit a prince of Vasquer.”

“I will not sully the name of Vasquer by making royal funerals more common than celebrations in Dirracha. Induen will have a public funeral, no others,” Felipe rebuked, voice flat.

Orion’s fingers clenched tighter, but the prince said nothing. Footsteps echoed throughout the marble room as someone new entered. The steps were quiet so as not to disturb any of the assembled. Levin stepped up beside Felipe.

“My apologies. I had to receive Induen’s body,” Levin whispered quietly.

The king held his hand up and conjured a ward, blocking off their conversation to nearby people. “How is it?” Felipe questioned, looking down at the coffin.

“Well… it is…”

“Do not bumble like a fool searching for kindnesses,” Felipe commanded. “The royal family does not soften their words.”

Levin held his hands out, rubbing them together to warm them. “The body itself was badly dismembered—both hands severed, leg hanging on by a thread of flesh. Moreover, no one within the town retrieved the body, and ants got to it. Coupled with decomposition from travelling… it is difficult to recognize by the face alone, but I can say with certainty it is Induen.”

Orion blinked away tears after hearing the description. Felipe shook his head.

“Another unpresentable body. A disappointment.” The king shook his head. “Archduke Regene’s body will be displayed in his place. Make it look younger with makeup and none will be the wiser. Levin, you make the—”

“The Archduke is not dead,” Orion said incredulously.

“It’s inevitable,” Felipe said dispassionately. “He cannot be saved. Best to end him now, make good use of him.”

“You cannot do this to—”

Felipe turned back and interrupted, “Do not presume to tell me what I cannot do, Orion. It is my place to command, both as your father and the king. You are my heir now, and you must be prepared for rulership.” Felipe stepped up to Orion, looking him eye-to-eye. “Listen well—you will stop speaking of Argrave’s role in ending the plague. You will diminish what you have said, and you will tell all you meet that he is a foul kinslayer who brutally murdered both Magnus and Induen.”

Orion glared at the king. “I will not lie. Argrave did stop the plague.”

“You will do as you are bid,” Felipe commanded unflinchingly. “Argrave the Kinslaying Serpent, they call him. I will not tolerate my issue and heir espousing his virtues. He killed my son, shamed Vasquer beyond measure.”

“An evil does not erase a virtue. I will not diminish his role in the fight with the Plague Jester,” Orion refused.

Felipe took a deep breath as though swallowing his wrath. His face was like stone as he stared down Orion. “Induen was a fool who thought he knew better. He wandered Vasquer, doing as he pleased, when he should have been listening to my orders and learning what I taught him. He put his own desires before that of the family, and now he lays in some cart, his face half-eaten by ants.”

The king stepped closer until his nose almost touched his son’s. “If you knew better than I did, you would not have allowed Magnus to die at your brother’s hands not minutes away from you. You would not have come here begging me to legitimize Argrave, to give the name of Vasquer to a kinslayer and a bastard.”

Orion’s face was trembling in barely restrained anger.

“Do you want to hit me?” the king questioned. They stared eye-to-eye for several seconds, but Felipe finally shook his head, almost disappointed his son restrained himself. “You won’t. I had other plans for you, but it’s clear to me you have an issue that needs to be settled.” Felipe nodded steadily. “You will find Argrave. And you will be the one to deal with him.”

“What?” Orion’s anger gave way for confusion.

“This will put to bed these disgusting validations you’ve given the bastard,” Felipe prodded Orion’s chest. “And you can be taught a little more of what it means to be king. You will learn what it means to place the dynasty before the self.”

Felipe finally turned away, leaving Orion standing there.

“Levin,” the king said, turning back towards the coffin. “As Orion is now my son and heir, when Parbon is stripped of their lands, all shall be given to you—their mines, their Lionsun Castle, everything. If I catch but a hint of you impeding Orion… you will not live much longer.”

“I look forward to setting foot in the castle,” Levin put his hand to his chest.

“Continue to keep your ears open and your mouth shut, and you may live to do so,” Felipe advised.

Orion stepped away, shattering his father’s ward with the back of his hand with seeming ease. Felipe turned back from the sudden change, watching his son move closer to Magnus’ coffin and kneel down, offering a prayer.

The discord was obvious to all present… yet even still, none dared to gossip, and none made to leave. All felt fixed in place by the gray iron gaze of King Felipe III, and none would dare leave before he did.