Servilia slowly dragged the blade along the length of the whetstone. It was a near pointless exercise, as she had long ago honed the blade to a razor edge, but still she worked, her arm moving back and forth with careful, deliberate movements.
The room was completely silent save for the sound of the steel as it scraped along with damp stone, and the breathing of the two occupants.
Over and over she repeated the action, her fingers tight and her breathing terse.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Sharp. The blade had to be sharp. It had to be clean. It had to be perfect. There could be no mistakes. No. No mistakes. Nothing could go wrong.
This was her only chance.
Her hand stopped moving and she lifted the blade up to her eye. The polished steel glimmered in the dim lighting.
Was it enough?
Her teeth clenched together and one hand gripped at her hair, pulling so tight a few strands broke free.
Was it enough?
Was it enough?
Was it enough?
No mistakes.
No escape.
It would be enough. She would make sure of it. No matter what.
There would be no failure.
“Nathan.”
Banksy flinched at Servilia’s voice. Her usual sweet, almost melodic tone was nowhere to be found. Had he not been looking at her, he would never have believed the voice had come from her mouth.
“Yes?”
“Do you know why we are here?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Banksy shook his head. “No.”
“Do you need to know?” Servilia swiveled her head around to look at him. It was the first time she had done so since they had arrived in Romiatii. Her eyes were blank, like she was looking somewhere far off, somewhere he could never reach.
Somewhere he knew he shouldn’t go.
And yet.
He swallowed down his hesitation and shook his head. “No, whatever you need, I will do. No matter what.”
Servilia stared at him for a long time before nodding. “I see.”
“But,” Banksy forced the words out through nearly clenched teeth. “But the more I know, the more effective I can be. I’m a thief. The more information I have, even the smallest thing, can help me succeed. So, if there is something…anything you need to tell me, you can.”
Servilia said nothing as she turned back to the desk and carefully replaced the blade into its waiting, freshly oiled sheath.
She drew the blade and replaced it.
Drew the blade and replaced it.
Drew the blade and replaced it.
Drew the blade and replaced it.
Over and over and over and over and over and over until the action was as natural as breathing.
Until the blade was nothing more than an extension of her arm.
“There are four of them. Voy, Dumas, Gorin, Romiatii.”
Banksy remained silent.
“They control at least seventy percent of the slave trade on the continent, I have no doubt they have offshore ventures as well, but I have yet to confirm it. They have more political power and influence than you can possibly imagine.”
“But…” Banksy shook his head. “Slavery has been outlawed in every kingdom for at least seventy years.”
“Romiatii is large, Nathan, as are the mountains of Gorin. There are vast territories that are home to only the slaves that work them, and the overseers that keep them from escaping.
“Voy, Dumas, Ash, they are not free from this taint either. Women, children, bought and sold into servitude. Broken for nothing more than amusement, used… and discarded.”
Banksy swallowed down the lump that threatened to form in his throat. “What do we do then?”
“We cut off the head of the snake.” Servilia gripped the hilt of her weapon. “The masters are smart. All correspondence is done through layers upon layers of mediators. But, there is a time that they all meet, in person. Once every seven years. It will be my only chance to have all of them. It has to be all of them, together. If even one escapes, the chain won’t break, and everything… it will all be for nothing.”
“Then we won’t let them escape.” Banksy stood up, his fingers playing rapidly along the chain of rings strapped to his neck. “We won’t. I swear. Just tell me what I need to do.”
Servilia’s expression softened, if only for a moment, before the hard glint returned to her eye and she nodded. “The host is a man named Omar. He is Romiatii nobility. The meeting will take place at his manor, during the new moon’s ball.”
“So we need invites. Can you forge them?”
“The physical invitation, yes.” Servilia walked over to her bag and produced two elegantly crafted invitations. “But these lack Omar’s family seal.”
Banksy frowned. “What’s special about the seal?”
“His Manor boasts a magical security system. It is old, but it is still in place. If someone were to enter without an invitation marked with the seal, it will set off the alarms. Once that happens, the Masters will doubtlessly escape.
“So, we need his seal.” Banksy nodded to himself. “Do you have any idea where he keeps it?”
“Yes. Around his neck.”
“Of course.” Banksy began to pace back and forth. “It doesn’t matter if the manor has magical security, I can get through it, given enough time. It will have to be tonight.”
“The manor is not far from here. We can make it within the hour if we are quick.”
“Good.” Banksy started to move before hesitating. “We?”
“Yes.”
Banksy held up his hands. “Actually, this will probably work better if I go alone.”
“I assure you, Nathan, I will not slow you down.”
“Yeah, that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m guessing what he is using is some kind of biometric scan that is tailored to humans, otherwise the security system would go off any time something like a bird or even a bug flew through the barrier. Those tend to be self-updating which means I’ll only be able to get myself through before the system reconfigures itself. Once that happens, you’ll just end up locked outside, or worse, it will happen when I’m trying to get you through and it will trigger the alarm. I can adjust for myself on the fly, but I’m not confident I can do that for you. You understand?”
From the expression Servilia was giving him, Banksy was quite sure she did not understand, but still she nodded. “I see. Then, Nathan, I entrust this to you. I have full confidence in your abilities.”
Banksy gave her a smile that was more confident than he felt. “I am the best.”
“Very well, then while you are away, I will procure you some new clothing.”
Banksy’s bravado quickly faded into confusion and his head tilted to the side. “What?”