“I must have him,” Vastus Ventruvian says, slamming a fist onto the heavy table of the Citadel warroom. “I must have him, Matyx! How could your guardsmen let him slip through the walls unchecked? How? Are they daftwits?”
Sympathy pangs my chest as I look at Kylen’s father. Grief has aged him twenty years in a single day. Gray hair spouts from his previously black beard, and he’s shaved his head in vigil for his daughter, as tradition in the Riverhold. He dons all black; an astute contrast from the other lords in the room. And what a group it is… twenty of the most powerful people in the Realm are congregated here, men and women with decades of power and authority. I am a stark difference - the only youth in the room. And yet they congregate because of me.
The talk of my attempted assassination has spread like wildfire through the Capital. The streets are alive with rumors; the taverns and inns are stocked full with excited whispers and fervent glances. Soon, the whole Realm will know.
My father ordered extensive searches of the whole property that lasted the whole night, but the second assassin was nowhere to be found - the man seemed to have disappeared into the black of the night. How the duo accessed the property is unknown. The celebrations of my Enlightening brought thousands of people into the Capital, all thoroughly searched and identified with the utmost caution. Many think the colossal numbers of entries had allowed the men to sneak in unbeknownst; I don’t believe that conclusion. My father remains a wary man; the Capital has had no such attempts since its founding, eleven years ago. The alternative is more harrowing: the assassins were allowed entry on the inside with someone with the authority to do so. The dead man wore no insignias and was plain in face and attire, with features that could’ve hailed from every corner of the Realm; speculation about origin was wholly fruitless. My intuition tells me that they can search and search all they like, but they will come no closer to the truth.
Many await a faction that will claim responsibility, but that largely remains a theory of the commonfolk, and not the highborn. “It is evident that secrecy was of the utmost importance,” Lord Armyni said, noting the dark cloaks and lack of apparent motivation.
This was the work of silent men, or a woman - only brief glimpses were caught of the second figure, so gender had not been determined - but it is of no importance. All that matters is that someone tried to kill me. They did not act alone - that much is certain. To access the Capital, you need power. Influence. Authority. My eyes flit around the room, head full of suspicious murmurings, drinking in the demeanor and words of each man and woman.
I study the emotion in the room. Fear. Grief. Anger. Shock. All expected emotions under such a plight. I soon dismiss the foolish thought.
The people in this warroom are utterly devoted to my father and the Realm. He does not believe in those whispers - instead suspecting an outside force at play, such as the Rogue State, the lone state in the Realm that has not bent the knee to the Kalidii rule. The Realm’s forces had warred with the east for years, but the East’s capital of Sohull was impenetrable. Mountains rose at the mouth of the city, the sea guarded its back, and dense forests populated every spare inch of ground. Siege was not a possibility, and without siege weapons, there was no chance to breach Sohull’s fortifications. Amphibious assaults proved lackluster as well. After six years of pointless bloodshed, and Sohull giving no ground, my lord father called all of his legions from Sohull and ejected a wall that spanned the east’s border, effectively cutting Sohull off from the Realm. Communications with Sohull had ceased completely, and Sohull became a self-reliant country adrift from the rest of the Realm. The rogue state got what it wanted - secession from the Kalidii reign. Why risk a second war by trying to murder Matyx Kalidii’s youngest son? It makes no sense for them to do so.
Others spoke of rumors elsewhere.
People speculate about the other continents across the blue seas, most of the rumors circulating around the nation of Mailynn - the nation that had unintentionally started the Kalidii and Astoma war. Mailynn had shown interest in the Realm’s fertile lands in the past, but I dismiss those rumors. It has been years since such an incursion; none since since Matyx’s ascension to the throne. My father would be stupid to pay so much attention to idle talk.
Speculation runs wild, but the truth is nowhere to be found. A quiet, festering thought had wormed its way into my mind since the assassination - I’m more akin to believe this was the work of an individual, and not a large group. A certain someone comes to mind, but I dare not utter his name in a room such as this.
“His head and body has been delivered to the analyticals,” my lord father says. “Afterwards, his body will be turned to your hands, and you can do with it as you like.”
Veins stand out in Vastus’ temples. The man shakes his head adamantly. “No. Not enough. There remains one more. One more who put a blade in my daughter’s belly. One who breathes oxygen into their lungs without feeling the effects of plaguevenom coursing through their veins. Bring him to me. I must have him answered for his crime.”
“There remains one assassin at large, yes,” Matyx Kalidii admits. “But I assure you, he will be promptly caught. Even now, the streets of the Citadel are being ripped apart. Not a single inch of land will go unsearched. The perpetrators behind this vile crime will surely be caught, and they will experience a demise nothing like the Realm has ever seen.”
“Even if I have them returned to me, with head in a box and skin as a cloak, will that vengeance repair my heart?” Vastus Ventruvian asks, struggling to keep tears from spilling down his cheeks. His rage had been a quick thing, short and brief, and now his grief has returned. “She was heir to the Riverland. My only heir - my two sons were killed in that farce of a war. My lady wife followed soon after them. I have nothing but swaths of land, full of people who are not my own.” Vastus departs, pushing aside the few guards stationed at the door, and takes his leave in an air of unappeasable grief.
The highborns watch Lord Vastus’ departure with grim expressions.
“The Realm will split itself apart solely because of fear and suspicion,” Vax Armyni says, looking grave. “This is a terrible, terrible thing.”
“I’ve mobilized the guardsmen of the city,” Matyx says. “None are to leave these walls without the proper permits, and my whisperers have been sent to the inner townships of the Capital to hear all rumors. So far, none are of much interest.”
“Such a vile act,” Jezica Requor says, shaking her head sadly. She turns hazel eyes on me. “Matyx, you should pride yourself in the teachings of your son. Without his quick defense, it very well could be that both Prince Calix and Lady Kylen are en route to an early grave.”
I play along with the farce. It cannot be known that Kylen had been the one that had acted first and saved my life; if my moment of inaction were made public, the scorn would have no end. “A great thanks, my lady, but I would like to give my praises to Klorin, my guardsman. He was the one that landed the finishing blow.”
“After you had already disarmed him,” Jezica says, her voice dismissive. “Praise your guardsman all you want, but he failed his duty, and the second escaped him. He will receive no praise from me. His failure killed that Ventruvian child.” Fear takes hold in her eyes. “Farlan, what if the same fate falls upon our daughters? The same dreadful dagger could come in the dark of night!”
“You are safe here,” Matyx snaps, and Jezica quiets. “You have my word. My men patrol every street, every nook and cranny, every small tavern; there is not a single centimeter of the city that has not been stripped bare.”
“Still,” Farlan Requor says, drawing out a heavy breath, “the fact is, it happened. I do not blame you, my lord; none of us here do. It would be uncouth of me to do so. However, I am concerned for my family’s wellbeing. It happened once. It could happen again, and I have no desire to have my children as targets. After brunch, my family and I return to Brullon.”
My lord father’s jaw clenches. “There is no need. I assure you all, the Citadel is safe. One unfortunate incident does not change that.”
“Perhaps,” Lord Requor agrees. “Then again, perhaps not.”
“I’m afraid I share in the Requor’s sentiments,” Vax Armyni says. He shoots an apologetic look at my father. “My lady wife and children are here. I cannot rest soundly knowing assassins live within these walls.” He nods once to me. “I know it is a detestable thing, to leave during your celebrations, but I have no choice. My love for my family has no bounds. I hope you can understand that.”
I just nod, hoping my eyes do not reflect the shame burning within me. The celebrations of an Enlightening last three days - the expectation is that the lords and ladies invited stay for all three. None left during my brothers’ Enlightenings. Whispers will soon whisper throughout the Capital, and soon the Realm, saying,
Matyx Kalidii’s lastborn son is cursed. A highborn mistress dead, and the assassin still loose.
During his Enlightening, no less.
A bad omen, that one, but frankly it is not surprising. He is the fifthborn son.
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The gods seem to reject this boy’s virtue. Perhaps it is warranted? I’ve heard that he looks nothing like his father, or his brothers…
My fingers curl into fists. There is nothing I can do; unless the second assassin is found and hanged, my honor will be surely impugned. I am not oblivious to the fact that the departure of my guests will be a slight to my name. And yet, there is nothing I can do.
The others quickly agree with Requor and Armyni, voicing their own worries. The Terrans; the Laefons; the Rustfords; the Kleins. The lords of the north, and the west, and the south. I flinch at each apologetic tone and sympathetic look shot in my direction. Tears threaten, but I dare not let them roll down my cheeks.
My lord father has heard enough. He slams a fist on the table, shaking the wood and causing an uncomfortable silence to develop. “Leave, all of you,” he snarls. “If you are so craven to fear one blade, let the Realm be aware of your cowardice. Leave this instant. I have no desire to see your faces inside the Citadel any longer.”
It has been a while since I have seen the anger of Matyx Kalidii; evidently, the lords and ladies are not accustomed to his anger either. They start, blinking in surprise, but recover quickly. Only Vax Armyni and Rylan Valont show no such surprise. They merely take his rebuke with a gracious dip of their heads. “As you wish.”
Drakos enters the room, dressed in fine silk and trim, watching the last of the council leave with a sly smile on his face, as if the whole ordeal is a funny joke. I hate that expression. He had laughed at me when he saw me on the floor, holding my ribs, my knife untouched in my sheath. Quite formidable reflexes, he had mocked, drawing close to me so I was the only one who heard his words. You are in luck that I rigged your duel for you. I open my mouth, bitterness surging through me, but Matyx speaks before me.
“Drakos. What is it?”
Drakos takes a moment to answer, glancing about the grandeur of the warroom, eyes falling on polished chandeliers, burnished oak, and ornate candles half the size of a man. “It appears the meeting did not go as well as we had hoped.”
“Astute observation,” my father says, his voice dry. “What gave it away?”
Drakos ignores the scorn in my father’s voice. “Are they all gone?”
“The majority. My inclination tells me some lesser lords will stay behind in an attempt to curry favor, but it will be a slight number. Drakos, I assume you have caught word of Calix’s betrothal. It appears I will need to work out the linguistics of such an event on letters, due to the Valonts soon departure, but Calix will wed Vira - and that will drastically reduce the attention onto him.”
“And what of Lord Vax and Lord Rylan?”
“The Armynis and Valonts will offer me assistance from their escort, thinking it will appease me, but I have no need for extra men. The guardsmen in the city are capable enough - I have no reason to call in my legions. There is only one perpetrator that need be found.”
“One man, surely, but a sly one. He is proving to be a difficult find.”
“I’m aware.” Matyx Kalidii fixes his heir with a steely gaze. “I assume there is no word of his, or her, whereabouts?”
“It is a man, lord father, that much I am certain of,” Drakos says. “A woman has not the balls to attempt such a thing, or the intellect needed to make an escape.”
My father snorts derisively. “A foolish thought, Drakos. Have you no grasp of history? It was a woman, Eyvie Nockholm, who destroyed Cenn’s fleet. Myanna Stewart rode alongside me to Realm’s Battle. A woman is more than capable of such things.”
“And both women did not survive to see your ascension,” Drakos says, bored. “Valiant acts, truly, but they are dead nonetheless. Their bones speak truth from their place in the dirt. A woman has no place on the battlefield.”
“The word, Drakos,” I interrupt, tired of the pointless bickering. “What is the word?”
“There is none,” Drakos says. “It is like the man simply disappeared into thin air, or melted into the stone walls.” He cocks his head back, thinking. “I digress. Word - rumor, not fact, keep in mind, but word nonetheless - is going around in the dungeons, believe it or not. Common talk is that this cloaked assassin will release the prisoners and lead an insurgence that will burn the city from within.”
Matyx almost looks amused. “It is but one man.”
“Yes, and an exceptionally dangerous one. This man slew the Riverhold’s heir in Calix’s own quarters, and escaped. He escaped the Brasshand and all those countless guardsmen that were on duty in the Citadel. That is all it takes to fan the flames of excited rumor. The more abstract an event is, the more traction it gains. However, I believe I have a solution to that.”
“A solution?” Matyx frowns. “Unless you can supply me with the perpetrator's head, I believe your ‘solution’ bodes no significance.”
“I will bring you a head, father. Just not the one you think of.” The smile on Drakos’ face has changed from mere amusement to something much more cunning. He is no longer speaking about a long search. “It is true that no one knows what this silent man looks like. All they want to see is a body hanging at the taut end of a rope. Does it matter who? We give them a corpse, we fabricate a story, and the city quiets. Are you aware that this infiltration makes us look weak? That it makes us look vulnerable and wholly common? There is a chance to dispel this pathetic talk. We have the means to give the people what they want. We have no abundance of Astoma.”
My father is silent, fixating his eldest with a thoughtful expression. A chill gathers in my stomach..
“What do you propose?”
“It just so happens to be that during Calix’s celebrations, an Astoma slave by the name of Westen attempted to defile his cup. He was caught, naturally, and upon further inspection, plaguevenom was detected within the wine’s content. Attire matching the one of the assassin was found within the Astoma quarters. The motives need not be complicated. The Realm is not oblivious to the fact that there remain many supporters of the Astoma reign, despite the pathetic nature of the notion. We say this one here, this Westen, likened himself a patriot. Thought he was carrying out the will of his late deity, Lymorian Astoma, the false king. And, of course, his growing wroth led him to fixate upon one of Matyx Kalidii’s sons; what better way to undermine the Kalidii rule by killing the very son who is the reason for this coagulation of great lords?”
The room is silent for several moments. By the priests, he means to murder an innocent. I remember Westen, the cupbearer who had managed to incur Drakos’ wrath by spilling wine upon his sleeve. It had been an honest mistake, but Drakos doesn’t believe in such novelties. He remembers.
My lord father is lost in thought, face screwed in intrigue; I look back towards Drakos. The sly smile is gone, replaced by determination. His eyes shine with cunning guile. “The people will be appeased, and will evidently see that any opposition to the Kalidii gens will be promptly dealt with. In addition, Calix will not be spurned - the lords and ladies will return for the remainder of Calix’s celebrations. And these… empty, feckless rumors will grow cold and die, the Realm quieting once more. All it takes is one slave boy.”
“An innocent one,” I say, my voice thick with disbelief. I’ve known Drakos for seventeen years; his words are not surprising in the slightest. But my father… I risk a glance at him, wondering what thoughts are running through his mind, and grow fearful of the answer. “You mean to kill an innocent boy.”
Drakos curls his lip. “Innocent? You forget yourself, little brother. The Astoma are far from innocent. Have you forgotten how the Astoma mob ripped your mother to pieces and disemboweled Titus? A newborn child? Your brother? Have you forgotten how that mob used his en-”
“Enough,” Matyx snaps, and Drakos quiets. “Do not speak of Herra. Do not speak of Titus.” The room grows silent for several moments before my lord father speaks again. “If - and only if, mind you - this route is chosen, you must get a confession out of this boy.”
“Easily done,” Drakos says. His fingers tap rhythmically on the table, eyes glowing with satisfaction. “We promise him free of his chains, and a safe convoy to the east. To Sohull. All he needs to say are some words in front of a crowd, and then we silence him and perform judgment.”
My father thinks the idea naive: “Only a stupid, stupid boy would agree to such a thing.”
“This boy is an Astoma, father. Stupidity is their nature. We’ll come upon him quickly, bind him, and throw him in a dark cell. We’ll leave him there for hours, letting his own thoughts frighten himself into a husk, and then we fill his head with promises and dreams and hopes. Once he hears of it, he will latch onto our words like a babe on a tit. They are a simple people.”
I shake my head. “No, no, no. You speak of judgment, yet there will be no justice. This Westen… while he is Astoma, he is not the man who tried to dig a blade into my back. He is innocent, at least in this regard. It is murder. This is murder. And who’s to say that when the boy is dead, the actual culprit comes forward?”
Drakos shrugs, seemingly unconcerned by such a prospect. “The Realm will have had their blood by then. The voice of one man will do nothing to dismay that, we’ll just ensure our own voices speak over his.”
“See it done.”
I look at my father, aghast. His mouth has become one hard line. “Quickly. I do not wish to see this boy, or know anything of him. Get your confession and see the deed done, Drakos.”
Drakos gives a bow, his face smug. “It will be done, my lord.”
A rapid torrent of emotion rushes through me, many of them unexpected - none so more than a queer sort of admiration. It courses through my veins like warm wine. In a sort of twisted way, a part of me admires Drakos’ intellect. My brother is cruel, violent, and utterly detestable, but he is not stupid. Far from it. In one twist, he elevates himself on a pedestal, branding him as the man who caught Kylen Ventruvian’s killer and favoring himself in the eyes of the Riverhold and Lord Vastus’ legions. Additionally, he appeases the hundreds of other lords and ladies that have come to the Capital for my Enlightening. Drakos will give them vengeance. He will give them justice, safety; a healing salve for their worries. Drakos, Drakos. The cries of my brother will far outshine my own, even during my own celebrations: I am not oblivious to the fact. The Realm will sing Drakos Kalidii’s praises, pronouncing him the perfect heir, and Maty’x favorite and most competent son. Years in the future, when my lord father has passed, and my brother takes the throne, there will be no objections. Drakos has seen that he has no enemies - none powerful enough to challenge his rule, at least.
Cruel, but intelligent.
I open my mouth to object, but no words come out. My mind whirls with a thousand thoughts, most of them begging me to say something, to speak out in the face of injustice, but I stand there and say nothing. I stand there, and say nothing, and feel resignation sweep through me. It is just a slave boy.
One life for the peace of the Realm. One life for the preservation of my dignity, of my honor; one life for the name of Calix Kalidii. I set my heart in stone.
If one man’s life is all it takes, let it be done.
Drakos turns to me before he exits the room. “Oh, one more thing, Calix. It nearly slipped my mind. The physicians tell me Kylen Ventruvian is calling for you, brother.” He notices my surprise with a mocking smile. “I suggest you better hurry. She has little time remaining as it is.”