The Great War: Chapter 21
A meal with the royals
It’s an odd sensation, turning one’s body to sand. Even more so the sight of it.
Under the comfort of his covers, Ezra stares up at the swirling ball of orange particles above his head, not one speck falling on his face. It’s his hands, he feels. They’re warm, his skin rough and his fingers able to move while layered atop one another, warping around each other as they wiggle up and down. And yet he can still feel them on the ends of his arms, even though he knows they’re not there, the cut-off points appearing to be half-melted, as if he only plunged his hands into a sand dune.
It’s a cool ability. It just feels so strange.
There’s a knock at his door, and he sits up straight in an instant.
“Ezra? Are you awake?” It’s the prince.
“Yes, I am!” he calls back. He should probably open the door for him, and yet he’s still so comfortable in this new bed of his.
He wills one of his hands over to the door, and while he feels himself wrap his hand around the cold knob it’s strange watching it do that from half way across the room. The end of his wrist shimmers with the orange particles.
He tugs, jerking back his arm as he does so, although he didn’t need to do that. Still, the door opens as if he were standing there doing it himself, and reveals Samuel standing on the other side. His eyes widen ever so slightly when Ezra raises one of his handless arms to wave.
“You can come in if you want,” he says.
“How are you liking your room?” Samuel asks as he steps through the door, kicking it closed behind him with his heel.
Ezra takes a look around his new bedroom. It’s got a desk, a dresser, a closet, and a rather comfortable bed to boot, plus a balcony that lets him look out at the ocean and carries in a cool, salty breeze. “Well, it’s a lot bigger than the room I used to have.”
The prince smiles ever so briefly, but it fades just as fast. “Good to hear.”
“Is something wrong?” Ezra can’t help but ask.
“Hm? No, I’m just… thinking. Food will be ready soon so I thought I’d show you where the dining hall is.”
“Thanks.” Ezra holds his arms up in front of him and wills his hands back onto his body. The sand swirls around his arms to form his wrists, palms, and fingers in an instant, and he sighs as he flexes his fingers where they always should have been.
“Enjoying your Blessing?”
“Yup. Though I figure it’ll take a while to get used to it.”
The prince nods. “I share your sentiment.”
The two step out into the hallway, where Ezra notices Devin posed against the wall nearby. His gaze lands on Ezra, sending a chill down his back. In an effort to be friendly, Ezra musters a small smile in response.
“What Blessing do you have?” he then asks Samuel.
“I can see metal,” Samuel replies with a small huff. “Sometimes I think I’m going crazy what with all the guards around.”
“I see…”
The hallway twists and turns as they continue on, with rows and rows of the same old wooden door. Ezra keeps getting more and more lost with each corner they pass, with no clue how far they are from his room or how close they are to the dining hall.
Twists and turns become spiraling staircases that then turn into yet more narrow hallways, until, eventually, Ezra sees the light at the end of the tunnel. Light streaming in from the outside, illuminating the room before them. When they emerge from the hallway, Ezra finds himself striding across the massive throne room at the base of the grand castle. He can’t help but look upwards at the large window that overlooks the hall, the point where the early light of the cycle fills the space with its presence. The throne, however, stands empty right now.
“He’s in there,” Samuel mutters under his breath beside him.
On the other side of the throne room is yet another doorway leading into yet another hall, though this one is much shorter than the one on the other side. It opens into the dining hall, the center of the room taken up by a long stone table draped with a rich purple cloth and lined with carved wooden chairs. Braziers above light the room, though candles also burn on the table as well, which is already full of all sorts of food.
Ezra’s mouth begins to water at the sight of it all. His meals were, obviously, never as grand as the one he sees before him.
“Samuel,” the prince’s name echoes across the room, sharp and short tempered, “what manner of being is that?”
Samuel’s body tenses as he stares at the king, who sits poised at the far end of the table.
“I thought I had heard you brought a guest to stay,” the king continues gruffly, “but I didn’t think it was one such as him.”
“His presence is my own personal business, father,” Samuel replies just as harsh, gesturing to Ezra as he speaks. “And before you say more I have already invited him to sit with us.”
The king’s irritated tsk carries easily from his mouth to Ezra’s ears, and he can’t help but worry something bad might happen next. Being at the prince’s side must offer him some immunity from punishment, right?
“He may sit,” the king finally says, sitting back in his chair, though he still doesn’t appear all to happy with his decision. Still, Samuel motions for Ezra to follow him, and the three make their way towards the king’s chair.
Samuel sits next to his father, with Devin taking his place next to him quickly, leaving Ezra with no choice but to sit next to the prince’s bodyguard. He stares at the royals, whom all have not yet begun to reach for the food, and folds his hands in his lap anxiously as pangs of hunger slowly grow in his gut. He doesn’t want to appear insensitive or disrespectful, and yet he also wants to start eating the delicious meal before him.
I’ll wait for a little bit, he tells himself, and if they don’t start eating soon I’ll ask if I can serve myself.
Half of the stuff on the table he’s not seen before. There’s platters of fruit slices he can’t identify, collections of little golden muffins, he believes, and small bowls full of steaming liquid and jars brimming with seed-riddled substances, among other things. On top of the vast array of food there are bottles placed about as well, each differently labeled and shaped. Some have corks. Others have caps. A few have a single piece of cloth draped over their openings and held in place with a short length of rope or thin strings. It really is a meal fit for royalty.
Eventually, a being enters the dining hall from the throne room, a tall adult dressed in a black robe and silver armor, carrying some sort of scroll in his hand. The newcomer’s eyes dart to Ezra for a moment, curious and full of questions, but remains silent until he reaches the king.
“Their reply,” he speaks, handing the king the scroll.
“Thank you, Killian,” the king replies with a heavy sigh. Killian nods once, then sits in the chair to the king’s immediate right. Once he has settled into his chair, the royals begin serving themselves.
Ezra reaches for one of the nearby muffin plates and while his bowl is incredibly shallow, he scoops it full of the mystery liquid for his meal. The liquid is mostly clear with a slight tint of green to it, and smells of sugar and mint. Small chunks of fruit, he can only guess, float around inside the liquid as well, specks of bright red and yellow and blue.
He takes his spoon and carefully lifts his first bite of this new dish, blows on it for a moment, then pops it into his mouth. He bites down on a small, soft piece of fruit - he was right! - as his mouth explodes with sweet, sugary flavor. And as he swallows, the warm liquid leaves behind a fresh aftertaste in his mouth, making his breath buzz as he exhales. Exhilarated and eager for more, Ezra goes for another bite.
“You’re not eating just that, are you?” Devin asks next to him, trying to keep his voice low but with how the room carries sound up and down he doesn’t do a good job at not drawing the attention of the other three beings also present at the table.
Ezra briefly looks up at Devin, and the royals behind him. Their stares range from confusion to disgust to slight embarrassment.
“Am… I not supposed to?” Ezra asks slowly, his gut churning with nervousness.
“It’s supposed to be a freshener,” Samuel speaks, “not… actual food.”
“Oh…” No wonder the bowl he has is insanely small. “Um…”
“It’s okay. I should have told you.”
Even so, Ezra turns back to his plate feeling ashamed of himself. At least there are other things for him to eat still, though that doesn’t take away from the fact he just made a fool of himself.
With a sad sigh, he shoves the tiny muffin into his mouth and scans the table for anything else that might look interesting to try.
As he searching for something else to eat, the rustle of paper fills the room as the king unrolls the scroll he had been given moments before. As he reads, while his expression doesn’t seem to noticeably change, something flashes in his eyes. Something… Something he can’t place, but something that a king shouldn’t even show.
The king blows a long sigh through his nose and lowers the paper from his face.
“Is something wrong, father?” Samuel asks.
The king, however, shakes his head. “Not now, Sam. Just eat.”