Embers of Frost

Chapter 24 - Dusk

Dusk stared at Marion, trying to gauge her reaction. He was expecting her to be shocked from his words or deny it to even be possible. But she did nothing of the sort. She was silent, her unflinching gaze fixated on Dusk. He stared back at her, expecting a reaction any moment now. But when she finally spoke, her tone was devoid of any emotion.

"So that would mean that you aren't King Althalos' real son," Marion said slowly.

He nodded and gave her a tight-lipped smile. "That probably isn't very surprising to you. What with all the rumors flying around the kingdom, no one believes me to be of," he lowered his voice here, "royal blood anyway. And Charles must have already told you too, I'm guessing."

Marion was just staring at him, her eyes starting to grow wider with each passing moment. "You're right," she said. "I already knew that. But you're saying you don't have your memories? You don't remember anything from before?"

"That's what I just said."

"I... see. That's quite a tragedy indeed."

Another emotion flitted across Marion's face for a mere moment but it was gone before Dusk could identify it. He clapped his hands together. "Well, let's get a move on. We still haven't made any progress with our real goal here." He started walking away from her only to realize that she hadn't even moved an inch yet. "What are you waiting for?"

"Oh, nothing." She shook her head to herself and jogged up to him. "Just was a little caught up in my thoughts."

Dusk nodded and resuming walking once more, looking around himself. He had been so caught up in talking to Marion all this time, he had barely paid any attention to his surroundings. They were standing in a dimly lit alley, candles flickering above their heads. There was darkness stretching ahead and behind them, not a single man to be seen. The stench from an open latrine wafted near them. He pinched his nose with his forefinger and thumb at once.

"How do people even manage to live here?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled. "This is disgusting."

"It's their home, they're used to it," she replied in a low tone. "I don't think we're going to find anyone here. We should get back to the main street."

She quickened her pace to a hasty walk, not waiting for Dusk to catch up. He was about to follow when suddenly someone grasped his ankle. A gasp had just escaped him, when he felt a large hand clamp over his mouth. He didn't even have time to react as someone pushed him into the stretching darkness.

The person released their hold right then. Before he could balance himself, his feet tripped and he came crashing to the ground. There was the sound of a bolt being locked, the soft poof of candles being lit. There was light, there was silence.

Dusk poked his head up with a frustrated groan, squinting from the sudden bright light. He could make out the outline of a hunched figure in front of him. When it finally came to view, he yelped and leapt off the ground.

An old man was sitting in front of him, legs crossed. His long graying hair were draped over his shoulders and back, a ragged beard stretching down. He was very scantily dressed, in only a gray vest and tights. There was a wooden goblet in his hands, a red liquid sloshing at the surface. The man raised it to his lips and took a long draft. He sighed.

"I see that you're distressed, young man," he said, his voice hoarse. "There is no need to worry anymore. I shall reveal those threads of destiny that bind you to your future."

"Threads of what?" Dusk asked skeptically. "No wait, who are you? And where am I?" He finally had the moment to take a look around himself. He was standing in a small room, barely big enough to accommodate five people. There was a small cot pressed against the wall, a wooden cage on top of it. A brown mouse was clawing at the bars, squeaking at the new intruder. A shelf had been pinned up above the cot, various objects lying inside it: cups, bowls of tea leaves, a stack of cards and an odd shining ball.