The Butterfly Effect

They were given very little warning for the party. At least, the only thing Imre got was Mathieu poking his head in for a moment to say that it would start that afternoon. Though it wouldn’t have surprised Imre if he was told it had been mentioned earlier, given how many conversations he tuned out after arriving.

It had hardly just begun and he already wanted to leave. He didn’t bother with a fake smile, nor cared enough to put any special coating on his words. He spoke with the formality that he’d been taught, of course, but made sure they saw no reason in upholding a conversation with him.

For the most part, he stuck with Samone. Her social skills were usually enough to draw attention away from him, meaning he ended up interacting with people less than he would on his own. It was something he trusted her to do, and a task she had no problem doing. Since joining her, he’d lost track of where everyone else was; he imagined, though, that Lydia was chatting with another group of nobles, Dimas was the center of a rather awkward conversation, and Kiah had found a spot to watch them all while interacting with no one herself.

“You’re awfully mature for someone your age,” one of the guests remarked. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone as young as you who was able to discuss all that like you did.”

Samone laughed. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” She went on to add, “It’s only natural, given everything I’m going to be in charge of one day.”

When the guest gave her an impressed look, Imre couldn’t help but mumble, “You’d have a different reaction if you realized what she did to cope with it.”

“Imre!” Samone hissed back, lightly whacking him. A quick glance at the guests around them, though, assured her that none had cared to pay attention to the comment. “I know. There’s some refreshments over there, would you mind getting me a glass?”

Imre blankly nodded, wandering off to where the drinks were. He got a glass of water and turned to see Mathieu standing right behind him.

“Mind if I steal you away, Your Highness?” he prompted.

“I have to give this to Samone,” was Imre’s first thought of an excuse.

“Is that it?” Mathieu gestured for a servant to come, whispered instructions to her, then watched as she took the glass from Imre and walked up to Samone. “Problem solved. How about now?”

“Do I have to?” Imre said it before thinking the response over. He froze for a moment afterward, until Mathieu let out a hearty chuckle.

“If you’d rather stare at a wall all night! This is meant to be a fun outing for all of you, yet you look like you’d rather be dead.” He gestured for the prince to follow him. “There’s a few people I want to introduce to you. I believe you’ll find their company rather enlightening.”

There was nothing Imre could do but follow. Well, there probably were things he could do, but there was nothing he was going to do. It was better to follow orders than to go against someone’s wishes.

Mathieu weaved through the groups of people, occasionally stopping to greet a few of them. He must’ve known, though, that his companion had no interest in standing by during a conversation; he didn’t stay any longer than he needed to for any moment of it.

He finally stopped at a group of men. They were all older than them, likely around their late thirties or early forties. Imre couldn’t help but find every one of them incredibly intimidating, though he knew none of them intended to be.

“Name’s Ferrel,” the youngest one began. He had the smile of someone whose lips were naturally curled up in a grin, and a voice that would make anyone think he was always happy.

“Lyron.” This one looked like he’d seen his fair share of street brawls, possessing the same kind of battle-experienced air as Casper did. The only difference was that he was a stranger, nearly unsettling without knowing what he’d use the power to do.

“And I’m Xuan.” There was no denying that he was the oldest. Behind what looked like a friendly expression were the eyes of a kindred spirit; another who struggled with a sort of mental battle, a fight to keep moving forward.

“You probably haven’t heard of any of them—I certainly wouldn’t expect you to,” Mathieu continued casually. There was an edge to his voice, though, that suggested nervousness. “They all lived near a specific little village around here. What that village is should be no problem for you to answer.”

There was no response from the prince.

“Nothing..?”

Imre shook his head.

“They were all close to Idale. Well, technically Lyron was born there, but the other two were born nearby. If I give you that name, can you think of anyone you know that comes from there? Surely you would’ve been told that.” Mathieu was verging on disbelief now, an odd mix of relief and the previous anxiousness creeping in.

Still, no response.

“Minne grew up in Idale,” Mathieu explained. “These three all knew your mother. I thought you might be interested in meeting them… learn about her life before coming to the attention of the king. Maybe you’ll even learn something new.”

Imre maintained his silence, but not out of disinterest. He was looking past all of them to try to discern the odd figure staring back at him. It looked like a child and sounded like it when it spoke to him. “The perfect example of a key… possessing enough of the tainted saint’s blood to pass it on, yet not enough to let it show. But how close will you teeter towards the saint’s demise, I wonder? Must be pretty close, if I’m here.” Then whatever it was simply… disappeared.

“Prince?” He jumped when he felt the cool hand touch his shoulder. Mathieu moved to stand in front of him, making avoiding eye contact nigh impossible. “Is that the kind of silence of someone who’s confused, impressed, or..?”

“None of you heard that?” Imre glanced at each of them. He knew he had the kind of look of someone who wanted to be justified; he wanted to be told that it wasn’t just him, that there really was someone standing there and it wasn’t just his imagination.

Their answer was clear enough by how long it took them to respond. Each of them went from their generally merry expressions to more confused, mildly concerned ones. Both Ferrel and Xuan looked back to where he’d been staring, but it was clear that they saw no such thing.

Next came a barrage of questions, all sharing the same tone and succeeding in overwhelming him.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“I feel no different than this morning.”

“Are you tired?”

“I slept perfectly well.”

“Are you drunk?”

“What? Of course not!”

He chose to ignore Lyron’s subsequent, “Laws were meant to be broken, you know.”

Mathieu asked the most important question shortly after. “Do you have a spirit?”

That was the question Imre didn’t immediately answer. He had to make a conscious effort not to clench his fists, knowing they might end up taking it the wrong way. It wasn’t about what they said, but rather remembering the person he blamed that truly had no more control over it than anyone else did.

Realizing that his prolonged silence was only making their worry worse, he finally uttered the truth with the icy words, “Lysha-certified spiritless. The only voice I have in my head is my own.”

“Are you stupid?” Xuan muttered, glaring at Mathieu. He’d meant to keep his voice low but must’ve failed to realize it did nothing to keep the prince from hearing. “Don’t you remember that whole thing?”

“What thing? Need I remind you I’m hardly any older than he is in your eyes.”

“The spirit thing,” Ferrel whispered, but truly only slightly better at hiding it than Xuan. His smile had faded. “You know, when they realized there wasn’t even the faintest trace of the Saint-King in there…”

They must have become acutely aware of his presence shortly after, Lyron being the first to look at him. The others quickly picked up on it, trying their best to pretend like nothing was said between them.

“So,” Mathieu prompted casually, “with that out of the way… Do you have any questions for these three? They’re all here and ready to answer whatever you might want to ask, so go ahead—don’t let this opportunity go to waste.”

“Why do I have the feeling that you really don’t want me to ask anything?” Imre mumbled.

“Of course I do, I arranged this all for your benefit—”

“If I wanted to know something about my mother, I would ask her myself,” he remarked. “I have no reason to believe she would lie to me or try to avoid the truth any more than you would.” He stepped away from them. “Now, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to get some fresh air. Please tell Samone that so she doesn’t worry about it.”

“Where are you going..?”

Imre didn’t give an answer, though he had the perfect spot in mind.

He needed to go somewhere quiet, away from all the people and their chatter. A place that would mirror his own mind, detached from the events around it and completely unaware of such happenings. He’d probably never find something exactly like that here, but there was always a close substitute.