Spring sat in her carriage, wearing a brand new silk dress.
These rags must have cost a fortune. She considered her silver-colored garb, which she found hardly any different from the rough hunter’s uniform she had worn on the way back. It was more expensive, softer, and cooler against her artificial skin, but as far as she was concerned, those were the only differences.
At least they were kind enough to provide me with a veil without me having to ask for one. I must make a fake tongue, I recall crafting a dozen of them with molasses stuck to a tendril I grew inside my mouth. I’m familiar with the process, but why couldn’t the humans have made a simple graft which could replace a tongue? Probably because it’s only esthetic once you have a second-voice, plus you don’t have to worry about feeding an extra graft.
Spring stared out the window, the very image of a bored young heiress gazing into the night. The carriage advanced at a trot because of the outer city’s irregular streets, moving slower than Spring could run. As she observed the sturdy buildings and the paved stones, they overlapped with the vision of this town’s ruined future. The clopping of iron against stone echoed in Spring’s artificial ears, sounding like humanity’s blind, unstoppable march towards doom as they poked things beyond their understanding.
She sat, alone with her thoughts, in the cabin covered in silver satin, planning her immediate and long-term future, preparing for the first encounter with her family.
Unfortunately, Darin did not know, or did not dare gossip about the Searing family children, and Spring had no memory of such unremarkable characters, who had probably died to wildlings. Given her circumstances, she formed several basic plans, greetings, and approaches depending on how things played out.
The carriage passed another tunnel, this one twenty meters long, and emerged into the wide streets with spacious sidewalks. Crystal City’s defenses were abandoned. Impressive avenues and parks testified of the residents’ fearless wealth, rather than the militant readiness they expected from the middle class.
Spring recalled this area as a trampled ruin, a scene of gore, massacre, and leftovers after the wildlings’ feast. I wonder whether they would have survived had they fortified this line of defense?
Spring looked back out the window, watching the gigantic wall, which the wildlings had crushed into a jagged rock formation. Probably not. If wildlings managed to destroy such massive walls, there was at least one level four in that pack, maybe multiple.
Spring closed the curtain and severed the input from her eyes, leaving them wide open as she sank deep in thought. She tried to remember any relevant information about the Searing Flame clan, anything that could help her in her current situation. However, she failed to recall anything important. The figure of Salazar Sun and his purge of blighted and folk alike dominated her memories.
Spring’s eyes were still disconnected when the marble steeds drew to a halt. With a simple thought, she reconnected with her second-eyes just as a servant opened the carriage door.
“Welcome home, Young Miss,” the lackey greeted with a dispassionate voice. He wore silver and black livery, his back bent at forty-five degrees, his eyes fixed on the ground, the very model of a subservient protected.
Spring said nothing. It was beneath Jasmine’s status to address a common footman. And yet, other than the servant, there was nobody to welcome her.
“Where is everyone?”
“Young Masters and Young Misses are sleeping,” he maintained his flat tone, but Spring caught him shiver ever so slightly.
Sleeping? If everything was the way I expected it should be, they should have run here off a composter. Something is wrong. He did not mention Jasmine’s parents, just her siblings. However, an amnesiac can’t draw such conclusions.
“Oh?” she asked, her voice tinged with naive disappointment. “Who will lead me to my room, then?”
“I will summon a maid for you, Young Miss,” the servant kept his calm and avoided the duty, alarming Spring further.
Protected should use every chance they have to suck up to me. What did I miss?
Spring waited outside. The night was warm, the air pleasantly humid from vapor rising from the fountains and ponds. Despite her foul mood, Spring enjoyed the lingering aroma of flowers which came from the Searing family gardens and the play of light of open flames against the succulent, glossy hedge leaves forming human-shaped topiaries.
It’s strange they call wildlings topiary horrors, yet they decorate their gardens with sculpted shrubs they call topiaries. Faced with the unfamiliar situation, Spring gave up on planning. Until she gathered more information, making further plans was a waste of her mental faculties.
A flustered young serving girl took needlessly long to arrive. Her face was pale, and her brow covered with sweat. She stared at Spring blankly for a moment, then stuttered a barely intelligible, “Please, follow me, Young Miss,” before scurrying into the manor.
Given the choice of torturing the girl for information, or disregarding her queer behavior, Spring chose the latter, pretending not to notice the disrespect her servants have displayed. She did not make the decision out of kindness, but because she was feigning to suffer from hemophobia.
Spring ignored the mansion’s opulence and the extreme cost of everything from carpets to lighters, special luminous plants mounted on walls to provide lightning. All she saw was wasted potential to raise hundreds if not thousands of grafts, which might have saved the Searing Flame clan.
She followed the serving girl, climbing the upper floor and taking several turns through the massive structure. Finally, they stopped before a three-meter-tall gilded door.
“We’re here, Young Miss,” the maid opened the door and escaped without waiting for Spring to dismiss her.
Spring stared after her as she ran, unable to comprehend what was happening. That kind of disrespect can get her killed? What is she thinking?
Spring entered the bedroom, closing the door behind herself. The room was ten by ten meters, the ceiling five meters tall. Seventy-nine potted plants provided illumination, cleansed the air and kept it at perfect humidity.
She didn’t even tell me how to put the applants to sleep. She glanced at the giant velvet curtains covering the numerous windows, then shifted her gaze to the preposterous three-by-three bed, big enough for five people to sleep comfortably on, or for a dozen people to squeeze together.
Then she moved her attention to the writing desk and the two applants on it. The voice-linker’s root stretched beyond its pot, went along the ground, and disappeared into the wall, connecting the applant with its mother.
Each voice-linker offshoot had a single large, trumpet-shaped flower and as many leaves as the mother plant had offshoots. Depending on which leaf you pressed while speaking into the tube, your voice traveled to a different offshoot, or directly to the mother plant.
The other applant was a composter, the smaller variety than the ones used for toilets, smaller than even the one in Spring’s pitcher. However, it was big enough to dispose of and completely decompose a modest amount of garbage or sensitive documents one needed destroyed beyond recognition.
Spring opened the side doors, revealing a perversely spacious ensuite bathroom, a walk-in closet, and a dressing room with several giant mirrors and a desk for putting on makeup.
She approached the desk and smirked after finding it empty. Right, Jasmine Sun was perfect. She had no need for makeup and even if she dressed in rags, her beauty would outshine all other beauties of the world.
Since that’s the case, and Jasmine is so special, why are they treating me like this? If they suspected I was a blighted, they would have dissected me by now and pieces of me would float within jars inside the Searing family’s research laboratories.
Spring racked her brain, but could find no reason for the cold welcome. She even expected open hostility and imprisonment, but never considered she would be ignored. Helpless, she went to bed and pretended to sleep while meditating and refining the tiny amount of mana she had within her.
***
Darin was covered in sweat. He and the rest of the guys had been running for over an hour. Without giving them a moment’s respite, or even a mug of water to drink, the council guards ushered them into the high council’s council chamber.
They stood at the center of the room, blinded by a bright light, panting like exhausted nags.
“Tell us everything about how you found Jasmine Searing and describe the scene,” a ruthless, wizened voice scratched at Darin’s ear, making him shudder. “We have received messenger flacons with reports from other outposts. However, you came to the clanhold directly instead of heading to your outpost and waiting for our escort. Why?”
“Um,” Darin gasped for breath, uncertain which question to answer first, or how much he could lie to the council of elders. “Honorable elders, it was like this. That night, our commander saw the priority one flare. He sent me as the healer, along with Terrion, Maareb, Jinnan, and Mishael, who were meant to help in case the survivors needed…”
sleepydad88
Hello, thanks for reading! Liking chapters, and for leaving comments. Special thanks to the kind person, who left a rating, it means a lot to know you like the story. It helps knowing I'm not throwing words into the abyss of the internet. Have a nice day!
Spring sat in her carriage, wearing a brand new silk dress.
These rags must have cost a fortune. She considered her silver-colored garb, which she found hardly any different from the rough hunter’s uniform she had worn on the way back. It was more expensive, softer, and cooler against her artificial skin, but as far as she was concerned, those were the only differences.
At least they were kind enough to provide me with a veil without me having to ask for one. I must make a fake tongue, I recall crafting a dozen of them with molasses stuck to a tendril I grew inside my mouth. I’m familiar with the process, but why couldn’t the humans have made a simple graft which could replace a tongue? Probably because it’s only esthetic once you have a second-voice, plus you don’t have to worry about feeding an extra graft.
Spring stared out the window, the very image of a bored young heiress gazing into the night. The carriage advanced at a trot because of the outer city’s irregular streets, moving slower than Spring could run. As she observed the sturdy buildings and the paved stones, they overlapped with the vision of this town’s ruined future. The clopping of iron against stone echoed in Spring’s artificial ears, sounding like humanity’s blind, unstoppable march towards doom as they poked things beyond their understanding.
She sat, alone with her thoughts, in the cabin covered in silver satin, planning her immediate and long-term future, preparing for the first encounter with her family.
Unfortunately, Darin did not know, or did not dare gossip about the Searing family children, and Spring had no memory of such unremarkable characters, who had probably died to wildlings. Given her circumstances, she formed several basic plans, greetings, and approaches depending on how things played out.
The carriage passed another tunnel, this one twenty meters long, and emerged into the wide streets with spacious sidewalks. Crystal City’s defenses were abandoned. Impressive avenues and parks testified of the residents’ fearless wealth, rather than the militant readiness they expected from the middle class.
Spring recalled this area as a trampled ruin, a scene of gore, massacre, and leftovers after the wildlings’ feast. I wonder whether they would have survived had they fortified this line of defense?
Spring looked back out the window, watching the gigantic wall, which the wildlings had crushed into a jagged rock formation. Probably not. If wildlings managed to destroy such massive walls, there was at least one level four in that pack, maybe multiple.
Spring closed the curtain and severed the input from her eyes, leaving them wide open as she sank deep in thought. She tried to remember any relevant information about the Searing Flame clan, anything that could help her in her current situation. However, she failed to recall anything important. The figure of Salazar Sun and his purge of blighted and folk alike dominated her memories.
Spring’s eyes were still disconnected when the marble steeds drew to a halt. With a simple thought, she reconnected with her second-eyes just as a servant opened the carriage door.
“Welcome home, Young Miss,” the lackey greeted with a dispassionate voice. He wore silver and black livery, his back bent at forty-five degrees, his eyes fixed on the ground, the very model of a subservient protected.
Spring said nothing. It was beneath Jasmine’s status to address a common footman. And yet, other than the servant, there was nobody to welcome her.
“Where is everyone?”
“Young Masters and Young Misses are sleeping,” he maintained his flat tone, but Spring caught him shiver ever so slightly.
Sleeping? If everything was the way I expected it should be, they should have run here off a composter. Something is wrong. He did not mention Jasmine’s parents, just her siblings. However, an amnesiac can’t draw such conclusions.
“Oh?” she asked, her voice tinged with naive disappointment. “Who will lead me to my room, then?”
“I will summon a maid for you, Young Miss,” the servant kept his calm and avoided the duty, alarming Spring further.
Protected should use every chance they have to suck up to me. What did I miss?
Spring waited outside. The night was warm, the air pleasantly humid from vapor rising from the fountains and ponds. Despite her foul mood, Spring enjoyed the lingering aroma of flowers which came from the Searing family gardens and the play of light of open flames against the succulent, glossy hedge leaves forming human-shaped topiaries.
It’s strange they call wildlings topiary horrors, yet they decorate their gardens with sculpted shrubs they call topiaries. Faced with the unfamiliar situation, Spring gave up on planning. Until she gathered more information, making further plans was a waste of her mental faculties.
A flustered young serving girl took needlessly long to arrive. Her face was pale, and her brow covered with sweat. She stared at Spring blankly for a moment, then stuttered a barely intelligible, “Please, follow me, Young Miss,” before scurrying into the manor.
Given the choice of torturing the girl for information, or disregarding her queer behavior, Spring chose the latter, pretending not to notice the disrespect her servants have displayed. She did not make the decision out of kindness, but because she was feigning to suffer from hemophobia.
Spring ignored the mansion’s opulence and the extreme cost of everything from carpets to lighters, special luminous plants mounted on walls to provide lightning. All she saw was wasted potential to raise hundreds if not thousands of grafts, which might have saved the Searing Flame clan.
She followed the serving girl, climbing the upper floor and taking several turns through the massive structure. Finally, they stopped before a three-meter-tall gilded door.
“We’re here, Young Miss,” the maid opened the door and escaped without waiting for Spring to dismiss her.
Spring stared after her as she ran, unable to comprehend what was happening. That kind of disrespect can get her killed? What is she thinking?
Spring entered the bedroom, closing the door behind herself. The room was ten by ten meters, the ceiling five meters tall. Seventy-nine potted plants provided illumination, cleansed the air and kept it at perfect humidity.
She didn’t even tell me how to put the applants to sleep. She glanced at the giant velvet curtains covering the numerous windows, then shifted her gaze to the preposterous three-by-three bed, big enough for five people to sleep comfortably on, or for a dozen people to squeeze together.
Then she moved her attention to the writing desk and the two applants on it. The voice-linker’s root stretched beyond its pot, went along the ground, and disappeared into the wall, connecting the applant with its mother.
Each voice-linker offshoot had a single large, trumpet-shaped flower and as many leaves as the mother plant had offshoots. Depending on which leaf you pressed while speaking into the tube, your voice traveled to a different offshoot, or directly to the mother plant.
The other applant was a composter, the smaller variety than the ones used for toilets, smaller than even the one in Spring’s pitcher. However, it was big enough to dispose of and completely decompose a modest amount of garbage or sensitive documents one needed destroyed beyond recognition.
Spring opened the side doors, revealing a perversely spacious ensuite bathroom, a walk-in closet, and a dressing room with several giant mirrors and a desk for putting on makeup.
She approached the desk and smirked after finding it empty. Right, Jasmine Sun was perfect. She had no need for makeup and even if she dressed in rags, her beauty would outshine all other beauties of the world.
Since that’s the case, and Jasmine is so special, why are they treating me like this? If they suspected I was a blighted, they would have dissected me by now and pieces of me would float within jars inside the Searing family’s research laboratories.
Spring racked her brain, but could find no reason for the cold welcome. She even expected open hostility and imprisonment, but never considered she would be ignored. Helpless, she went to bed and pretended to sleep while meditating and refining the tiny amount of mana she had within her.
***
Darin was covered in sweat. He and the rest of the guys had been running for over an hour. Without giving them a moment’s respite, or even a mug of water to drink, the council guards ushered them into the high council’s council chamber.
They stood at the center of the room, blinded by a bright light, panting like exhausted nags.
“Tell us everything about how you found Jasmine Searing and describe the scene,” a ruthless, wizened voice scratched at Darin’s ear, making him shudder. “We have received messenger flacons with reports from other outposts. However, you came to the clanhold directly instead of heading to your outpost and waiting for our escort. Why?”
“Um,” Darin gasped for breath, uncertain which question to answer first, or how much he could lie to the council of elders. “Honorable elders, it was like this. That night, our commander saw the priority one flare. He sent me as the healer, along with Terrion, Maareb, Jinnan, and Mishael, who were meant to help in case the survivors needed…”
sleepydad88
Hello, thanks for reading! Liking chapters, and for leaving comments. Special thanks to the kind person, who left a rating, it means a lot to know you like the story. It helps knowing I'm not throwing words into the abyss of the internet. Have a nice day!
