20 - HOW TO PROVE YOURSELF

Breakfast the next morning was perhaps the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten in my life. Still bleary-eyed from a night of too-little sleep, I watched in astonishment as Gavriel slid two massive plates in front of me, both laden with chicken, an assortment of cheeses, fresh fruits, warm bread, fried eggs, and bacon. This was followed by a mug of warmed milk sweetened with honey.

All of this was delivered by a Gavriel with a perfectly normal, calm expression, as though last night, we hadn’t helped Justinia dispose of four corpses.

“Enjoy,” he said, and left me to it.

By then, the bar had filled with laborers eating and drinking before the work day started.

As for Justinia—I didn’t knew where she was. She’d been absent from her room when I’d woken. Considering she’d still been awake when I’d finally gone to bed, I was forced to assume she hadn’t bothered sleeping at all.

It was a wonder the woman could even function with the lifestyle she maintained.

Halfway through my meal, and the woman in question arrived.

She sauntered into the bar, dressed plainly, a cigarillo hanging from between her lips. Smoke coiled up around her face. She slid into the seat opposite me, dragged the one plate still covered in food in front of her, and started to eat.

“That’s mine,” I noted.

“Sorry,” she said, not looking at me. “I thought you were finished.”

“You could’ve asked.”

She raised her eyebrows. “May I?”

I sighed, then nodded, then, curious, leaned forward, and in a whisper, said, “What, exactly, did you do with the bodies?”

Justinia didn’t even look at me. “Here’s an important little life lesson for you. Don’t ask questions you don’t actually want to know the answers to. Also, don’t worry about that. I got something for you.”

“I eagerly await the news.”

“A message. From your new friends.”

I immediately forgot about the food, the corpses, and my own exhaustion. I sat up straighter, eyes locked on the woman sitting across from me. “Tell me everything.”

Through a mouth full of food, Justinia said, “They want to talk to you. You doing anything today?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Well. Now you are.” She reached a fist across the table.

I took it. She opened her hand, dropped a small piece of paper into my palm. I looked around, ensuring no one was watching, and they weren’t—none of them cared for anything but their drinks and their friends and the limited time they had before they were forced to return to the factories, the warehouses, the docks.

“Don’t look at it now,” she said casually, “but that’s where we’re going once you’ve finished eating.”

“I’m done here,” I said immediately.

Justinia puffed out her cheeks. “Try not to be so eager.”

“You’re coming with me?”

“‘Course I am. Someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

I grinned at her and shot to my feet. “Then let’s go.”

#

“So,” said Camillan, smiling at us from across the table, “here we are. Justinia, you look as fine as always.”

“And you, Camillan, are as much of a rat as I remember.”

Camillan winced. “Harsh. But I can let it go.”

This time, the meeting place was another abandoned building, this one thankfully much larger. A former factory, it seemed to stretch on forever, and was filled with piles of old, discarded equipment. There was so much dust in the air that I could feel it tickling the back of my throat.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Sorry about the dust,” Camillan said, clearly seeing my discomfort. “Used to be an Autarchy-owned factory. They used it to mass-produce cannons. A particularly wealthy Thorn bought it out so we could use it as a safe-house. In the process, they proved that even the government has a price.”

There were several other Thorns with Camillan today, including Amaline, as well as several others he hadn’t yet introduced.

One in particular caught my eye. She stood a little off to the side, a head shorter than me and roughly the same age. Her hair was dark and curly, her eyes the color of a cloudless, midday sky. She had the softest looking, most perfect I’d ever seen, and there was a stray lock of black hair hanging down close to one delicate ear. I wanted to touch it. To brush it back.

The girl glanced up at me, caught my eye. The heat rose to my cheeks and I swiftly looked away. Justinia seemed to observe this interaction because she shot me a wide, savage grin, one that told me that she was going to ruthlessly mock me later.

“So,” Camillan was saying, “here’s the thing. Recently, an opportunity arose.” He looked at me. “Aurion, this isn’t the thing we were talking about recently. But it’s working toward out goal nonetheless, and, to be frank, it’s a chance to prove yourself. There are certain members of our organization who…well, honestly, they don’t trust you. To them, you’re some magical stranger who’s appeared out of nowhere, too good to be true. A few of them think you’re a charlatan, the others that you’re a spy.” He held up a hand. “I know that neither of those things are true. But help me prove it to the others.”

“A nice sales pitch,” Justinia sneered. “You’ve gotten even better at manipulation. A truly impressive feat.”

“If you could be a little less cynical for just a day or two, Justinia, you might actually enjoy yourself.”

“I’m enjoying myself perfectly fine, thank you.”

I cleared my throat, already tired of their back-and-forth. “I’ll do whatever I need to do. First, mind introducing your friends?”

Although, truth be told, there was one in particular I was eager to be introduced to.

“Of course, of course,” Camillan said, “my apologies. This is Kizeth,” he gestured to the largest of the Thorns, a brute of a man with a goatee, “and this gentleman over here is Ortas, who, I have no problem telling you, is the finest explosives expert in all of Tymora.”

Ortas waved at me. For someone with such a dangerous skillset, he looked unassuming, the shortest of the grip and scrawny enough that he was almost child-like. His face was cherubic, his eyes bright and friendly.

Next in time was Amaline, and then, finally, the dark-haired girl.

“This,” said Camillan, “is Felice. She may look nice and innocent but she is, in fact, a devil. Cunning, agile, fearsome with a knife.”

“A terrible introduction,” Felice said, smiling at Camillan. Her voice was ever so slightly deeper than I’d expected, but soft and sweet like honey poured straight into my ears. I never wanted her to stop talking. I wanted to cling to every single word.

I was, I realized, developing an infatuation.

Childish, I chided myself. Stay focussed.

Justinia placed her hands on her hips. “Now, can we get to the part where you tell us your genius idea?’

“As impatient as always,” the Thorn murmured. “Very well. We have reliable information that a top Autarchy official arrived in Tymora yesterday. Don’t ask me why they’re here—I don’t know. Now, more importantly, we know that in five days, there’s going to be a massive game held at the Golden amphitheater.” He paused, perhaps sensing my confusion, since he was looking right at me, and said, “In case you didn’t know, Aurion, by game, I mean fights. Duels between gladiators. To the death, usually. It’s brutal stuff.”

“Autarchy officials are only aroused by blood and violence,” Ortas explained.

“That’s right,” said Camillan. “And so, what I’m getting at is this: the official in question is going to be there. We even know where he’ll be sitting in the arena. We know what time the fights start, can make a good guess as to when he’ll be leaving.” Camillan’s eyes were gleaming. “In other words, my friends, the stars have aligned perfectly for us. If we can swoop in and get our hands on them—”

Justinia very loudly and excessively cleared her throat until everyone was looking at her. “Who is this official?”

And there Camillan hesitated.

Justinia half-turned away. “Aurion. Let’s go.”

“Hold on,” I said. “I want to know who it is.”

“No,” Justinia said, eyes never leaving, “I highly doubt that you do.”

“His name is Akios,” Camillan said delicately. “Akios Erati. He’s the governor of Talonkin province.”

A governor. The thought gave birth to a blossom of excitement. Strange to think that not so long ago I’d been sitting on a rowboat with Justinia, the coast of the Autarchy in sight, and me without a single idea or plan regarding how I’d accomplish my mission. And now here I was, presented with an opportunity to grab a Governor—

“I think,” said Justinia, “that you’re leaving something out. Come, come, Camillan. How is the boy supposed to trust you if you’re not entirely honest with him?”

Camillan glared at Justinia, then said, “Once upon a time, Akios was also the Autarch’s second-in-command.”

“And when was that?” Justinia prompted.

“Hmm…roughly three hundred years ago, although he was the Autarch’s deputy for around a century and a half.” Camillan shot me another one of his easy smiles. “As you can no doubt see, it’s an opportunity we can hardly pass up.”

Justinia looked disgusted. “You’re really going to try to kidnap one of the Autarch’s immortals?”

And there, at least, I wasn’t entirely ignorant. My lessons back home had covered the immortals. They were the original members of the Autarch’s inner circles, his cabal of generals, advisors, family, and friends, all of whom had been gifted with a fragment of divine power so that they would cease aging. This was how Autarch Marak and his inner circle had endured the passing of three hundred years.

There were few of the original immortals left, and all of them were considered to be at the very peak of the Autarchy.

They were, in other words, the single most powerful individuals in the entire world.

And now I was going to help kidnap one.