Path of the King - Chapter 7 (Patreon)

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The plane rumbled beneath me, shaking as it rapidly picked up speed. There was a shift as the wheels lifted off the runway and retracted into the fuselage, and then I felt my stomach lurch and I was pushed back into the heavily padded seat as we began to climb.

I looked out through the window beside me, watching the illuminated runway fall away and the cityscape begin to open up as we rapidly ascended into the dark sky. It was early in the morning, the sun’s glow barely visible over the distant horizon, but even at this hour the city did not truly sleep. The windows of early risers and twenty-four hour stores glowed like fireflies and cars trundled down poorly-lit roads, their headlights illuminating patches of the darkness and casting deep shadows. 

My eyes turned towards the east, where the sky was just starting to lighten from the black of night to a vivid purple. The sun was not yet visible, not even as a bright sliver over the horizon, but perhaps that was for the best. As much as I doubted that, much like with the moon, anyone, or anything, was looking down on me through that particular celestial body, it was best to not tempt fate. Not now. 

Even with access to all the magical and mundane texts I could hope for, I still wasn’t fully clear of the mechanics of such things. Where did the colossal ball of burning gas end and the metaphysical begin? If I peered close enough, would I see Amun-Ra’s solar barque rising from the underworld? Perhaps Phoebus Apollo driving his fiery chariot? Or maybe one of the enumerable other gods of the sun making their daily journey across the sky.

It was sometimes hard to reconcile everything I knew about this world. At times I felt like I knew so much, facts and details that were unknown even to the upper echelons of the most powerful mage association. Outsider knowledge that I could never let anyone know I held. 

Other times, I knew less than nothing. Some of the things I thought I knew were just plain out wrong, or didn’t work quite the way they had in my memories. This was not one specific world that I remembered, but a combination of several settings, and with so much more added on top of it. Filling those gaps in my knowledge had been one of my biggest priorities over the years, and was something I was still working on to this day. 

I gave the horizon one last look. Perhaps soon, I’d be in a position to answer that particular question. For now, it didn’t really matter. With a resounding click, I slid the window shut and folded my hands over my chest. 

For the first time since I’d landed in Alexandria earlier this week, I felt no need to tap my foot, bounce my leg, or flex my fingers. I rarely gave into those unseemly urges, but they were still there lurking in the background and waiting for my focus to slip for a single moment.

Now, my hands were steady, my breathing perfectly smooth and even, and my thoughts clear. I was aware of myself and the world in a way I never had been before. I could almost taste the magic in the air at times, the breath of the planet mingling with my own. It was a heady feeling.

It was a wonder how big a difference a few words could make. A few words had set me on my chosen path, and a few more had ensured that I would walk it to its inevitable end. Anet truly was a woman without equal. To think it could all be so very simple. I was not allowed to die. Just a few simple words, and yet they changed everything. 

I was not allowed to die. Neither could I give up on my goals and still be the Keon that Anet believed in. If I failed, I would die. Thus, I could not fail. So. Very. Simple.  

There was no room in my path for fear, doubt, or second thoughts. Only victory. If I was not fully committed to my path, how could I possibly expect myself to walk it properly? I couldn't, of course. So I had to be fully committed. And I was. Oh how I was. 

Now… I couldn’t say that my path was clear, because it wasn’t. High walls, patches of darkness, and countless other obstacles stood before. There was still so much to do, so many questions whose answers I could only guess at, and I was rapidly running out of time.

But I could see my destination, a shining beacon in the distance. It blazed like the sun and shone like Anet’s smile, so bright I could barely stand to look at it. But look at it I did, and I would reach that beacon, no ifs, buts, or anything else about it. 

Certainty was such a freeing feeling. It made me feel alive. Like I’d just been drifting through life before, a living corpse that didn’t know it was already dead pulled along by the currents of fate. Like something inside me had fallen asleep in that accursed exam room more than a decade past and only now had it finally fully awoken.

I didn’t deserve her. Not as I was. But I would. Oh how I would. She’d chosen to stand by me when all but a handful of people had tried their best to forget I existed, had believed in me when so many others counted me out. 

My parents could barely stand to look at me or each other anymore. I remembered how close they’d been when I had been little, how different from the parents I remembered from before. Despite my father’s dalliances and indiscretions, despite my mother’s obsessive behaviors and sadistic impulses, the two had managed to find love in the marriage that had been chosen for them…and then I’d brought it all tumbling down. 

Both blamed each other and themselves. It was only Dalia, perfect, brilliant, whole Dalia that had stopped them from fully falling apart, but my crippled birth had left an irreparable fissure in the very foundation of their marriage. They’d been married for magic, not for love or politics. The two should have been nearly perfectly compatible, the ideal match to produce powerful heir’s for Egypt’s foremost lineage of magi. 

And instead, they’d had me. I couldn’t truly blame them for their disappointment, but I could certainly hate them for it.

Then there was Dalia. She didn’t hate me, not like our parents did, but neither did she fully see me as a person sometimes. Not like she was a person

I was lesser than she was. A small, fragile creature that needed to be swaddled and protected from the dangers of the world. I was family, and family was everything, but I was not an equal. Never an equal. 

I didn’t blame her for it either, even as I resented the treatment. It was simply a product of how she’d been raised. Magi were superior to lesser spell casters, and lesser spell casters were better than the mundanes. 

Those whose witch, magus, or divine lineages shown through were agents and personal attendants. They were fighters and administrators, the hands and fingers of the family. The very best of the best could even be Hephaestion, almost as good as family. Almost. 

The magic-less servants washed the floors, did the laundry, and tended to the fields. Important tasks without which things would crumble, but ultimately not that important. Just like whatever role with the council Dalia had all picked out just for me. 

And the servants…some of them weren’t so bad, the ones who saw only my name and remembered their places, but others… 

The mundanes saw me and resented my place and privileges. Why should they toil while I enjoyed the fruits of their labor? I was like them, I was not born better like the other masters, I should be one of them. 

The magi and god-blooded saw me and resented me even more. They knew they were better than their mundane brethren, but inferior to the main line. Yet here I was, mundane but still their better. They loathed having to listen to my orders, having to subordinate themselves to a cripple like me.

It hadn’t been so bad at first, but slowly discontent had begun to bloom and my parents did not intervene like they should have. It didn’t affect them, after all. It was just talk. And the Geass that bound each and every one of them ensured it would only ever remain just talk. 

But it wasn’t just talk. And even words without actions can weigh on someone after years and years. 

Only Anet had remained the same after the revelation had come out. Had remained my closest friend, my confidant, my pillar of support. She did it not out of obligation of blood, not because we were to be married, not because she was bound by magic, but simply because she wanted to. Because she was my friend and she cared about me. Believed in me. Trusted me.

When next I returned to Egypt, I would return that loyalty and faith with interest. And all the rest of it too. 

I landed in London Heathrow just after eight am, but it took another two hours to get off the plane and then through customs. It would have been twice as long, but I was carrying a Norwegian passport in addition to my Egyptian one. 

Now that had been rather difficult––and very expensive––to get my hands on, especially since I’d deliberately avoided using magic and my family’s connections whenever possible. However it had more than paid for itself a dozen times over in the past few years. Not only did it make traveling the globe much easier––the Norwegian passport was even stronger than the American one I’d carried in my old life and far better than my Egyptian one––but it also didn’t raise the same flags as it would have if I’d had it made for me by the Society of Seidhr. Sometimes it was best not to attract the attention of every mage association and family of magi when I entered their sphere of influence. 

I was here on business and would much rather avoid the attention of any of England’s three major mage organizations if at all possible. Especially that of the Royal Arsenal, though having to deal with the Clock Tower would also put a serious wrench in my plans. I wasn’t all that worried about the Witenagemot––they had their hands full trying to stay relevant in a nation whose other major powers were backed by a Campione and a True Magician respectively. 

With any luck, any flags raised by my somewhat distinctive family name wouldn’t be noticed for at least a couple of days, perhaps even as long as a week. After all, not many people knew that my parents had two children, and no one would expect a Hephaestius to fly business class. By then, I would be done with my work and long gone. 

I was starving by the time I got through customs, and for once I was thankful for an otherwise too-long layover. I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the food at the airport lounge, though, given how much money I was spending on flights these days, maybe I shouldn’t have been. 

My second flight of the day was much shorter than the first, and on a significantly smaller plane. The aircraft had only four ‘first class’ seats, though they barely qualified as such, and I was the only one using one. The plane shook, bounced, and rumbled the whole way to Scotland, and I spent the entire trip painfully aware of my own mortality. At least it was over quickly––we’d barely reached altitude when the captain declared that we were coming in for a landing. 

I was in a thoroughly wretched mood by the time we landed, and this time there was no Gamal waiting for me with a cold drink and a car ready to go. I was also still hours away from my destination and it was pouring outside, rain coming down in a thunderous torrent more akin to the crashing of ocean waves than any kind of garden sprinkler. 

It took longer to get my rental car than it did to fly from London. By the end of it, I would have welcomed a representative from the Royal Arsenal with open arms, if only for their memory manipulation magecraft to speed this all along. Maybe Dalia was right. Maybe I really should have taken Isi with me this time. But I’d gotten this far on my own. If I threw my hands up now, how could I expect to see my path to its end? Fixing things with Isi could wait. My goals wouldn’t. 

I’d visited the British Isles enough times in the past few years that I’d gotten used to driving on the wrong side of the road, but the combination of terrible weather, back roads, and comparatively cheap car made the drive take much longer than I would have liked. At least that gave me some time to calm down after the flight. 

I breathed deeply, a cool breeze flowing across my face from the car’s vents. Even after passing through the AC, the air here was damp and rich with power, the mana sweeter on my tongue than it had been back home. There was a reason that a tiny island like this was home to so many of the world’s greatest magi and had spawned so many gods and ancient spirits.

The sun was already setting when I finally turned into the driveway of the small cottage in the Scottish highlands. It was an old, but well cared for building, and a similarly old but well maintained bright red SUV was already parked in the driveway. The curtains over the front window were drawn, but a warm light shone from around the edges of the plaid hanging and the upstairs windows were similarly lit up. 

I left my duffle in the trunk––though perhaps I should be calling it a boot––shouldered my backpack, and quickly checked my reflection in the tinted window of my car. Despite having been on the road all day and not having gotten very much sleep the night before, I thought I looked alright. I’d freshened up slightly during a brief rest stop and I felt perfectly awake and alert. My clothing was a little damp––it was still drizzling––but there was nothing to be done about that. 

I knocked once on the front door and immediately heard the scrabble of footsteps from inside. “I’m coming!” a muffled voice shouted, and feet pounded against a staircase. They stopped on the other side of the door and there was a long moment of silence. Then I heard a chain rattle, the deadbolt disengage, and the click of a lock turning. 

Sarah threw the door open and then stepped out into the doorway. She was dressed for a day at home in a baggy, slightly faded pink t-shirt and athletic shorts. She was barefoot, her toenails painted the same cheery red as the nails on her fingers, except for her ring finger which was pink and glittery. She’d clearly just made a last-minute (and mostly unsuccessful) attempt to tame her messy mane of ginger hair into a ponytail

For several seconds she stared directly forward, her eyes wide. Ah, the many benefits of white shirts. Worked like a charm every time. Then she shook herself and raised her head until our eyes met. I smiled down at her and her cheeks turned pink, her freckles standing out in stark relief, but she tilted her chin forward and continued to hold my gaze.

Sarah was not a particularly tall girl, but like those tiny demon dogs some ladies keep in their purses, she more than made up for it with attitude. Thankfully, it hadn’t taken long to figure out how to tame that attitude and direct it towards something productive. She just needed a firm touch and a little bit of affection and she was happy to come, sit, and heel on command. 

In lieu of a more traditional greeting, I leaned down and kissed her full on the lips. One of my hands slid down to palm her plump backside and I threaded the other through her hair, ruining what little progress she’d made in taming it. 

I squeezed her butt and she eeped adorably, then melted into my touch, leaning heavily against my chest and eagerly accepting my kiss. My tongue pierced past her lips and the next sound she made was a long, needy moan that stirred something in my chest and made my pants feel a tad too tight. 

When I finally broke the kiss, Sarah slumped against me, her breathing coming in short bursts and her face even more flushed then it had been before. She rested her head against my chest, her eyes closed and mouth hanging slightly open. I pulled her body against mine, enjoying the way her breathing hitched whenever my hands moved. 

I leaned down again and pecked her on the top of the head. “Hello Sarah,” I whispered softly. 

“Good evening, sir,” she whispered back.

My fingers ghosted across the back of her bare neck and her entire body shuddered. “Something is missing, I think,” I told her conversationally.

She swallowed heavily, “I…wasn’t certain it was you at the door?” she answered after a moment’s pause, but her words were shaky and uncertain. 

I hummed noncommittal and made a show of looking down the empty road on either side of Sarah’s cottage. “No,” I said eventually, “I don’t think that’s it. I think you aren’t wearing it on purpose, my dear. I wonder why you’d do something like that, my dear. Maybe someone is… looking forward to being punished, hmm?” Then I smiled. “But don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.”

She swallowed again and tilted her head down. I squeezed her butt again, noting that she was very clearly not wearing anything under them. I had a feeling that if I moved my hand down just a little bit lower, I’d feel a wet spot starting to form. After several lonely nights, I was rather looking forward to finding out for certain, but that could wait. 

I took a deep breath and Sarah’s body tensed, but I simply remarked. “Something smells absolutely divine.”

Sarah blinked rapidly, and then her eyes widened even further than they had when she was staring at my chest earlier. “The roast!” she exclaimed suddenly, and tore away from me. Amused, I let her go, enjoying the sight of her retreating behind. 

Tomorrow it would be time for business. As much as I enjoyed Sarah’s ‘company’, I hadn’t traveled all the way to a remote Scottish island to fuck my third-favorite redhead. She was fun, but not that fun. Not after I’d finished breaking her in, at the very least. 

What she was, however, was useful. Extremely useful. She was smart, dedicated, and had very few social and familial bonds stopping her from doing what she was told. She was not the only mundane I’d co opted for my own goals, but she’d had a lot more success than most of them. If half of what she’d told me in her email the previous week was true, I may very well have finally struck gold. 

But that was tomorrow. Today, I was tired, hungry, and rather pent up. I was confident Sarah would be happy to help me solve all three of those problems.