Cillian didn't head straight to his room; instead, he headed to the library, taking every book regarding the Blackwells as he could, from those detailing their history to stories regarding their ancestors that may or may not have been true. Realising it was too much, he grabbed a buggy and carefully loaded them on, making a small pile before heading towards parts about his own family's history, and taking those related to past conflicts rather than the king's and ran to his room.
Throwing a cover over the book to hide them, he rang a bell and a maid walked in, bowing towards him, "Prepare me a meal that can be eaten cold, which won't spoil. Also bring soemthing to keep me awake through the night." The maid didn't ask why he needed such things and bowed deeper, then walked off to carry out the order.
Going over to his desk, he rumaged in the drawer and pulled out a large blank scroll, rolling it across the table before starting with the earliest book he collected, carefully reading and noting everything he found important. Going before the unification of Veston, he started with the Blood Kings of Bridegway, the Blackwells, before the founder arrived. 'Most of this is myth. I need to separate what is and isn't.'
Cillian quietly read, making a note, ignoring the maid who returned with a tray of food, only paying attention when she handed him a green drink. Waving her off, whilst hiding what he read, he picked up a silver spoon by his side without looking and dropped it in the cup. Pressing a button on the top, he waited for a reaction and sighed in relief when it confirmed it wasn't poisoned. It was a magic tool his father had gifted him as a child, created by the Magi to detect poison. Although not perfect, only able to detect those that the Magi knew of, it covered most poisons that someone would be able to get their hands on; the rare few that it didn't, being so rare, he didn't need to worry too much.
Downing the drink, he placed the mug to his side and slowly read into the night, remembering to take a bite of food every few hours.
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Tristan looked out at the rising sun and made his way to Edmund, finding him in the library carefully studying under his father's watch. With a passing glance, Wells noticed him and nodded, looking around at the people who watched Tristan, ordering with his gaze for them to back off and not look at his son. Although some did, his gaze didn't carry the same weight as Mary's did, and a few continued.
Taking a place beside Edmund, Tristan silently read the book Wells handed him, answering a few of Edmund's questions when he got stuck on certain topics or asked for his opinion to compare with his own. It was one of the few times Tristan felt at ease, even with the watchers keeping track of him, able to brush them aside and enjoy his time.
"Tristan." Edmund spoke to him, closing his book and rubbing his temples, pushing aside his black hair as he did, "How have things been these past few days. You haven't sought me out lately." Tristan smiled. It had been a week since he met Cillian, and most of his time had been focused on preparing for the tournament. Even if he had no intention of taking part in it, he knew Anton could order him to at any moment. In case he did, he needed to be ready so he didn't tarnish the family name.
"I was getting used to the new weapons your father gave me. I wanted to spar with you, but it wouldn't have helped me at the moment; I still needed to get my basics right before I did." Edmund smiled and nodded. Tristan groaned and rubbed his head, "As well as that, I was practising how to dance. I don't know why I was nervous; it was much easier to learn than the sword. Prince Elias was happy enough to help me, saying it would be his duty as King to help those in need."
Tristan lied. Rather than Elias, he went to Mabel to ask for help, the woman gladly offering it, knowing that her brother wanted the dance to happen. Not wishing to embarrass herself by Tristan's poor ability, she gave Tristan a tutor who quickly ran over the basics of each type of dance likely to happen during the tournament, a few easier than the others.
"You're serious about asking the Princess to dance with you then?" Edmund said with a slight teasing grin, making Tristan roll his eyes.
"Shut up. I'm learning because it is required of me." His words were unconvinced Edmund, whose playful grin grew. "What about you. That lady you sent a letter to. Will she be coming?" Not expecting the sudden counterattack, Edmund's cheeks flushed up as he turned his head.
"She said she is." Even if he was shy, Tristan could see that Edmund was excited.
"Then don't embarrass yourself when you join in the joust or melee." Edmund scoffed and shook his head.
"You should worry about yourself. Everyone knows the Princess prefers swords over dancing. If you really wished to impress her, you should take to the field." Tristan went to talk but stopped, realising he had no counter to his words and sighed, rubbing his head.
"I would rather not. Better pretend I am a great warrior than go out in front of everyone and be beaten black and blue." Edmund smirked. Whilst he would usually tell Tristan not to put himself down, even he knew it wasn't a lie that Tristan had no confidence in his abilities compared to the people who would take part.
Edmund went to speak again, but stopped seeing someone rushing over, a haggard look on their face with deep bags under their eyes. Getting up, he quickly bowed. Tristan felt the gazes always on him vanish, then followed Edmund's gaze, seeing Cillian walk over. Getting up, he rested his hand on his chest and bowed.
"Rise, you're my cousins, and I am not the Prince." Cillian turned to Lord Wells, "My Lord." Placing a hand on his chest, he half bowed, showing just enough respect needed. Wells waved his hand, getting Cillian to rise.
"Forgive me, Edmund, but may I steal Tristan away from you?" Edmund smiled and nodded, subtly pushing Tristan's back to step forward.
"It's fine. It's time for me to practise with the sword, and I don't wish to keep mother waiting." Edmund gave a final bow and walked off, making sure to keep a pace level to his fathers who shuffled alongside with him.
"Come," Cillian said and rushed off, making Tristan quickly follow behind. Running through the palace, servants and courtiers glanced their way but said nothing, seeing it was Brandon's son, simply wondering who the person following him was. Closing the door behind him, Cillian ran over to a locked chest and opened it, pulling out a stack of parchments rolled up and carefully laying them out, re-reading them when the order was wrong.
Tristan waited and looked around the room. Books lay everywhere around the barren room, only a few wardrobes and cupboards scattered around. The only thing out of place was a large family portrait of Brandon Cillian and his mother, Maria Ashpole, a woman with ordinary looks that wouldn't turn heads with brown hair and blue eyes. Tristan stared at the painting as Cillian prepared himself and saw her smile, a bright smile, as she held a young Cillian, Brandon, next to them, with a thin smile that was slightly happy, the artist able to perfectly capture it.
"Done. Come." Cillian said and pulled Trisdtan over, not bothering to question what he was looking at. Tristan sighed and looked at what Cillian pulled out. His eyes widened in shock at a massive timeline created regarding the Blackwells.
"This is?" Tristan had to ask, wondering if it was his fault the man was delving into soemthing strange all of a sudden.
"Every major event on Veston regarding the Blackwells, traced as far back as the reign of the Blood Kings." Cillian placed his hand on the start and dragged down, stopping at a point just after the unification of Veston, "Up to here, it is all hearsay. The libary dosen't hold clear knowledge of this era. I know there are documents that exist of it, but those would be kept by my father, the king, the Blackwells themselves or an organisation like the Magi. I was tempted to try and steal some from father, but decided against it."
Tristan nodded and focused on the scrolls, carefully reading. Each succession was listed, every rebellion, every war the Blackwells took part in that they didn't lead, every major event surrounding the family that the library documented. Reaching the Red Rebellion, there was a noticeable drop in activity from the Blackwells regarding their conflicts with the throne, only a few popping.
Tristan reached the current era and squinted, noticing that Cillian had included the deaths of the previous king's children. "Cillian. This is good work, but is there a reason you're showing it to me?"
"My father was adamant that the Blackwells had to be exterminated. Tristan, I don't know what rumours you know about him, but one thing I can tell you is that he doesn't care for bloodshed. If it is necessary, he will spill it for the family, but it will always be a last resort. His words exactly being, 'once blood is spilt, there is no other alternative.'" Tristan nodded, and Cillian took a deep breath, "Yet someone like that is adamant on taking the most extreme action. Don't you find that strange?"
"Cillian, they are people who worship a heretical God and use a power that is evil. Is it not strange that he thinks like that?" Cillian nodded in agreement and placed his finger on the Red Rebellion.
"Yet at face value, they stopped open conflict with the throne. One should take this as proof of their repaying the generosity of the Cosmatons for sparing them." His finger traced the paper, "But it is too little. Even the other Great Lords, barring the North, have done more than they have to annoy the throne and claw away its power. The Blackwells, oddly quiet."
"Cillian, they need to recover." The man shook his head.
"Do you know what Blood magic does?" Tristan narrowed his gaze, waiting for him to carry on, "Blood magic has three properties: the body as a weapon, the sacrifice of blood and the manipulation of blood." Cillian traced back to the start, "When their power was strongest, that power wasn't as simple. They could use that power to not only draw a man's blood from their body, but also weaken the body's natural defences. It's only stories, of course, but it is said they would do this and then release plagues to kill their enemies."
Cillian moved his hand towards the death of the previous king's children, "Each one of our cousins died from illness. Something rare for our family, other than when a great plague hits." Tristan's eyes widened as he looked at Cillian, "My father hates them to his core, an emotion rare for him. Why would he hate a family so strongly? Because their blood is evil. No, it's not like him; he may be distrustful, but not hate them to pose an extermination of that bloodline. But what if." Cillian paused, unable to believe he was posing his own theory to someone else, "What if he hates them because he killed the people he had to protect?"