Chapter Text
chapter 8 - krysy i podushki
“So, any progress?” the princess asked, her voice light but carrying an undertone of genuine curiosity. The kitchen was alive with warmth and movement—the golden glow of the hearth, the rhythmic thud of Boris kneading dough, and the faint clatter of pots from the scullery. Zandik had been forced out of the lab by Anneliese, who had insisted he breaks away from his relentless work in the lab for a proper meal. By now he had been in the lab since 6 in the morning. His body needed break, however his mind thought else. Unluckily Anneliese hadn’t given up and basically had to shove him out…which led him back into the all so familiar royal kitchen
There he sat with the princess on a sturdy wooden bench at the corner table, a spot they often claimed during moments like this. Between them rested silver plates filled with the kitchen’s humble treasures: thick slices of freshly baked bread, thinly carved ham, and a small dish of butter. The aroma of the meal hung in the air, a stark contrast to the sterile, often acrid scents of the lab.
Zandik didn’t respond immediately. His pale, weary face betrayed the weight of a grueling morning, and he seemed content to let the question hang as he picked absently at the crust of his bread. Finally, he spoke, his tone flat but edged with irritation.
“Rajiv blew up the chemicals cabinet today.”
The words hung in the air like a dropped stone. He scooped out the soft bread crumb with deliberate slowness, as though the act itself was a reprieve from the chaos he had endured.
Boris, the head baker, paused mid-knead, his flour-dusted hands freezing above the dough. His sharp eyes, always observant, flicked toward the pair. The princess’s expression shifted to one of mild shock, though it was clear she wasn’t entirely surprised.
Zandik’s lab stories often bordered on the absurd, a testament to the volatile mix of brilliance and recklessness among Professor Senton’s students. They were hailed as prodigies, handpicked from the Sumeru Academy, one of the most prestigious institutions in the southern nations. Yet, as Zandik had learned, brilliance didn’t always equal competence. Rajiv, with his penchant for catastrophic mishaps, was a prime example.
“Again?” the princess murmured, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Zandik gave a faint, humorless chuckle. “You’d think he’d learn after the first two explosions. But no. Senton’s students may be geniuses, but apparently common sense isn’t part of the curriculum.”
“Does that apply for yourself as well?” she couldn’t help but ask teasingly. Zandik looked up from his bread, scoffed softly and rolled his eyes. “Of course, not…I’m better than them” he mumbled before turning to the task at hand: demolishing the bread.
Boris shook his head with a low whistle before returning to his work, muttering something about “those academics” under his breath. The princess leaned forward slightly; her brows furrowed. She wasn’t just indulging Zandik’s tales—she cared, even if she sometimes struggled to make sense of the strange world he inhabited. “Clearly there is something else…do tell, you can trust me” she said very softly so he would finally tell him what was weighing on his heart.
Zandik gave a small nod, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Pietrov mentioned that if it happens again…the Crown might start looking elsewhere for someone to find a cure.”
The words hung heavily in the air, drawing a low mutter from Boris, who had resumed kneading the dough with deliberate force. “I didn’t know Pietrov was allowed to make such threats,” he grumbled, his deep voice carrying a hint of skepticism. Boris had served the Crown since his days as a young squire. He had seen countless faces come and go, yet Pietrov remained an enigma even to him—an ever-watchful shadow of the royal household.
The princess’s worried gaze shifted to Zandik, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do you think my mother would really send you all away? You’ve been only…3? 4? Weeks here?”
The thought twisted uneasily in her chest. Over the past few weeks, Zandik had become more than just a fascinating presence in her life—he was a friend, her closest one, and she wasn’t about to let him go so easily.
“I don’t think so, my heart,” came a soothing voice from the doorway. Gertrude entered the kitchen, her sturdy frame stooped slightly under the weight of a woven basket brimming with fish. “Your mother’s mind is elsewhere. All she cares about is Catherine’s health and the trouble that Tatyana and Ivan keep stirring up.”
The princess and Zandik winced in unison as the pungent, briny stench of the fish filled the warm, flour-dusted air of the kitchen.
“And how would you know that?” Zandik asked, lifting his head for the first time to scrutinize the older woman. His sharp red eyes lingered on the deep lines etched into Gertrude’s weathered face, each one a testament to the countless stories and secrets she carried.
Gertrude set the heavy basket down with a thud, her lips curling into a sly grin. “The walls of this castle hear and see everything,” she said cryptically, dusting her hands on her apron.
Her words sent a ripple of unease through the room. Boris glanced over his shoulder briefly, his brow furrowed, while the princess shifted in her seat. Zandik, however, held her gaze steadily, as though trying to decipher a hidden truth in her words.
“What the old woman means,” Boris said, his tone dry but tinged with amusement as he slid the dough into a bread mold, “is that she wrings gossip out of the young chambermaids like water from a sponge.”
Gertrude rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand at his remark. “Oh, spare me, Boris. It’s not my fault they can’t keep their mouths shut,” she retorted, though the corners of her lips curled into a faint smile.
The two returned to their tasks, their lighthearted exchange dissipating into a companionable silence. Boris focused on shaping the bread with practiced precision, his large hands moving deftly over the flour-dusted counter. Gertrude, meanwhile, busied herself with gutting the fish from her basket, the rhythmic sound of her knife slicing through flesh mingling with the occasional crackle of the hearth fire.
The kitchen settled into a calm hum, the air filled with the mingling scents of fresh dough and the sea. The princess and Zandik sat quietly at the bench, the earlier conversation weighing heavily on their minds. The soft rustle of the princess shifting in her seat and the faint clink of Zandik’s spoon against his plate punctuated the stillness.
It was a rare, fleeting moment of quiet in a castle that seemed to buzz constantly with the chaos of court life, secrets, and unspoken worries.
-----
“When did you leave last night?” Zandik asked, his tone casual but his actions betraying a restless energy as he picked apart the remnants of his bread into scattered crumbs on his plate.
The little princess paused, her fork hovering mid-air as she met his gaze. His question wasn’t entirely unexpected, yet it still caught her slightly off guard. “Why—” she began reflexively but stopped herself before her curiosity slipped out. Instead, she softened her tone and gave a measured reply. “Right after you fell asleep,” she said smoothly, a faint smile playing on her lips.
It was a lie, but a harmless one—or so she told herself. In truth, she had lingered longer than she should have, watching over him as the night deepened and the world outside grew colder. Something about the peacefulness of his sleeping form had tethered her to that moment, reluctant to leave. But how could she admit that without sounding foolish?
“Oh... okay,” Zandik murmured, nodding faintly as if accepting her answer. Yet his sharp, ruby-red eyes stayed fixed on hers, searching for something unspoken. His gaze was intense, probing, as if he could see past her words into the quiet truth she was trying to conceal.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The soft clatter of dishes and the gentle hum of the kitchen filled the silence between them, but the weight of his unrelenting stare lingered, leaving her wondering if he had seen through her little deception.
“I have an idea... to solve your... problem,” she whispered, her voice low enough to be swallowed by the ambient sounds of the kitchen.
Zandik’s attention sharpened immediately. The remnants of the bread he had been absently tearing apart were forgotten as he turned his full focus toward her. Intrigued, he leaned in slightly, the weight of her words pulling him closer.
The little princess glanced around the room, ensuring no one was paying them any mind, before lowering her voice even further. “I may not be able to bring you the key,” she admitted, her tone tinged with a quiet determination. “But I can give you something much more valuable.”
With that, she carefully reached into the folds of her cloak and retrieved a small, weathered notebook. Its red leather cover was scuffed and cracked with age; its corners softened from years of handling. She set it between them with a reverence that suggested it was no ordinary item.
Zandik’s eyes widened slightly as he read the faintly embossed letters on the cover: Preparation of the Red Tincture. The title alone was enough to make his pulse quicken. This was no simple journal; it was an alchemical text, and judging by its condition, a particularly ancient one.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his fingers hovering over the delicate leather as though touching it might break the spell.
“I got it from the rooms and laboratories of the former royal alchemist,” she replied, her tone carrying a touch of pride.
“Ostanes,” they said in unison, their gazes locking in a moment of confusion... Zandik had recognized the writing style of the words and the signature…but how did a girl like her know Ostanes?
“How... how do you know him?” Zandik asked, the awe in his voice growing as he carefully opened the book, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he touched the brittle pages. “How do you know him?” she asked back with confusion written all over her face.
“I’ve read many of his writings in the forbidden archives of the Sumeru Academy,” he murmured, his ruby-red eyes scanning the intricate diagrams and meticulous notes within the tome. Despite the centuries-old age of the book, the ink was still vibrant, and the illustrations of alchemical apparatus were pristine. “He was... banished,” Zandik added, his voice dropping lower, tinged with reverence for the figure whose work now lay before him.
The princess nodded, her gaze fixed on him as he handled the notebook like a relic. “He was banished, yes... but then he was taken in by the crown,” she said softly. “He became a good friend of my father.”
At her words, Zandik froze, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. “Taken in?” he repeated, his voice cautious, his brow furrowing in confusion.
She hesitated for a moment, as though deciding how much to tell him. “Yes. After his exile, the crown offered him refuge. My father believed in his brilliance, despite his controversial methods. Ostanes served here for years... until...” Her voice trailed off, the unspoken ending hanging heavy in the air.
Zandik’s frown deepened, his analytical mind racing to fill the gaps. He hadn’t heard this part of Ostanes’ biography before. His own studies had painted the alchemist as a tragic figure, condemned for his radical theories and forced to live out his days in obscurity. But here was another piece of the puzzle—one that connected him directly to the royal family, and perhaps, to his current predicament.
“What happened to him?” he asked, his voice quiet but insistent, his curiosity now fully piqued. “He vanished…many believe that he is the reason of my fathers…absence” she answers while watching Zandik turning the pages of the journal carefully, as if they would fall apart immediately.
“He has a portrait hanging in the gallery... it’s on the way to the old lab. We could stop by on our way,” the princess suggested, her voice low as if sharing a secret. Zandik nodded eagerly, his usual stoicism giving way to unmasked determination. Before they knew it, they were weaving their way through the winding halls of the castle, their destination clear: the gallery and the old rooms of Ostanes.
-----
Zandik had long since forgotten his lunch break, the remnants of his sandwich left abandoned on the silver plate. The prospect of accessing Ostanes’ old laboratories burned in his mind. If the alchemist’s secrets were preserved within those walls, then perhaps he would no longer be at the mercy of Pietrov’s limitations or the looming threat of expulsion.
Their journey, however, was anything but straightforward. The princess had apparently skipped her dancing lessons—a fact that made navigating the halls far more precarious. Her governess, an ever-watchful hawk, would likely have dispatched guards to locate her. It wasn’t uncommon for the princess to shirk her lessons in favor of roaming the castle’s hidden corners or mingling with the staff in the kitchens. But since Zandik’s sudden appearance a month ago, her absences had become almost routine.
“Why do they always post guards at the worst places?” she muttered under her breath as they ducked into an alcove, her frustration evident. She cursed the rigid rules of court life, her governess’ obsession with making her the perfect picture of a noble lady, and the endless charade of propriety.
She might have been born into privilege, but in moments like these, she spat—albeit only in secret—on the oppressive formalities of the court.
------
When they finally reached the gallery, Zandik’s steps faltered as his gaze fell upon the towering portrait she had mentioned.
“Wow... Somehow, I expected Ostanes to have a small portrait tucked away in a corner... not this,” Zandik exclaimed, his voice filled with both awe and disbelief.
The painting loomed over them, its gilded frame stretching nearly five meters high. It depicted a man in his late fifties, his long, black hair streaked with faint strands of silver. His expression was severe, his dark eyes piercing, as though he were silently judging any who dared to look upon him. He sat at a cluttered desk, laden with alchemical tools and apparatus—retorts, alembics, and scattered notes, all meticulously rendered in exquisite detail.
The princess glanced at the man’s intense gaze and shuddered involuntarily. There was something unsettling about the way his eyes seemed to follow them, no matter where they stood. A little creepy, she thought. But she wouldn’t admit such a thing in front of Zandik.
“He looks... intimidating,” she remarked carefully, trying to gauge Zandik’s reaction.
“He looks like a genius,” Zandik replied, his tone reverent as he stepped closer to study the painting. His fingers twitched, as though itching to reach out and touch the canvas, to somehow bridge the gap between the present and the world this alchemist once inhabited.
She tilted her head, observing his fascination. “Do you think his labs will be just as... grand?” he asked in awe.
Zandik’s lips curved into a small, determined smirk. “If this painting is anything to go by, his labs are going to make Sentons setup back at the academy look like a kitchen pantry.”
Her soft chuckle filled the air as they stood side by side, the gallery’s quiet grandeur enveloping them. The princess glanced once more at Ostanes’ piercing eyes and felt a strange chill run down her spine. Whatever secrets this man had left behind, she hoped they would be worth the risk they were taking.
“We should move slowly toward the labs,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the faint creaking of the floorboards. “If a guard catches us here... alone...”
Zandik nodded curtly, casting one final glance at Ostanes’ imposing portrait. His crimson eyes lingered on the alchemist’s enigmatic expression, as though trying to draw out some hidden wisdom, before he turned to follow her. Together, they slipped out of the gallery with the same quiet precision they had used to enter just moments earlier.
-----
The princess led the way, her steps confident despite the dimly lit corridors. As they ventured deeper into the palace, the once-frequent presence of guards dwindled until only the faint scurrying of rats accompanied them. Where there had been the gleam of polished armor and the steady rhythm of patrols, there were now shadows and the occasional squeak of unseen vermin.
Zandik flinched instinctively as a rat darted across their path, its tiny claws clicking against the cold stone floor. He quickened his pace just enough to close the gap between himself and the princess, though he tried to mask the movement as casual.
“Down here... in these corridors crawling with rats, you expect me to believe Ostanes’ grandiose laboratory is hidden?” he asked, his tone laced with skepticism. Despite his words, he followed her with unwavering trust, his curiosity outweighing his doubts.
The princess glanced back, her lips curving into a playful grin. “What’s the matter, Zandik? Afraid of a little rodent company?”
He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Hardly. But I can’t help questioning how you even found a place like this. Don’t tell me it was some incredible coincidence.”
Her grin widened, though she said nothing. The mischievous glint in her eyes spoke volumes.
“Of course,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What did I expect?”
Their footsteps echoed faintly against the old, tiled floor, the sound amplified by the oppressive silence of the corridor. The air grew colder as they descended deeper into the forgotten halls of the palace, the once-pristine walls now marred by cracks and overgrown moss. The distinct smell of damp stone and decay mingled with the faint metallic tang of the distant laboratory—a smell Zandik recognized all too well.
They were utterly alone, save for the rats that scurried along the edges of the corridor, their tiny eyes gleaming in the darkness. It felt as though they were venturing into a different world, one hidden beneath the grandeur of the palace above.
The princess glanced over her shoulder, her voice light but teasing. “Don’t worry, Zandik. If the rats start getting too bold, I’ll protect you.”
He snorted, a reluctant smirk tugging at his lips. “Very reassuring. Truly.”
-----
“And... no one knows about these laboratories? How is it even possible that the workspace of such an important alchemist could simply be forgotten?” Zandik’s voice carried a mix of skepticism and intrigue as it echoed softly through the corridor.
“There are things in this world that even the rats can’t answer,” the princess replied with an air of mystery, her tone light and teasing. “And they have their eyes everywhere.”
As if on cue, another group of rats scurried across their path, their sharp claws clicking faintly against the stone floor. Zandik grimaced, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the sight of their plump bodies and long, twitching tails. “Everywhere, indeed,” he muttered under his breath, stepping gingerly to avoid the vermin.
In contrast, the princess appeared completely unfazed. She continued down the dark corridor with an almost casual grace, as though the rats were no more concerning to her than a passing breeze. This nonchalance didn’t escape Zandik’s notice.
“You seem to know your way around here,” he remarked, eyeing her curiously. “Do you come here often?”
The question hung in the air as he sidestepped yet another rat, his patience visibly wearing thin. “Archons,” he muttered, glancing around the dim passageway, “is this place breeding these things? Are we in some kind of rodent factory?”
The princess chuckled softly, the sound echoing like a moment of levity in the oppressive darkness. “You’re not wrong,” she teased. “But no, Zandik, I don’t live down here if that’s what you’re implying.” She glanced back at him with a playful smirk. “I’ve just explored it a few times... enough to know where the interesting things are.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, skeptical but intrigued. “And by ‘interesting things,’ you mean forgotten laboratories and secret alchemical texts?”
“Exactly,” she replied, her grin widening. “And rats, of course. Lots and lots of rats.”
Zandik groaned quietly, but despite his complaints, he couldn’t deny the growing excitement in his chest. The idea of uncovering a hidden piece of alchemical history, one that had been lost to time and overlooked by everyone—even the crown—was more tantalizing than he cared to admit.
As they pressed on, the air grew colder, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed in the distance. It was a place that felt untouched by the world above, a hidden realm beneath the palace where secrets had been left to wither in the dark.
“Let’s just hope your ‘interesting things’ are worth wading through a sea of rodents,” Zandik muttered, though the spark of curiosity in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.
“If Boris sends me up to the royal chambers and I don’t feel like sleeping yet… then I come down here,” she replied matter-of-factly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a princess to wander through such desolate halls in the dead of night. Her tone was calm, almost nonchalant, but it carried the weight of honesty—an answer offered in good faith to his earlier question.
Zandik turned to look at her, his expression frozen between disbelief and something that resembled reluctant admiration. “Alone?! With the rats?!” he exclaimed, his ruby-red eyes widening in a mixture of disgust, bewilderment, and—though he would never admit it—just the faintest hint of respect.
She offered a small shrug, her pace steady as they continued deeper into the labyrinth of corridors. “Well, each to their own,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in exasperation.
“You’ll see that it’s worth it,” she replied, her voice tinged with a quiet confidence. “Especially because it means you won’t have to share the lab with the others—or be limited by Pietrov’s ridiculous opening hours.” There was a sharp edge to her tone when she mentioned Pietrov, a subtle sign of her growing frustration with the crown-appointed overseer.
The pair turned yet another corner, the tenth one by Zandik’s count, and the halls stretched endlessly before them. To him, the seemingly infinite maze of cold stone was both exhilarating and maddening. His anticipation was mounting with every step—was he finally about to lay eyes on the legendary laboratories of Ostanes?
“Maybe then…” she murmured softly, almost as if speaking to herself, “you’ll be able to find a cure for my little sister.”
Her words hung in the air like a fragile thread, and for a moment, Zandik didn’t respond. The weight of her quiet hope, tied so closely to his success, pressed against his chest. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, noticing the way her gaze stayed fixed ahead, as if she was afraid to betray the vulnerability in her voice by looking at him.
“Maybe,” he finally said, his voice subdued but not dismissive. He didn’t promise her anything—he couldn’t—but there was an unspoken determination in his tone.
-----
After five more minutes of wandering and rounding two additional corners, they finally stood before an old, foreboding door. Its wood was darkened with age, warped slightly from years of neglect, and the iron bands holding it together were tarnished with rust. It looked as though it hadn’t been opened in centuries—a notion Zandik found entirely believable. Yet, the princess insisted she visited this place from time to time.
With a determined expression, she pulled a small, rusty key from her pocket and inserted it into the equally corroded lock. The mechanism groaned in protest as she turned it, reluctant to yield. Finally, after some effort and a few sharp tugs, the door creaked open, releasing a puff of stale, musty air that hinted at decades of disuse.
Zandik’s heart raced with anticipation as he peered into the darkness beyond. Was this it? Was he about to witness a grand alchemical wonder—a gleaming laboratory that once belonged to the fabled Ostanes? He imagined polished glass vials, intricate apparatuses, and shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes. Something glorious and befitting the name of a royal alchemist.
But as the princess stepped inside and began lighting the first candles to illuminate the space, Zandik’s hopes crumbled.
The once-grand laboratory… had been reduced to a hideout?
Ostanes legendary workspace was unrecognizable. The shelves that might have once held rare ingredients and ancient scrolls were now draped with faded fabrics, repurposed into sagging makeshift tents. The alchemist’s grand desk, likely the site of groundbreaking discoveries, had been turned into the centerpiece of what could only be described as a pillow fortress.
“A pillow cave?” Zandik muttered, his voice dripping with disbelief and just a touch of betrayal.
The princess stifled a giggle at his reaction, though a flicker of embarrassment crossed her face. “I… may have repurposed it a little,” she admitted, her tone feigning innocence.
“A little?” He gestured around the room, his eyes wide with incredulity. “This isn’t just ‘repurposed.’ This is… this is sacrilege!”
Her amused grin widened as she set about lighting more candles, their warm glow casting flickering shadows across the disheveled room. “Relax, Zandik. It’s not like the rats were going to appreciate a lab like this.”
He groaned, rubbing his temples as though trying to erase the sight from his mind. “This is Ostane’s laboratory. Or at least it was. And you turned it into… into this?”
“Well, I had to do something to make it cozy,” she said lightly, unbothered by his dramatic reaction. “I mean, it’s not like anyone else was using it. Besides, you can always restore it to its former glory. Isn't that what you're good at?”
Zandik scowled but said nothing. Deep down, he knew she was right. But that didn’t make the sight of a pillow cave in a legendary alchemist’s laboratory any easier to accept.
“I can help you redesign the laboratory… so it meets your expectations,” the princess offered, her voice soft but earnest. She had finished lighting all the candles, their warm glow now illuminating the room. The flickering light revealed the full extent of what the space had become—a shadow of its former glory.
Zandik stood in the center of the room, his eyes scanning the shelves and surfaces. His sigh was heavy, filled with disappointment and reluctant acceptance. This was not the magnificent workspace he had imagined for Ostanes. Yet, as he studied the room more closely, something began to shift in his expression.
His gaze fell on the towering bookshelves that lined the walls; their contents coated in a fine layer of dust. Among the worn spines, he recognized a few familiar titles—writings he had pored over during his time at the Sumeru Academy. But many of the books bore titles he had never encountered before, their mysterious names sparking a flicker of curiosity deep within him.
The pull was irresistible. He took a hesitant step toward the nearest shelf, his fingers brushing the edge of a heavy tome. It felt ancient, the leather cover cools beneath his touch, as though it held secrets long forgotten. Could these books hold the answer he was searching for?
The thought struck him like lightning. If these texts contained even a fragment of insight into the elusive cure for Morbus Pneumalis—if he could unlock their knowledge—then everything would change. He could silence the scoffs and doubts of his peers at the academy. He would no longer be dismissed as a mere student. He would show them. He would prove his brilliance.
The princess watched him closely, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor. His earlier frustration seemed to melt away, replaced by a quiet determination. She smiled gently, stepping closer to stand beside him. “There’s potential here,” she said softly. “It might take some effort, but this could be the perfect space for you.”
Zandik didn’t respond immediately, his thoughts swirling with possibilities. He turned to her at last, his crimson eyes gleaming with a mix of gratitude and resolve. “Yes,” he murmured. “We’ll make it work. And when we do… they’ll see what I’m capable of.”