Chapter 150: The Calm Before Deception

"I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were cursed, Brother!"

"I didn’t want to make you worry, Marielle."

Shink.

It was a clean, precise sound, the kind that made you sit up and go, yeah, that’s not friendly. It sliced right through the morning quiet. Cherion blinked, clearly not caught up yet as things escalated in real time. There stood Marielle, normally all quiet control and sharp edges, but right now? She looked like she’d run out of patience and upgraded straight to weapons.

She wasn’t just angry, she was buzzing with it, like she had too much rage and nowhere to put it. The kind that made you reconsider all your life choices.

"Give me a name, brother," she snarled. She casually tested the blade with her thumb, because apparently that was a normal thing to do while staring at Zarius like she was already planning something unpleasant. "Just one. Say it, and I’ll dismember them so thoroughly their own mother won’t recognize the pieces. I’ll make sure they’re delivered back to their home in jars."

Elios, looking significantly more haggard than he had five minutes ago, was frantically attempting to pull her arm down. It was a losing battle. He looked like a man trying to put a silk leash on a category-five hurricane. "My Lady, please... this isn’t helping! And, more importantly, your blood pressure!" he squeaked, though his efforts were mostly ignored.

After the whole Ezek drama, they had skipped right over the shallow end and dove head-first into the "Serious Business" part of the pool. Zarius sat at his desk, all cold composure and "don’t-even-try-it" energy, though his expression softened just a little when his sister came into view. By the window, Flio remained perfectly still, professional as always, just noticeably more serious than usual. Zarius cleared his throat, heavy enough to shift the mood.

"Sit down, Marielle," Zarius commanded. It wasn’t an option.

With a final, lingering glare at the empty air, presumably where she imagined her enemies’ necks to be, Marielle dropped into a leather armchair. Elios lunged forward, deftly plucking the hunting knife from her grip with a sigh of relief so profound his entire body seemed to deflate.

His mind drifted back to last night, to the hushed, heavy conversation he’d had with a very shirtless, very distracting Zarius. They talked it through, and eventually it just... clicked. Like,

oh, okay, that actually makes sense.

With Philia now physically haunting the castle halls, the stakes had shifted from "private recovery" to "public theater." While Zarius was functionally restored thanks to Cherion’s healing energy, letting that secret slip was a one-way ticket to a more lethal disaster. If the news that the North’s "Iron Duke" had beaten a death curse reached the original caster, they wouldn’t just give up, they’d double down with something even more grotesque that Zarius’s body might not survive a second time.

Zarius had been the one to insist on bringing Marielle into the fold now. He’d argued, with a grim sort of pragmatism, that they couldn’t risk her being the "weak link" in their performance. If she didn’t know the truth, she’d be blindsided by the rumors Philia was undoubtedly preparing to sow. Hearing about her brother’s "impending death" from him would shatter her far more than a difficult truth told in confidence.

"Here’s the thing," Cherion said, catching Marielle’s hollow gaze. "HIs Grace is cured. For the meantime, anyway. My... healing energy, for lack of a better term, has scrubbed the curse out. But letting the world know that right now? That’s a collective death sentence. Just Think about it." He leaned forward, his eyes narrow. "We need them to think they’ve won. Deception is our only option here."

Marielle didn’t answer immediately. Instead, a sudden, tidal wave of raw emotion seemed to break over her. She turned toward Cherion, her eyes swimming with unshed tears that made them look like cracked glass.

"Little Healer," she choked out.

Before Cherion could process the nickname, she lunged. Elios barely managed to dodge her as she collided with Cherion in a bear hug that threatened to redefine the structural integrity of his ribcage.

"Thank you," she sobbed into his shoulder, her grip tightening until Cherion’s toes were barely touching the rug. "Thank you for saving him. What should I do? How can I ever repay this? Ask for anything. Gold, land, the heads of my enemies... anything!"

Cherion felt his breath hitch, not out of emotion, but out of a genuine, physical inability to expand his lungs. He had a brief, quiet thought that he might be about to be turned into something flatter than a dinner plate. Good God, what do they feed these people in the North? Pure iron? Ah, no. She’s got Valtrane blood, should’ve known this was going to be intense.

"If you... want to repay me..." Cherion wheezed, his face likely turning an interesting shade of violet, "maybe let go? I’m starting to see stars, Marielle. And I promise you, they aren’t the romantic kind."

Marielle pulled back instantly, a sheepish, lopsided grin breaking through her tears as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Sorry, Little Healer. I forget myself."

"Clearly," Cherion coughed, rubbing his sore chest and trying to remember how to use his diaphragm.

Marielle’s relief lasted all of five seconds before the "Grieving Sister" persona took a sharp turn back into "Terrifying Matriarch" territory.

"And you two," she began, her voice dropping into a dangerously low octave. "You both knew, and you didn’t say a word? How dare you? Honestly, the audacity is staggering. I should have you both scrubbing the frost off the battlements with your toothbrushes."

Elios immediately held up his hands. "My Lady, please! The Duke’s orders were absolute! I’m just a humble subordinate trying to keep my head attached to my shoulders!"

Flio, usually the picture of stoic professionalism, actually had the grace to look slightly sheepish. He didn’t offer a defense, mostly because he knew Marielle could see right through any logic he tried to throw at her.

"Hmph!" Marielle crossed her arms, turning her nose up with a dramatic sniff that could have been heard in the next county. "Absolute orders or not, there’s a thing called ’sisterly priority.’ I’m officially putting you both on my black list."

Elios and Flio exchanged a desperate, wide-eyed look. They both turned their gaze toward Zarius, practically begging for him to step in and take some of the heat.

Zarius, however, didn’t budge. He just picked up a fountain pen and started examining the nib with intense, sudden interest.

Cherion watched the silent plea for help go unanswered and felt a weirdly domestic sense of amusement.

"Now, back to the agenda. We need a believable ’Duke is very fragile right now’ situation. From this moment on, His Grace needs to be the ’Dying Duke’ whenever Philia or anyone suspicious is within earshot."

He turned to Zarius, who was watching them with an intensity that felt way too serious for literally any time of day. "I’m talking about the classics, Your Grace. Shallow breath. The occasional dry, hacking cough. That tight, pained expression you get when the curse flares up, use that as your baseline. The goal is overconfidence. We want the enemy to be so sure of their victory that they start bragging. We want them to make sloppy moves because they think they’re fighting a corpse."

Zarius didn’t blink. He just looked at Cherion with a gaze so heavy and devoted it felt like a physical weight. "Anything you want, Cherion. If you tell me to act the invalid, I will breathe my last on command."

"Let’s not go that far," Cherion muttered, his own heart doing a weird little flip that he stubbornly ignored. "Just... stay in character."

Cherion coughed into his hand, a real cough this time, trying to get a grip on himself because Zarius’s unblinking stare was starting to make his neck heat up. He needed a distraction. He needed a tool.

"Marielle?" Cherion called, his tone shifting into that suspiciously cheerful voice he only used right before making questionable decisions.

Marielle looked up, her tear-streaked face curious. "Yes, Little Healer?"

Cherion cleared his throat, a small, wicked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked Zarius up and down. "Quick question... Do you happen to have a substantial collection of cosmetics I can borrow?"