Chapter 133: Requiem of the Wandering Star
Chapter 133: Requiem of the Wandering Star
❁✦❁ The night is a velvet curtain; secrets slip through like silver blades. ❁✦❁
Light exploded across my vision as Johannes moved—an eclipse of steel and sinew between me and the stranger.
“Does this bold approach not reek of intrigue?”
Johannes’ voice was ice‑forged. “What mettle grants you such nerve?”
The bearded man answered with unhurried calm, dusting an invisible mote from his coat.
“In a thronging street, my lord, conversation is hardly a crime. Am I to avert my eyes from a lady—even with a sentinel at her side?”
A playful sorrow glimmered behind his lashes.
“When word reached me that the Duke and his bride walked abroad, I chased the rumor on trembling eyebrows all the way to Mussen. Fortune favored me—I found you at last.”
He surveyed the emptying plaza, unfazed by Johannes’ simmering vigilance.
I, too, scanned the shadows: no prying eyes, no tailing silhouettes. Yet caution coiled around Johannes like chain‑mail.
If Edward had sent this emissary, he would never reveal himself so crudely.
Something else was at play.
The stranger’s voice—rasped deliberately, as though scraped against stone—prickled my memory.
I nudged Johannes’ arm aside.
“No slight intended,” the man said, meeting my gaze—and smiled.
Recognition struck me like thunder on glass. Tears stung my eyes; I pressed a hand to my lips.
Johannes remained blind to the revelation. “Enough riddles. Unmask yourself,” he demanded.
“Hardly the venue for revelations,” the man chuckled. “Yet the young lady seems to know me already—my mask sits ill at festivals, does it not?”
Johannes turned; my face must have drained of all color.
“I had hoped to wager my identity,” the stranger sighed, “but it appears the game is lost before it began.”
He straightened, voice ringing with quiet gravity.
“I bear many names. The first—a gift from my parents—I never warmed to.”
He touched the brim of his fedora, hiding his eyes.
“My second was bestowed by the only woman I ever loved—a mask I cherished, for under it I lived brighter than any star.”
A wistful laugh.
“And the last… forged in memory of the soul dearest to me.”
Johannes finally stiffened, realization dawning.
“To‑night,” the man declared, “I choose the last. Miriam Cams. I am the one Edith seeks—the key to every lock in this tale.”
My father—Isaac Prim—the specter who set this entire saga ablaze, stood before us at last. The man I knew was scalded away, scars of Edward’s cruelty mapped across his skin.
“It has been too long, Edith.”
He turned to Johannes. “Commander.”
He bowed; hollow emerald eyes disappeared beneath shadow.
Johannes glanced at me—bewilderment, suspicion, relief warring in his gaze.
“I’m all right,” I whispered.
Then I crossed the distance and folded into Father’s frail arms.
We whisked Father to Johannes’ discreet hotel suite—a citadel against inquisitive eyes.
No sooner had the door latched than Father’s voice filled the room with tired mirth.
“I never dreamt I’d clasp you like this again… well, no, I did dream it—often!”
He laughed at my grimace. “What joy remains if a man cannot jest?”
Time had ravaged him: gaunt cheeks, beard streaked with frost, but the mischief in his smile survived unscathed.
“Father,” I breathed, fingertips grazing a throbbing temple, “we agreed on codes and rendezvous. Why appear so… publicly?”
Johannes stood apart, arms crossed, thunder in his posture.
Father stroked his grizzled chin. “Plans evolve, child—just as I never foresaw you’d surrender your heart to the Commander.”
Removing his battered fedora, he revealed hollows where vitality once bloomed. Concern tugged my brow.
“I look wretched, do I not?” he teased, winking at Johannes—a silent plea for privacy.
Johannes did not budge. “Whatever you intend to share is no secret from me,” he said, voice sheathed steel.
Father spread his hands. “Then privacy is moot.”
He inhaled slowly, war‑tempered composure settling over him.
“In that case,” Johannes pressed, “surely we first deserve an explanation: why risk such exposure without the barest guard?”
He was right; peril stalked every corridor of this tale. But curiosity burned hotter within me.
I stepped between them, drawing a breath to steady the room.
“Father… we’re grateful you live—and I am overjoyed beyond words—but how did you survive?”
The question lingered, electric, as though the answer itself might reshape the heavens.
