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TRAS Chapter 109: Béa’s Quest
🕑 Added 2025-05-18 15:50:08 +0000 UTCAiln found himself instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. His body was in a cold sweat, and his breathing was unsteady. The pain searing through his eyes was enough to put him into fight-or-flight.
Even in his agony, however, a moment’s thought was enough for Ailn to realize it made no sense for Ashton to attack him in his own office, or with his own hands. Nor did any of Ashton’s body language suggest aggression.
Not that he could trust it at face value.
Ashton rose from his desk with an unhurried air, drifting over to his orchids and checking the moisture of their soil. He seemed to be considering whether or not he should water them again.
“You really ought to brush up on your openings,” Ashton said amiably.
But Ailn didn’t immediately respond. He stared, gaze fixed and unblinking. “...Who?”
Just one word, which gave no information yet invited any answer.
“Surely the more important question is ‘Why?’” Ashton rebuffed. He strode over to a cabinet near the back of the room, from which he retrieved two glasses and a decanter. “That, I can freely tell you.”
He poured himself a drink, then tilted the second glass questioningly.
Ailn gave no response.
“...I must admit, I didn’t expect you to be so trusting,” Ashton said, continuing the conversation himself. “Here I thought you’d try to trap me. Instead, you offer to lift a burden from me.”
Ashton’s contemplative frown had lingered since the end of the chess game. His eyes drifted in thought, gazing at nothing in particular. “What am I to do with that? I’d entered this room contemptuous of you. Yet I ended the game realizing you had a little too much decency.”
His eyes focused. “You’d do well to watch out, ‘Ailn.’ There are those in the capital all too willing to hang ‘devils with flashing eyes.’ And I expect to them, whether they flash green or red would be a piddling distinction.”
A fleeting self-congratulatory smile crossed his lips as he pointed toward his eyes. “I wasn’t lying, by the way. People are quite captivated by hazel eyes.”
Still, nursing the pain in his own eyes, Ailn grit his teeth. “...Since when? And how?”
“Words of the inquisition traveled widely—as well as certain peculiarities in the proceedings,” Ashton said, his frown returning. “Your sister’s behavior was simple enough to parse. But yours? I could only speculate.”
He closed his eyes. “Then I wondered how Renea eum-Creid could have possibly escaped the inquisition. As I heard the story, she hid her eyes for upwards of an hour.”
Ashton opened his eyes, as if to aid his narrative. “...Revealing them, only after you spoke to her.” His gaze met Ailn’s. “From there, I simply guessed. And your behavior here confirmed it.”
Again, Ashton allowed himself a trace of smugness, chuckling freely. “I believe this would be called a ‘teaching moment?’”
Swift as his smirk came, however, it disappeared into a grimace, and his eyes turned deadly serious. “Take this to heart, ‘Ailn.’ A clandestine order is hunting your kind. And it’s helmed by Maribelle sil-Kytsune—your former fiance.”
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Rooms in the guest wing of the ark-Chelon estate had been offered to the knights, but they’d politely declined. Count Fleuve in Sussuro had been, essentially, a vassal—hence lavish amenities kindly extended were something of an expectation for Ailn’s small retinue when they’d paid a visit.
Duke ark-Chelon, however, stood on equal ground. No matter how close their partnership, it would be indecorous for knights to stay within the estate.
Instead, accommodations had been arranged for them in the barracks, home to the Azure Knights’ counterpart: Calum’s Order of the White Knights.
Few in the Azure Knights enjoyed the White Knights’ company. Even Kylian, patient as he was, found they were often tiresome.
“A fine piece, is she not?” a tall knight with knobby shoulders asked, showing off his sword. “The blade’s crossguard is made of mythril, and the purity of the orichalcum within the blade itself can be found nowhere else.”
“It certainly is a fine sword, Sir Voltus,” Kylian replied politely.
“What use have you for orichalcum when you lack holy au—” Dartune began with unrestrained frustration.
“I take it the blade has seen its share of thrilling duels?” Kylian asked, interrupting Dartune’s rude remark.
“Stirring contests as you would not believe,” Voltus grinned back. Then he faltered. “Though this sword is quite new, as my last one shattered… but no matter.”
He began to regale them with over-detailed accounts of contests he’d emerged victorious from—especially those won by a hair’s breadth. Dartune, meanwhile, scowled openly, casting a sharp glance at Kylian every time Voltus began to exposit yet another duel.
Neither engaged in the empire’s wars like the imperial army, nor bound to a dire threat like the Azure Knights, the White Knights had an abundance of free time. Calum hardly even had any crime. Thus, they dueled frequently, the only expression of martial spirit they had.
They were, in truth, skilled duelists. And their surprising formidability in these bouts was the source of endless grief and resentment for certain members of the Azure Knights.
Within the barracks’ training hall, Camille stood with a rapier at her neck.
“...It seems I’ve lost yet again, Dame Alera,” Camille said, voice steady. “You have won… an astonishing number of contests in a row.”
Her smile was placid, yet her fingers clenched her sword’s hilt in a white-knuckled grip.
“You rely far too much on talent, Camille,” Alera said, giving a well-meaning yet tone-deaf shrug. “You’d soon best me if you merely practiced more.”
“So I shall, should I ever find myself with time,” Camille said, her fist beginning to tremble. “If you will excuse me, I wish to recuperate from the long journey to Calum.” She paused, and unable to help herself added, “It seems I was not in my best condition.”
With that, she promptly departed the training hall, leaving no room for rebuttal.
“Sore a loser as ever,” Alera said, with a troubled expression. “I would rather she whine, frankly.”
Though the Azure Knights and White Knights both stayed in “barracks,” their residences could hardly be compared. In Calum, each knight had their own quarters, while in Varant knights were typically forced to share a common room.
The White Knights had a massive training hall, filled with amenities and space for dozens of spars to take place at once if they so desired. The Azure Knights had a yard.
The differences were stark, and for most of the Azure Knights, each luxury the White Knights had felt like a condescending boast. Thus, many of their sincere attempts to freely share what they possessed, unfortunately, came off as flaunting.
They even had a nice kitchen, where at that moment a small feast was being prepared to warmly welcome the Azure Knights: generous cuts of fatty beef and fresh vegetables for every knight, not to mention an abundance of wine.
Unfortunately, even the White Knights had a sense of propriety that kept them from indulging freely in sweets or desserts.
This was particularly disappointing for Béa, wandering the meal prep room adjacent to the kitchen and feast hall. She’d been let down by knights’ cake earlier, and craved something sugary to right the wrong.
Still, she saw rows and rows of tables with meals laid out. One of the tables even had a bench for Béa to stand on—as well as lay down her stuffed animals, as her arms were getting tired.
The moment she climbed onto the bench and her gaze fell upon a plate of beef, however, she felt a wave of anxiety and loneliness. Usually her mother would cut her food for her. Biting her trembling lip, Béa shook away her fears and steeled herself for the long journey ahead.
Grabbing the plate and carefully laying it on the bench, she sat down, then picked up the beef with her hands and nibbled at the edge. “Small bites, Cant… I know you’re hungry.” Béa wiped her eyes. “But if you eat too fast, you’ll choke…”
Suddenly, Béa stopped eating. And though no one had yet entered the room, she diligently gathered her plate and her stuffed animals, climbed down from the bench and disappeared beneath the table.
Moments later, a few maids walked into the room, none the wiser.
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It was late, and it was cold, and there was naught a soul in the village that wasn’t dispirited—though all took care to hide it from Ciel.
Every huntsman had slowly combed through the woods, the farmers sweeping through their small fields. Their wives checked every nook and cranny of every house in town. The children had gone up into the crags, gone down the mountain and searched for kilometers along the pass.
Yet still, they hadn’t found even a trace of Béa.
After a mere day’s search, none in the village had given up. But they also understood the importance of rest, even in situations as dire as this—at least for Ciel, who would quickly exhaust herself from stress and worry.
“Sit yerself down a spell, Ciel. Yer drop where ye stand at this rate,” Gorwin said. He gently rested a hand on her shoulder. “Ye haven’t even eaten. And the rest of the village is plenty spry, aye, especially the young ones.”
But Ciel did not respond. She merely kept trudging through the woods, calling out her daughter’s name. Night had begun to fall, and all she could think of was Béa—all alone and in the dark.
Gorwin only insisted once. He felt he hardly had the right to say anything else, even if he truly had her best interest in mind. So, he continued to follow Ciel, and make certain she didn’t collapse.
On the far side of the village, and more than a kilometer down the road, Iain and his friends had returned to check the mountain pass once more.
“BÉA! BÉEEEEEA!” Iain shouted, his voice hoarse.
Every time he shouted, only his own echo answered, distress and desperation growing clearer with each shout.
His friends followed behind, their expressions no less guilty than Iain’s, but their minds a little clearer. Iain felt the full weight of responsibility for losing track of Béa.
Johann and Katalin, meanwhile, had just enough separation to maintain their wherewithal.
“Iain, senseless shouting does us no good,” Johann tried to persuade him. “We’ve searched down this pass. Spoke to every merchant, bade them watch for her.”
When Iain merely ignored Johann, Katalin grabbed his wrist firmly.
“We’re not givin’ up, Iain,” Katalin said, her voice serious yet impatient. “But marchin’ blind without our wits isn’t helpin’. Use yer head and not yer feet!” She tugged hard at his wrist, enough to make him wince. “Think, Iain! Ye watch Béa all the time! Use what ye know about her, and scrape your mind for any hint!”
“I told ye, all I saw was her and her dolls!” Iain shouted. “Ye think her toy chest’ll snitch her out?!”
“Then put yerself in her baby shoes!” Katalin shouted louder at him, getting red in the face. “Give a wee bit consideration to the girl ye babysit, and pretend ye’ve got dolls for friends!”
“...I’d say all this shoutin’s not helpin’ ye know—” Johann tried to interject, but Iain shouted right over him.
“Yer just speakin’ nonsense! What use is it actin’ like her dolls are peo—”
Iain froze mid-shout.
“...Her dolls weren’t there,” Iain muttered.
“What?” Katalin uttered, blankly.
“Her dolls weren’t there on the bed,” Iain repeated, as if his friends should understand immediately. “She brought ‘em with her!”
“...I know I told ye to exercise yer imagination, Iain, but I’m havin’ trouble followin’ how this helps us—” Katalin started.
“Don’t ye see? She took a trip! Béa decided to go somewhere on her own—” Iain breathlessly explained.
“Iain we already knew that!” Katalin interrupted, exasperated.
“God’s wounds, Katalin, shut up a moment! Ye said think like Béa, so I’m thinkin’ like Béa!” Iain snapped. “If yer a little girl with wee legs and ye want ‘ta go adventurin’, what would ye do Katalin?! Ye’d take a carriage!”
Katalin and Johann tilted their heads at the same time.
“No carriages ever come through Venlind, though…” Johann said, confused.
“If yer small anythin’ with wheels’ a carriage!” Iain blustered on. “We had all those knights hangin’ our village last night and this mornin’! They had a cart with ‘em on the green!”
“...Yer sayin’ she snuck on the cart?” Katalin asked, in disbelief. Despite her earlier irritation, she kept her tone steady. “Iain, even if she climbed into the cart, how do ye explain none of those knights catchin’ her?”
“I never said the little bairn wasn’t smart…!” Iain tried to rein in his frustration. “There’s plenty room in a cart to hide for a girl that tiny!” He desperately made his case. “And Calum’s just a day’s ride! They probably didn’t even check the cart!”
“But why?” Johann asked. He was just as intent as Katalin, trying to dissuade Iain from what he saw as a fruitless tack. “We all know Béa’s smart. And she’s not rebellious. And she loves her mom. And ye know she’s heard a million times not to talk to strangers. Why would she just up and leave on a knights’ carriage?”
Iain wracked his brain, even tugging at his own hair unconsciously. “Maybe… maybe they weren’t all strangers!” he reasoned. “I saw the one in weird clothin’ walk into the apothecary…”
“I saw it too, now that I think about it,” Katalin mused.
“And… if Béa had some reason… somethin’ motivatin’...” Iain muttered. “Some purpose…”
“Like a quest?” Johann asked.
“Yeah…” Iain thought long and hard.
Once again, he put himself in her shoes, trying to imagine what could possibly matter to her so much that she’d leave behind her mom. He thought back to the morning.
Did anything stand out? In the way she was playing?
Now that he thought about it, one moment had stood out—if just barely. Most of the things Béa said to her dolls always struck Iain as odd.
But this morning, she’d said something that wasn’t odd. Iain found it surprising that she just seemed to be playing house.
Iain’s mouth fell open in shock and realization. His hand flew to his temple with a sharp smack. He was so stunned, his voice dropped to a hush.
“This mornin’, she said she was ‘gonna bring papa and mama back together…’”
