Over the course of the next week, Ka’ao carefully made his preparations for the opening night of the factory. He followed Mut to the parties and gatherings of his influential friends, and took his time getting to know the pompous nobles of Nihiveh, one by one; he needed to behave like one of them in order to blend in at the festival. Although it was referred to as a festival, in truth, only the wealthy, the influential, or personal guests of Pakhar would be allowed to attend. According to Mut, there would be soldiers swarming the town square, making sure that the lower ranking members of society were barred entry. As a result, the festival would be much more like a party in terms of intimacy.
Which meant that he needed to be at least acquaintances with some nobles, so he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb.
Luckily, he had Mut for that, who introduced him to several of his influential friends. It was honestly exhausting. As a prince, his only obligations had been to study and prepare dutifully for the day he would one day inherit the throne; although he was forced to attend the parties hosted by his father and his mother, he had never been obligated to mingle with the nobles.
It was suffocating, weirdly enough. He had far more in common with the nobles than he did with the lower-class masses, and yet, he found the forced smiles and empty chatter of the nobles far less welcoming than the authenticity of the humble people of the middle and lower class he’d met during his exile.
In any case, he wouldn’t have to endure this much longer. As the day of the festival grew closer, he kept reminding himself that he was nearly at the end of the road. If he could just keep hardening his heart, keep dismissing the guilty feelings which welled up within him whenever he took a life or threatened someone, he would be able to take back his kingdom.
And once he did, he’d able to restore the honor of his family.
Or at least that was what he’d been telling himself, over, and over, and over again. But words too often repeated lost their weight. And when that happened; when he started to falter and question why he was doing what he was doing, he had to resort to something much more drastic to reassert his resolve.
A memory which he could never forget.
When his father had the corpses of his mother and his siblings brought to the courtyard; and then with a wave of his hand, ordered for a bonfire to be built, right there. The guards had complied, wordlessly, and one by one, the corpses of his family had been charred, burnt into ash.
Even the least spiritual in Kurigazu knew that the preservation of the body after death was important; that without the body, the souls of the dead would be unable to pass onto the Underworld, where they would continue their second life.
His mother had held this belief close to her heart; she’d wanted her corpse to be preserved throughout the ages in the royal catacombs, where all the corpses of those who came before her were stored.
But his father had robbed that right from her. He’d robbed that right of all of Ka’ao’s siblings; he’d killed them twice, without a second thought, without even a twinge of hesitation.
When he recalled that memory of his father, looking coldly into the fire in which his former queen burned without even a hint of remorse, he felt the fire within himself reignite.
And he knew that he would do anything it took to kill his father.
Anything.
“Mut, do you know where Pakhar will be the first few hours before the festival?” Ka’ao asked, when the dining table was finally vacant, as Iris had left to tuck the children into bed.
“He said he’d be an hour late- something about meeting an old friend of his beforehand.” Mut said, taking a long sip from his tea.
“Good. I need you to have your workers adjust the oil reserves in the streetlamps. Each lamp should have exactly half an ounce of oil.” Ka’ao had done some experimenting with oil lamps over the course of the week for this exact purpose; an oil lamp with half an ounce of oil would only last about an hour until it went out. And when the lights went out, Pakhar would be giving the speech he’d planned out on the stage. While the crowd panicked in the darkness, Ka’ao would swoop in, capture Pakhar, and then kill him.
“Alright.” Mut leaned forward. “And if i do that, you’ll call the cultists off me right? I’ve done everything you’ve said up until this point. I think I deserve some peace of mind.”
“I won’t tell you when I'll call them off. But if you do everything, I ask you to do, I can guarantee your safety.” Ka’ao replied coldly. “Remember; you’ll accompany me to the checkpoint. Then we go our separate ways; and you are forbidden from approaching the stage at any given time during the festival. If you break any of these rules…”
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“I know, I know.” Mut groaned. “I’ll do as you say. Just leave me alone once this shit blows over, alright?”
“We’ll see.” Ka’ao couldn’t help but grin; as greedy as the guy was, he’d been an incredibly useful ‘ally’, he had to admit. “It was nice doing business with you.”
“I wish I could say the same.” Mut grumbled.
-
“It looks like it’s time,” Shanti announced with a glance at the clock, setting her book down with a sigh. “Are you ready?”
“The festival doesn’t start until 9. “ Pepi tilted his head. It was only seven and the inn they’d been staying at was only a short walk away from the festival; there was really no need to rush.
“Oh, I'm not going to the festival yet. There’s an old friend of mine I want to meet before it starts,” She explained, pacing over to the window and glancing out expectantly. “Our driver’s here too.”
Damn.
He’d been so out of it over the past week; all he could think about was his wife, and the message he’d sent to her. More than anything, he needed her reply; he wasn’t sure what he’d do with the information, or what exactly he wanted to hear, but he wanted to know that she was okay, more than anything else.
This was why he’d been so hesitant to contact her in the first place. He wasn’t sure what exactly had changed, but he felt a lot less focused in some aspects, yet more aware in other aspects too. Before, all he could think about was the factory and Ka’ao, but now, all he could think about was how his life would be like if he ever made it out of this. If he’d ever managed to make it safely back to his wife.
If he decided to go back that was.
But he needed to get it together for now. He couldn’t just leave Shanti; she’d been too good to him. And he also literally couldn’t leave Shanti, considering she was her only ticket to the festival.
He hoped that this meeting with her friend didn’t drag on for too long. He needed to meet up with Ka’ao and talk to him at least once before Ka’ao went through with his plan.
As they left the inn, Shanti walked over to the black automobile parked right outside, studying it for a few moments before tapping on the window with a smile. The window slowly rolled down, revealing an old man with a weathered look on his face.
“Good evening to you, Miss Shanti.” The old man mumbled.
“It’s been a long time, Mister Arman! You look well!” She giggled and the old man smiled slightly; an inside joke between the two, maybe.
“Is this the friend you were talking about?” Pepi asked.
“Oh, no. He works for the man I'm going to see, that's all.” Shanti explained.
“And who is this man, if I may ask?” Pepi scratched his neck; he had to be reasonably wealthy if he could afford an automobile like this. He didn’t know much about automobiles, but it looked even more sleek and compact than Mut’s.
“Prince Pakhar Pas Gheraman. Been working for him for about ten great years.” Arman said casually, stroking his mustache while studying himself in the mirror.
Pepi was stunned into silence. Managing a slow, wordless nod, he opened the door for Shanti, who dipped her head at him gratefully as she slid in. He followed her, and stared out the window in silence as Arman started the car and drove along the rocky dirt path.
Thinking about it, he was flabbergasted that he hadn’t realized this sooner.
When he’d first met Shanti, after defending her from a group of low-live bandits, she’d explained that she’d left her lover without his ‘permission’ to see the factory. She’d been personally invited, unlike most of the noble guests which would be attending the festival; that was the reason why he’d decided to become her bodyguard in the first place.
He knew that she knew Pakhar in some way; but he wasn’t expecting to see the Gheraman prince so soon, let alone before Ka’ao. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this. Something wasn’t right. If Pakhar was anything like Ka’ao described him, hell, anything like the way the rumors described him, then he would be closely supervising the preparations for his festival.
Not meeting up with an old friend of his two hours before it started.
What in the world was going on?
“Thinking about your wife?” Shanti asked quietly. “You have that wistful look about you again.”
“Yes. Just wondering how she’s doing.” Pepi lied.
“I’m sure we’ll be hearing from her soon.” Shanti smiled; it seemed to him as if she was the one who looked wistful. “I don’t think anything can stop the force that is young love.”
“Oh, I see.” Pepi muttered; this was getting weirder by the minute. Although Shanti was a lady of few words, the closer they grew to Pakhar’s abode, the more talkative she became. And what really worried him was the fact that she was talkative about love.
Shanti had always seemed very passionate about it; she was the one who’d been encouraging Pepi that messaging his wife was the right thing to do. Yet she never talked about her own relationship with her lover. All he knew was that he was a wealthy noble, and she was his mistress; whenever she talked about their relationship, her tone turned matter-of-factly, and distant.
Yet now, Shanti seemed to be growing more restless by the minute.
So then… what exactly was Pakhar to Shanti?
He wasn’t really sure; honestly, he really didn’t want to think about it too hard. There were already enough complications to the plan as is. All he needed to focus on was the fact that they were literally right outside Pakhar’s mansion.
And in the shadow of the looming white building sat a svelte figure, dressed in flowing white robes with gold, web-like patterns crisscrossing over every fold. A scarf-like covering was wrapped loosely around the figure’s head, although tufts of dark black hair stuck out messily from underneath the scarf, hanging over the figure’s face in thick strands.
"Wings!" Peace Creed.