SYMDF 21

Chapter 21

 

Duke Craiger, equally suspicious of the uninvited guest, stiffened his expression before turning to Ion with quiet instruction.

“I had better go greet him. Rest here for now, Ion.”

Ion nodded and nestled back beneath his blankets. Once the door shut, the old butler patted him gently, a soft, steady rhythm.

Tok. Tok. Tok…

Despite having slept enough to numb his body, Ion found drowsiness pressing in again. He was just slipping into a haze when an unfamiliar voice echoed close to his chamber.

“Forgive this rudeness in intruding, my lord Duke.”

The voice was young—still unformed, yet trying to sound poised. Footsteps approached, each louder than the last.

“It has been long since I paid my respects, Your Highness. But what brings you this far…?”

“I recalled it had been some time since I heard of the young heir’s dire illness—and realized I had not yet visited.”

The timing was ill; even the Duke’s taut face showed he doubted the sincerity of such concern. Yet, brazenly, the guest marched on until a knock came at Ion’s own bedroom door.

Knock-knock, a perfunctory double tap, and in the next instant the Crown Prince burst in.

“My lord Prince—my son is sleeping!” the Duke admonished sharply, irritation clear.

But the boy ignored him, pushing the door wide. He tilted his head with a smirk at the sight of Ion, half-risen already on his pillows.

“His eyes are open enough.”

[Vernian Ferrendo Clodel
Age: 15
Occupation: Crown Prince
Note: Half-brother to Camillus Valderas Clodel, Viscount]

So Camillus is the elder brother… and only a year apart.

Yet the half-brothers scarcely resembled each other. Their only similarity lay faintly in the eyes—both blue, but Vernian’s paler, thinner. The personalities, undoubtedly, diverged even more.

Ion met the Prince’s gaze steadily. Vernian chuckled, stepping forward to extend a hand.

“It’s been a while, Ion. Since His Majesty’s birthday banquet, I think.”

The casual tone was improper, but Ion had a feeling it matched expectations. Rather than take the offered hand, he bowed slightly and answered politely.

“My apologies for not having visited Your Highness—I’ve been ill.”

Then he gauged the Prince’s reaction. If Ion Craiger had ever spoken down familiarly, this Crown Prince might have taken it as grave insult. Ion forced a courteous smile.

Vernian paused, eyes narrowing strangely, before withdrawing his hand with a cough.

“Hmph. You do look frailer than before… So the rumors of severity are true?”

The words skirted insult. Ion glanced toward his father for direction. Calmly, Duke Craiger interposed.

“Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. But my son is unwell—why not speak with me in my study instead?”

He gestured outward. But Vernian did not move. Instead he spoke brazenly:

“I did not come here to converse with you, my lord Duke.”

The Duke’s expression hardened briefly. Yet seasoned noble that he was, he answered smoothly:

“Then may I ask, for what purpose are you here? My son is too ill to play companion for Your Highness this evening.”

Vernian laughed, shaking his head as if dismissing the very idea. Then his blue eyes slid back to Ion, gleaming with unsettling intent.

“They say even your household physicians and mages cannot cure you. So—I brought someone along who might.”

“A… mage?” the Duke asked, turning toward the corridor.

A figure stepped forward. Cloaked in long grey, hood drawn low, even gender was indistinguishable. Shrouded, silent, somehow foreboding.

“Perhaps not sickness at all, but a curse,” Vernian explained.

Both Ion and the Duke stiffened. The Duke moved subtly to stand at Ion’s bedside, between the mage and his heir.

“Your Highness,” he said coolly, “forgive me, but I cannot entrust my sick child to an unknown figure.”

Well said, father.

Ion inwardly cheered, relieved his father voiced what he could not. Yet Vernian pressed.

“I vouch for them. Is that not enough?”

The Duke smiled politely but raised a hand.

“Then let your companion remove the hood, Your Highness.”

At that, Vernian’s eyes flashed with offense. But the Duke stood unshaken, unwilling to yield ground in his own house.

The standoff simmered—the Crown Prince and the Duke glaring one another down as silence thickened.

“Forgive me, my lord Duke.”

The cloaked mage suddenly bowed. One knee touched the floor, a pale white hand pressing against the stone.

“As a child I was scarred by demonic corruption. My face is disfigured. I beg pardon I cannot show it.”

Vernian added quickly, “It’s true, I’ve seen it—the face could make one faint.”

“…”

The Duke remained unmoved. Vernian exhaled, exasperated.

“I searched myself for a master mage when word reached me your son worsened day by day. I even petitioned the Towerlord himself—this mage comes from the Tower.”

“…A Tower mage?” the Duke frowned.

Pouncing on the change, Vernian pressed rapidly:

“The Tower’s skill needs no explanation. Their worth is not in question—only your pride obstructs it.”

The Duke turned briefly to Ion, weighing.

Indeed, the Mage Tower owed allegiance to the Clodel dynasty since an old imperial pact. Even a great Duke could not command them unchecked. That the Prince had secured one’s presence here was unusual.

Though every instinct resisted the boy’s presumptuousness, the Duke relented—for Ion’s sake.

“…Very well. But it shall be in the main hall. With my knights present.”

“That is acceptable,” Vernian nodded smugly.

The Duke approached Ion, preparing to lift him. Ion’s thin arms looped around his father’s neck as he whispered softly:

“Do not fear, Ion. Will you endure this?”

“…Yes, Father,” Ion answered.

None of the healers or mages had ever succeeded. Likely this hooded stranger would be no different. Still—perhaps even learning the type of curse could point the way toward its source.

Ion resolved to cooperate.

As his father bore him through the corridor, they passed close to the hooded mage—at which point a system message flickered.

[Unable to retrieve target’s information.]

Because the face is hidden? Ion frowned.

Until now, details had always appeared, even if vague, once a person was near. But this? This was the first error of its kind.

Suspicion prickled sharp in his gut. He stared openly at the mage all the way down toward the hall. Yet no further messages appeared.