The Ghost of Vermil-Chapter 28: Apple VIII

Her academy life took on a new kind of normalcy after the hunt. When merits were awarded, her rank elevated to 281, just one step shy to enter the top ten of freshmen Aleph. It could have been much higher if Marco Vermilon claimed the victory over the cursed being. But his righteousness got the better of him.

"As much as I'd like to have been the one who exterminated it, when we caught up to the cursed being, it was already dead," he had reported to the director.

"Do you know who did?"

"I'm not certain, Director," he had answered, "But there was one exorcist around the forest."

"He was of the Gabrielic Order," Quain backed his story. "He was a giant, Director. The largest man I've ever seen."

Ingryd remarked, "I know a warrior from my village who's bigger than he is."

Marco made no mention of Lucas to the director. Neither did Apple.

Yuri stared at her badge endearingly as they munched on steak and potatoes, "It's only been barely a week Apple, how can you climb up so fast?"

"Our classmates higher in rank are afraid you'll ask them to a duel," Hannah informed her. "Will you?"

"They think I'm some battle maniac now? I did not even fight in the Delta," she confided, "I just guided them, got dragged along. I even tripped on a root." She lost the chance to put on a grand display and properly impress the Genius of Demach. Perhaps if she fought and defeated him, they'd name her the new Genius. But that seemed like a tall dream. She remembered the vast power he held. He did not even need a team. He was simply being humble. All that time, we were being a nuisance to him.

"Still, it was really courageous of you," Yuri patted her back. "To face off against a rat horde like that. Gives me chills just thinking about it."

She languidly sliced at the steak. She was not used to eating expensive food every day. On her birthdays, Father would roast her a chicken and smother it with spices from their travels. She thought that was luxurious. Now, she ate better meals outside of special occasions. After some more slices, the steak did not taste as well as the first bite.

Yuri noticed her lack of appetite. "Where is your friend, Apple? Lucas, I mean."

"I haven't really seen him."

He had suffered terrible injuries from Diana. I wonder how he's doing now. Even so, she shunned the idea of being anywhere near him yet, not when the demon's miasma still lingered in his body. How does he even catch their rankness when he smells like nothing most of the time? 

For the next two days, Lucas was nowhere to be seen. Apple did not want to sniff the repulsive stench that came off of him again. But somehow her eyes kept looking for his beret, for the pale golden locks that was hidden beneath.

Apple often crossed paths with Diana, being in the same class, but she began to totally ignore her. The ginger head noble used to scoff and deride her but now she pretended that Apple did not exist. Not that it bothered Apple; although it was a loss that Diana would not be sharing her plans anymore like she did in the Morning Garden. Apple did not really expect her to enact her own crusade for justice so swiftly. And judging by her proclamation in the forest, it was not over yet.

At least Marco and the rest of their party greeted her when she bumped into them. In the last day before the first week of school ended, she spotted him together with that slobbery friend in the forest. It was easy to find him. Apple, who prided herself for her gregariousness, jauntily walked over to them.

"Marco," she called, bouncing on her pretty boots. She wore the pink ones today. Her favoured white boots were sodden with mud from the floodplains.

The lass was startled that a girl had approached them. She purred, elbowing Marco's ribs, "Oooh, an admirer! Oliver's been peacocking to hook in some freshies, but they literally swim right up to your cold trap."

Marco hammered her gently on the head. "She's with my party in the Delta. And she was the one who helped me lift your heavy sleepy arse onto my back."

Her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. "Holy Angel, I hope your first impression of me would improve. I'm actually very smart. Shall we start again? I'm Catherine Ashwood."

"Apple of Heinstead, a pleasure," she introduced, shaking her hand. Marco's friend looked lovelier when her hair wasn't tousled, her chin not dripping with drool.

"How is your morning, Apple?" Marco said. He probably already knew what she came to him for.

"I'm just worried. Is he doing better?"

Marco smiled, "He's resting. I've made up an excuse to Mr. Hilbury so don't tell anyone. Do you want to see him?"

"He did not seem like he wanted to see me," she said. Beneath the white willow where they found him and even on the arduous march back, Lucas did not utter a single word to her. She wondered if he was upset with her for letting the little boy burn. Apple, herself, had not really opened her lips then. She was afraid that if she did, the abominable stench that was coming off of him would clog her throat. All that time, she fought the urge to vomit, keeping her nose covered. The white dove's letter kept nagging at the back of her mind.

"He probably was numb from the pain," Marco said, "But he is all better now. He actually wanted to come back but I told him to recuperate first. I reckon he shall be here on the first day of the next week."

"Can I meet him tomorrow then?" I need to ask him now, before this mistake — if it ever is one — digs a hole I can't climb out of.

"I will send an escort."

On the days of worship of the Seraphim and Cherubim when Demach held no classes, the Academy emptied. There were some who stayed in the grounds for training or studying, but most of them had left to explore the City. Even Yuri had left the night before. Hannah invited her for a stroll. She felt bad that she had to refuse.

Apple watched as more scholars walked by her in the Academy's entrance. She kicked on the dirt with her ruby red sandals, killing time as she waited, revelling in the fragrances of holy power that passed by.

"Lady Apple?" Someone called.

She lifted her gaze to a man in a dark brown vest with the sigil of an ox on his chest.

"I'm Felix, a knight of House Vermilon," the stranger bowed to her. "I have come to accompany you, my lady." He motioned to a horse-drawn carriage, just big enough for four people.

She lowered her body in a curtsy. "I am Apple, Ser Felix."

Felix had a thin build for a knight but the divine power within him smelled abundant, and unique — laden with traces of pollen and bees. Judging by the dark brown hair framing a gentle face with bright coal-black eyes, he seemed young for a knight. Most knights she met were more than twice her age. Felix seemed to be older by only less than ten.

"I'm a friend of Lucas," she told him, as they settled inside the carriage.

"Is that so? I'm glad he had made a friend."

"So, he used to have no friends before?" She tried to pry. Lucas seemed aloof, despite his calm demeanour.

Felix cocked his head and weighed his words. "He has always been... solitary."

I am used to living alone. She suddenly remembered Lucas's own words. They thought it best I live apart.

She asked him, "How about you, Ser Felix, weren't you friends with him?"

He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I am a soldier of Vermilon, my lady. My loyalty is to the House. Being a friend to anyone is only second to it."

He speaks in riddles. What does being a friend to Lucas have anything to do with his loyalty to the House? The nobles always confounded her.

Then she recalled something Marco said in the forest. He has been disowned... no name, no House, no gold.

Perhaps, the Vermilons did not regard Lucas kindly. Not when he had been accused of murder. Now that accusation grew more and more plausible in Apple's mind. If he was disowned because of the death of Diana's blood relative, then it could have been more than just a mere suspicion.

It occurred to Apple's memory again — the incident at the Henge Field Test and the encounter at the woods, where Lucas suddenly possessed the stench of the cursed beings he touched. His weakness and lack of talent might only be a guise. Is the white dove's letter really pertaining to him? 

Apple did not know what to believe anymore.

The one-storey building where they housed Lucas was close to the Royal Keep, next to a line of inns and drinking places that soldiers frequented. Today the pubs would be teeming. In the sun they would sing praises and glory to the Seraphim inside the church halls. In the night, they would sing them in taverns, along with grievances to their wives and the king.

Felix held the door open for her. The planks of the walls smelled strongly of tobacco and the musk of men. The living room was well furnished with a fireplace and tapestries overlooking a long table flanked by six chairs.

Marco sat there at the end, reading a letter and munching on cashews. "A good morning to you Apple. Have you eaten?" He asked. "Ser Gerald is a great cook. He makes a most delectable curry."

She declined the offer, saying, "I won't be long."

An older soldier approached her. "My lady. Forgive us for the humble welcome. I am Gerald, a knight serving Lord Vermilon."

"No trouble at all, Ser."

The legs of the chair groaned against the wooden floor as Marco rose from the table. "I've told him you're coming." He led her past a small corridor. He knocked on the door gently before pushing it open.

The sheets on the bed were crumpled, the pillows sitting aslant. But it was empty. She glimpsed the top of his golden hair peeking above the bed frame. His room was filled with the smell of lavender and incense. To her relief, no foul stench lingered inside.

"Lucas," she called, stepping in and walking over to him. He was slumped leaning on the bed, basking in the heat of the morning sun, shirtless yet clothed instead in white bandages that wrapped most of his chest and stomach. His hand remained covered from a separate wound— one wherein she was partly to blame for.

He had a knack for getting hurt, she figured.

He held a history book in the injured hand. "Apple, you came!" He tapped the space on the floor next to him. "You can sit beside me."

She gingerly sat on the bed instead. "How can you think about studying at your state? You should be resting. How are you feeling now?"

"I've recovered enough. It wasn't so deep a wound."

Apple remembered the toothed dagger, its tip smeared in blood. "You idiot. You almost died."

He smirked, almost giggling.

"What?"

He flipped the book close and leaned his arms back onto the sheets so that his calm blue eyes met hers. "I'm just glad you're concerned about me. Only my brother really ever did."

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"I still can't believe you're the brother of the Genius of Demach. You were so dense during the written test."

"You were too, you said you did not answer a thing," he hurled back.

She laughed, instinctively jabbing his bandaged arm. He winced and curled up. "Aw, that hurt!"

"Sorry... It was by impulse."

The room filled with their laughter and banters. But Apple did not come there solely for pleasantries. She was on a quest of uncovering secrets.

"Lucas, forgive me for asking, but I'm gravely curious as to why Diana literally wanted your head," she said.

The mirth in his face faded. He seemed to blink back to reality as the arch of his lips flattened, the brightness in his eyes dimming. He turned his gaze away from her, picked up the book he had been reading, and stared down at it as though it could protect him from her infringement.

"Do you know the name David Rupert?"

He spoke softly, bearing the same repose as before, "He's her brother, isn't he? I really wish I can remember, Apple, so that I understand why she wants to hurt me that badly."

Perhaps it was because she considered him too dear a friend that she drew a low deep breath before she uttered her next words. "Lucas, can you tell me then how you subdued the cursed being in the delta?"

His grip on the book tightened just a little but Apple caught the change in his composure. Will his calmness finally fracture?

"I'm sorry, Apple, but I want to rest now," he said, eyes downcast. "I'm really happy you came to see me."

"Lucas," she tried persuading him, "As your friend, I just want to know—"

"I'm tired..."

He's blatantly dismissing the question now.

She lowered and knelt next to him, "Lucas, do you even trust me?"

He glanced at her then, eyes blue as a cloudless sky, complexion so pale he could pass for a ghost. His gaze was serene, yet cold. And Apple knew what he meant by it, even without enunciating it.

It was another village girl's naivety to befriend a stranger and expect blind faith from him, she learned.

In those deep ocean eyes of his, she glimpsed a profound kind of understanding. It was as though he saw through her. Through her intentions. Through her pretty clothes. Through her words. Through her skin. Through her very soul.

And perhaps he found more, for he whispered, "Maybe when you cut your strings, Apple. Then come and cut mine too."

She drew in a breath suddenly as she lurched back, away from him. She did not know why. But she did.

What do you mean? She wanted to ask him but his words had muddled her. They had done something to her. She wasn't sure what it was.

Collecting herself, she finally spoke, forcing a smile, "I'll see you at the Academy." She could not even dare to meet his eyes again, lest she become undone. His room suddenly felt cramped, it smelled stale and mildewed. She shuffled out of there and tried her hardest to act unfrazzled.

"You should eat lunch with us. It will be ready in the next hour," Marco invited.

"Thank you for the consideration, but I have promised to have a meal with my father," she declined with a polite grin.

"At least take the carriage."

"I appreciate the offer, Marco, but I don't plan to impose on your kindness any more than I already have."

Her legs led her out of the small abode and back into the streets of Gallenport bustling with scents. She sniffed them all in, the bad and the good.