A fleeting moment, indeed. Between the long train ride and the upcoming uber important masquerade, there is only a single day to decompress before the back pain and knotted muscles reinstate themselves in their permanent home of the group’s weary back.
He wished, and continues to desire a longer respite from their busy plans, but exhibits strong enough self control to not expend more than he needed to. Sort of. The day off serves a pseudo “thank you” to the mages he persuaded to come with him. His mentor was easy. He and Jiyu are always jumping at the opportunity to do jobs and other mage-y stuff together. Lilium was easy, as well. More so than he expected, actually, but in hindsight now, he understands. Family history and stuff. A chance to bring closure on personal conflicts. But lastly and perhaps the most intrepid to convince was his close friend, Esialeth Rose. Although while not hard by any remark — he had no blackmail or other means of coercion involved — it did take mention of such luxurious amenities, prospects of political change, and empty promises of a Minstrelian love story to get her to come.
His thoughts aside, he peers out of the window of the moving train. The lone trees and fields of wildflowers turn into villas, clubhouses, and swimming pools. While the stucco pristine and the cobblestone sweeped to perfection, the town is devoid of any life. Anyone — no, everyone here — is hiding away within the marble walls passed down from family ties. Such is a reminder of the town he spent his formative years in. Any disgraces, he hears his parents say, must be kept within manor walls. The Minstrel town, although warmer in temperature, somehow is colder than his snowy homeland. He can tell. He can feel it.
He closes his eyes and takes a blind sip from a nearby mug of tea. It spills slightly around the corners of his mouth, sloshing around with every bump of the train. It’s bitter. He slightly winces, not enough to draw attention but surely noticeable. It’s barley tea, which is normally savory and fulfilling, never bitter to the point of notice. Perhaps the kettle wasn’t thoroughly cleaned? A small amount of green or red tea left inside? His anger burns somewhat unchecked. The boredom of a long train ride proves successful in letting his mind wander. There’s nothing to do except sleep or stare out of the window. He’s not the only one, either, a fellow mage, Lilium, looks uncomfortable as well. He guesses Esi shares the feeling.
—
Another day passes until they reach Ville du Soleil, and no more than an hour passes until the cramped (and slightly stir-crazy) mages drop all of their luggage in their hotel. Seth and Esialeth walk the town, shamelessly sightseeing for a long day before returning to their hotel, exhausted. The entrance to the hotel is commercialized, looking somewhat like a shopping mall. He looks at Esialeth. A small alcove, labeled “spa” sits before them. “Do you want to go in?” he asks. He peers inside the crystal windows, fountain water spurting in large, separated arcs. Each crash down periodically, adding a casually thumming rhythm to the background noise. A small bridge, made out of magical ice, he guesses, bridges the rectangular and leads to the doorway, which is propped open by a large, standee blackboard. A common practice, actually, he realizes. Blocks of magic ice, which you can import, that when stepped on, provides a cooling, menthyl-like effect, even through shoes. (597)
