Arthurian Cultivation

“Well I'm sure we can chat in a safer location, we should move towards—” Arthur began, before both Sephy and I hit him with a glare. Was there a deranged psychopath planning to kill us all? Yes. Were we in hostile territory with unknown forces ranged against us? Yes. Was there likely an ambush closing in on us at this very moment? Yes. Did I care? No.

Sephy and I had some things to hash out.

“Bors, I want you to introduce our guest.” Sephy obviously agreed with me, seeing her left me feeling hot, cold, sweaty, and out of breath all at once, it was like I was the first time I'd realised girls were different. I just hoped that I looked calmer than I felt.

“It’s good to see you too, Percy. Well, this is Taliesin, bard extraordinaire. He’s been helping me for a while now. He’s good people, been very open about his past as well.” Bors added. I appreciated that he didn’t share anything I’d told him in confidence. Sephy knew my background, but Arthur didn’t. Though I doubted that would last.

“Wonderful, now, should we not regroup and—”

“So, he told you he was Regus Harkley.” Sephy asked, and Bors nodded. She gave me a calculating look, that to be fair wasn't a very Regus thing to have done.

“Wait, he’s a Harkley? He looks more Artossian.” Arthur’s stare was colder now, his blue eyes weighing me up carefully. It was smarter to stay silent, but I couldn’t stand being called a Harkley.

“Don’t tar me with that name! I’m not a Harkley! Seph—”

“Don’t. You will call me Percy until I am entirely satisfied.” Her eyes met mine, and I felt the power behind them. No longer shielded by the fake dream world, I could feel the strength of her cultivation. Still, the sentence alone sent thrills through me. Sephy was careful with her words; ‘entirely satisfied’ implied she was already part of the way there.

“Arty, Regus is the one who managed to warn us that your aunt was being influenced by the Divine Cultivators. He loathed the Harkleys more than you will ever know and risked everything to smuggle out information on them. I worked with him a lot. He was a great ally and a better friend.” Her last words hammered into me. I had a cultivator’s control over my body, and I had to use all of it to pull back the dampness that threatened my eyes and quell the blush that crawled up from my dancing heart.

“Wait, you warned us about Emilia? That was you? Why didn’t you say? That’s like half the reason we left Albion!” Bors stared at me. I waved him off.

“I mean, I—” I caught a glare from Sephy. I paused. This was like the games at court. I settled myself back into the patterns of speech and behaviour of Regus. I drew myself up, standing like a man of court, one hand to my chest, the other used to gently add emphasis to my words. Every movement was choreographed to show my station and follow the delicate rules of etiquette.

I had read that court etiquette was bizarre and arcane to better equip cultivators to handle the Fae. A minor breach of etiquette could cost you some face in court; a breach of Fae etiquette might cost you your actual face. It was hard to learn, and harder to master. I had been flawless. I could offer my jailers no excuse to keep me in my cage.

“Good Sir Knight, that is not how spies work. Regus did warn the good Lady Percy that they kept demanding he make the perfume a certain lady likes.” I used the correct inflection and flick of the hand to indicate someone of high station. I could feel Sephy’s judgement on every action. “He would not have assembled the complete picture. It is only through the work of others, like the esteemed knight and her exquisitely arranged coterie of contacts, that such decisions can be made. Regus was but a humble servant.”

I looked at Sephy and caught the tiny twitch of her lips, her hidden smile. I’d scored well. Many things about my face had changed, but my smile was still the same—no point in changing something that was so rarely seen. Our eyes met. I could sense she was about to ask something when Arthur stomped his way into the conversation.

“Wait! Regus. Regus. Is he not the one who was married to Maeve?” Arthur’s eyes fixed on me. His demeanour went from chilly to arctic. He looked ready to attack me. Bors even took a step closer, looking at Arthur with a worried expression.

“Do calm down. By the fates, I should’ve known you’d focus on that over the fact I said he was dead.” Sephy pinched the bridge of her nose. She seemed as annoyed as I at the interruption. “Still, that does bring up my main concern. Regus is dead twice over. The Chox claim to have killed everyone in the chapel. And even if Regus managed to escape, there was no way the Harkleys wouldn’t use the blood curse to make sure he wasn’t captured and pumped for information.” Sephy’s words were less an accusation than an offering. Arthur was gathering steam to speak, so I dived in ahead of him.

“It is a pity that I must report that the noble Regus Harkley, and any reason for his betrothal, died after being hunted through the woods by his rather upset bride-to-be. He escaped for a while—”

“There’s no way you escaped Maeve Chox. She is a prodigy with a blade,” Arthur interrupted, practically vibrating with noble outrage.

“Ease off, Arty. You have no idea of Reggi—Regus’s talents. He was quite adept at avoiding the ire of those whose power outstripped his own.” Sephy’s voice was becoming warmer with every exchange. I wondered how close she was to being ‘entirely satisfied’ about my origins. This conversation wasn’t going to be enough, but we were inching closer.

“You don’t know the half of it. He ran rings round an Inquisitor,” Bors added, trying to be helpful. I winced a little, unsure of how that praise might be taken. It wasn’t like Regus had been well-known for combat prowess. Still, it didn’t seem to upset Sephy, who added that to her collection of information.

“Despite the spirited objections of his esteemed betrothed, he did manage to escape. Sadly, that gave him a little freedom before the Blood Curse killed him. That was how Regus Harkley left this world.” I spoke nothing but the truth. Regus had died then. I could feel my words moving swiftly over my tongue. I could feel Sephy’s eyes focusing on me. Then to Bors, who gave a small nod, no doubt confirming I wasn’t lying.

“After that—”

“After you died?” Arthur seemed painfully behind in the conversation. I’d expected more from a prince. It was only one little resurrection, after all.

“After Regus died,” I shifted posture, dropping the etiquette and mannerisms of my former life, switching to the relaxed manner of the travelling bard. This day, I didn’t mind the Lady’s guidance. While it often chafed, it had led me here, to Sephy. Besides, it would be a lie to pretend my role as a bard was anything less than a perfect fit.

“I met the Lady of the Lake, since then my life has been complicated. She gave me a name,” as I said that, I saw Sephy jerk, her eyes locking onto mine. Of course, she’d know about the power of names. “And it appears she had made some arrangements. I was set free, and found myself meeting Bors and Gring, which has led to an increasingly unlikely series of events that finally delivered me to this blasted plain.”

“This is preposterous! Percy, you can’t seriously believe him?”

“Arty, ease off. I've seen evidence. I heard her voice. Gawain nearly shat himself,” Bors chuckled, his deep voice reverberating with amusement.

“Gawain accepts this?” Arthur’s incredulous tone softened as Bors nodded. The prince seemed to shrink down, clearly rattled by the implication. Gawain’s unwavering sense of duty had become an unintentional barometer for the others, and if he believed, it was as good as truth to them.

Meanwhile, Sephy was staring right through me, head tilted slightly, her lips twitching like she was whispering to herself. I could almost feel her mind working, analyzing the facts, weighing her next move. I had to force myself to look away from her lips—their subtle movement was far too distracting.

I’d been trained against falling for common glamours, but Sephy wasn’t just beauty; she was magnetism. Even knowing this, I found my attention pulled to her like the tide to the moon. I cleared my throat, shaking off the fog.

“Speaking of Gawain, he’s probably getting agitated that we’re not following the plan. Can we continue this while heading toward him? If we’re expecting an attack, I’d rather be closer to support,” I gestured toward our rendezvous point. Sephy gave a slight nod in agreement.

“Hmmm, let’s move then,” she replied coolly, “before he comes to drag you to safety. I’m not tasting his blood until we’re out of danger.”

“Well, that’s promising,” I quipped as we set off toward the river, forming a loose line. Bors kept to the far side, Arthur between him and Sephy, who was now just a few paces from me. She didn’t invite me closer, but with every step, I drifted nearer. She didn’t seem to mind.

“Why’s that promising?” Bors asked, casting a curious glance.

“If she thought it was impossible, there’d be no point,” I replied, watching Sephy’s lips twitch again in amusement. Keeping focus with her so close was harder than it should’ve been. My thoughts spun in dangerous directions.

“Why not taste his blood anyway?” Arthur piped up, his tone still stiff. I wasn’t sure how I’d earned the prince’s ire, but at least the others didn’t seem to hold it against me. Sephy shot me a glance, raising an eyebrow, an invitation to answer.

“Plenty of reasons,” I began, accepting the challenge. “It could be poisoned specifically to target her. I could be some fae creature controlling others through blood.” A flicker of a smile from Sephy told me I was doing well, but she raised her hand, fingers dancing, telling me I’d missed something. I sighed.

“Or, I suppose, I could have a magical construct designed to harm her if she got too close.” She grinned as I cursed under my breath. How had I missed that?

“That sounds ridiculous,” Bors interjected, stepping in before Arthur could say anything. “If he had that, wouldn’t he just run at her?”

“No.” Sephy and I answered in perfect sync. Her grin widened before she managed to suppress it, and I couldn’t help but smile too. She gestured for me to continue.

“If I were powerful enough to create someone with all these implanted memories, the smartest move would be convincing them they *were* that person. That way, they wouldn’t slip up. If they thought they were genuine, they’d act the part perfectly.” Bors and Arthur exchanged horrified glances, then looked at Sephy, who nodded.

“What?” she said, chuckling as they recoiled. “In the world of absurdly powerful cultivators, that logic makes sense.”

Our eyes met, and my heart raced. The connection between us was undeniable, the shared understanding electric. But then, her expression darkened, and my stomach dropped. What had I done?

“We should focus,” Sephy’s voice cut through the moment, sharp and commanding. “Astor’s on the move.”

The air around us shifted as we fell into a more cautious formation. Sephy ranged out to one side, Bors to the other, leaving Arthur and me sandwiched between them.

“How are you tracking him?” Bors asked quietly.

“I can’t do his full blood-tracking technique, but I can use part of the link between him and Arty’s blood to get a sense of direction. No distance, just direction.”

“I thought you couldn’t work with his blood,” Bors said, frowning.

“I allowed her to affect it through my aura,” Arthur answered tersely. “I trust her, even if we don’t always agree.” His glare fell on me, and I shrugged. There wasn’t much I could do about the prince’s attitude. It was a problem I hadn’t expected to face. Jealousy nagged at me—the level of trust required to allow someone into your aura like that was immense.

To distract myself, I pushed my senses outward. We were lucky; the wind was with us, carrying the smoke from our earlier campfire. Though my senses weren’t as keen as Bors’, I could detect things he might miss.

“There’s something behind that boulder—a squirrel or a rat, maybe. I thought you were watching for them?”

“I am. There’s nothing there,” Bors said, narrowing his eyes. A glance at Sephy was all it took; they drew their weapons, and I followed suit.

The boulder exploded in a shower of spikes, revealing a shredded squirrel, its tiny form now mangled. But what caught my eye was the torn fabric strapped to its back, holding a bag.

Inside was a ruined peach with a silver sheen, its flesh radiating an intoxicating scent. Glamour poured from it, stronger than anything I’d encountered before. A natural treasure, hundreds of times more potent than the alchemical components I used. Even damaged, it hummed with power.

“Why was it carrying a natural treasure?” Sephy asked, her tone curious. I felt ice crawl down my spine as the answer dawned on me.

“Oh, by all the fates no,” I breathed, panic rising. “We need to run.”

Arthur stepped in my path, his face set in determination. “I’m no coward. We’ll meet them in noble combat.”

I felt Sephy’s eye roll without seeing it.

“There’s nothing noble about this! It’s an upgraded monster lure!” I shouted. Sephy began to curse, and Bors swore loudly.

“Ah, fuck,” the giant grabbed a squawking Arthur and threw him over his shoulder in what looked to be a practiced manoeuvre as we all prepared to bolt towards the river.

Behind us, the forest roared.