Arthurian Cultivation

Stepping out of the blasting snow and into the Artoss hold should've been akin to slipping into a warm bath after a month on the road. I should've been delighted. The hall spoke of a thousand kinds of beauty. Pillars carved to look like trees held up a ceiling with a shimmering mural, the walls were draped with gorgeous tapestries, and the air smelt of the kind of feast that would leave an impression on even a cultivator’s waistline. Yet all I could feel was unease.

It relented as the fae path behind me didn’t so much as twitch. Some part of me had expected it to slam shut after I walked through, revealing that all was an illusion and they’d stuck me in some deep dungeon. Why did I think this? Simply put, family meant something different to me.

Sephy appeared beside me, and I relaxed further. Her hand brushed mine, the sudden burst of warmth and comfort letting me know she was there for me. Our strange group was hustled through by ‘Uncle Pel’.

I heard Maeve saying something about the cultivators who’d remained in the fae realm we’d just escaped. My former betrothed was different from when she’d hunted me down, both of us in our wedding finery. I’d almost been captured, but her zeal had led to a mistake and her nearly freezing to death in the icy lake. It was only my last-minute intervention that had saved her.

She seemed calmer now. Before, it had felt like she was a naked blade, the edge pointed at everyone and everything. She’d sheathed that blade, and yet I could still feel it there, waiting to be drawn. I didn’t like the way she watched me, like I was prey.

I ignored the conversation that had now dragged in the Inquisitor we’d freed from her conscription into the vile divine cultivators. They were likely interrogating her about the remaining forces. The poor woman was already overwhelmed by the whole situation and was now being interrogated by Maeve Chox, scion of the power in the region, and the patriarch of one of the other great houses of renown.

My patriarch, because I was Taliesin Artoss. This was my family. This was— I shook my head. It didn’t feel real.

“You alright there, Taliesin?” Bors came up to me. My first friend in my new life was grinning, and he clapped a huge hand on my back. This time I didn’t stumble despite his impressive bulk. My ascension to Iron Rank had brought a sturdiness to my body that I’d yet to fully experiment with.

“It’s a lot.”

“That it is. Taliesin, we’re not going anywhere.” Sephy spoke up, and I thawed a little. With red hair the colour of blood and flashing hazel eyes, she was as beautiful as the day we’d met. As I remembered our kiss, I felt the ice break away. There was beauty to be had even in the most dire circumstances.

“Lords and Ladies, I am Robertson, butler and your guide to our humble home.” A kindly looking older man had stepped up to our group. He didn’t blink at our pegasus or the giant kestrel. “As you have clearly returned from questing, we shall skip any complex pleasantries. Years of experience have taught me that those returning desire nothing so greatly as a bath, so let me take you to them.”

“I’ll have your back right after I’ve had a bath!” Bors said, hustling after the butler, who was already pacing away. I let out a chuckle despite my mood.

“We’ll also bring the fine pegasus and kestrel to be taken care of by our teams and the menagerie,” I heard the man continue, as the group moved forward, pulled along by their desire to get clean.

“I can also tell some of you are wounded. We have a pair of witches on staff—”

“How are you doing?” Pellinore had come up on my left. He’d let me sense him approach, not wanting to spook me. I felt old habits form kind words which turned to ash in my mouth. The Lady of the Lake had given me a new name after I shed the shell of Regus. I was Taliesin now. That came with an oddity. I found myself unable to lie and could sense lies in others. It also meant I couldn’t offer up that most common of falsehoods and say, I’m fine.

I had to pause for a second. Pellinore looked upon me kindly. He didn't look much older than forty, with streaks of grey in his black hair, and wrinkles starting to creep in. I knew he was far, far older, but it wasn't that dissonance that bothered me but that his face reminded me of my own—the new one, not the old. It was the crease in his brow. That’s what hit me hardest. It was exactly like the concerned looks my mother would give me. As she passed through my thoughts, I found my answer. “I don’t know.”

“There is no rush. The words in my letter were sincere. If you are amenable, I would like to speak with you tomorrow. You’ve been busy and deserve to relax and enjoy the feast, which is being prepared for a couple of hours from now. That should give you plenty of time to soak.” My truth sense didn’t so much as flicker. It felt weird to be given a choice by someone so powerful. I was used to being pushed around by such forces, not being asked my opinion.

“It’s not going to be a big one, is it?” I dared to ask, pushing further.

“No, a small affair for your group and a couple of others.”

“Then yes, let us speak afterwards.” I was tempted to push, to say no just to see how he’d react, but I also didn’t want this hanging over me.

“Good. Now please relax and soak. Oh, you’re new to Iron, aren’t you?”

“Is it obvious?”

“To a Mithril maybe, but considering you were Wood only a couple of months ago, I would imagine anyone who knew that might make a similar assumption.” He seemed to think about something for a moment. “Well, I hope you enjoy the bath.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re losing Robertson.” He gave me a grin and strode away in the opposite direction to the group. That look was one I’d seen my mother wear many a time, one I knew I wore on occasion. A smile that promised mischief.

We’d fallen behind the group, everyone giving us some space for the patriarch and lost scion to chat. I caught a couple of servants looking at me with wonder. I didn’t.

I wrestled with the urge to demand more information, convinced it was a trick. Those thoughts came from the depths of my soul, from the same part of me that had refused to bow to him out on the snow, the part that had asked questions you just didn’t ask of a Mithril. The part of me that’d been through years of experience that said betrayal was inevitable.

I quenched that flawed blade in the swirling waters of my recent experience. I thought of the trust Sephy, Bors, Gaz, Lance, and even Gawain had extended to me. They’d all stood at my side. Just because Pellinore had a family tie to me didn’t make him like the Harkleys.

My life was improving, and I couldn’t let worries I’d buried with Regus poison my new life. I knew that, but it was hard.

I sighed. I hoped I’d feel better after a soak. I did really want a bath. My return by fire might’ve cleaned me, but it didn’t have the satisfaction of a good scrubbing. I caught up with the group just in time to see another servant, a stern-looking woman, arrive to direct the women to a different bath. I gave Sephy what I thought was a discreet wave, but I caught Maeve’s eyes flicker over us.

Not sure what I made of that. I didn’t know Maeve, apart from the research the house had made me do on her, and our short discussion after I’d pulled her out of the water. We’d barely talked, and most of our discussion was me asking her to stop throwing knives my way. What she and the rest of the Chox expected of me I had no idea.

We were led through to some bathhouses. The Artoss used the traditional Atlantean style of shared bathing. It wasn’t popular in Albion, and the Divine Cultivators blasted it as perverse, but I’d travelled enough that it wasn’t new to me. I undressed. At least I didn’t have to fear for my things. Even if I didn’t have my tenuous family connection, Pellinore had invited us in under the rules of hospitality. It was his job to keep us and our possessions safe.

I didn’t just trust my truth sense. No matter how powerful you were, you didn’t invoke hospitality in front of a fae and not mean it.

Mercury, the fae and his strange subservient nature, bubbled up, joining the swirling chaos of questions that filled my mind. So much strangeness had happened in the span of a few hours that I couldn’t focus on any one topic. I wandered like a lost soul into the main baths, the last to arrive. The others rested in the cloudy water.

The problem started as I plunged one leg into the water. It was like lava.

The mist from my brain cleared, the questions gone, banished by the boiling heat of the water. A yell of shock and an involuntary kick from my other leg launched me sliding across the tiles.

“Hahaha, you owe me a drink, Gawain.” Bors’ laughter echoed across the hard tiles.

“What’s wrong with the water?” I looked at them all like they were crazy. Did Iron ranks have to boil themselves? No, Gaz was in there as well, trying to hide a chuckle.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. Your senses are heightened. Now your blood has calmed from the battle, your body is trying to adjust to your new rank. Baths do tend to surprise people sometimes.” Gawain offered an answer, and I realised it made plenty of sense. Still, my pride was a little wounded.

“You could’ve warned me!” I grumbled. I glared at Bors and Gawain and remembered Pellinore’s smile. The bastard had known!

“I thought you’d be fine. Bors was the one who bet you’d struggle. I’ll inform you of some of the other things to be wary of after we’re done here.” Gawain leant back and tried to relax. I picked myself up and carefully lowered myself into the water. After an initial panic that I was burning to death, something clicked and my senses settled. The bath was once again nothing more than warm water.

“Consider this payback for avoiding the impurities,” Bors said, settling further into the water, his larger frame sticking out far above the water line and leaving him uncomfortably hunched.

“It’s not like I had any control over that! Is it really that big of a deal?” I found my own place against the wall. The bath was gorgeous, the tiling showing a detailed series of frescoes that depicted what I assumed to be legends of Artoss past. There were certainly a lot of dark-haired, dark-eyed men running around.

“You avoided impurities? I rescind my offer to assist you in avoiding other pitfalls of your new rank.” Gawain said deadpan. I looked at the stoic knight. Had that been an actual joke?

“What I’m getting is if I improve my rank, I should be near these baths?” Gaz chimed in.

“Not unless you want to be responsible for a new bathhouse. That stuff gets everywhere.” Bors grimaced. “However bad you imagine it being, throw that idea in the communal outhouse after a harvest festival, and then maybe you’re close. At least you have the water gift to help you get clean.”

“Well, let me congratulate you on rising to Iron. As neither Percy nor Bors is saying how you achieved it so quickly, I’m not going to pry and will instead assume it comes from the intense work ethic you’ve displayed so far.” Gawain said, and then Gaz and Bors both chimed in with their own congratulations.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” I waited for an unhelpful dig at my character to interrupt the good mood, and when it didn’t, I realised that we were missing one of our number.

“Where’s Arty?”

“He’s got the witches looking at him, trying to help with the poison. His problems were in deep; there was damage that a brew couldn’t cure.” Bors supplied.

“A shame he couldn’t be here,” Gawain added.

“His absence will be felt,” I added, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Just because I couldn’t speak lies didn’t mean I couldn’t put a bit of a spin on the truth.

“Taliesin, I know you’re upset, but— Bors, would you explain?” Gawain poked his fellow knight, who huffed and finally turned to me.

“Fine, fine. Look, Arty isn’t normally this bad.”

“Are you sure? On the way to the baths, he asked me ‘how are you faring, my boy.’ I think I’m older than him.” Gaz grumbled. He was flaring his glamour, using it to swirl water over his body. Gawain took that moment to sink below the water and start to wash his hair. I let out a laugh at that. Gawain seemed less brittle than before. He remained a rigid example of nobility, but there was a bit of give now. Already he’d stood up for me in front of Arthur and was taking part in our banter.

“Gawain is also not such a stick in the mud as he has been. He’s just been stressed about Arty.” Bors sucked in a breath. “Look, Arty was raised different. There’s a lot of pressure and not many options. He’s the sixth child out of seven kids. It’s not like he’s going to be king, yet people swirl and plot around him, treating him like a piece in a game he wants no part of.”

“I mentioned how I got Gring? That disaster wasn’t even the first time we got close to some deadly plot. Arthur decided that it was best if he had principles and stuck to them, to be the righteous peg who refuses to fit into their unrighteous holes.”

“I’d have picked a different metaphor, but that’s broadly accurate,” Gawain added as he surfaced. “It may seem strange, but it was working, until your intelligence tipped us off that more drastic ideas were being considered.”

“That still doesn’t forgive him throwing Taliesin at Maeve,” Gaz argued on my behalf, not looking pleased.

“Ah, that’s different. I think that’s two things. One, he was a bit loopy from poison, and two, he has a massive crush on her.” said Bors.

“What?” I grumbled and slipped below the water, taking a moment to enjoy the way it muted my hearing. Or kind of did. Wait—what were those noises? I could hear creaks and rumbles and a squeak?

I surfaced and looked at the pair of knights, staring daggers at them. “Tell me I wasn’t just hearing my innards?”

“Then I won’t,” Bors responded. I saw a smile twitch on Gawain’s lips. They were clearly laughing at me. “It’ll all ease up over the next couple of days. Honestly, I found it kind of fun. It was a reminder of what I could do with my senses if I really pushed.”

“Back to your boss lusting after Taliesin’s fiancée.” Gaz prompted. He laughed at the look I speared him with.

“We’re not engaged!” I protested.

“Yeah, I don’t think he cares. You were, and now you’re a source of envy. He’ll be upset with himself once he cools down. If he apologises, do know he’ll mean it. Though I think that's just the beginning of your problems with Arty.” Bors let out a little chuckle as he grabbed a pumice stone and began to rub his back. My eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“He thinks of Percy as a big sister.” Behind Bors, Gaz had to cover his mouth to hold in a laugh.

“And he’s very protective of his family,” Gawain added, his face was beneath a towel but I could tell he was grinning.

“Just great!” They all laughed as I slipped under the water.