Radovan’s words hung in the frigid air of Marek’s ruined workshop, a sharp counterpoint to the hum of the frozen arcane generator. The celestial alignment. Tonight. A chill settled deep in Jana's gut, independent of Kazimir’s frost.
“Tonight?” Kazimir’s voice was a low growl, his face set like carved granite. “Bohumil moves faster than I anticipated.”
Marek, still dusting soot from his goggles, peered at the notebook. “A final ritual implies a specific location. The Lyceum’s foundations are riddled with forgotten vaults. He’s been funneling enormous sums into ‘structural integrity’ projects for months. It all makes sense.”
“It’s not just the vaults.” Radovan’s gaze swept over them, a flinty resolve hardening his features. “He’s been laying the groundwork for years. Not just for the ritual, but for *his* ascension.”
Jana looked at the worn binding. “You found this, but how did you know to look for it?”
Radovan’s jaw tightened. “The Vizier’s interest in celestial charts was always unusual for a courtier focused on mundane statecraft. Then there were the redacted texts in the Scholarium, the ones you pointed out, Jana. I’d seen similar redactions in older administrative ledgers, documents that detailed the allocation of state funds for projects deep beneath the Lyceum, marked only as ‘fortification.’ They were too extensive, too secretive, even for our kingdom’s paranoid security protocols.”
He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Then, there was a… *source*.”
Kazimir scoffed. “A source? In this court, they’re usually just whispers designed to mislead.”
“This one was different,” Radovan stated, his tone brooking no argument. “A disgruntled ledger keeper, one of Olek’s own spies, had been feeding me information, crumbs that only made sense in hindsight. Olek was using him to test my loyalties, to see how I would react. It became clear Olek was willing to sacrifice a pawn to gain my trust, to make me look in a certain direction. He knew I wouldn’t ignore a direct lead on misappropriated funds, not with my bloodline’s history.”
Jana remembered Olek’s words at the ball, his offer of alliance. He knew. He always knew more than he let on. He’d simply played his own game, using Radovan as a piece.
“The ledger keeper told me of a small, discreet study the Vizier used, hidden in the labyrinthine sub-levels of the Grand Archives, near the forgotten records of minor noble houses. A place no one would think to look for state secrets.” Radovan’s voice dropped, edged with a bitterness Jana hadn't heard before. “He was right. I followed the trail of misfiled requisitions, the obscure codicils Bohumil had approved himself.”
The air grew colder, but it wasn't Kazimir's doing. Radovan opened the leather volume to a specific page. Jana leaned closer, her breath fogging. It was an ancestral tree, meticulously drawn, not of the current ruling houses, but of Bohumil’s own lineage. Tracing back through generations, the names were unfamiliar, until a recurring title appeared, scrawled in an archaic script: ‘High Priest of the Vorlag Cult.’
“Vorlag,” Radovan articulated, his voice flat. “The true name for what the prophecy calls ‘The Hungering Void.’ Bohumil isn’t just an interpreter; he’s the inheritor of a forgotten priesthood. His kin have been waiting for this.”
Jana’s mind raced. “So Bohumil has been planning this for generations. But why? What about your own history, Radovan?”
Radovan’s gaze drifted from the pages toward the far wall, his expression slackening. “My mother and father… they were not members of the court. They were scholars, historians of the Old Way. They believed the ambient currents were a gift, a tool for growth, not a weapon to be wielded by a hidden god.”
A deep crease formed between Radovan’s brows. “I remember… it was the day of my knighting. The sun was hot on my new steel, the cheers of the people echoing through the Grand Plaza. I was so young, so proud. I knelt before King Vlastimil, his face tired but kind. He spoke of duty, of honor, of protecting the weak.”
*A younger Radovan, his face still round with youth, knelt, his heart pounding a furious rhythm against his ribs. The heft of the newly-bestowed ceremonial sword pulled at his wrist, marking the vow he was about to take. King Vlastimil’s voice was reedy but clear as he pronounced the final words of the oath, the ‘Oath of the Sunlit Blade.’ Radovan rose, feeling the eyes of the entire court upon him. His mother and father, standing among the spectators, offered a quiet smile that cut through the plaza's chill. As he turned, his gaze fell upon Grand Vizier Bohumil, already a formidable presence even then, his silver hair neatly combed, his robes immaculate. Bohumil stepped forward, a kind, avuncular smile gracing his lips. He placed a hand on Radovan’s shoulder, a gesture of comfort and encouragement. “A fine knight, young Radovan. Your folks will be very proud.” The Vizier’s grip was firm, almost possessive, and his eyes, though smiling, held a depth that even then, unsettled the young knight for a fleeting instant.* Radovan shook his head, the memory fracturing.
“That night,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “there was an ‘accident.’ A carriage, speeding through the narrow streets, its driver ‘intoxicated.’ They were… gone. Both of them.” He met Jana’s eyes, a cold, hard truth settling between them. “They had been vocal in their opposition to the Vizier’s interpretation of the ancient foretelling. They called it a perversion, a corruption of the ancient texts. They believed the sacred verse promised not unity, but slaughter. Bohumil was just rising through the ranks then. Their dissent would have been… inconvenient.”
Kazimir’s cold fury was almost a visible force. “Bohumil eliminated anyone who stood in his way. Even then.”
Marek ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “He cultivated a reputation for kindness and wisdom, all while systematically removing any obstacles. A true master of courtly poison.”
Radovan’s knuckles paled against the binding. “My duty was to the crown, to the safety of the kingdom. But my folks… they taught me that true duty lies in truth, not in blindly following a twisted decree.” He looked at Jana, his eyes locking onto hers with unyielding intensity, the cold, quiet rage burning within them. “My duty is no longer to a false prophecy, or to a kingdom ruled by lies. My duty is to stop him. The. Man. Who. Ruined. My. Life.”