Chapter 493: A Visit from Affection
A Visit from Affection
If working in the warehouse had felt monotonous to the point of tedium, staying isolated in the small house seemed a double dose. It was basically just a big room with a fireplace, a chair and a worktable, and a mattress with two blankets in the corner.
His sole escape from the four walls surrounding him was a window allowing the room to be aired out more effectively than just through the chimney, but he was only allowed to open the shutters at night when the street outside would be empty. Even if nothing happened during that time, he pulled his chair to sit and stare out at the desolate street with its one remaining streetlamp; the others had their lightstone plundered to create the barrier around the copper lanes.
Martel might sit for an hour or longer to look out at the world beyond his reach, hoping for even just the small thrill of a cat running past on its nocturnal adventures, until weariness and the cold air made him seek sleep.
The rest of the time, he worked with the occasional break to eat. Every now and then, a knock on the door during the day announced a delivery; he would wait a brief while before opening up to quickly grab food, water, and reagents to make potions. As for those he made, they stood stacked in a corner; once his isolation came to an end, he would bring them to the warehouse. Until then, should he begin to develop symptoms, he had plenty of cures at hand, at least, but so far, he seemed to have avoided contagion.
Martel could simply drink one of his own potions and thereby end the need for further isolation, but every elixir meant saving one person in the copper lanes who might otherwise be likely to perish; thus he endured his exile, day in and day out.
*** contemporary romance
On the third day, someone knocked on his door, but to Martel's surprise, it was followed by a familiar voice speaking. "Martel?"
"Eleanor? Is that you?" He walked over to stand by the door.
"Yes. Word at the school spread of your absence and why."
Mistress Rana must have sent a message to explain why he was not in class, Martel considered. "I'd invite you in," he jested, "but you'd have to stay in here with me."
"That would not be so bad," she replied, which made him feel a tingle in his stomach. "We are training every available hour these days, it feels like. Our examination is in a month's time, so Master Reynard is working us hard."
"So is mine, I think. Around that time, anyway." He sank down to sit with his back against the door. A small tremor through the wood moments later told him that Eleanor had done the same.
"How do you feel about it? You are working so much with alchemy, it cannot give you many opportunities to practise your fire magic."
"It'll be fine. I doubt the Empire is going to fail their only prospective fire-touched battlemage."
"You do have a certain kind of employment safety," Eleanor mused.
"How about you? I've seen you in class, you must be feeling confident too."
"I suppose. Certainly, I will not be denied becoming an officer, I am sure. They are only strict when selecting praetorians."
"Is Maximilian worried? I haven't really seen much of him lately."
"If he is, he hides it well. But he does practise constantly, even outside of class. So it is no surprise if you see little of him."
And soon, it would be too late; Maximilian would stay in Morcaster while Martel left for the front. "I thought with his father's connections, his place in the Praetorian Guard was assured. But I guess if anyone can motivate Max, it would be his father."
"Maybe he wants to prove that he has earned it on his own merit."
"Do you know what the final examination consists of? I've not heard anyone really talk about it."
"For us, it is quite simple. We will be fighting each other like a simple tournament, and we will be ranked according to our results," Eleanor explained. "Those who do best will be given first choice as to their career. Become a praetorian or join a legion of their choosing. Those who perform worse will be assigned as needed."
Such as becoming protector to a battlemage, Martel thought. "I doubt our examination will be done like that, though."
"What about the other fire acolytes? There must be rumours passed down from older students or something like that."
"Fire acolytes, we don't really talk to other students. We don't even talk to each other, even if we got classes together every day."
"That sounds a little strange. Even if not everyone likes everyone, we mageknights get along well enough to spend our time together. Certainly, we share what we know about our classes and anything else related to the school."
"Have you ever seen us fire acolytes together?"
"Well, I see you all when we have class together."
Martel smiled, even if she could not see him. "Exactly. Only when we are forced to be within ten paces of each other."
"I see your point."
Although he could not know for sure, he imagined that she smiled as well. It made him emotional to think that just a wooden door separated them, yet he could not see or touch her. "We are known for our tempers for a reason, I suppose. And our teacher pits us against each other to motivate us."
"I remember seeing her the few times she came to the arena to watch you practice. She looks – unusual."
"Trust me, whatever you imagine about her, the truth is much worse."
"I shall take your word for it. I should be getting back before my next class, but I left something for you on the doorstep to help you pass the hours. Goodbye, Martel."
"That's kind of you. Goodbye, Eleanor."
He waited a little while as per protocol before he opened the door to find a small, round basket outside, of the sort that the girls back home would use for collecting berries or nuts in the forest. He wondered where Eleanor had gotten this; he could not imagine her foraging for food in the woods.
Placing it on his table, Martel saw a book laid carefully on the top, giving him a reading material for many hours. It looked to be another tale of adventures akin to the one Eleanor had lent him when he was in the infirmary after being attacked. Underneath, the rest of the basket contained different kinds of sugarbread.
Martel felt a wave of affection towards his friend for showing him this kindness, and he decided that working on his next potion could wait a while. Grabbing the book and some of the pastry, he made himself as comfortable as he could sitting on his mattress, back against the wall, and began reading.
