Banksy was doing his best to remain calm. A feat that was made rather difficult by the fact that he was standing in a massive ballroom filled with nobles, and other VIPS that he had never heard of, from all corners of the Kingdoms, in clothes that were most definitely not his, and he had a beautiful woman holding lightly onto his arm. Actually, that part wasn't so bad, but it wasn't calming either.
In fact, that was probably the thing causing him the most stress.
Still, that part wasn't so bad.
He shifted the collar of his newly acquired clothes. The neck fit slightly too tight. They were just one of many parts of a precarious plan that Servilia had pulled him into. The last few hours had been an almost nonstop series of break-ins, back-alley meetings, and of course forgeries. Half of the things that were going on went right over Banksy's head, but he trusted Servilia and simply did as she asked and now here was here. In a manor he had broken less than twenty-four hours ago, surrounded by people who would likely have him imprisoned if they were to ever realize who he really was.
Imprisoned? Who was he kidding?
They would have him killed.
That didn't matter though. This was nothing more than another move in a game that had started long before he was even born, and one that would come to a conclusion tonight.
"The end of it all." Servilia had told him. There had been a horrible, soul-crushing harshness to her voice that he had never heard before. It made his stomach knot, but he had only nodded in response.
He would help her.
No matter what.
"See that man over there?" Servilia whispered into his ear. Banksy almost shrunk back at the feeling of her breath against his skin.
"Yeah." Banksy gave a shaky nod as he glanced to his right, eyeing the older gentleman who had just arrived. He also had a beautiful woman on his arm. Two actually. Along with what seemed to be a small army of bodyguards.
At least, that's what Banksy guessed all the grim-faced men standing around him were.
"His name is Benton. James Benton. He is a high-ranking aide who works for an advisor for the Queen of Voy. He is who we've been waiting for." Servilia pulled Banksy off to the side for privacy.
"He's the last one?" Banksy said as Servilia slowly scanned the room. Counting off.
"The last one."
Banksy gave a small nod and casually glanced around the room, allowing his eyes to lightly flit on the other three.
Madame Flore, of Dumas.
Sandforn of Gorin.
Omar of Romiatii. The host of the ball.
The four Masters.
The group that Servilia had spent tireless years and countless hours slowly gathering information on. From every corner of the Kingdoms she had scoured for those responsible for her imprisonment. For those who caused the death of her family and friends. For those that had allowed slavery to blossom under their careful watch and guidance. For those who caused pain with every breath they took. With every second they lived.
Finally she had them.
Finally, she would watch their world come crumbling down.
It was almost too much. The blade that was strapped to her thigh begged to be released from its sheath. To spill their blood. To watch the life fade from their eyes
Servilia’s hand twitched and began to slide down towards the weapon.
She would never be able to reach all of them. Not here. Not with so many guards. If even one was allowed to go unpunished nothing would change. They would just rebuild and replace those that had fallen.
No.
She held her arm still.
She had spent far too long waiting for this moment. She would not allow it to slip away to a moment of thoughtless passion.
"Servilia."
Banksy's drew her attention and she followed his gaze. The Masters were on the move. They moved naturally. Completely at ease, pausing here and there to talk to other members of the party. But slowly, one by one, they exited the main ballroom.
"It's time." Servilia breathed before setting off.
Like water through pebbles she flowed through the crowd and it was all Banksy could do to keep up with her. If the situation were not so tense, he would have marveled at the grace in which she moved, despite the elegant dress and impossibly high heels she wore.
The manor was massive and would have been nearly impossible to navigate had bought a copy of the floorplans off a rather shady information broker. Banksy had taken a good hour to commit all of the information to memory. It wasn't necessary, considering it was the basement level that he needed, but it never hurt to be prepared. Plus, from the night before Banksy knew Omar had a rather nice collection of things. Things that Banksy wouldn't mind liberating from him if given half a chance.
"Left here," Banksy said as he took the lead and guided Servilia through the halls. He held up his hand and came to a stop, turning to look back at Servilia. "There are two doors between us and the stairs. There's a room between them.”
“There will be two guards. They rotate every two hours.” Another piece of purchased information. Servilia had exchanged a staggering amount of gold without batting an eye. The same could not be said for Banksy as he had watched her hand over the precious metal. "They will likely have increased the amount of guards and they will be on alert today. Regardless, we will deal with them the same way."
Banksy nodded and silently crept up to the door. As expected, it was locked. He slipped a ring onto his finger and slowly passed it over the door handle. The ring on his finger vibrated in response.
"Same as the other door last night. With this ring I can engage or disengage them whenever I want. Even if they have the key, they won't be able to open them," he said.
Servilia produced a small bomb, one of Romeo's more ingenious productions. The concoction within was more than able to knock a grown man out for a few hours at least. It was something Banksy was intimately familiar with.
"On my count," she said, priming the small device. "Three. Two. One."
Banksy pushed open the door and Servilia tossed the small ordinance inside. As soon as she was clear, Banksy clicked the door shut and activated the locks. There was a brief surprised shout and then silence. Banksy waited before opening the door again. That particular gas had knocked him out more than enough times for him to know that it could hang in the air for a good long time.
The door opened and they were met with a haphazard pile of unconscious guard. Banksy gave an appreciatory nod. If Romeo wasn't such an idiot, he might actually be impressed with what the bastard could create.
"They won't bring many of the guards down, if any. Too much of a risk. Only those closest are allowed." Servilia said as they went through the room, carefully stepping over the unconscious guards. "Still, be careful. If something happens, do your best to keep your distance and let me handle them."
Banksy nodded and wiped his hands on his pants before opening the final door. Servilia swept passed him and slunk down the stairs. Banksy followed a few paces behind and at a slower pace, careful to be as quiet as possible.
He needn't bother, however, as a loud scream echoed from the floor below them. Servilia tossed him a glance as she quickened her pace. Banksy hustled to keep up with her and nearly knocked into her from behind as she came to a sudden stop.
"By the Gods," she whispered as she peered into the basement.
Unlike the rest of the manor, the basement looked like it was almost unfinished. The floor was made up of dirt and hay and the light came from dim lanterns that hung from the walls. A table had been set up off to the one side and the Four Masters sat along one side, idly watching the scene playing out before them.
Two bare chested men wrestled on the ground, each fighting for dominance. One's arm hung awkwardly to the side and it was clear the bone had been broken. His strength was fading fast and it was clear he was going to lose this fight. If it could be called that.
The two dragons watching would have called it murder.
Only Servilia knew what this was. She had seen it before, and heard about it many times over. Slaves, forced to fight against each other to the death. To not fight was death. To fight at least gave a chance. Even if that chance was nothing more than to live to fight another day. A way to break the more resilient of the slaves, and to turn the others against them.
Division.
Isolation.
Fear.
Control.
The ultimate tools of the slave trade.
"I should have placed my wager on the Gorin, it seems," Madame Flore sighed as her fighter's strength finally gave out and he was slammed to the ground.
"Always bet on the strength of the Gorin people." Sandforn gave a sage nod. "We have worked the mountains since the beginning of time. Our bodies have become strong like the stone we break."
"Not strong enough to break iron, however," Omar said. "I wouldn't count the Voy boy out just yet. Would you, Mr. Benton?"
"He may win or he may not. I prefer not to gamble. It's better to simply own them both and allow other fools to waste their money,” Benton said.
"Don't you mean it's better to own them all?" Madame Flore tilted her head with a smile
"If we owned them all, then with whom would we do business with?" Omar laughed even as fighter from Voy let out a strangled scream of pain as his broken arm was twisted further. He turned his attention to the fight and his small eyes narrowed. "This fight should have been over long ago. I fear our fighters are not properly motivated. It is kill or be killed, my friends. Do not make me kill both of you!"
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He lifted his hand and a guard moved forward, a spiked club in his hand.
"It is only the first fight. Let them be." Madame Flore waved her hand, stopping the guard. "No need to scare the others just yet. The first kill always takes the longest. Besides, I'd rather it be this way. Our business will be so tedious compared to this."
"I suppose there is wisdom in your words. Still. If they don't kill, then what use are they?" Omar fell back into his chair with a dramatic sigh.
"Disgusting." Servilia's hands shook as they clenched into white knuckled fists. "Disgusting filth."
Banksy didn't disagree. Though what he saw made him still to his stomach, he looked passed it and slowly scanned the room. To the left was a large cage with several men trapped inside. All were shacked and a few had bags over their heads. Two guards stood beside the cage. The one with the spiked club was the only one with his weapon out. The other still had his sword strapped securely to his hip.
"Only two guards," Banksy whispered.
Servilia pulled out another bomb and stuffed it into Banksy's hand. He recognized it as a larger version of Cross's flashbang.
"Throw this as soon as I reach the last step," Servilia ordered. Her blade was already free.
Banksy hesitated before giving a slight nod. Swallowing hard he reached out and gave her a small pat on the shoulder. "I've got your back."
The stone expression on her face softened for the briefest of moments and the edge of her mouth turned to a hint of a smile. "I know you do Nathan."
And she was off.
Banksy waited until her foot just touched the floor before he flung the flashbang down and covered his eyes with his forearm. Inside of the stone walled room the noise was almost unbearable as the shockwave bounced around and around.
The cries of shock and surprise echoed through the room, followed quickly by cries of pain as Servilia reached the first of the two guards.
Her knife sliced through his wrist before he could even begin to swing his club up. It slipped form his numb fingers and to the ground. She spun around him and sliced as his heels, severing the tendons and sending him to the floor. Beside her, his partner began to fumble for his weapon. Her hand slid across the dirt floor and found the grip of the spiked-club.
With teeth bared Servilia swung the club around. The spiked head crashed into the guard's side, piercing his skin before the club cracked against his ribs. Bones broke audibly and the guard screamed, staggering to the side and against the cage. Servilia yanked the club free with a spurt of blood and silenced him with a whack across the side of the face with the flat end.
"What is going on?" Madame Flore cried, slipping back to her native tongue in fright and confusion. She had fallen from her chair and to the ground. A stunned Benton was still seated with an equally dazed Sandforn beside him. Only Omar was on his feet and with a curved sword held in his hand. He slowly moved around the table, keeping his blade trained on Servilia.
"What is happening?" Madame Flore wailed.
"Silence, you intolerable hag," Omar hissed. He fixed his eyes on Servilia. "Who are you, girl?"
Servilia crossed the room towards him, the knife in one hand and the club in another. She gave the two fighters a jerk of her head and they quickly shuffled along the floor and to the opposite wall. She turned to Omar. "I am no one. No one at all. Simply another slave. Like many of those you have enslaved, we have never had the pleasure of meeting, but I have known about you for a very long time."
"Then you know exactly how serious of trouble you are in," Omar spoke the words lightly, though he gripped the sword tight. "You have assaulted me in my home. I am a noble of Romiatii. Drop your weapons, or I will have you hung for intrusion."
"A noble who has allowed and aided the slave trade." Servilia responded. She flicked the blood off of her knife. "That is why I am here, actually. Though I am sure you already have realized that.
“Flore, finance. Benton, Sales. Sandforn, acquisition. Omar, transportation.” She pointed the knife at each Master as she spoke. “The Masters.”
"Are you here to apprehend us? Is that it?" Omar swept his hand back towards the others. "Nothing more than hearsay. It would be your word against ours, you know. You would be laughed out of the court."
"You misunderstand." Servilia took a step forward. "I am not here to apprehend you Omar, or any of you, for that matter. No. Not one of you will leave this room alive. This shall be your tomb.”
"So you’re nothing more than assassin.”
“No!” Madame Flore scrambled to her feet and began to run. Without turning her head Servilia’s arm swung up and she launched the knife. It caught Madame Flore in the knee and she went to the ground with a scream. Whimpering, she remained there.
"No. This is not an assassination," Servilia continued as through nothing had happened. "An assassination is a contract, carried out between the contractor and the client. This is not that. No. No one is paying me to do this. You see, this… this is punishment."
She surged forward and swung the club around. Omar blocked the attack but was stumbled back by the sheer ferocity. Servilia kept moving forward, hammering her weapon against his sword again and again. Omar was forced back with every blow until his back was suddenly flush against the wall. He pushed forward and tried to dodge passed Servilia, but she caught him by the face with her hand and slammed him back against the wall.
Blood stained the wall as Omar’s head split open. Gritting his teeth, he swung the sword up wildly, only to have Servilia take a simple step back before swinging the club down. It caught his outstretched wrist, snapping the bones like eggshells beneath a boot.
With a hiss of disgust, she tossed him onto the table. He moved to rise but she slammed the club against his chest, cracking his ribs. When he still struggled, she flipped the club over and pierced him through the stomach.
"Don't you dare move," she hissed as Benton and Sandforn finally began to recover. She picked up Omar's sword and tested its weight.
"Surely… surely we can talk about this!" Sandforn said, holding up his hands as Servilia's eyes landed on him. "We can pay you. Anything you want."
"Anything?" Servilia said.
"Anything!" Sandforn nodded furiously.
"I'll take these, then." Servilia swung the blade and cleanly removed Sandforn's hands from his wrists. The strike was so sudden that it took the man a moment to notice he had been dismembered. The moment soon passed and he was on the floor, screaming beside Madame Flore.
Servilia turned on Benton as he started to rise and stabbed the sword through his shoulder, pinning him to the chair. He gasped pathetically and reached to pull the weapon free, but the effort was too great and he could do no more than stay stuck in his seat.
"I'm going to kill all of you," Servilia said. Her soft voice was deadly calm and easily carried through the silent room. "I should do it slowly, for the pain you've caused me. The pain you've caused to every single life that you sold for a little more coin in your pocket."
"Arrogance!” Omar howled as he pushed himself off the table, pulling the club free from his stomach with a torrent of blood. He took a stumbling step towards Servilia. “I’ve broken worse than you.”
Servilia stared at him with a sneer, dropping the sword and facing him with open arms.
Teeth bared, Omar lifted the club above his head and swung down with both arms. Despite the power, the attack was slow and Servilia easy caught Omar by the wrist.
Twisting her body around she continued his momentum and swung him up and over her shoulder, slamming him back first onto the solid ground. The club slipped from his fingers as he wheezed in pain.
"I’ve wanted to feel the breath slip from your lungs. I’ve wanted to watch the life fade from your eyes. I’ve wanted it for so long.” Servilia whispered as she dropped down to one knee and stared down at Omar. Her hands slowly closed around his neck and she squeezed. He tried to choke in a breath, but Servilia's grip was too tight. Omar's limbs flailed and he tried in vain to pry Servilia's fingers. She pressed harder, digging her nails into his flesh.
So long. She had wanted this for so long. Longer than she could even remember. It was a burning hole of desire in her very core. She had envisioned this moment so many times in her mind. She had dreamt of it, fantasized about it. She had played it over and over again until it had consumed her very being.
So why…
Why did she feel nothing as she watched Omar die beneath her fingertips
Why did she feel no joy as Omar's face started to change color and the skin beneath her fingers began to bruise and break, slickening her fingers with fresh blood. She felt nothing. Nothing but a strange sense of cold futility that drove her to tighten her grip.
An overwhelming silence filled her ears until she heard nothing. Nothing at all as Omar's struggles began to grow weaker.
This was how it should be. She should feel happy. No. She should feel elated. This was what she wanted. She wanted to see him dead. She wanted to feel his life slip through her fingertips and into nothing.
This was her right. She deserved to be the one to end his life.
Why did she feel nothing?
It was his fault she had suffered so much.
Why did she feel nothing?
It was his fault her family was dead.
Why did she feel nothing?
All of them should suffer as she had suffered.
Why did she feel nothing?
They should all die.
Why did she feel nothing?
A hand on her shoulder made her flinch.
"Servilia…"
A voice. She knew that voice. It cut threatened to overwhelm her. She felt a warmth spread through her body.
And just like that, she was back.
With a gasp she pulled her hands free from Omar's neck and threw herself to the side. As though she had run a marathon she sucked in air as her heart hammered against her ribs. Slowly, she reached up and gave Banksy's hand a gentle squeeze before turning her eyes up towards him. He gave her a small nod that she returned.
"I… I'm fine," she breathed. "I'm fine."
She held onto his hand for a moment longer before letting him go and looking down on Omar. She suddenly felt so very tired.
Too tired.
Tired of everything.
"For what you did to me…" Servilia slowly rose back to her full height. "I have every right to kill you. All of you. But I'm not going to. I won't kill you because I'm not like you. I'm better than what you did to me. I'm not a monster like you, and I won't become one just for your sake."
"You are a monster," Omar gasped. "You just refuse to see it. Everyone. Everyone is like us. Given the right opportunities, they would do exactly as we have done."
"Truly, you are a pathetic creature." Servilia shook her head and turned to Banksy. "Nathan. Please, free the others."
He gave a nod and made his way to the cage. In seconds it was open and he was fast on his way to unshackling those trapped inside.
"This isn't over," Omar said as the freed slaves began to gather around him. One had retrieved his fallen sword, and another the club.
"For me it is," Servilia said softly as she began to move towards the staircase. Banksy followed behind her silently. She turned back towards the newly freed men. "The Romiatii military will be here soon. I know it is hard, but I ask you not to kill any of them. The information they know is crucial to stopping the slave trade between the kingdoms and locating all the major slaver routes and slaver groups. However, if you cannot find it in yourself to allow this, I understand.
"They will live," a large man from Gorin promised her before he turned his eyes on his captors. He gave a joyless smile as he hefted the spiked club. "Though they will not live well."
"That is acceptable," Servilia said with a small nod. "Nathan, it is time to go home."
Banksy followed Servilia upstairs where the ball was still in full swing, the patrons completely oblivious to what had transpired below them. Servila led them through the crowd and out towards the front gate. There, they paused for only a moment as Banksy removed a small silver ring from his pocket. With a small sigh he flicked the ring into the darkness. Servilia gave him a questioning look, but he only shook his head.
Off in the distance, they could already see the lights of the approaching military forces that Servilia had anonymously contacted.
By the time they arrived, Servilia and Banksy were long gone, already on board a train headed for Voy with all traces of their involvement destroyed.
"It's too bad about that dress," Servilia said as she stared out the train's window. "I would have preferred not to burn it, but I couldn't have it traced back to me somehow."
"It was nice." Banksy said as he rested his head against the headrest.
"Your outfit complimented you rather nicely as well." Servilia gave him a small grin. "Perhaps we can buy you something similar when we return. It would do you well to dress nicer, you know."
Banksy tried to smile at the lightness of her tone, but he could feel the fakeness behind it. There was a weight on Servilia's shoulders. One he had never known before, and even after all this, it was clear it was still there.
“Why did you discard that ring?” Servilia asked.
“That barrier… It was created by a Gensi. That ring once belonged for a Gensi. Whoever made that barrier… they would have been disgusted by what the family they made it for had become, so I destroyed it. Not many ways to do that, though.”
“That ring was very valuable, was it not?”
“Irreplaceable, probably.” Banksy shrugged.
“I see.”
"Are you really okay” Banksy asked quietly. “With them living?”
It took a long time for Servilia to answer.
"I am sorry, Nathan. For not telling you of my own plans. I know that I told you that we would only find irrefutable proof of the Master's involvement and subdue them if necessary so the Romiatii Military could take them into custody, but that wasn't true. Or maybe it was. I honestly did not know how I would react once I saw them. But I knew… I knew that I wanted to see them dead. I knew my emotions could compromise the plan. Still, I didn't tell you." Servilia's eyes traveled back to the window. "I would like to tell you yes, and I would like to mean that completely. Our guild does not murder for vengeance or revenge. We fight when we must and we defend ourselves, and those who cannot defend themselves, but we do not cast the first stone. Even with the evils that those four have committed… killing them would have been nothing more than murder. Even if they deserved it, that is not who we are. That is not who the Mistress raised us to be. It is not who I am. Not anymore. They will go to trial, each for their respective Kingdom and for the others as well. It is very likely they will be executed in the end."
"Well… I'm glad," Banksy shifted in his seat. "I'm glad you didn't kill them."
"At the very least, I am glad you are glad." Servilia gave him a sad smile and he felt his heart break. "Thank you, Nathan. For coming with me."
"I didn't do much."
"You did more than you know." Servilia said softly before she settled into a silence that would not be broken until they returned to Voy.