Chapter 232: Forbidden knowledge |
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Lady Laelyn said, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. "I was wondering if we might chat for a bit before dinner."
"Of course," I replied, then realized I was still blocking the doorway. "Please, come in."
I stepped aside, allowing her to enter the modest chamber. The room felt suddenly smaller with her presence, as if the walls had contracted to accommodate her. Lady Laelyn glanced around, clearly uncertain where to position herself in the sparse furnishings.
"You can sit on the bed," I offered, then immediately regretted my phrasing. "I mean—that is—it's the only real seating, unless you'd prefer the chest."
A slight smile touched her lips. "The bed is fine, thank you."
She perched gracefully on the edge of the mattress, smoothing out her skirt. I sat on the wooden chest across from her, maintaining a respectful distance.
The silence stretched between us, broken only by the muffled sounds of the inn: footsteps in the corridor, the clatter of dishes from below, occasional bursts of laughter from the common room.
"The clothes are very comfortable," I said finally, gesturing at my new attire. "Thank you for your generosity."
"They suit you," she replied, then seemed embarrassed by her own observation. "I mean, they're more appropriate than... well..."
Her laughter was unexpected, a light, genuine sound that transformed her face, softening the formal lines of nobility into something more accessible. "Yes, exactly that."
Another silence fell, but less strained this time. Lady Laelyn's fingers fidgeted slightly with the embroidered edge of her sleeve.
"I wanted to thank you again," she said finally. "Not just for the warning that saved my life, but for... for the conversation during our journey." Her eyes met mine briefly before flicking away. "It made what could have been a tense and frightening travel much more pleasant."
"I enjoyed it too," I replied truthfully. Conversation with Lady Laelyn had been surprisingly engaging, her perspective on the world was thoughtful, if somewhat sheltered by her noble upbringing.
"Did you?" she asked, a note of genuine surprise in her voice. "Most people find conversation with me... difficult."
"Difficult?" I echoed, genuinely curious. "Why would that be?"
Lady Laelyn's shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "My family, House Vareyn, is considered declining nobility. We've lost much of our influence over generations, though we maintain certain... traditions." Her fingers brushed unconsciously against her throat, where I assumed a family emblem might normally rest. "Other noble houses tend to avoid close association, lest our misfortune prove contagious."
"And common folk?" I prompted.
"Even worse in some ways," she sighed. "They're so careful, so afraid of giving offense. As if I'd have someone flogged for speaking out of turn." She laughed softly, though there was a hint of sadness in it. "I sometimes wonder if anyone sees me at all, rather than simply my title."
I leaned back, studying her with new interest. The burden of nobility was something I understood theoretically but had never personally experienced. In my original world, status had been important, but not insurmountable. Here, the divisions seemed more rigid, more defining.
"That sounds... lonely.”
"It can be," she admitted softly. "That's why I enjoyed our talk in the wagon. You spoke to me as... well, as a person. Not as 'my lady' or 'noble one' or whatever title seemed safest."
I offered a small shrug. "Perhaps it's because I'm not from your world. Village life is... was... simpler. We judged people by their actions, not their titles."
This wasn't entirely fabrication.
My perspective had been shaped by experience, back on Earth I'd once lived in a society that valued, at least in principle, the concept that all people deserved equal treatment regardless of station. In cultivation worlds, power dictated status with brutal efficiency, but I'd never fully embraced that hierarchy in my heart.
"That's refreshing," she said. "I sometimes think all the ceremony and protocol exists primarily to keep people at arm's length."
"May I ask you something?" I ventured, seeing an opportunity to gather information.
"Of course."
"You mentioned traveling to Hyelin City, but your ultimate destination is the Cerulean Spire," I said carefully. "Isn't that taking you out of your way?"
"You're right," she nodded. "The Blue Sun Academy lies to the northwest, while Hyelin City is directly north of here. But we're not traveling alone all the way to the Spire."
"You're meeting someone in Hyelin?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
"My father has a friend there—Lord Kaeven of House Rimaris," she explained. "His family has maintained a strong position despite... political shifts. He's agreed to provide escort from Hyelin to the Academy, ensuring we arrive safely for the selection ceremony."
I nodded, pieces falling into place. "So, once you reach Lord Kaeven, you'll have proper protection against these assassins."
"Yes, he’ll be providing us with at least two Rank 3 Lightweavers.” She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt. “But like my father, I believe loyalty is worth more than hired strength that might be bought by opposing houses."
"Loyal like Beric," I agreed.
A fond smile touched her lips. "He used to carry me on his shoulders when I was small. Now he carries the weight of my safety on those same shoulders."
I could see the genuine affection in her expression. This wasn't a calculated relationship between noble and servant, but something deeper, familial almost, transcending the usual boundaries of class and station.
"But after my name was put forward as a candidate, he's been... intense,” she sighed. “Everything is a potential threat. Everyone a potential assassin." She cast me an apologetic glance. "Even half-dead village boys stumbling out of forests."
I chuckled. "A reasonable caution, given what happened later."
"True," she conceded. "But I've always believed in trusting my instincts about people. And my instincts about you were correct."
"Were they?" I asked, genuinely curious about how she perceived me.
"Yes. You're..." she paused, studying me with those remarkable eyes. "You're genuine. Resourceful. Observant." Her head tilted slightly. "And something else I can't quite place."
I felt a flutter of unease but maintained my expression, neither confirming nor denying her assessment.
"Growing up in a small village teaches observation," I said carefully. "Noticing when storms are approaching, when animals are behaving strangely, when strangers might pose a threat, it's survival."
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She nodded, seemingly accepting this explanation. "I suppose city folk lose that skill. Too many people, too much noise. We stop noticing the important details."
"How did they find you?" I asked, changing the subject back to her but I was also genuinely curious. "The assassins, I mean."
Lady Laelyn sighed, looking troubled. "That's what concerns me. We arranged several decoy caravans departing in different directions. Each followed a separate route that might reasonably lead to the Cerulean Spire eventually. For the routes to be exposed, it means…”
"There’s a traitor," I finished for her.
"Unfortunately, yes," she agreed. "Though whether in my father's household or the Lord’s, I can't say."
I found myself analyzing the situation automatically. "The attack was well-coordinated but not particularly powerful. If they'd wanted to kill you with certainty, they should have sent higher-ranked Lightweavers."
"Oh, I'm sure they did," she replied with a sad smile. "Higher-ranked Lightweavers are extremely expensive to hire for assassination work, so they couldn't afford to place them with every caravan. We were fortunate that our particular pursuers were merely initiates." She shook her head. "Had a Rank 2 or higher been assigned to our route, I doubt we'd be having this conversation."
A contemplative silence fell between us.
"You mentioned being born with the Cerulean Vein," I ventured, seizing the opportunity to learn more. "How did your family discover this trait in you?"
Lady Laelyn's hand unconsciously rose to her forehead, though no mark was visible there. "It manifested early. As an infant, I would... glow... when the blue sun reached its zenith. My nursemaids were terrified until my father recognized the signs." A wistful smile touched her lips. "He'd seen it once before, in his great-aunt. She became a Lightweaver of some renown."
"So, it runs in families?"
"Sometimes. Not always. It can appear in anyone, noble or common." She looked at me with sudden intensity. "That's why the Lightweavers search everywhere for those with the gift. Talent isn't restricted to bloodlines, though some houses like to pretend otherwise."
This aligned with what I knew of cultivation systems.
While family techniques and inherited aptitudes existed, true talent often appeared randomly throughout populations. Which explained why sects cast their nets widely.
"And the... absorption ability," I continued. "Is that common among those with the Cerulean Vein?"
"No," she said, a touch of pride entering her voice. "That's quite rare, actually. Most with the Vein can channel light to some degree, but absorption, direct intake of blue sun energy, is less common. And considered particularly auspicious for a potential Saintess."
"Because you're literally taking in the blue sun's power?"
"Exactly. The Saintess is meant to be a vessel for the First Light's will. My ability suggests a natural affinity for that role." She seemed to catch herself, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Or so the elders say. I try not to put too much stock in such things."
But her expression suggested otherwise, she did care about the symbolism, perhaps more than she wanted to admit. Being chosen as Saintess clearly meant a great deal to her, beyond mere political advantage.
"What happens if you absorb too much?" I asked, genuinely curious about the mechanics. "Is there a limit?"
A shadow crossed her face. "Yes. The human form can only contain so much celestial energy. Exceed that threshold and..." Her voice dropped lower. "The body simply burns away from within. Like a paper lantern holding too large a flame."
I nodded, understanding completely.
The principle was similar to qi deviation in traditional cultivation: channels overwhelmed, meridians ruptured, the practitioner consumed by their own power. Every system had its breaking point.
"That's why the selection ritual is dangerous," I surmised. "You have to absorb as much as possible without crossing that threshold."
"Yes. It's a delicate balance. Push too far and you die. Too cautious and another candidate becomes Saintess." Her fingers knotted together in her lap. "Many have been lost during the Cerulean Immersion over the centuries."
"And you're willing to take that risk?"
The question hung in the air between us, more personal than I'd intended. But Lady Laelyn didn't seem offended. Instead, she appeared to consider it seriously, her gaze turning inward.
"I believe I have a purpose," she said finally. "The Blue Sun has marked me from birth. If becoming Saintess is that purpose, then the risk is worthwhile. If not..." She shrugged slightly. "Then I'll serve the Light in whatever capacity I'm meant to."
Her certainty was both impressive and slightly unsettling.
In my experience, those who believed themselves chosen by higher powers were either delusional or dangerously ambitious. But Lady Laelyn seemed neither, there was a genuine humility in her acceptance of what she viewed as her destiny.
"Why do you want to be Saintess?" I asked directly. "Is it for your family's advancement, your own ambition, or do you truly believe in the Blue Sun's vision?"
"All three, if I'm being honest," she answered after a thoughtful pause. "I do want to restore my family's standing, not for pride but because influence allows us to protect our people. And yes, there's personal ambition too. I've trained my entire life for this role; I believe I would excel at it."
She smoothed a fold in her dress before continuing. "But most importantly, I genuinely believe in what the Blue Sun represents. Healing rather than harming. Growth rather than destruction. The balance that was lost years ago.”
"Balance?" I repeated, intrigued by her choice of words. "I thought the Orders were fundamentally opposed."
"They are now," she agreed. "But it wasn't always so. The ancient texts speak of a time when both suns were honored equally, red for transformation and power, blue for healing and insight. They were meant to complement each other, not compete."
"Master," Azure's voice whispered in my mind, "her perspective aligns remarkably well with what we observed in your inner world. The balance of both energies creates something greater than either alone."
I acknowledged Azure's observation silently. The dual suns orbiting in perfect harmony within my inner world did seem to suggest a natural balance rather than opposition.
"So, you don't believe the Red Sun is inherently corrupting?" I asked carefully.
Laelyn hesitated, glancing toward the door as if concerned about being overheard expressing heretical thoughts.
"What I believe," she said finally, her voice low, "is that both suns have the potential for good and ill. The Blue Sun can blind as easily as it illuminates. The Red Sun can transform for better or worse. It's how we channel and direct their energies that matters."
"That's a dangerous perspective in the current climate," I observed.
She smiled wryly. "Hence why I don't share it widely. The Order's orthodox position is that the Blue Sun is inherently purifying and the Red Sun inherently corrupting. To suggest otherwise would be... politically unwise."
"Yet you would become the spiritual leader of an Order whose fundamental belief you question?" I couldn't keep the skepticism from my voice.
"To change something, sometimes you must work from within," she replied simply. "As Saintess, I could gradually shift the Order's perspective, perhaps even begin healing the rift between the two sun traditions."
"A noble goal," I said, "but one that might get you branded a heretic if expressed too openly."
She laughed softly. "Indeed. Which is why I'm surprised to find myself sharing these thoughts with you, a boy I met just hours ago." Her expression turned curious. "There's something about you that inspires trust, Tomas. Or perhaps near-death experiences simply make one careless with secrets."
I smiled noncommittally, though inwardly I was analyzing this revelation.
If Laelyn truly believed in balancing both sun energies, she might be more receptive to my own dual-cultivation approach than I'd initially assumed. This could prove useful if she became Saintess and my cover was exposed.
"Your perspective makes sense to me," I offered. "In Porvale, we always said that nature thrives on balance. Too much rain drowns the crops, too little withers them. Why would the suns be different?"
My smile turned sad as the words left my mouth, the weight of my supposed loss suddenly pressing down on me. I looked away, remembering that I needed to play the part of a boy whose entire world had just been destroyed by the Red Sun's followers.
"I'm sorry," Laelyn said quickly, reaching out to touch my arm. "How insensitive of me to philosophize about balance when you've just lost everything to the Red Sun's violence."
I shook my head, blinking back the tears that seemed appropriate for the moment. "No, what you're saying still makes sense. It's just... difficult for me right now, after all that's happened."
"Of course it is," she said gently. "Those who've lost loved ones to the Red Sun's followers would naturally struggle to accept any perspective that doesn't condemn it entirely. Your pain is valid, Tomas."
She withdrew her hand but held my gaze with compassion in her eyes. "Perhaps that's the greatest challenge: finding that balance not just in power but in understanding. I hope someday, when the wounds aren't so fresh, people like you might come to see what I see. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday."
"Maybe," I whispered.
A comfortable silence fell between us.
Through the window, I could see the last rays of the red sun disappearing below the horizon, its crimson light giving way to the cooler blue illumination of the night sun. The transition between the two celestial bodies created a brief, beautiful moment where the world was bathed in purple light, the perfect balance of both energies.
Laelyn followed my gaze to the window. "The transitional hour," she murmured. "Some of the older texts call it 'the moment of harmony.' It's when both suns exert equal influence, neither dominating the other."
"It's beautiful," I said truthfully.
"And powerful," she added. "Did you know that certain rituals can only be performed during this hour? Workings that draw on both solar energies simultaneously."
I turned to her with genuine interest. "What kind of rituals?"
"Healing is the most common application," she explained. "Wounds treated during the transitional hour heal faster and more completely than at any other time. There are also purification rites, boundary designations, and..." she hesitated, "some say transformation rituals that are neither Skybound nor Lightweaver in nature."
"Forbidden knowledge?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.
She smiled enigmatically. "Let's call it 'disputed scholarship.' The Orders prefer clear divisions, you're either of the Red Sun or the Blue Sun. The idea that one might draw on both simultaneously is... politically inconvenient."
"Yet you believe it's possible."
"I know it is," she replied. "I've seen it done."
Now that caught my full attention.
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