FictionPress.com - let the words flow| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
Author's Notes: I'd like opinions on the flow of dialogue more than anything else; I feel that the lack of contractions makes it a bit forced or strained, but having them there seemed a bit too casual. I'm experimenting with suffixes, but considering the time spent in this nation in the overall novel is very small, I might take them out later. Suggestions on the story description are quite welcome, but even this chunk of text doesn't begin to cover the overall plot of the story. Criticism is much appreciated!
It was a fate he had long since resigned to, trapped in cage after dismal cage. Regardless of the country, the dank prisons in which he had been kept were all the same - filthy and rank. The smell he could adjust to, and he was just as dirty as any floor. It was the loneliness, the inescapable reign of solitude that wore him down, tearing bit by bit at his spirit until it, too, became nothing more than the trampled dust at his feet. In most prisons, there had been some means of desertion; bribery, trickery, or brute force. The Netanaire, however, were known far and wide for their merciless army and ineluctable confinement.
There would be no escape.
His current prison was no more than a stone box; three solid walls, the fourth a close mesh of bars. It had been constructed hundreds of years ago by the Ashrukni slaves with roke stone. Despite its age, the cell was impervious to all weather and magic, and would stand another thousand years, free of any telltale signs of previous prisoners.
He sat with his back against the wall furthest from the bars. One leg stood bent, the other folded beneath it, arms draped over his stomach. From a mess of red hair that ran the length of his chin, several stray strands fell over closed eyes set on a narrow face. By daylight, a soft spatter of freckles would be faintly visible beneath his tan skin. The current moonlight flooded his features in stripes through the bars, casting a pale glow across his skin which, coupled with the accented bags beneath his eyes, gave him a sickly look. Tucked into mud-caked brown boots, his loose breeches were faded black in color, as was the shirt he wore with long, open sleeves. His tunic was deep crimson and fell to mid-thigh, accented with thin, spidery designs threaded in silver, near invisible in the dim light. Around his neck rested a thick, black cord, the golden sun that hung at its end, no bigger than his palm, hidden beneath his shirts. A single, fingerless black glove encompassed his right hand, the ends of his sleeve tucked protectively inside. Had his ensemble looked slightly less worn, he could have passed as a nobleman from Shiranaii.
A distant door fell shut with a heavy thud, followed by the light scrape of leather on stone. The footsteps were light and hesitant, pausing every few feet before resuming their odd shuffle. A woman, he guessed, eyes still closed in a facade of sleep; a woman unsure she should be in such a place. Moments later the footsteps came to a final stop, and whomever they belonged to stood before his cell, just to the side of filtering moonlight. For a moment neither of them moved, the man still inside his cell, his visitor equally silent.
“You cannot fool me, murderer; even your kind do not sleep peacefully within these walls.”
Ah, so it was a woman. Whether he found little point in feigning sleep, or he simply wished to humor her, he opened a single, blue eye.
“And why do you presume it is the walls that keep me from dreamland?”
“It certainly is not a guilty conscience,” the woman hissed, her hands fists around the bars. “You do not have one. As for dreamland...” She trailed off with a sharp laugh. “How could you dream? You are the conveyer of nightmares.” The slow smirk that tugged his lips, both eyes now open and staring, cast an uneasy chill down her spine.
“I have seen the makers of nightmares, and suffered the terrors they unleash,” he hissed, so quiet his words were nearly lost in the space between them, despite the heavy silence. “In the face of true horror, my deeds are but blessings.”
“Only a creature of the most vile creation would dare consider death a blessing.”
The man stood, his footsteps silent as he neared the barred wall. He walked with a strange air of confidence and an unconcerned swagger. As he leaned against the bars, face pressed to the cold stone, he peered over at his visitor with half-lidded eyes that shone dull even in the stark moonlight.
“Unless the vile creature in question feels life is but a curse,” he replied. There was a pause, in which the woman merely held her sharp glare on the man behind the bars. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“My fault?” she cried incredulously, struggling to keep her voice to a whisper. “How is your mess my fault?”
“If your people were not so concerned with debts, we would not have landed ourselves in this situation.”
“If you had not saved me –“
“If I had not saved you,” he echoed, “you would be dead, and I would not be imprisoned.” The woman’s face flushed, just visible in the dark, her teeth ground in what would have been an intimidating snarl, had she been facing down anyone else. Instead, he merely blinked in her direction, his indifference only fueling her frustration.
“I did what I did because it was my duty to Emest as one of the Netanaire. If you had not saved me first, I would have watched you die.” The woman’s knuckles were white as her grip tightened around the bar. It seemed as if she were fighting an internal battle, pleased that she had filled her life debt, all the while struggling to decide if it had truly been the right thing. After all, why save a murderer? Suddenly her gaze softened, her grip on the bars relaxing. “Why did you save me?”
“I may be an assassin, but I still uphold my own values.” He smirked. “Besides, what a waste it would have been to see a pretty woman devoured by such a disgusting beast.”
“You are a vile creature,” she growled.
“This vile creature has a name.”
The woman faltered, and he caught her eyes widening before she regained control. It was as if a common criminal (though common he was not) could not have a name in her eyes, for that would give him identity, and killers deserved to be even lower than the Ashrukni slaves; cockroaches, crushed beneath the heels of her shoes. This man seemed different from the rest, perhaps because the rest had never mentioned anything resembling a name.
But she had never given the others a chance.
“Of course you do,” she replied, lip curling in disgust. “Who in Odea has not heard of Thade, assassin of the Shiranaii?” She spat his name like a dirty word not befitting of a lady, though she seemed rougher than most men he’d ever met. “What I cannot determine is if you are such a mighty warrior, why is it that you have yet to escape our hold?”
“You know more than I that these walls are inescapable. Once they have hold of something, rarely do they let it go. Even so,” he continued, casting his gaze down and breaking eye contact for the first time, “perhaps my time has come. Magoln knows I have lived long enough.”
“Your country has laws that protect you, but trust me when I say we will find a way past them, and when we do, I suggest you pray; the gods may not be as merciful as I.”
“You have done nothing but lock me in this putrid cell, and if I am not mistaken, warriors are not permitted entrance to the jail house for purposes other than interrogation.” Thade smirked as the woman grew flustered yet again.
“And just what do you call this?”
“This is an attempt to soothe your guilty conscience and could not be further from any sort of interrogation.”
“I suppose the concept of conscience is difficult for you to grasp, but I can assure you that mine is perfectly clear.”
“Then tell me, warrior; why are you sneaking about the jail house in the dead of night? If you were truly here for interrogations, you would hardly be so secretive.”
The woman was silent a moment before she answered.
“If our nation fails to appeal the protective laws set by your country, we will have no choice but to let you go.” She paused again. “In such a case you will only divulge in more murder, spread more terror and pain to those undeserving of such horrors. And I will have to share the blame for their sorrow, for if I had not saved you, you would be dead, and my people would not suffer any longer.”
“A moment ago you were confident that your people would find a way through such laws.”
“We can hope and pray, but none can truly know the weather until the storm has passed.”
A second silence passed between them, just as tense and uncomfortable as the first. There should have been very little spoken between the captor and captive, and yet Thade felt as if he had opened up far more than he should have; similarly, the woman felt she had said too much. Prisoners were not meant to hear news of the outside, lest they should harbor hope of freedom, thus the laws forbidding spoken word outside interrogation.
“I have given you my name,” Thade said at last, raising his eyes to meet hers once more. “I have not spent much time in your country, but I believe it is only fair for you to tell me yours.”
“You will give my name, and I will die alongside you,” she replied swiftly, crossing her arms over her chest as her glare returned full force. “I am not so foolish.”
“Foolish enough to break your own laws as a warrior,” he countered, “and foolish enough to let me see your face. At any rate, who have I to tell? The slaves deliver my food, and they’re as mute as the stone they mold. And what fool would listen to a prisoner? It is your word against my own; who’s side will your people take?”
“My name is Celest,” the woman responded slowly, lowering her arms gently to her sides. The distant crunch of gravel caused Celest to turn her head. “The day watch has returned,” she murmured. “I must go.” She took one last glance back at the assassin still leaning against the bars, and disappeared into the darkness.
Again the door fell shut, and once more Thade was left alone.
Nostrils flaring, a pair of horses rattled up the gravel path trailing a cart behind it. Celest stood straight and held her right fist to her chest in salute to the soldiers passing by. To her surprise, the cart pulled to a stop and one of the men leaned over the side of the cart to speak to her.
“Captain,” he greeted with a slight nod. “Your presence has been requested at the palace by the Emperor.”
“Thank you, soldier.” The man pulled himself back into the cart and the horses carried on, headed for the barracks a half mile down the road. Celest watched the cart fade into the darkness before crossing over the gravel path and making her way deeper into the city. Netanaire’s capital, Stemra, was constructed entirely of greenery, the same thriving plants that had created shelter for civilians for thousands of years. It had been earthen magic that had manipulated the plants into rapid growth and such magic that allowed them to live. The plants were enchanted to be stronger than any ordinary foliage, and so there was very little that could cause them damage. Walking among living walls gave Celest a rush of freedom that no other structure could replicate. She despised being stationed outside the capital, where lower class citizens were degraded to wooden huts and thatched roofs, and avoided it at all costs.
As she neared the palace, the sharp moonlight gave way to the gentle glow of city lights. Although the buildings nearly hummed with lights, steel lanterns hung from the ceilings; enclosed with glass, each lantern held a handful of oraine, small insects that shined fiercely in the dark. Their flickering yellow lights poured through the windows and into the dirt streets below. The night was still young - most would not retire to bed for some hours.
Celest climbed the wide stairs of the palace, which stood at the center of the city, and stepped through the open doors. Oraine lanterns lined the deep hall, and in their light she took a moment to examine herself at the mirror embedded in the wall to her left.. Her mousy brown hair hung in a tight, sweeping braid that reached the small of her back, several chin-length strands framing her wide face of olive skin. Two hazel eyes sat above a pointed nose and thin mouth. Her uniform, a single piece suit that hugged her curves, was forest green. Black boots and gloves encompassed her feet and hands; two daggers and a long sword rested at the black belt around her waist, a bow and full quiver strapped firmly to her back. Satisfied, Celest pulled her green mask up to cover her mouth and nose before continuing down the hall to the throne room.
It was not uncommon for an entire squad or platoon to be requested at the palace; the patrol was often switched out to confuse potential enemies and make it far more difficult to plan an assault. It was, however, rather unusual for a single soldier to be sent for, particularly a mere captain. As she neared the throne room, she could think of no suitable explanation as to why she, of all the people in Netanaire, had been sent for.
The guards stationed at the door granted her entrance once the page had approved, and she entered the room with her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Celest had entered the throne room only twice before, and each time it had never failed to take her breath away. From the packed, brown dirt at her feet, thirteen massive tree trunks rose like pillars, their thick branches tightly intertwined with one another to form a dome ceiling. During the winter months the branches were bare; now, during the spring, thousands upon thousands of small, purple blossoms were nestled among the rich, green leaves, closed as night settled over Stemra. Come summer the blossoms would become dark flowers, which would die in fall as the leaves turned to warm colors and grew brittle. Between the large trunks grew a series of smaller trees, their height just as towering. Unlike other rooms, the smaller trees did not twist to allow set glass for windows and mirrors; the throne room was always lit by lantern.
A guard stood at the base of every large tree, while two more stood on either side of the single throne. The throne grew from a wide tree stump on which it stood, raised from the dirt floor at the far end of the room. Although her pace was quick, the walk from the doors to the base of the throne seemed to last forever. Celest lowered onto her left knee, raising her right fist to her chest as she had done before, head bowed so that she gazed at the knotted roots of the stump pedestal.
“Your Majesty,” she greeted quietly.
“You may rise,” the Emperor commanded. Celest climbed silently to her feet and lifted her eyes. The Emperor was not a particularly elderly man, but he was a far cry from the young men entering their first year of military training. He had a well chiseled face with a salt and pepper beard and hair, both cropped short, and dark green eyes that glimmered with years of wisdom. His hands, free from the sleeves of his robes, were calloused by relentless hard work. “Do you know why I have called you here, Captain?”
“I am afraid I do not know, Emperor,” Celest replied. Emperor Janair Tantlin was silent. His heavy gaze was enough to make Celest uncomfortable, but she refused to look away, and kept her eyes on his.
“How well do you know the country of Shiranaii?” Tantlin questioned at last; Celest faltered.
“... Well enough, I suppose,” she managed, frowning at her words. “I am familiar with their laws more so than their customs, Your Majesty.”
“It is safe to assume then, Captain, that negotiations with a Shiranaii diplomat are not entirely out of the realm of your capability?” At this Tantlin’s eyes narrowed into a scrutinizing gaze. Celest resisted the urge to turn and flee, and again held her eyes steady.
“Yes, sir, I believe I could uphold such responsibilities,” she replied. She took a deep breath and added, “I also believe, sir, that my negotiations would be successful.”
“Under ordinary circumstances, I would appoint only the very best of our negotiators to handle terms on our Shiranaii captive. Our negotiators, however, have all been deployed elsewhere for the time being, and time, unfortunately, is of the essence. You have shown considerable skill and confidence in the eyes of my advisors, and they believe you are the best suited for the position.” He paused and nodded to the guard at his right, who stepped forward and produced a roll of parchment tied with brown twine. Celest accepted the papers, only just preventing herself from crushing them in her fist in nervousness. “Captain Celest Tairae, you are now solely responsible for Shiranaii negotiations. You will be stationed here in Stemra until further notice. Captain, the due and deserved justice for many of our people rests in your hands; failure in these negotiations is not an option. Is that clear?”
For a moment Celest panicked; could she truly negotiate and win against a diplomat of the Shiranaii? She had already told him she believed she could, and if he did not have faith in her, or at least his advisors, he would not have requested her for the position. Celest gave a sharp nod of her head. Tantlin gave the briefest of smiles before he raised his large hands. He clapped twice, briskly, and the doors at the far end of the chamber opened. Celest stepped to the side and turned just as the page skittered through the doorway. A second man followed behind him, and she knew at once it was the Shiranaii diplomat.
The man was paler than any of the Netanaire, which instantly set him apart from the guards, Tantlin, and Celest herself. His hair was reddish brown, and thin and stringy, falling to rest just above his shoulders; on his chin was a small, scruffy beard of the same color. He had a large nose and dull, brown eyes. Unlike most of the Shiranaii, he was a tall and lanky man, with skinny limbs and hands that suggested a life of inherited riches rather than any honest, hard work. He hadn’t said a word, and already Celest despised him.
“Greetings, Your Majesty,” the man said; unlike the Emperor, his voice did not command respect – respect Celest knew she would not have given, regardless. He bowed with a flourish, Shiranaii style, and Celest could not help but roll her eyes. The Shiranaii were, in her experience, rather flashy, and liked to pretend they owned the place, no matter which country they were in, forced there or otherwise - the prisoner and diplomat had that in common, at least. “My apologies for the late arrival; my convoy was held in Faerai; seems they had me mistaken for someone else...” He trailed off, as if unwilling to explain exactly whom he had been mistaken for, but still not entirely sure what else to say.
“All is well, my friend, so long as you and your party have arrived safe and sound,” Tantlin replied calmly. “I trust you were met with little trouble at the gates?”
“Gaining approved admittance for our party took longer than I expected,” the diplomat admitted, voice flat – he was simply stating the facts. This was a man who wasted little time and did not have a moment to spare in way of complaining. “It is my understanding, however, that you have good reason for heightened security.” Celest frowned beneath her mask and spared a quick glance at the Emperor. For the past three months, threats against Tantlin had made their way to the capital, their source unknown. Since the first had arrived, security around the capital and within the palace had increased considerably. She was not surprised that rumors of the threats had leaked to the public, but to hear they had made their way to Shiranaii in such a short time was enough to make her wary.
“It is nothing to worry anyone but my guards,” Tantlin replied. He seemed to view the threats as nothing more than empty promises, hardly concerned for his own welfare, if his warm smile was anything to judge by. Celest wondered if such threats had happened before, or if he secretly harbored terrible fear. “But I thank you, Fraynir Tiikaya, for your concern.” Tantlin bowed his head and Tiikaya returned the favor. Tantlin’s eyes slid back to Celest.
“You will be negotiating with my warrior captain, Celest Tairae,” he said, giving a slight nod in her direction. “With any luck you will be able to come to terms in due course. It has been a long journey, however, and I am sure you would appreciate a rest before you begin business. We have prepared accommodations for you and your party; I hope you find them suitable. I have also arranged a room in Ballintaine Hall for negotiations in the morning.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Tiikaya bowed with another flourish. “I admire your hospitality.”
“I bid you both goodnight,” Tantlin replied, his smile warm as he gazed between the diplomat and the warrior. Celest bowed, slowly as if to show Tiikaya the proper way, and strode from the room.
“Yes, I am quite familiar with your customs.”
Celest quickened her pace to step ahead of Tiikaya and spun on her heel, coming to an abrupt stop. The Shiranaii diplomat stumbled as he attempted to avoid collision, their noses nearly touching once he managed to come to a halt.
“Then why is it you insist upon seeing this man?” Celest growled, fists curling at her sides.
“You forget that your country is not the only nation with laws,” Tiikaya hissed in reply. He stepped past her, continuing toward the prison with long strides. “It is required by my country that I speak with the prisoner in question before I begin negotiations.”
“It is my duty as a warrior of the Netanaire to prevent any sort of visitor from entering the prison,” Celest began, volume rising alongside her temper. “This is not an interrogation! I must ask you to leave.”
“What your Emperor was thinking when he appointed you temporary negotiator, I will never know,” Tiikaya stated simply. His tone softened while his pace slowed and they neared the entrance to the prison. “I do know, however, that it was a grave error; for someone ranked so high in the military, you have no idea what goes on behind closed doors.” He nodded at one of the several guards stationed at the entrance, and they stepped aside, making a clear path to the door. Celest gaped with an open mouth, eyes wide in horror, before rushing after the diplomat.
“I intend to follow the law, Tiikaya-Mer,” Celest growled, “and contact with a prisoner outside interrogation is in direct violation with said law!”
“Then do not contact the prisoner, Tairae-Mie, and you will not break a single rule.”
Tiikaya and his caravan had spent the night at the Lennaira, an inn that served only the wealthiest of travelers and tourists. High priority diplomats like Tiikaya, however, were offered room and board at the demand of the Emperor, whom in turn would pay for most of the visitors’ expenses. The Lennaira was a building Celest had rarely passed, despite spending most of her childhood in Stemra; it was located at the high end of the city, where the aristocrats and other expensive shops and restaurants resided. When Celest had arrived to escort Tiikaya to Ballintaine Hall, he had been plenty awake and ready to negotiate. But rather than walk to Ballintaine, Tiikaya had requested to view the prison in which Thade was being held. Celest had consented – a grave error, she realized, as they stopped at the proper cell.
“I must say, I am surprised; usually you have escaped long before my arrival. To what means do I owe the honor of your presence?” Tiikaya raised both eyebrows at the prisoner; although his words were light, his expression remained grave.
“You mean to tell me that you did not expect him to be here?” Celest cried indignantly. “Have you forgotten which nation you are in?”
“My little friend here has the nasty habit of escaping, often long before my convoy has had the chance to leave Shiranaii,” Tiikaya replied. “However, it seems that your prison has held where others have not – you should congratulate yourself.”
“Unlike others, we take security very seriously; our practices should be commonplace throughout all of Odea, but we cannot help it if other nations fall short of our standards. The successful capture and confinement of the assassin Thade is hardly an exceptional feat.” Celest turned her cold glare to the prisoner in question. In the light of day he seemed even more decrepit than before. Both men ignored her statements, and Tiikaya spoke.
“Thade, I need to know the exact conditions under which your arrest was made.”
“And you trust a criminal to give you the truth?” Celest interrupted angrily.
“Crime does not always fall hand in hand with dishonesty,” Tiikaya answered calmly.
“It was dark.” Both Tiikaya and Celest turned their eyes to Thade, the latter of which was now standing near the bars of his cell. “We were near the Soryette river, just south of Stemra. A group of renegades, lacking of any sort of skill, thought they had me cornered. This lovely captain decided I needed saving and swooped in; she merely got in the way, the renegades escaped with their lives intact, and I was arrested.”
“There were at least four of them,” Celest protested. “I doubt you had the situation under control.”
“You had very little problem dealing with them – had you not interfered, I would have faced no trouble.”
“Oh, yes; no trouble at all, until you were arrested by another warrior of the Netanaire and hauled off to prison with one more bruise than necessary.”
“Had you not tried to save me when I did not need saving, I wouldn’t have been arrested to begin with.”
“His skills with a blade are impressive,” Tiikaya interrupted. His expression was calm, as if he endured such arguments on a regular basis; he hardly seemed fazed by their harsh words.
“Impressive enough to land him in every prison between here and D’rikan,” Celest rebutted. “I have seen his records - forty-eight arrests, twelve of which were in his own country,” here she rounded on the diplomat, eyes blazing with the fury of injustice, “and yet here you are, trying to save this sorry excuse for a life.” Thade did not reply, silent and unmoving in his cell.
“The guards will be making their rounds soon,” Celest said at last, hazel eyes darting from one man to the other. “Tiikaya, we should leave if we are not to be reprimanded; we will resume negotiations at midday in Bellintaine.”
Celest had visited the Emperor’s palace at regular intervals over the week, and she felt that his patience was wearing thin. There was only so much time they could devote to the terms of one prisoner, after all; there were others to be dealt with, and it was not fair to keep a man locked up because others could not make up their minds. Obviously her tactics weren’t working, and she feared the Emperor might decided to place another warrior on the case; perhaps one with more experience and better methods to getting what the Netanaire desired.
She could not understand why Tiikaya wanted Thade’s freedom so desperately. Thade was, after all, an assassin – he had murdered countless individuals, some of which had been of his own people. What use would it do to bring him back to his own nation? More likely than not he would escape before they could reach the Shiranaii, and the manhunt would be on again. Celest could understand the need for justice – if he had wanted to kill the man himself, she might have willingly handed him over, so long as there was heightened security to escort him. But Tiikaya seemed far more concerned with avoiding Thade’s death, as if he had other plans for justice.
Or perhaps Tiikaya wanted to see Thade run free.
The idea of a secret accomplice seemed far-fetched from the moment it entered her mind, but it grabbed her interest and sparked her suspicion. What other motives could Tiikaya possibly have for avoiding Thade’s execution? The man was an assassin for Emest’s sake! Criminals had no place among society, no matter the country, and any self-respecting man would demand justice and vengeance for the lives that had been lost. Too many people had died for Celest to even consider forgiveness, and yet Tiikaya was almost friendly with Thade, though she had to admit the feelings appeared to be far from mutual. Whatever Tiikaya’s reasons were for such fierce debate, Celest was determined to discover what they were.
She was met with an overwhelming sense of deja vu as she silently stole down the corridor. It was the second time she had broken into the prison past nightfall, and the third time she’d entered without permission in the past fortnight. Unlike before, the sky was overcast, the moon blocked from view. Celest relied on her familiarity of the prison, her training and instinct to guide her past rows of unoccupied cells. The Netanaire was notorious for capturing criminals, but the Stemra prison was large and they preferred to keep their captives as isolated as possible. Within moments she found herself stopped before a row of bars, a slumped figure only just visible in the far corner of the cell.
“Why are you here?” His voice was quiet but strong, and although she could not see his face, Celest knew his eyes were on her; she could hear the unspoken insult and feel his loathing from where she stood.
“I want answers,” she replied just as softly. Her hands lifted to grip the bars that stood between them. When she received no reply, she continued, “I want to know why Tiikaya wants you free.”
“He is only doing his job,” Thade said at last, “and nothing more.” Celest caught the sound of movement as he repositioned himself against the cold, hard wall. “The Shiranaii do not approve of punishing their criminals outside their own territory.”
“But you have murdered more of our people than that of any other nation,” she accused, “we deserve the right to serve our own justice.”
“I should remind you that I am paid to kill,” he began, sounding almost amused at her rebuttal, “which means your nation is more bloodthirsty than any other; serving justice is just another method of hypocrisy. As for your entitlement, criminal or not, I still belong to my people, just as you will always belong to yours. Why should an outsider be allowed to decide the fate of one of our own?”
“Tiikaya merely wishes to punish you in Shiranaii?”
“If he harbors other motives, I have no knowledge of them,” he replied. “When did my word become of interest to you, Captain?” Celest could hear his mocking smile from where she stood.
“When your word is the only word,” she answered stiffly. “Though considering the source, I may as well have no word at all.”
“The time will come when you will learn to differentiate between crime and treachery, Captain, and what a glorious day that will be.”
“Enjoy yourself, prisoner,” Celest hissed, wrenching herself away from the bars. “Your last days are upon you.”
She did not linger to hear any reply he may have given, and marched down the hall toward the exit. It had been a mistake to come, and the ordeal had left her more frustrated than before. Eyes closed, she breathed deep as her face met the night breeze that swept gently over the prison. The familiar crunch of gravel startled her out of her reverie. Through the murky darkness she spotted a frantic looking soldier dashing toward the prison. Celest shot forward through the brush, making her way to the opposite side of the prison; if she emerged there, it would appear as if she were merely making routine rounds and nothing more.
The moment her foot met the gravel path, the guard was before her. His face was flushed and slick with sweat – he’d done a great deal of running. From his uniform Celest gathered he was one of the palace guards, and his presence alone was enough to give way to a great sense of unease.
“What are you doing here, soldier?”
“The Emperor,” he gasped through gulps of air, “there has been an attack on the Emperor!”
Celest raced off like a shot, taking the shortest route she knew to the palace. She couldn’t begin to fathom who would attack the Emperor; there were very few natives that disliked him, and those that didn’t weren’t particularly murderous. Even if a native did wish to kill the Emperor, such a person would most likely be a criminal and be locked away to begin with. That left outsiders, but unless they were extremely skillful and in hiding, they were either diplomats that couldn’t lift a blade, never mind attack, or criminals soldiers such as herself had captured, and had no way of escaping.
Chest heaving, a thin film of sweat dotting her brow, Celest reached the palace stairs. A small crowd had gathered about the steps, some she recognized as off duty soldiers, the rest concerned citizens that happened to be nearby. Gossip spread like wildfire in Stemra; the entire city would know there had been an assassination attempt before the morning’s paper had hit the streets. Had it been daylight, there would have been countless more citizens crowding the doors, and Celest was silently thankful the skies were still black with night. She forced her way through the crowd, using pleasantries when she could, resorting to more physical means when necessary.
“Celest Tairae, diplomat and soldier heading the Shiranaii negotiations,” Celest stated before the guard could question her. He nodded and allowed her to pass, his spear abruptly falling to waist level as a citizen attempted to push their way through.
The halls seemed usually dark, as if half the oraine lamps had been snuffed, but the insects still glittered brightly at their posts; it was merely her own fears playing tricks on her imagination. The doors to the throne room were already open, the usual guards absent; anyone that made it past the heightened security of the front doors would bear no threat to the Emperor. Tantlin lay on a small cot at the foot of the throne, surrounded by three different paramedics and a number of soldiers. As Celest neared, the guards stiffened, while the doctors merely ignored her, too concentrated on their work to handle temporary diplomats.
“Your Majesty,” Celest said quietly, sweeping into a quick bow. At the twitch of Tantlin’s hand, the guards allowed her to approach the Emperor, much to the dismay of the paramedics. As she drew closer, Celest could properly see the damage that had been done. Tantlin’s face was a mess of scars, his robes torn and seeped with blood; whoever attacked had nearly succeeded. Without her military training, Celest would have been sick to her stomach; as it were, she merely bit back a startled gasp and bowed her head. “I extend my condolences.”
“Die.”
Celest rose her head, bemused and worried, as the strained whisper met her ears. Tantlin took a sharp, rattled breath and continued on, eyes twisted shut with the effort. The doctors bustled about with worry, and Celest was forced to move closer to hear the Emperor’s next words.
“The Shiranaii... assassin...,” he hissed, pausing to take another short breath, “I want to see him die.”
