In the Dungeons
The Fool finds Ser Glorie, eventually, deep in the spire's root, down twisting staircases that delve far beneath the level of the sea outside, perhaps beneath the very floor of it. Far, far down, in caverns measureless to man, there is an arched bridge of latticed glass, over a shining vitric vat of clear fluid; and the Fool finds Glorie sitting on the railless edge of the vat, feet dangling, looking at the far-below, crystal clear surface.
"Jester," the knight says calmly, and a strangled laugh worms its way out of the Fool's throat.
"You said you'd make sure of the other," she says.
"I brought her to the bridge," Ser Glorie says, nodding to it, "and let her fall."
The Fool looks down into the vat, in which there is no sign of anything; no body, or foreign body of any kind.
"The techniques of longevity are remarkable, in their rendering of mortal wounds not," Glorie says, contemplative. "This substance, jester, is purely of mechanicalcules; muchlike the ones within us all, within the Ser traitor knight, though different in purpose. I cast her in, and it was remarkable to see; the ferocity of foam, wherein device fought device, and those within her flesh sought to hasten her repair, and to puppet her still-quiescent flesh to escape danger while repair was forthcoming — her eyes opened insensibly, her limbs thrashed, solely under machinic instinct...and she dissolved entire. Into drifts of protein fluid and simple compounds, and further into—" she gestures down— "nothing visible at all."
The Fool shudders. "Shouldst thou dangle so above it?" she says.
Glorie looks over her shoulder, eyebrow cocked. "I'm in perfect safety," she says. "In any event, should I fall, the spire would notify the princess that I was imperilled, and with a moment's thought she could change the fluid machinery's disposition from catabolic to inert. If these chambers were any means of harm, then those tower-keepers who faltered under eternity's march might have used them for self-destruction; the tower-builders guarded against that."
The Fool tangles a hand in the back of Glorie's shirt, nonetheless, and tugs.
"Thou art aright?" the knight asks, taking on a more concerned cast.
"Unaccustomed to the bloodthirst of strangers," the Fool says. "And—" but then falters and says no more.
"Thinkst I'd allow harm to thee?" Glorie says softly, and the Fool shakes her head. "So, then. Th'art shaken; allow the princess to tend thy feelings as thou spend the ages tending hers—"
"She has," the Fool says. "Thou pushed me direct into her arms, knight. Trust me to know what tending my feelings need, and they — I would implore thee to forgive me."
Glorie looks at her face, the brave jut of her chin and uncertain eyes, and passes a hand across her hair. "Forgive thee what?" she says, soft and earnestly confused.
"I did not mean to take from thee thine ballroom garden," the Fool says, and gnaws on her own lip, hard enough that Glorie fears to see blood. "I didn't — this catabolic catacomb is poor replacement, I'd not have you brood down in the dark; canst not unseal it? I swear I'll never set foot again, not any day before my death—"
Glorie's face shutters, a little. "It was only," she says slowly, "that I imagined it to be something known to me alone. Something only mine."
"How?" The Fool gestures around. "The spire is only so large, and our time here long; how would I not know your private haunts?"
"Why wouldst care?" Glorie says, simple and genuine, and sees the terrible crinkle of the Fool's expression. "I am superfluous—"
"Th'art not," the Fool barks. "Not to the tender feelings of our princess. And not — to mine, either, damn your eyes, how can you not—" and aims an ineffectual fist at the knight's shoulder.
"Do you weep?" Glorie says, aching, startled, reaching for her.
"Wouldst never for thee," the Fool snarls, eyes spilling, "how dare thee, liar—"
"Liar, ist?" Glorie rises and folds the Fool — carefully — into her arms. "Well, if liar I be, let these vaults be my dungeon; gaol for liars, gaol for one thousand years."
"Fool," the Fool says trenchantly into Glorie's chest.
