“Don’t look,” Greer cautioned as they passed, “don’t even think about it.”

And though the evening’s rain doused the city, Alize could still smell the charred wood of the pyre. Layered with it was the stench of singed human flesh, now wet ashes bleeding into the mud, caking on Alize’s slippers.

“Don’t tempt the gods with your imagination,” Greer concluded grimly.

The lights of the palace burned into the night, leaving spots in Alize’s eyes. They walked past the first set of guards trailing a donkey cart laden with onions. For the second set, Alize held Greer’s shoulders while the princess feigned sobbing.

“Why didn’t they stop us?” Alize asked once they stood inside the great hall.

“Men can be such idiots when it comes to weeping women,” Greer smirked, “suddenly their own fingernail growth is completely captivating. Learn their weaknesses, Alize. Use it against them.”

They stashed their cloaks in a corner as they stole towards the banquet hall.

Greer scowled as they entered. Though the courtisans had departed much earlier, half-eaten carcasses still lined the tables and the floors were slick with trampled vegetables and congealed animal fat. The long gold and crimson tablecloth smelled rank, its fabric crusty with the remnants of multiple meals and spotted with stains rimmed with fuzzy mold.

“Icar,” Greer said, setting a goblet back on its base, “was always so particular, wanted everything spotless, his clothes perfectly ironed, his hands never touching filth. My grandfather had two servants serve him at all times, to ensure his satisfaction, because of course he could never be bothered to do any of the work himself. I bet he never wiped his own ass.”

Alize regarded the banquet hall. “Not anymore, it appears.”

“No indeed. We’ve heard he’s had trouble with the palace staff, and a man who has seen only stark white linens his whole life has no ability to discern between a little and a lot of filth. This is a barnyard, a disgrace.”

Greer directed Alize to fill a tray with dirty dishes and they made their way towards the kitchen. Greer tied her hair back, exposing her full profile. The birthmark smeared across her face discouraged lingering glances. Alize had dropped yellow dye in the eye it touched, marring the princess with the suggestion of unpleasant bodily infection.

In the kitchen, they exchanged their dirty dishes for a pile of wrinkled linens and and moved deeper into the palace. The frequent guards they encountered barely acknowledged them as they passed and Greer rewarded those that did with a throaty attack of hacking coughs, twice resulting in her doubling over to spit generously. Even Alize felt a little disgusted. Afterwards, Greer wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and rose, lumbering forth without offering anyone an explanation. And no one demanded one.

Alize kept on her heels with a mixture of disbelief, embarrassment and envy. Not only did Greer know every dark corner of the palace and its convoluted passages, she understood how make herself invisible, as effective as Onder’s own magic.

The candles and torches grew more numerous as they approached Icar’s apartments. But for all the lights, still nothing betrayed the princess, nor granted Icar any true safety.

“There,” Greer nodded to a tray perched on a table outside two massive golden doors. A single goblet sat on it. “Youni should have filled it with red wine, as you instructed, to disguise the color of the poison.”

But as they approached, it was clear the glass was empty, and the bottle next to it yet uncorked. Beneath her disguise, Greer’s face was starting to crease into a frown when the door next to them shuffled open.

“Milady!” And Alize recognized Youni, who had returned to Parousia with Kell. “What are you doing here? You must leave!”

Greer widened her eyes before her face twisted in accusation. “What am I doing here? You’re supposed to be in the kitchen, not up here where my uncle might see you!”

While Greer listened to Youni’s stammered explanation, Alize watched her shaking hands.

“…I just served the Sargons their wine, and now I will serve Icar his so they can drop the poison in,” Youni explained, “now, please, milady, you must not be here, you must leave now.”

Alize missed Youni’s next words with the roaring pulse in her ears. She stepped up to the woman, snatching a vial from where it peaked out of the folds of her apron. It was empty.

“If Icar’s wine is not set out,” Alize demanded lowly, “where is the poison?”

Greer’s face drained all its color. “What have you done, Youni?”

And Alize was already running for the door. There was no antidote for the poison she had made, the only question remained whether the victim knew he would die or not.

She could hear Youni wailing behind her, “He has my family, milady, he said he’d burn even the children if I did not comply. Run while you have time, please!”

But as Alize fumbled the door handle, another pair of hands joined hers. Princess and Hrumi pushed the door open together while Youni sobbed behind them

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The air flushed out against her, bearing sweet smells of perfumes and hot coals that did not quite disguise the putrid undercurrents of an unclean body.

Inside sat Kell, Davram, and an older man who needed no introduction. Despite the state of his banquet hall, when he rose he wore all the finery of a prince and all the fury of lightning storm.

“Don’t drink the wine!” Alize screamed.

Kell sat poised with the glass in his hand, Davram lowering his from his mouth.

The Prince’s eyes danced on Alize only briefly before settling on his niece. And he smiled.

“Guards!” Icar screamed.

They came from every direction, swarming the room, pushing Alize and Greer into the chamber. The Sargons rose from their seats slowly, as if they were only beginning to understand the full gravity of the situation.

From the corner of her eye, Alize saw one of the guards ducking away as quickly as he had come, but Icar stalked towards her and Greer. As he approached, Alize observed that the velvet of his regal robe was clotted with some unseen food remnants, his skin crusty and flaking around his eyes like a molting snake coil. He had bloodstains on his tunic, but whether from meat or something far less appetizing, Alize could not guess.

“What a pleasant surprise,” Icar cooed, watching Greer like a hawk, “a visit from my delightful niece. After I heard you were in town, I was wounded to think you might be avoiding me.”

Greer breathed through her nose, her eyes darting all over the room. There were no tools to restore her invisibility.

Icar’s smile was as repellent as his clothing. “But what have you done to your face? If you wanted to be comely, you need only have asked.”

Alize could see Greer trembling as her uncle took her face in his hands. His touch appeared tender until Greer began whimpering, and only then did Alize see Icar’s steel knife flash. Alize darted forward at the same moment Icar stepped away. It happened so quickly, Alize only truly saw Greer’s reaction, catching her face in her hands. It took a moment for the blood to begin seeping between her fingers.

Alize looked past the prince to see Kell holding Davram back, but it was Youni’s screaming that seized everyone’s attention. She pushed past the guards, to position herself between Icar and Greer.

“Not her!” she cried, “You shall not touch her!”

Icar regarded the handmaiden for an instant, and then gestured for a sword from one of the guards.

“She,” Youni began, “is ten times-“

But she would never finish that sentence. Icar thrust his sword forward to make a sickening noise. Alize saw the blade emerge, red and gleaning, from Youni’s back.

Alize staggered backwards, her fear erupting from her chest to make her ears ring. The soldiers surrounding them grasped their sword hits and Alize’s vision stained red. She had no weapons and she stood in a demon’s lair.

Youni crumpled to the floor, bent over the hilt. Greer flailed, crying out in horror. She crouched with Youni, clutching her friend’s hand. Though her voice was no louder than a whisper, Alize could hear the princess’s words. “I forgive you.”

“It will be a full day on the pyre tomorrow,” Icar chuckled over Youni’s soft death cries, “what with all the children. Poor idiot woman. For all her pathetic agonizing, she has managed to save no one.”

Greer rose to her feet again, lowering her hand from her face. The wound cut the left side of her mouth open as a deep gash in her cheek. The skin below it sagged.

Icar’s gruesome handiwork did not disturb him. “And not even her own children – her sister’s children! Love is such a weakness, dear niece. What a mercy it doesn’t run in our family, eh? Otherwise killing you would be hard for me.” Icar tried to pull his sword from the dead woman, but the corpse would not release it to him. When he held out his empty hand, the nearest soldier gave him a second sword.

“You dishonor your father’s wishes,” Greer stammered through her pain, “to steal your eldest brother’s throne.”

Icar’s face twisted in distaste. “Tamer intends to leave it to you – a woman as a ruler! Who would ever accept that?”

“I would,” Davram announced, letting his voice cut through the stale air. “Gladly.”

“And here I’d nearly forgotten my Sargon poisoners,” Icar answered smoothly. “Take my guests to the dungeons.”

It was then that his gaze finally flickered to Alize, “But you are not one of my niece’s handmaidens.”

Alize looked past Icar to Kell. He moved almost imperceptibly, with slow deliberation, shifting his feet to an attack position as the soldiers surrounded him and Davram. But he held Alize’s eyes and dipped his chin down in a slight nod.

So Kell did not yet believe this fight lost. And even though Alize had no idea how to protect herself or the princess, or the Sargons, she was not helpless. She would fight her fear, and then she would fight everyone.

Alize braced her body before shifting her gaze to Icar. “My name is Alize,” she said brightly, even as she noted the additional footsteps surrounding the guards already present. She did not understand Kell’s plan, but she prepared to follow it. “And I represent the free Hrumi, come to grant our retribution.”

“Now Alize!” Kell shouted. “Protect Greer!”

Alize jerked forward, exploiting Icar’s astonishment as she wrenched the sword from his grasp. She used it only to block the blows that followed, not having the skill to attack. Instead she positioned herself between Greer and Icar. The room swirled around her, harsh clanging of swords shattering the night’s peace.

=So many clanging swords.

Alize looked around and realized that the soldiers were fighting each other. Every soldier moving to protect Icar had to fight his own comrades, in his own colors. When the soldier next to her fell, Alize tossed his sword to Greer, who caught it easily, brandishing it forward to demonstrate she was no novice. The room grew hot, the walls speckled crimson and the floor slick.

One blow forced Alize to the ground, but her attacker collapsed before he could complete his swipe. The man who helped her up had curly black hair, and recognition smacked Alize.

The Oghuz had come to their aid.

Kell appeared beside Alize, bearing a borrowed sword. He moved with her, standing where he knew her new defense skills were yet underdeveloped.

“Did you drink the wine?” Alize yelled.

“Talk later! Kell yelled back.

Hesna always said loyalties, not courage, determined how long men fought. Some men have no loyalty but to victory. They reposition themselves as the tides turn. Alize watched as the majority of Icar’s soldiers retreated before the Oghuz unity, surrendering their swords. Hollan and his kin pressed their more adamant compatriots to the floor, where the most loyal or foolhardy succumbed to their wounds.

And in the middle of the room kneeled Icar, where he had lured Greer, hoping one of his soldiers would kill her from behind. But every soldier who had the opportunity had neglected to take it, some fearing Icar’s wrath if the prince did not make the death blow, and others ambivalent to the war raging around them. Like the Oghuz, they carried Icar’s swords, Icar’s whips for the money it paid, the fleeting security it granted, but they had little patience for the man himself. In the moment Icar most needed his soldiers’ loyalty, he discovered instead that he had never truly possessed it.

=And so Icar kneeled on the marble floor as Greer released the hilt of his soldier’s sword, leaving it lodged deep in her uncle’s body. He tried to speak but his breath failed him; instead he gurgled hot blood.

“You were wrong, uncle,” Greer struggled to say, her own blood running down her chin, staining her white collar, “it was still hard for me to kill you.”