Jackal Among Snakes

Elenore turned her legs, freeing her stumps of the blankets she hid beneath. What had she expected to come of her actions? A stern rebuke, perhaps. A lecture. Paranoia from Argrave or his companions. Less responsibilities. Or maybe… just a quiet acceptance. A shift in perspective.

Elenore laughed at herself. “You are a fool, aren’t you?” she said aloud.

She never had been able to predict Argrave, no matter how much information she collected on him. Instead of all she expected, Argrave simply took a quiet step back. The newly-coronated king did not argue about what she did. He didn’t even mention it much at all. Though she had come to know he travelled most everywhere with Anneliese, he only visited her alone. True to his words, he did not come to her asking for favors or seeking information. Instead, he made inquiries about her well-being and talked about a variety of mundane, if nonetheless interesting, things.

Elenore thought Argrave had decided to keep Anneliese away from her. She sought the elven woman out, testing this theory. Contrary to her expectations, Anneliese received her amiably and was more than willing to talk. This only further baffled her.

Elenore even briefly questioned if this whole experience was some bizarre method to change the way that she thought about things. Argrave still acted warm, after all—he still demonstrated that he cared about her. Perhaps this was all just some venture to make her self-reflect. She felt amused at the notion yet could see that being the case even still. If it was, it worked.

Elenore opened the drawer on the side of her bed, retrieving the heavy white prosthetics. She fit her stump into one, then slowly turned the handle until the clamps tightened around her flesh. The other followed shortly after. Once they were on, she rose to her feet.

Regardless of whether this was deliberate on Argrave’s part, Elenore had ample time to consider things. And in time… the question she asked changed. Rather than what she had been expecting… what had she been hoping for?

Perhaps it was self-destructive. Perhaps she knew subconsciously that this was folly, and drove herself towards it nonetheless. She had tested the limits with Felipe, and he cast her aside. She had tested the limits with Induen, and he claimed he would cast her aside if he wanted to. And now, once again, she tested the limits with another of her kin that she had come to trust to see if the result was the same.

Fear and paranoia—was this truly what drove her? Did she act out her fears of being discarded?

‘The lesser is discarded without fail,’ she had told Durran once. She truly believed that, then. Argrave’s words haunted her, lately.

You made yourself lesser… for me.

Elenore thought herself someone driven by pragmatism and rationality. She had toiled long and hard to morph herself into that. Yet this idea of her self-destructive paranoia, once formed, took root in her mind and chipped away at the rationale behind her decision. And even as it took root, other ideas took form.

Levin had been captured. Word reached her on the day of Argrave’s coronation. She had attempted to tell Argrave this news, but he would not allow it. Though an unfortunate lapse in judgement by some guards had allowed the would-be King of Atrus to escape for a time, he was caught, bound, and escorted back to Dirracha for judgement. The fate Felipe had in mind for Levin was likely unimaginably cruel.

Was that what Elenore had been hoping for? Base vengeance?

Self-doubt crept its way into the cracks of the unsteady wall she had built. She did loathe Levin. She hated herself for allowing Therese to be so simply caught. She had been looking forward to seeing Therese, perceiving her with the sight Argrave had gifted her once again. Yet Levin made Elenore’s first vision of Therese a cold, decaying corpse.

Accepting these primal and intense emotions made it difficult, if not impossible, to view her actions in the same light as she had. A pragmatic decision, setting them on the path to a decisive victory in war… she thought it almost a joke, now. She had long ago stopped viewing Felipe as king, yet she had extended that discourtesy to the one she hoped to replace him.

But Argrave was not Felipe. He was not Induen.

How he dealt with Ruleo was proof enough of that. The man had spied on her, followed Durran through Dirracha as he did Argrave’s bidding. Yet he was caught. Elenore was well-prepared to kill him for breaking her trust. Indeed, at the time, she thought it was Argrave’s best move. She felt like such a hypocrite, thinking of it now. What Elenore did to Argrave was no different than Ruleo\'s behavior—no, it was worse.

Elenore had walked a long way through Leopold’s mansion as she ran these thoughts through her head, and now stood before a simple mahogany door. She stepped away several times, thinking herself a ridiculous fool time and time again. The jewelry Argrave lent her allowed her to see beyond, and she knew the resident was awake. Finally, she sighed defeatedly and knocked on the door. Not seconds later, it opened.

A pair of gleaming golden eyes greeted her, shining like candles in the dark. “Bit late. Something wrong?” Durran asked her.

“I wanted to ask you a favor,” Elenore said simply.

Durran leaned against the door, his brows furrowing. “At midnight. What kind of favor are we talking about?”

“The opposite of what you might assume,” Elenore shook her head. “May I come in?”

Durran said nothing, walking away. Still, he left the door open. Elenore proceeded in, shutting the door behind her.

“Hope it’s nothing regarding Argrave or my other allies. I won’t hear it, you know,” Durran rubbed at his eyes, laying down on his bed.

Elenore looked around. It seemed, like her, this man spent much of his time engrossed in books. She scanned through some of them with her field of perception, seeing the diagrams and the neat writing in the closed books. Spellbooks, research… the crude-looking tribal was much more erudite than she thought. His field of study was a bit more gruesome than hers, granted. Necromancy, it seemed to her.

“Are you snooping?” his eyes focused on her. “Well… whatever. Not like I’ve anything to hide.”

“I remember you mentioned making a proper, lighter prosthetic that wore at the flesh less,” she launched into her request, deciding to ignore the unusual circumstances. “Do you have any knowledge on the subject?”

Durran raised his brows, evidently surprised, then laughed. “You’re being serious?” he cleared his throat. “Well, sorry I laughed. That isn’t funny. I was thinking about something else,” he assured, shaking his head in quite the obvious lie. “I mean… yeah, I made some faux limbs for the warriors of my tribe when I was a kid. Pretty common thing where I’m from, loss of limb. I’d carve them out of this lightweight stone.”

“Do you think you could make one? A good one,” Elenore asked him. “With more sophisticated methods and materials than stone.”

“Well… they’re mostly temporary things, not at all like the ones you wear. I said they wore at the flesh, and they’re heavy… but the ones you’re wearing are durable,” he conceded. “And… don’t know if Argrave mentioned this… but in a couple months, he’s looking to deal with your loss of limb altogether. Sight, too.”

“Could you?” she repeated.

Durran scratched at his neck. “…you know what? Why not. I can do a little research, change up the material, the way I did things… fun little project. Argrave, Anneliese, and Galamon prepare for war, but little old me is just wasting my days here.”

“I do mean a good set,” she cautioned, uneasy hearing the carefree way he said ‘why not.’

“I don’t do half-measures. If I say I’ll do it, I’ll do it, and do it well,” he said confidently.

Elenore took a deep breath and exhaled. “That’s good. It’ll be nice to be… comfortable, for once.”

Durran rose to his feet. “But I don’t work for free, princess.”

Elenore laughed lightly. “Well, what did you want?”

Durran hesitated to speak, clearly debating whether or not to ask at all. “Felipe didn’t gouge out your eyes personally, did he? Someone else did. Who?”

“…Argrave knows,” she answered, hesitating a beat.

“Could ask him, yeah. Don’t want to. Don’t need a name, just a relation,” Durran shook his head. “You don’t want to answer, forget it. Be some divine coincidence if I genuinely knew them, anyway.”

Elenore sighed, stepping deeper into his room. “I’ll only say it once. It’s a small price for this, I should think. I expect you to do this project right even still.”

“Done,” he promised, sitting back on his bed.

“The man I eloped with,” she said at once, giving no ceremony to her explanation. “My father gave him an ultimatum when we were caught. Gouge out my eyes with his own hands, and he would be spared. He chose to be spared,” Elenore shook her head and smiled. “My father cut off my feet personally, though. He said it was to ensure I never ran away again.”

Durran stared at her a long while. In the silence, the sounds of the river just outside Leopold’s mansion disturbed the night. She could barely see the edges of the water battering the marble, water flowing unending. It reminded her of her place beside the fountain back in the greenhouse.

“You’re not so good at telling stories,” he tapped his knee with one finger. “I think you have more to say than that.”

“No. I don’t. You wanted to know what happened: you know. I’m not obligated to share anything beyond that,” she said icily.

Durran tilted his head, thinking about what she said. “I guess you’re right. But it was an unsatisfying tale, and large bits of it are missing… well, whatever. Should’ve been more specific in my request, I guess.” He fixed his gaze on her. “Since you’ve asked so kindly, I’ll help you.”