Shadowsage 2: A Fantasy Adventure, page 27
Unconscious.
Kira hadn’t killed them. She’d followed the plan to use minimal force and leave minimal trace.
Did she get away clean?
But if the weapon was missing, she must have disposed of it somewhere. If Seraphina’s people found it, there was a chance they could find its wielder with divination magic. But Kira knew that. She should have disposed of it somewhere she could retrieve it later, before they found it.
“A single strike?” Oscar sounded almost disappointed. “How… efficient. And rather dull.” He sighed, swirling his wine. “Still, murder at a fête! That does add a certain… spice. Vox, find out who did this. I want them found. Preferably alive. They might be… amusing.”
“It will be done,” Seraphina said, her pale eyes scanning the crowd.
“Well?” the King said.
I looked at him. “Yes, Your Majesty?” I said.
What did I miss?
“Not you, Mayor,” the King said, waving a hand. “Theron, the guard is here. Remove your damn shield already. I want to see her body!”
I bowed as the King moved for the grove, relieved to finally escape his attention.
It took several hours before we were allowed to leave, but with Aurelia and I having been with them at the time, we weren’t suspected. It simply took time.
When I finally exited the palace gates with Vera, Celestia, and Aurelia, we merged into a current of nobles. We all kept quiet as we walked, letting the nobles around us fill the air with the ‘Dunraven’ name.
The carriage ride back was torture. We couldn’t afford to lower our shoulders.
Only when the door to our suite closed behind us and Fluffles gave us two paws up did we speak.
“She did it,” Vera stated, her voice flat. It wasn't a question.
“She did,” I said. “Clean, Vera. As clean as it could be.”
“But did she get out?” Aurelia asked, and my mouth drew into a thin line.
“She’s Kira,” Celestia said, putting a hand on my arm. “If anyone could vanish from under their noses, it’s her.”
Hours passed.
We waited.
My head ached, and the tension built.
Where are you, my shadow?
The tap on the window was so faint it was almost imaginary.
But Aurelia rushed over and opened the window.
Right after, a figure dashed through the opening to land silently on the carpet.
“Kira,” I said.
Aurelia closed the window.
Celestia, Fluffles, Vera, and I stood and looked at her, giving space.
Kira had changed to street clothes, and her face was pale.
She looked to me and in her eyes I saw the years of making plans, dreaming, sleepless nights plotting revenge.
Now that burning need for justice had been fulfilled.
Finally it was accomplished.
And then, the mask she wore, the mask of the Mistress of Shadows, the cold, efficient killer, it cracked.
Her shoulders trembled, almost imperceptibly. Her chin quivered. The fierce clarity in her eyes fractured, replaced by a raw, overwhelming wave of… emptiness. Relief so profound it bordered on despair. The weight of the deed, the culmination of a lifetime’s obsession, crashed down upon her all at once.
The hunter was gone.
In her place stood the orphaned girl who had watched her brother die. The girl who had finally, after years of agony, balanced the scales.
She took a single, stumbling step forward, then another. Her hands hung limp at her sides.
I moved, catching her just as she collapsed.
She trembled violently. She didn't cling or hold onto me. She simply buried her face against my chest and started sobbing.
“Your debt is paid,” I whispered wrapping my arms tightly around her shaking body. “Ren is avenged.” I rested my cheek against her hair, breathing in the scent of city streets, night air, and the light tang of blood.
The fierce, independent street queen was gone.
In my arms was the lost girl, finally safe enough to feel the crushing weight of everything she’d carried alone for so long.
Vera was the first to join us, kneeling to hug Kira from behind.
Celestia came next, taking one of Kira’s hands in hers.
And finally, Aurelia. She placed a hand on Kira’s shoulder.
The killer had done her duty. Now, the wounded child needed shelter.
We held her, and the silent suite bore witness to the weary, hollow release that follows a long-awaited justice.
Chapter 31
Whispers
“They wonder if it was the King, don’t they,” Aurelia whispered near my ear.
I nodded slowly. “It wouldn’t be a bad bet, would it?”
We stood in the Royal Audience Hall’s antechamber, and it was filled with fearful nobles,
Several people had clearly not found the opportunity or been given it to go home and change, and their elaborate finery from last night’s fête looked absurd in the morning light, like the costumes of actors caught on a stage after the play has ended in tragedy.
Whispers slithered through the throng, the currency of a court desperately trying to find its footing.
“…a single, precise blow, they say… in the moon-bloom grove…”
“…her guards? Knocked cold like tavern thugs…”
“…to dare such a thing at the palace itself… madness…”
“…Valessa’s enemies are legion, but this… this is a statement…”
“…the King, I heard he smiled when he saw the body…”
I stood deliberately apart.
My attire was a simple, authoritative suit of deep charcoal wool. The mayoral chain of Whisperwind resting on my chest was my only embelishment.
It marked me as an outsider, yes, but one with rising power.
They all knew by now I had been with the King when the murder happened. I was above suspicion. Or was I in on it?
How could they know.
I looked around the room, not listening to the whispers so much as weighing the fear behind it. This was the harvest of Kira’s vengeance. Uncertainty. One which we could exploit.
Vera walked over to me. She wore a severe, high-necked gown the color of dried blood.
“The rats are deserting the sinking ship,” she whispered. She nodded subtly toward a huddle of minor barons. “Lord Ferris sent word before dawn. He’s suddenly ‘reconsidered the long-term viability’ of his grain contracts, and would love to supply Whisperwind. Daffri, the Cartage Guildmaster, practically begged for an audience. He’s ready to swear exclusivity to Ironheart routes.” She smiled. “The Exchange opened in chaos. Anything connected to Dunraven holdings are being dumped. And we at Ironheart just happen to have snapped up quite a bit of it.”
Fear was a potent currency.
“Good,” I said. “Ensure Daffri understands exclusivity means exclusive. His fear doesn’t earn him a discount, only the privilege of survival.”
“Understood,” she said and melted back into the throng. I watched her buttocks as she left, enjoying the view.
A moment later, a cold tension coiled through the antechamber. The whispers died. Heads turned.
I turned to look.
Valessa Dunraven stood in the grand archway.
The Dowager Countess looked… shattered.
She wore mourning black as expected. But it was her face that stood out. Where many would expect a mask of raw grief, her red-rimmed eyes burned with fury. She was a she-wolf whose last cub had been slain, and she had come for blood.
I took a breath, gathering myself.
Her burning gaze swept the room and landed, finally, on me. The fury crystallized into pure, undiluted hatred.
I managed not to smile.
Good job, me. It wouldn’t do to gloat.
The crowd parted before her as she stalked forward, creating a path of terrified silence.
Her rage was a weapon, but it was also a vulnerability, clouding her judgement and broadcasting her weakness to every vulture in the room.
She stopped five feet away. “Vex,” she spat my name like a curse, her voice ragged. “You vile, crawling thing. You did this.”
It was not a question.
“My daughter… my Patricia…” Her voice hitched, a raw, involuntary sound of agony. “She was all I had left. And you… you had her butchered. Like an animal!”
I held her gaze, my expression a carefully calibrated mask of somber respect. This was theater, and the entire court was our audience.
“Countess Dunraven,” I said, injecting just enough sorrow into my tone to fit the respectful regret one shows for a tragic loss, however undeserved. “The news of Lady Patricia’s… passing… A terrible shock. A tragedy for Whisperwind.”
I paused, letting the words sink in, emphasizing the connection to our shared city, subtly distancing myself from the capital’s intrigue.
“But to accuse me, here, without evidence, amidst such grief… it serves no purpose but to deepen the wounds.” I shook my head slowly, projecting weary reasonableness. “We are both summoned here today by His Majesty. This personal tragedy should not overshadow the needs of the city we both, in our own ways, have served.”
I deliberately used ‘served’, placing her in the past tense.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed the faces of several nobles.
My calm, reasonable tone contrasted starkly with her raw vendetta. It made her look unstable. Exactly as intended.
Valessa’s face contorted, the mask of grief cracking under the pressure of impotent fury.
“Liar!” she shrieked, the sound echoing off the marble. “You orchestrated this! You and your… your harlots! That street rat assassin you keep! She did this! I know it!”
Her finger, trembling violently, jabbed towards the space where Vera had stood moments before, then swept accusingly around the room.
“You think you’ve won? You think this… this filth… will protect you?” She spat on the polished floor at my feet. “The King will see through you! He will tear your pathetic little empire apart and feed your whores to his dogs!”
The vulgarity, the loss of control, was a gift. Nobles backed away.
Valessa Dunraven, the epitome of icy aristocratic control, had just publicly unraveled.
She’d shown the court her broken core, her desperation, her utter lack of the poise and calculation required to survive in this pit.
I let the mask of the reasonable mayor slip, just enough to reveal the steel beneath.
“Your grief speaks, Countess,” I said, my voice dropping, becoming flatter, more dangerous. “But slander spoken in pain is still slander. You will address my associates with respect, or you will find the consequences of your accusations extend far beyond this chamber.”
The implied threat was not one of violence. The nobles didn’t think in those terms. No, this was about financial and political ruin. The type we had already waged, and which Vera was currently wrapping up.
The fury in her eyes guttered, leaving only smoldering ashes of despair.
She stared at me, truly seeing me for the first time: not as an upstart, but as the cold architect of her ruin.
Without another word, she turned and retreated, a puppet with her strings cut.
The tide had turned. Now, it was time to drown her.
I pushed off from the pillar and began to move through the antechamber, starting by approaching a nervous man twisting a signet ring, staring after Valessa. “Lord Dothin,” I said, and jerked too. “A distressing morning,” I continued. “The Countess… her grief clouds her judgment.”
“It does indeed, Mayor,” he said, glancing at Valessa’s isolated figure.
“But the needs of our lands do not pause for grief,” I continued. “Stability. Security. Prosperity. Whisperwind offers that foundation now. Perhaps, after the audience, we could discuss how our guard reforms might benefit your border holdings? Mutual security benefits all.”
Dothin swallowed, then gave a decisive nod. “That… would be most welcome, Duke, no, I mean Mayor.”
I nodded gracefully, pointedly not correcting him.
One down.
I continued my circuit, a quiet word here, a subtle assurance there, leveraging the palpable fear of the court and the uncertainty of what was happening against the promise of security and profit by aligning with my city.
By the time I finished, Celestia joined me, saying, “It is done, my love. They see Whisperwind as a safer harbor. One which they want to get a berth in before they are all gone.”
Vera rejoined us, having confirmed another two contracts for the city.
The three of us stood together and for a moment, relaxed.
Until a sonorous boom echoed through the antechamber as the massive double doors of the Royal Audience Hall swung inward.
A herald stepped forward, his voice ringing out.
“His Royal Majesty, Oscar Vaughn, First of His Name, King of Aethralis, Lord of the Sky Isle, Protector of the Realm, commands the presence of Kaelus Vex, Mayor of Whisperwind, and Valessa Dunraven, Dowager Countess of Dunraven Hold, before the Royal Throne!”
All eyes turned to us, and I offered my queens my arms.
“Shall we?”
Chapter 32
In the Name of the King
“Here we go,” I said to Vera, Celestia, and Aurelia as we entered the Royal Audience Hall. “Can’t say I love what he’s done to the place.”
Dukes and lords and other powerful men and women of the kingdom lined the hall.
Wonder if they’ve got my old banners in some storage room or whether they’ve burned them all.
I walked to stand centered before the king’s raised dais, my queens following behind me.
Valessage came in behind us, walking like a zombie. She stopped to my side, but a step closer to the King.
King Oscar Vaughn lounged on the Sunstone Throne.
Theron stood to his right. “Your Majesty, the protocols of Solvum per Gladio are concluded,” he said. “This is a matter of state, not spectacle. His Royal Highness should not be wasting his time on a simple Mayor.”
King Oscar barely suppressed a yawn and replied to Theron without looking at him: “Every matter of state has the potential for spectacle. You just lack the imagination to enjoy it.”
To his left stood Seraphina, silent.
Her agents had not surrounded our guest house, which I took as a good sign they had not found out who had murdered Patricia. At least not yet.
The herald’s staff struck the marble with a sharp crack and the crowd silenced.
“His Royal Majesty, presiding!” the man announced. “The matter before the Crown: The governance of the Duchy of Whisperwind. Duke Tolle is granted the first word.”
The Duke stepped forth from the crowd, looking sick and tired. He bowed deeply. “I thank His Majesty for the opportunity to serve,” the Duke said. “And will abide by whatever ruling the King deems fit.”
He bowed again, and stayed bowed.
King Oscar scoffed. “Fine, Tolle. Step away.”
The Duke beat a hasty retreat, seeming relieved.
“We call upon Countess Dunraven next,” the herald said.
Valessa drew herself up. “Your Majesty,” she began, her curtsy a model of perfect, cold deference.
“I come before you not as a petitioner, but as a mirror reflecting the ruin of my home. Whisperwind does not bleed, it is being bled.”
She paused, letting the accusation settle. “Its stability, its tradition, its very order, has been shattered by the ambitions of an upstart… a minor noble, unleashed by the roar of the common crowd.” Her voice was like chipping ice. “Kaelus Vex.”
She balled her hands into fists at her sides. “He speaks of reform. And what has his ‘progress’ brought? The rule of the mob and the justice of the torch! It has brought the murder of my only daughter, Patricia… not in some dark alley, Your Majesty, but here. Slaughtered within the very sanctuary of your palace!”
Her voice fractured on Patricia’s name, a raw, genuine sound of agony that made even jaded nobles flinch. But the grief that threatened to shatter her was instantly forged into something harder, something cold.
“And in Whisperwind the Captain of the city guard was torn to shreds by the city’s own people. And what has he done about it?” She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Nothing! His ‘reforms’ are the poison he feeds the masses, and his ambition is the fever that will burn our world to ash! He is not merely a harbinger of chaos, Your Majesty, he is the chaos. Just think, a minor noble, and a mayor at that, here? In the heart of our kingdom? It is unheard of! I do not implore you. I warn you. Extinguish the fire this… this usurper has ignited, or the flames that consume Whisperwind will soon be at your own gates!”
She finished, breathing heavily. It was a powerful performance with some good points. Raw emotions that leveraged maternal grief and the terror of change, those might have swayed a different king.
But King Oscar craved novelty, not stability. Valessa had misunderstood. I wasn’t here despite having done some of the things she said. I was here because of it.
Oscar leaned forward on his throne. What would I be presenting?
The herald’s staff cracked again. “Mayor Kaelus Vex may now present his case.”
“Your Majesty,” I said, bowing deeply. “The Countess Dunraven speaks of chaos as if it were a thunderbolt from a clear sky. But this is not the chaos of happenstance. It is a rot, carefully cultivated in the dark. It is the vacuum created not just by neglect, but by a design of systematic plunder upon a Duchy entrusted to one man’s care.” I gestured towards Duke Tolle, who flinched as if my words were a physical blow. “I do not come to offer you accusations born of grief. I come to offer a performance of truth, with the cold arithmetic of his crimes as my script.”
King Oscar waved a lazy hand, a flicker of genuine interest in his eyes. “A performance? Ambitious. Proceed, Mayor. The stage is yours. Don’t be dull.”
