Chapter Text
It was a risky plan. Tristan knew that. Oifey had made it incredibly clear: if he was caught, he would be tortured and killed. If the plan went awry and his escape was even slightly less than completely undetected, he would be struck down by Fenrir before he could take a step outside Belhalla. Even if the operation went completely smoothly, there was a decent chance he’d be killed in the fighting that would immediately ensue.
He’d known it was a suicide mission when he’d volunteered. Too much had already been lost, too much had been sacrificed to bring this plan to fruition. Somebody had to take this last step. If Tristan was going to go out, then a crazy, shot in the dark haymaker plan to save all of Jugdral in one fell swoop was the best way he could think of.
Tristan steeled his nerves as he made his way across the noble’s quarter of the city of Belhalla, toward the castle. He was dressed in the outfit of an Imperial agent that the resistance in Tirnanogue had kidnapped. The deep purple capelet on his right shoulder bore the insignia of the Loptous Sect, but rather than the thick robes of the Sect’s dark mages, he wore black leather armor. Men dressed like Tristan was now acted like Jugdral’s secret police; knocking on doors looking to root out would-be rebels and arresting any man, woman, or child they suspected of seditious intent.
In the satchel slung over his left shoulder was the Package. He patted it habitually. During the entire journey from Tirnanogue to the Imperial capital, Tristan hadn’t let it go so much as a foot away from him. It was without question the most valuable object he’d ever handled, and his mission was to deliver it to the proper person at any cost.
The Book had thrummed with power. Tristan was no mage, but it still made the hair on his arm stand up when he first touched it. Today, though, it was quiet. King Lewyn had told him it would, as if Naga themself understood the plan.
“Just you and me now,” he murmured. Just a horseman from Tirnanogue’s feeble resistance, and the physical vestige of the immortal sovereign of Jugdral. On the same team. It felt weird to think about it like that.
The gates of the castle came into view. It wasn’t the only castle in Belhalla, but the Imperial Estate was the largest by a considerable margin. Under the rule of Azmur fifteen years ago the enormous building had served as both the royal palace and the royal academy, but after Emperor Arvis’ purge of the aristocracy there was little need for the academy. The structure Tristan approached was now occupied solely by the Emperor’s family and the Loptous Sect.
It was still a busy place. There was a line at the gate as the guards checked each entrant’s cargo and papers. This was the first checkpoint. If the authorizations they’d stripped off the spy they’d caught hadn’t been filled out correctly, or were a trap from the start, the mission would fail. Tristan tried not to think about how many more checkpoints he’d have to clear, and focused on the one in front of him. He watched as the carpenter in front of him, hauling a cart full of furniture, was cleared for entry, and prepared his own papers.
“Back from the field?” asked one of the guards by the gate as he looked Tristan up and down.
“Yep. Tirnanogue. Beautiful this time of year,” he answered.
“I can imagine. Papers?”
Tristan unfolded his authorization and handed it over to the guard.
“Food’s awful, though. Visited last year. There’s this nasty little green vegetable. Tastes like piss,” said another guard as the first looked over Tristan’s papers.
“Broccoli?” Tristan said.
The second guard shook his head. “No, no, it’s smaller than that. The round little buggers.”
“Them’s peas, Barth,” the first guard said, not looking up from the papers. This was taking longer than the carpenter. Despite the inane conversation, Tristan felt his heart beating twice as fast.
“Yeah, those ones! Anyway, they use them with everything up there. Ghastly stuff,” the second guard said.
A memory suddenly flashed through Tristan’s head, of Lester trying to hide his peas under the lip of his plate while Lana forced him to eat them.
“I got used to them, but some people never do,” Tristan said.
The first guard finally looked up from the papers, and gave it a quick mark with the charcoal he was holding. “Seems like it’s all in order. You can go on in, then.”
Tristan had to try as hard as he could to stifle his sigh of relief. He took the papers back, folding and stowing them back in his satchel. “Thanks. See you on my way out,” he said.
The guards continued bickering about vegetables as Tristan walked between the immaculately trimmed hedges bordering the paved path to the palace’s entrance. His heartbeat had not gone back down after getting his papers cleared; he suspected it was going to stay like this until the very end.
Opposite him on the path walking toward the gate was a dark mage. Tristan could barely glimpse the figure’s face under their hood, but he could feel their eyes on him. He gave a curt nod to acknowledge their presence as they passed each other, and continued on his way. His hand rested on the Book’s satchel, reassuring him.
Rather than draw any closer to the palace’s main entrance, he took a side path that ran around the structure. He aimed to reach the gardens on the far side of the palace. Passing by a pure-white trellis entangled by beautiful vines and flowers, he wished he had more time to admire it. He’d never seen anything like this.
He pressed on, and passed another dark mage. He hadn’t the faintest idea what they were doing out here. The idea that the twisted monsters that ripped children from their mothers’ arms for human sacrifice could also enjoy the peaceful beauty of a rose garden disgusted Tristan.
Under a gazebo, he spied a pair of scholars having a conversation. The green cloth in their outfits suggested they served House Dozel, one of the few that had assisted in the conspiracy and so survived Arvis’ purge. Their conversation looked relaxed, Tristan guessed they were on break.
The path began to curve as Tristan made his way around the palace, drawing ever nearer to the target. His heart in his throat, he stopped to take a deep breath. If the empress was in the garden as expected, there would surely be guards with her. Guards far more competent than the ones at the gate.
All he had to do was get the book to her. Her memory would come back, she would remember her first husband Lord Sigurd, and she would become more powerful even than Arvis wielding Valflame. She would free Jugdral, so long as Tristan could move this book another two hundred feet.
This had been Lady Edain’s plan. King Lewyn, who had been present at the confrontation between Lord Sigurd and Arvis, had mentioned Empress Deirdre’s amnesia. Lady Edain had recalled her own sister, also suffering from amnesia, had regained her memories in an instant by laying a hand on the holy bow Yewfelle.
She just had to touch it. Just one finger. Tristan took a deep breath, and continued.
He could hear children’s laughter over the hedges. It was loud, unrestrained. It would have been a very rare sound in Tirnanogue.
As he drew even closer, he could also hear a woman’s voice. It was too distant to make out words, but from the tone alone Tristan was certain it was the empress. It was a voice overflowing with kindness, exactly as Shannan had described.
Tristan paused. This was the home stretch. As soon as he rounded this next corner, he would come into view of her guards, and the plan would go hot. He had only a knife, stowed in his satchel, to fight his way through. He had no holy blood running through his veins, no magic weapons, no magic rings. It was Tristan of Tirnanogue against the most elite of the Imperial Guard.
He took a deep breath, steeled himself one final time, and confidently approached.
The first guards stopped him before he could even lay eyes on the empress. There were two in Tristan’s hedge corridor, but there were definitely many more if the empress’ perimeter was this wide. The taller one was a great knight, holding a gleaming silver axe in his hands. The shorter one wore even heavier armor and had no discernible weapon. A magic-wielding baron.
The great knight took a step forward and readied his axe. “Come no closer. State your business.”
“His Imperial Majesty requested I inform Her Imperial Majesty that he is taking lunch half an hour later than usual today,” Tristan replied.
“Why is His Imperial Majesty having messages delivered by Loptous agents, rather than the house servants?” questioned the baron.
“I had just finished my report to him. He thought it convenient.”
“And how convenient was it for you to reach us from the orbital path, rather than through the palace back entrance?” the baron said. The great knight took another step forward. “If you truly were reporting to His Imperial Majesty as you say, you would not be being apprehended in a hedge maze like a common thief who has stolen clothes above his station!”
Tristan cringed. He was so stupid, this was so stupid! Lady Deirdre was right there, he just needed to go a little bit further-
“Guards? Is there an issue?” came the empress’ voice. A moment later, she turned the corner.
She was without question the most beautiful woman Tristan had ever seen. She stood in a plum-colored dress with cascading locks of pure moonlight, about thirty feet past the guards, watching worriedly.
“Yes, empress. This man is dangerous. Make haste inside with the prince and princess,” the baron instructed. His words were filled with cold authority, but the empress remained put.
“Are you going to execute him?” she asked.
“Likely, your Imperial Majesty,” said the great knight. Tristan shuddered.
There was worry on the empress’ face, but Tristan could also make out a hint of something else. Was it anger?
“Hold. What does he stand accused of?”
The baron turned away from Tristan to face the empress. “He is lying about why he is here. He claims he has just come here from a meeting with His Imperial Majesty, yet he has arrived through the gardens.”
It was definitely anger. Lady Deirdre took a few steps closer. “You’re going to kill a man because he took the wrong path through the palace?”
“Your Imperial Majesty. This man is likely not who he says he is, and he has likely come here to kill you, or worse, the prince and princess. We cannot afford to take chances with your life on the line.”
Lady Deirdre took another precious step closer. “You have no proof he is an assassin! If you truly suspect him of malfeasance, then escort him somewhere and question him. I will not have you executing people for such small reasons!”
The baron was stunned silent. For a moment, nobody moved.
The empress took one more step. She was less than twenty feet away now. “What is your reason for seeking me out?”
“I…” Tristan began, “come bearing a message from your family.”
“Let him through,” Lady Deirdre ordered. The great knight lowered his axe, and the baron stepped aside. Tristan took two panicked strides forward, reaching into his satchel and drawing out the Book.
“Wait, is that-“
“STOP!”
It was too late. Without sparing a moment to greet or exchange words with the empress, Tristan thrust the Book into her hands.
“Kill them!” came a shout from far off, and an instant later the area was awash with dark magic. The great knight dropped dead in an instant, with the baron following close after him. Tristan fell to his knees at the foot of the empress, still clutching the book unmoving. The cold of Jormungandr flowed over him, its pain excruciating. He struggled to keep his head above the ground.
Before his life could finish ebbing away, he felt warmth above him, and the crushing darkness of Jormungandr abated. Still crumpled on the ground, he couldn’t help but smile with relief.
A moment later, the world went white.