Escape From Heavalun, page 22
“If only you knew,” Conor chuckled back, having not even thought of speaking what was meant to be internal dialog.
He felt Eivaleys tail clench around his waist as he pulled her in. He said it, intentional or not, and would admit, at least in private, that the little brat was growing on him.
“Aww, you two are just precious,” Izaya praised.
Her jubilation was joined by the other women who had overheard their answer; all seemed approving. “I hope we will get an invitation whenever you two hold a feast for your coupling.”
“Oh, I assure you we will,” Eivaley replied. “We would want you all there.”
Eivaley had not informed Conor of what would happen when she finally broke down his barriers and allowed her in. But one thing after them finally having sex, would be a feast, along with them both getting their life coils from the clergy.
“That is wondrous. And Conor, please do call if you ever need anything. Advice, aid, or anything my old mind can’t think of,” Beiyli added. “But we cannot keep you two from your people. Please come find us later; I would love to talk with you about your battles.”
“We will,” Eivaley replied, while Conor nodded and took the note Beiyli handed him.
The note was Beiyli’s contact information. Conor already had it, having dug it up through Vuraleys channels, but with Beiyli giving it to him, Conor could now use it without seeming like he overstepped a line.
Following that conversation, Beiyli and Izaya departed. They faded into the crowd to speak to other nobles and royal family members. The millisecond after the pair had left, another couple stepped forward to talk to Conor and Eivaley.
That was the start of the most exhausting experience Conor had ever socially endured. Unlike the first pair, a kind, caring older couple who wanted to connect with the next generation, the rest were a mixed bag of enjoyable and infuriating.
Those who were enjoyable were similar to the first group, they had a few questions, exchanged pleasantries, and then were off. Interacting with those people changed Conor’s impressions of royalty and high society.
He was honestly reconsidering his thoughts about how pompous and up their own ass royals were. With his interactions with Vuraley and Eivaley, the shape of what he believed the average noble was changing rapidly.
From his new perspective, he could understand that nobles were just people. They had their own hopes and dreams, strife and terrors. Like everyone he knew back on Heavalun, they keep them to themselves unless telling will benefit them somehow.
It was too bad that any of the goodwill he was developing was crushed when the picture-perfect caricatures of nobility began to drunkenly come forward.
They reeked of cheap booze and were absolute messes. Each was not just stuck up, they genuinely believed they were above all sentients.
The drunkards, both male and female, would take several minutes regaling anyone who would listen to them with their accomplishments and every title that came from them.
There were lords and ladies of thousands of houses, raised by twice as many fathers and mothers, and of course, each name to include their parents and kids had to be explained in painstaking detail.
For the sake of Eivaley’s image, Conor did his best to not throttle the asshats. He had managed to not snap at any of them for nearly two hours. He probably should have brought a stim since he had almost fallen asleep several times, but Eivaley bumped him to keep her Human on task. So his responses were becoming short, impatient, and crass, whereas the last one, he was downright rude, having ignored ninety percent of the hot air this blowhard was spewing.
All the man had done for the last twenty minutes was break down his titles and everything related to him. The man had not even started explaining his title of Slayer of the Guralian Drake. Ecallar was still detailing his father’s life and why that seemed to matter.
“Can you shut up?” Conor growled at Ecallar Herela, son of Kiyulin Herela, father of Hextron Herela the last daughter of House Herela, Champion of Fyelu, wielder of the Blade of Purtral, Bester of the Pirates of the Nether Rift, Paladin of the Order of the First Empress, Slayer of the Guralian Drake, and the Master of the lost art of Vuruntali.
Ecallar stopped drunkenly explaining how his father had hunted the mother of the Guralian drake he had slayed and looked at Conor while clutching nonexistent pearls.
Eivaley snorted, hearing Conor’s brash interruption of the saga of house Herela. She had heard the song and dance of both Ecallar and Kiyulin before he passed to the Emerald Oasis to join his ancestors. At this point, she could say the entire story without any notes.
“How dare you—” Ecallar started before Conor cut him off.
“You what? Low born, scum, merc, trash. By Urla, you can just call me an asshole for all I care,” Conor sneered.
“Yes, lowborn. Have you not learned from Princess Eivaley to act correctly in front of your betters? I am Ecallar Herela, son of Kiyu—” Ecallar said, gesturing at Eivaley before Conor slapped the man’s claws away with a heavy hit.
“Oh, she has taught me how to act. But for you, Ecallar Herela consort of drakes or whatever the fuck it was, I don’t care.” Conor snapped.
Conor held his tongue to not insult Ecallars lineage further by saying he was glad that his daughter, Hextron, was the last of their lineage, meaning they would die off.
Instead, the Human just watched as the man babbled for a moment and then fumed at the insult to his honor.
“You filthy scum-sucking—” Ecallar began but bit his tongue and went pale in the face when an angelic voice stopped him.
“Oh, so my daughter chose to interact with a scum-sucking what—Ecii.” Eivaley’s mother taunted as she and Vuraley approached the group.
The world fell nearly silent as the Empress approached; her angelic presence pushed all tension of violence away. She was a musical note that felled all the conversations like a scythe cutting grass.
All eyes who had been watching the events unfold fell onto Eyurali as she flowed closer to the pair of detested nobles. Though Conor did not consider himself noble in any regard, she understood what he was.
Even as an assigned Champion, Conor held status higher than most present, save for other Champions and their ladies in the running to be Empress.
Eyurali noted that the Human had attempted to be diplomatic for the last few hours. She had watched him keenly, with Vuraley insisting he would be a right and proper Champion for her fifth daughter.
She had initially been hesitant about involving other species in their politics. But Conor, so far, had laid most of those issues to rest.
Go figure, the empress’ Champion lived up to his expected role. Vuraley was her guiding beacon in the storms of life; He was the voice of reason and the hand that sighted those who would threaten her life or the lives of their daughters.
“Oh, I–I meant,” Ecallar started but was shut down again by Eyurali.
“Ecii, please just stop. Your house has been in decline for decades. You would not want it to be further pushed into strife by your actions,” she stated, assuredly stepping in front of Conor and Eivaley.
Despite the words being delivered with the gentle grace of a mother swaddling a crying babe, they stabbed Ecallar like a rusty pipe.
“Leave while you are behind. The assigned fifth Champion certainly can see through your showboating. Or are you too drunk to see something in front of your face?” the Empress challenged, gesturing back at Conor.
“But—” Ecallar started but was silenced with words that were near violence from Vuraley.
“But, nothing!” Vuraley snapped, his tail whipping as loud as a gunshot.
Vuraley marched forward and pressed his sharp claw up into Ecallar’s throat. He paused for a moment, letting the other noble get a good peek of the High Champion’s fangs. Thick, brackish venom dripped from the needle points as Vuraley flicked his tongue like a snake, tasting the fear rolling off the other noble.
“Your house is dying, and you aren’t helping the image of the once great Herela. If you wish to return to glory, start by being as solid of a Champion as Conor has been,” Vuraley hissed, stepping next to Conor and patting his shoulder. “This, mere Human has done more in a few weeks than your entire house has in years. Yet you dare to call him, what was it again? Remind me what you have the gall to refer to your better as.”
Ecallar sputtered as the eyes of the entire room fell onto the drama unfolding. He frantically scanned the eyes of the others, seeing if anyone might come to his aid, but no one dared to step in for him; even the Lady he was escorting had stepped away, leaving him utterly alone.
With no options and his back to the proverbial wall, Ecallar made his house’s first good choice in nearly fifty years. He swallowed his pride and retreated while he still had some semblance of nobility remaining.
“I—spoke out of turn to the assigned fifth, High Champion,” Ecallar replied, hanging his head low, and glancing down at the armor his father had bequeathed him to hunt the Guralian Drake; its dull steel surface as patinated as his house’s reputation.
“The fifth what?” Eivaley added, reminding the other noble of the status Conor held.
“The assigned Fifth Champion,” Ecallar choked out.
Like many of the other nobles, he was unsure of Conor, and due to that, he forgot his place in the hierarchy, assuming it would not matter if he insulted someone who was an outsider.
“You will do your best to remember that, Ecallar,” Eyurali said calmly. “Now, with this sudden outburst, kindly leave this event. You will be hearing from me soon.”
With his tail tucked, Ecallar exited the room as quickly as his feet could allow. The others watched as he and the Lady he was escorting slinked out of the room like a pair of wounded animals, likely having smelled the blood in the water and sizing up if they could abuse the folly of the man soon.
“Alright, everyone, the show is over,” Vuraley announced. “Kindly return to whatever you were doing.”
At the command of Vuraley, the rest of the nobles returned to the evening’s events, namely drinking and mingling.
It was as if a light switch had activated them all. Within a split second, they turned away and resumed their conversations as if there was no interruption.
A few moved to the center of the room and began to slowly dance with one another to the gentle music that flowed through speakers around the room.
It was not uncommon for Kurlatra to discuss important upcoming events or share secrets with one another while dancing.
“Thank you, Conor, I cannot stand him,” Eivaley muttered as Vuraley stepped over to his wife, who was simply scanning the crowd, assuring she had interacted with everyone she needed to. “Maybe we can use a bit more tact next time?”
“Why, he is not worth the effort,” Conor shrugged.
“I don’t want people to hate you,” Eivaley gestured at everyone.
She was initially worried about Conor not doing well in the gala. But he had surprised her in every way possible. Conor had not hit anyone or threatened to murder someone for looking at her wrong, both things he stated would likely happen.
While Eivaley could recover from any damages to her reputation, Conor was starting at square one. That he was the assigned Fifth Champion meant next to nothing in practicality.
Sure, the title protected him from people treating him like absolute dirt and offered him other benefits around the palace, but he still had to make a name that would live up to that title.
So far, he had undoubtedly done just that.
Conor was already being spoken of by the other nobles as someone confident, assured of himself, and now someone who will not take any bullshit or guff from lessers.
That combination of beliefs would set him up for them to approach him with caution in the future, lest they receive his and, by extension, Eivaley’s ire.
Eivaley would praise his ability to adapt to the situation in front of him later, but for now, Eyurali had completed her scan of the crowd and turned about.
“Now that the fun is over, how are you faring this evening?” Eyurali smiled as she approached the pair, her elegance radiating off her like a burning fire.
Conor stood there, nearly dumbfounded. He was well aware from her entrance that Eyurali was beyond all others in how she looked and carried herself.
She was elegant and decisive action incarnate, but seeing the genuine article only a short distance away was beyond what he thought possible.
Each light bouncing off her shimmering dress and womanly frame was nearly blinding. It was as if Conor was looking into an exploding quasar. Thank Urla that Eivaley was there with him to pick his jaw off the floor; without her, he would have likely just been a slack-jawed idiot.
“Mom,” Eivaley smiled, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around her mother.
The calm and Human action, in a way, dragged Eyurali down from divinity and placed her firmly in a category that Conor could interact with without issues.
“Oh, dear, I missed you more than you could ever know,” Eyurali purred, pulling Eivaley into a deep hug.
The mother and daughter held the embrace for nearly a minute, each nuzzled into one another, taking in the smells, sights, and feel of one another.
The two were an inseparable pair, they both loved the other to their wholehearted ability. These months away from one another were arduous for them; neither liked being far from the other for so long, but such is life for nobles.
With their duties and lives, they regrettably often had to be away from one another. If Eyurali had her way, neither her precious daughters nor son would be more than an arm’s reach from her.
Eyurali understood all too well the effects of Kurlatra society on her daughters. All Kurlatra began life with a roughly ten-to-one female-to-male ratio for their clutch, but through sororicide, the numbers approximately even out.
She, as the current Empress, had slain or watched the death of no less than two hundred of her sisters throughout ten clutches.
All of her sister’s laughs, cries, lies, and eventual deaths were embalmed in her soul. They were anchors pulling her to hell; she could never forget them.
Eyurali held Eivaley so tightly because she understood the damning fate that awaited all of her daughters.
They would either fail to rise to the position of Empress and head of their lineage or would be eternally dragged through the endless sands by the burden of their families reaping—just as she was.
If there was something Eyurali could do to prevent Eivaley, her most gentle daughter, from being damned to that existence, she would do it; however, just giving up thousands of years of societal norms to save her children would not work.
When she orchestrated the deaths of her sisters to rise through the rankings, she thought it was the only way to live. Now, having given birth to her own clutches, she honestly could comprehend the weight of watching your children kill one another for status.
With her new perspective on life, she wished none would live through the hell she had. She yearned that none of her children would be stained by the blood of their brethren as she was.
However, casting away the tradition of sororicide overnight would lead to tens, if not hundreds, of years of civil war, unrest, and uncountable deaths.
The current nobility would not take the change well and would assuredly combat the change. Each would raise their own small armies and fight for their own desires. The ensuing war would cause the deaths of millions, if not billions, of her people.
Eyurali, even with the ever-steady guidance of Vuraley, could not accept that as a possible reality.
Instead of uprooting the entire Kurlatra culture to protect her brood, Eyurali regrettably elected to swallow the pill of the reality she had been born into and propagated—despite that doing so felt like eating molten glass.
Once Eyurali released her daughter, she stepped back. She clearly lingered on Eivaley, as if she was cementing each interaction in her mind like something that could never be recreated.
“Now, Conor,” Eyurali breathed, looking up at her daughter’s Human, having buried all of her thoughts outside of being the Empress for the time being. “Would you care to inform me of your story? I have heard so much from Vurii.”
Conor nearly laughed at hearing Vuraley’s pet name, but the man did not react to it being said aloud, so he assumed it must not be a secret.
Conor dutifully explained his life in Heavalun, leaving no detail out; in comprehensive detail, Conor spelled out his life to Eyurali, unable to not do so the divine woman.
Something about her just demanded Conor spill his guts. Eivaley was undoubtedly irresistible; her attitude, looks, and, of course, that she saw ways around made her impossible to ignore.
But Eyurali was like a drug. Her mere existence was a more potent high than Visage or Rangula could offer—and those made you forget days of your life.
This woman was just someone you always wanted more of.
Conor spent the next twenty minutes explaining his life to Eivaley’s mother. He detailed how his parents traveled to Heavalun as some of the first Humans to the COS. He did not skimp on details that they failed to live there and ultimately died, with him being found by Brakul when they were young teens.
It likely was not needed, but Conor explained in ways he had yet to admit to Eivaley how Brakul, though only three years older than he was, acted as his father, brother, and battle buddy.
Conor calmly explained the thousands of shootouts, hostage situations, and contracts the pair had taken on over the years. He also informed her about Stitch and Fae, his constant supporters in the slums.
The last story Conor told Eyurali was about extracting Eivaley and how Brakul and Stitch ultimately died. When he told her about their passing, Eyurali looked at Conor with sympathy, one that only she and others who had seen the death of so many family members could.
