"Everyone else in this place wants something. Whether it be favours, a promotion to a higher post regardless of being deserving or not to abuse their newfound access, or some form of power." Quintin turned back his attention to the empty path ahead, at the tall chapel door that now loomed. "You wish only to fulfil your duty, receive the rewards for diligent effort, and go back to whatever waits for you outside these walls. It is… refreshing."
None of them spoke beyond that, wherein Yanis hoped for the mercy of not being pressed for an answer.
The doors to the chapel opened to reveal candlelight, unleashing, and washing them in the hum of chanting.
Yanis caught sight of Priest Hiang, adorned in red and gold robes, standing before his group of kneeling acolytes, at the altar with his arms raised and his thin visage in an expression of severe devotion. The acolytes held candles with bright golden-red flames in their hands.
Quintin and Jhela entered the chapel, and the doors groaned closed behind them.
Yanis, meanwhile, remained in the corridor. Quintin and Jhela would emerge eventually, and until then, he waited. He didn't want to test whether Quintin hadn't dismissed him so that he can dismiss himself, or whether it was because he wanted him to wait so he chose the safest route.
The hymns that accompanied him through his wait was largely muffled by the closed doors, but the low and rhythmic tones of it did offer a comfort throughout his body and an ease in his mind that didn't feel at all mundane.
Priest Hiang's voice cut through at intervals audibly enough at intervals even through the heavy wood doors.
"…inherited. What was carried before by…"
"…the divine…"
"…great blood…"
The words beyond were drowned in the hymns.
Yanis leaned against the wall adjacent to the doors, with his hand resting on his sword hilt. Torchlight flickered against the murals as the distant sound of other guards' footsteps making their rounds came to him and the liturgy continued.
The phrases of it remained indistinct, save for the occasional ones that broke through clearly enough for him to hear, and the pieces that he heard, while strange, were certainly interesting and could be potentially useful so he continued to listen.
"…throne does not shelter…" The chanting swelled briefly.
And then when they ended, and all he could hear were the indistinct song of hymns, he reflected on the conversation that Quintin.
The young Emperor, or rather, Emperor to be, looked tired, and certainly sounded like it, 'Strange things to say to a hired vagabond.'
Yanis shifted his weight, crossing his arms.
'And the way he spoke about me…' Yanis' brows creased. 'Is it an Ability? A Canto? Not to mention whatever Jhela did to have me not hear what she was saying.' Unlike with Khehlun, Yanis couldn't tell if both Quintin and Jhela were Awakened or not. He lulled his head back, pressing it against the wall as he stared at the ceiling. 'Maybe he is just that good at reading people. Which would be great, if he is willing to at least organise a coordinated defence.'
In reality, Yanis felt that unless he was able to intercept the threat, he didn't have any viable options to make a significant change to what would happen beyond a wild and selfish attempt to ensure he survived.
Everyone's focus was toward the coronation, and because of the event, anything that he said to try to convince Quintin or even Khehlun to postpone it had to have a damned impenetrable argument to it with proof of his claims. Otherwise, he was just condemning himself to be labelled a radical fool. They would, if they were being kind, banish him out into Aldcoas.
Thus, a part of his considerations had come down to the fact that if push came to shove, he would have to find a deep and bright hole to hide in.
'But…' He nibbled on the inside of his lower lip. 'Just running around or hiding away like a cornered rat to survive would be…'
He sighed and kept his post, waiting until they finished their business.
It wasn't too long later that they emerged from the chapel and continued down the corridor in silence.
After a moment, Quintin spoke, "Priest Hiang is remarkably thorough."
Jhela made a small sound in agreement. When Yanis glanced at her, she was looking straight ahead, but there was a tightness around her eyes that suggested she was holding back words.
A light laugh came from Quintin there.
"Jhela disapproves of my irreverence," He said, without looking at Yanis. "She thinks I should take the coronation more seriously."
"I think," Jhela said, "that you should take it more seriously than you pretend to, Your Majesty." She paused, and when she continued, her voice was softer. "And I think the pretending costs you more than you admit."
Quintin was silent for several steps. Torchlight flickered across his face, and for a moment, he had that look Yanis had seen upon his death, where he looked to have an awareness and wistful contentment older than his years.
"You are a mercenary, Yanis." Quintin's voice broke the quiet without warning. "You have served under various commands, I imagine. Do such ceremonious conventions matter, or only what comes after, what you truly do?"
The question hung in the air, and Yanis felt Jhela's attention shift toward him. He almost sighed, understanding that he likely couldn't give another diplomatic answer.
"I think," He almost felt the young maid's attention burning through him. He held back his pressing sigh and spoke the truth, "You can go through all these motions perfectly and still not be ready for what it means if you cannot take action when it matters."
Jhela's spine straightened. "That is reductive. The coronation is not some theatrical performance. It's a baptism. It creates the space to accept-"
"With respect," Yanis shook his head, "What is being given seems more like a burden with untold consequences."
Quintin stopped walking.
He turned, and his expression that lingered on Yanis at first before yawing to Jhela, had been loosened as though Yanis had articulated what had been so close in reach, yet so far, as if when you had finally retrieved the memory of a familiar face's name after great effort.
"You are rather perspicacious, Yanis."
Jhela's hands found each other ahead of her waist, fingers lacing tightly as her brows creased.
"Understanding and dismissal are not the same thing, Your Majesty." The formality in her voice was sharp, and Yanis could feel her irritation with him crawling over his skin as she challengingly glared at him.
"I am not dismissing it," Yanis said, faintly shrugging despite it, "But rituals, ceremonies and all these procedures don't make someone ready to deal with reality. You get ready by knowing and experiencing what you will really face, and even without that experience or learning, possessing the capacity to act."
"And you think facing the reality that he will be unhallowed is better?" Jhela's voice was controlled, but the same heat in her eyes simmered beneath it. "That rushing in without the right…without taking what he has before him seriously first, is what is right?"
Yanis met her gaze that was level with his own. "Taking it seriously and kneeling an extra hour are not the same thing."
She visibly struggled to hide her worsening glare, and he, at this point, could hardly pretend to bother it affected him.
"You've been here what? A week? Worse than that?" The words came out clipped, and her jaw tightened. "This is no mere coronation. It is the connection between millennia of Emperors. It is everything our Black Throne stands for. You cannot possibly understand what the Blessing means to him and this Empire."
Quintin had gone very still. He stood between them now, physically and otherwise, watching the exchange with an expression Yanis couldn't quite read.
The torchlight caught the white in his hair and made the shadow under his eyes darker.
"Neither do I, apparently." Quintin's voice was nearly quite enough to get lost in the ambient noise, "And I've been preparing for it since I was old enough to walk."
Jhela turned toward him, and the challenge in her posture and the tension in her visage dispelled. Her frustration found itself lost, and her voice almost sounded like a plea, "Your Majesty-"