Scion of Blood, page 11
“You’ve nowhere left to run!” Anima shouted as he followed suit, watching the preacher stumble backward. “Give up, dammit!”
The preacher relented, giving up the chase as he rested against the pulpit. He pressed on it with his back, his hands arcing over its edge as if it could somehow grant him safety. Grant him absolution against the wolves nipping at his heels. There really was nowhere left to run, after all, the small, dusty, stone room only having one exit. Not unless he wanted to try his luck throwing himself through the stained-glass window that depicted Lunaris’ slumbering form at the back of the stage.
“Well, if it isn’t Anima!” he growled as if his words could form knives in the air. “Come to bite the hand that’s fed you your whole life? Dogs, the lot of you! You and that damn prince over there! Nothing but sycophants for a false God like tamed pups on their leashes!”
His patience already lost, as he has none of it for idiots over their head, Asphodel lunged forward and kicked one of the rotting pews. It did not fly forward in one piece, its compromised frame instead shattering the moment he connected with it, half going left and the other half sliding violently toward the preacher. He whimpered as he arced his body away from it, watching as it shattered against the stage of the church.
“Enough,” Asphodel ordered, simply. “Where is Casus?”
In response, the preacher summoned some courage and drew upon a dagger. The way it gleamed and made their blood hiss, they knew it to be silver. The preacher wasted not a second in thrusting it toward the nearest man. In this case, it was Asphodel, who had stepped forward once they kicked the pew apart.
Anima intervened the moment the preacher stepped toward his prince. He grabbed him by the wrist and wrenched the dagger out of their hand, letting it fall to the floor before kicking it out of reach. Then, to further disincentivize the preacher from violence, he bent their arm at an odd angle, breaking it easily.
“You peons know nothing!” the preacher seethed once he finished screaming, falling to the ground at the foot of the pulpit as he was let go. “Anima, you useless bastard! Do you even know why we carry weapons of silver make?”
One would think there would be a simple answer for such a simple question. He and the other Daggers carried silver weapons and were occasionally tasked with attacking those that are particularly susceptible to the pure metal. Thus, it stood to reason that Casus wanted everyone carrying the affliction to lie bleeding against the stone pf the darkened alleys away from the prying eyes of the public.
“To slay the Moonblooded,” Anima replied after a moment’s worth of thought. “For whatever reason that could exist in that sick head of his, Casus raised us to cull the Moonblooded.”
The preacher laughed, boisterously so, his eyes rolling back into his head as he arced his face toward the ceiling. He was clearly crazed, and Asphodel would have slit his throat already if it were not for the useful information locked in that insane head of his. As such, he was allowed to live and speak, as irritating as his voice was.
“The slumbering God watches over us, Anima! And he has seen every Moonblooded you’ve slit and sliced.” The preacher was practically frothing at the mouth as he spoke, as if drunk on his own gospel. “Every death calls out to him. And once he is nearest, he will awaken in true! Because of all the Moonblooded you’ve slain!”
Gaelyn had been tracing back the affliction several generations. Back to the very cataclysm far predating the Queendom of Sanguinus. It was not unreasonable to expect Casus to have access to the same information. To note down the Moonblooded that had not awakened to their blood yet and send his Daggers for their heads in some deranged ritual to call upon his God.
He turned his head to Asphodel next, trying to break him with his damnable eyes. They said more than any death threat ever could. The preacher wanted to call damnation down on the prince’s head. To watch the worms claim his skull and the vultures peck at his carrion.
“Your death,” he continued, “would be the most potent. You will break Lunaris’ seal on our holy day of bleeding skies.”
Hearing that his death was a specific part of the process, Asphodel could not help but feel a twitch in his heart. Time was running low, each day leading to Casus’ profane ascension of Lunaris’ form. He did not know how it would happen, but he felt the silver blades of Casus’ Daggers against his skin, scraping up his neck. Asphodel’s blood was indeed tied to his, however, so perhaps it would simply be fate drawing them together. Not unless Asphodel shattered fate with his own hands.
“We will have to kill him before that, then,” Asphodel reasoned as he placed his hand upon his pommel, finding comfort in the feeling of his holy sword against his palm. “Before he can call upon Lunaris and commit his blasphemy.”
The preacher laughed again, this time confidently. Knowingly. His eyes rose to the ceiling once more, seeing past it, the sky etched in his vision, Lunaris himself granting him more eyes than any man ought to have.
“You are welcome to try,” he breathed out between cackles, his voice desperate for more air. “Have you not realized where you ought to meet him, your Highness? Such a simple riddle. You already know the answer, you need only meet him there on the night of our holy day.”
Anima responded by grabbing the preacher’s good arm, twisting it before slamming it into the pulpit. He screamed as that limb was shattered as well, clearly not Moonblooded himself as both arms laid limp at his side, unhealing and unmoving. Anima gave the arm a stomp for good measure. And though the action was almost needlessly violent, Asphodel made no attempt to stop him.
“There’s nothing stopping us from beating the answer out of you!” Anima yelled as he knelt before the preacher, grabbing him by the collar of his robe. “We can’t wait until Lunaris comes down to us! Not when it’ll result in that bastard of a man becoming a God! If you’ve even a shred of knowledge of where Casus is hiding you need to tell us!”
The preacher did not look upon Anima with disdain. Nor did he glare at him in anger. Only gave him a quiet smirk, knowing fully well that he had the last laugh as he crunched his teeth backward and bit down on something brittle. He went limp not moments after, dead in Anima’s grip.
“A poison hidden in the tooth,” Asphodel breathed out as he opened the preacher’s mouth, almost impressed. “How quaint.”
He examined the rest of the body next, giving the preacher no dignity as he removed their robes and rummaged through every pocket and crevice he could find. As he should have expected from a man that threw his lot in with damnation and calamity, he held no belongings on him. Not even a damn coin purse. He was well and truly mad.
“The people you have killed,” Asphodel sighed as he stood, letting the preacher’s body fall to the ground. “Were they truly Moonblooded? Did their blood boil when you cut through them?”
There was a moment of quiet contemplation between them, Anima’s mind rolling backward to the marks he had slain as Asphodel dusted bits of sycophant off of himself. He could see the uncertainty in Anima’s eyes. The unconscious knowledge of what was there, but the inability to force it forward. Not unlike the feeling of being afflicted with Lunaris’ blood. Of knowing your movements and heart were being prodded at without the ability to discern it in distinct thoughts and emotions.
“Mayhaps a few,” Anima answered after a minute or so of thought. “I’ve never thought it prudent to pay attention to such things until now. Never had a reason to stick around after an assassination, either. Sort of thing ain’t good for business, you know.”
Asphodel breathed out again in frustration, knowing that Casus had been planning this wretched revolution for years upon years. Made him feel as though the struggles of his entire life amounted to nothing more than being some stepping stone for a madman. He gripped his sword tighter, remembering his vow to never let Lunaris take anything from him ever again. He would not let Casus ascend while he still drew breath. His parents didn’t die to let such a thing pass. Neither did Gaelyn.
“We still have time before the Bleeding Moon Festival,” he denoted. “It should be three nights until then. We can rest for today and pursue our last lead tomorrow.”
Chapter 15
“Your Stars, They Fall”
For a moment, Anima wondered why he had spent so much time in Asphodel’s bed. Such a thing felt incredulous, almost, given the amount of spares a man of his title ought to have. Not to mention the fact that they’ve not done anything more than pass out next to one another. Always too exhausted to do more than just huddle together and let themselves drift unconscious in each other’s warmth. Not that Anima would ever admit to wanting to indulge in the prince’s body. Only that he was surprised to hear that the prince’s heart was sworn, yet he had not once seen a lover come nor go.
His line of thought was broken when he saw Asphodel enter the bedchamber. He was clothed this time, thankfully, lest Anima’s heart be tempted to sway again. The prince had clearly just finished bathing, however, his crimson hair a shade darker as it drooped about his head like saturated leaves.
“The Festival is soon,” Anima called out, as he sat up on the side of the bed, confident he would not fall prey to another of the prince’s cuddle sessions. “Better we get moving sooner rather than later, yes?”
Despite Anima’s words, there was no haste in any of Asphodel’s steps. Only the quiet confidence that comes with being raised as royalty. He adjusted his clothes in the mirror, making extra sure that he was prim and proper, not a crease visible, not a thread out of place, nor hair once he dried off his head.
“I believe I am already ahead of you,” Asphodel assured his live-in bed warmer, among other things. “I have already secured passage to our final lead.”
Asphodel rummaged through the secret pockets of his garments, eventually producing a parchment. It was a fine thing, not crumpled even when rolled tight, a minute attribute only royalty would ever care about. He tossed it to Anima, letting it unfurl slightly as it hit the bedding.
“A Writ of Royal Attendance?,” Anima scoffed as he read the thing. “We’re beseeching her Eminence the High Queen now?”
Asphodel continued dressing, taking extra care to ensure that even the most energetic of movements would not dishevel his clothing. He made sure to adorn himself with lavish accessories as well. A brooch delicately pinned into the collar, a silken scarf draped around his neck and tucked beneath his jacket, and a pure-white edelweiss laced into his crimson locks.
“Where the moon touches the earth,” Asphodel mused as he recanted Casus’ overly-vague words of delusional prophecy. “The only place I can think that to be is the top of the High Queen’s castle.”
Asphodel recalled the Festival in his youth. Running around and darting through crowds as the crimson moon loomed above. How, as the crimson moon reached the closest it had ever been, it appeared to crest the High Queen’s castle. As if the abode had been purpose-built to accommodate and commune with Lunaris as he fell back to the earth.
He remembered how his blood felt as he stared up at Lunaris’ visage. How it seemed to dance through his veins, running shivers of innocent delight across his skin. An odd sense of pleasure. As if the sight of the moon was, by Lunaris’ command, meant to instill the heights of joy in all that looked upon it.
That feeling, he realized, was what it was like to have his blood fully awake. It was how he felt now, after all, his blood setting his veins aflame, urging him to dance in the moonlight. That was likely why there were so many “romance parties” during the Festival, come to think, as his father put it. He had caught a glimpse of one through the window of a local lecher’s manor late in the Festival’s night, which could at least partially explain how attuned the prince was in the matters of physical touch.
“We have no time to lose, do we not?” Asphodel asked as he stopped reminiscing, heading toward Anima’s direction. “Come, you will have to look your best as well. The High Queen makes no exceptions.”
Before Anima could protest, Asphodel lifted him off of the bed and began peeling back his clothing, layer by layer. A servant came in at the same time, leaving an outfit for the man before being ushered away. Asphodel did not enjoy even the thought of such undeserving eyes peering upon Anima’s tender skin.
Anima held his tongue even as Asphodel removed his undergarments, lest an errant moan escape his lips. He merely looked away as fine silk was draped over his skin, then a layer of cotton before the main, colored garments. He was dressed similarly to Asphodel, though the edelweiss had been moved down to the brooch’s position, the brooch being removed altogether. No scarf as well, instead letting the frills of his shirt flare out. Too much bulk wouldn’t look as nice on such a slender frame, after all. Rather, the curves should be accentuated just so, by clothes that fit rather snug, as if they had been tailor made just for Anima.
They departed soon enough, Anima’s dignity regained the moment he caught a glimpse of himself in Asphodel’s mirror. Dare he say, he was bloody dashing, though his hair could use some work. A fact Asphodel also noticed as he attacked his head with a brush and comb, making sure there was not one frayed hair sticking out from Anima’s dark, sapphire mane. The process, Anima found, was oddly calming, as if he could get lost in it if it wasn’t for Asphodel dragging him out of the door immediately after.
The castle, unlike anything else in the city currently, it seemed, was heavily guarded. Soldiers lined the stone streets leading up to the grand structure, each unflinching in their duties, lest a certain, attractive specimen catch their eye. The gate was already open when they arrived, the manse, for the High Queen also stood as the seat of Lunaris’ name, open to all visitors should they have purpose there. Most were gardeners and the like, as not all of them could live on the grounds. Others were nobles there to lick some boots, and more still were devout citizens set on petitioning their Queen, just as Asphodel and Anima currently were.
Entering the gate, the first thing they both noticed was that the High Queen’s castle put Asphodel’s palace to shame. Not that he was one to measure how high his stone walls compared to that of his neighbors, for his own stone wall was rather impressive, just that he supposed the High Queen could not let her own assets be dwarfed by those she held power over. And approaching the towering doors of the main hall only made the castle appear even larger, its spiraling pillars piercing the sky.
“Mind yourselves in her Eminence’s presence, lads,” an older guard coughed out as he momentarily stopped them at the threshold. “High Queen Diana, she isn’t herself lately. Likely all of the preparations for the Festival’s got her heart up in knots. Do take care.”
Asphodel gave him a courteous nod as thanks for the useless advice, for what nitwit would not mind themselves in front of the bloody High Queen? Anima followed Asphodel’s lead forward, consciously mimicking the style of his movements as they walked up the audience hall so as to not look out of his element. This was in spite of the dozens of armed guards eyeing them from either wall, making his heart throb in his neck as he knelt down just behind Asphodel whilst the prince communed with her Eminence.
“Prince Asphodel,” High Queen Diana breathed out, her every syllable dripping with reverent command. “We believe this is your first time seeking our audience, is it not? You may speak.”
Asphodel raised his head, his heart heavy, golden eyes wary. Perhaps it was how crowded the room was with armor and weapons that caused him the consternation. Or, perhaps it was the High Queen’s surprisingly sharp, amber eyes, her lips curled, yet expressionless. Not a wrinkle shown despite her ruling even when he was a boy, as if she was an ageless being. Or, at least wanted to appear as one.
“We have come with a warning,” Asphodel eventually uttered, his confident voice wavering for only a mere moment. “It is of utmost importance, your Eminence.”
As he and Anima bowed, the room fell completely quiet for three seconds. Something unheard of in the High Queen’s court given the sheer amount of servants milling about. Soon enough, however, murmurs began accruing amongst the guards, which High Queen Diana hushed with but the raising of her hand.
“Continue,” she ordered, her command simple but full of authority. “Please, Prince Asphodel.”
The silence alone was enough for Asphodel to feel unsure of his statement. To wonder if his High Queen would believe him just at his word, even if he was held to the highest of standards amongst her courtiers. Still, prince that he was, his station was that of prince of Sanguinus’ capital city, something the more cynical amongst the citizenry would call redundant. They likely saw him as only a lapdog asking for a treat.
“The cultists proliferating the city, they revere those beasts that harbor Moonblood,” Asphodel explained after a moment’s held breath, doing his best to keep his statement succinct in the hope that the High Queen would trust her subject’s honest word. “Their leader plans to enact a ritual on the day of the Bleeding Moon Festival. To call down Lunaris and rip him from the sky. Of this we are certain.”
There were no murmurs this time, only stares. Eyes peering at the two of them from every direction. Even from above. The guards tightened their grips on their polearms. The servants stopped their duties midstep. The air itself fell stagnant until the High Queen raised the back of her hand to her chin in quiet dominance of the entire room.
“That is quite the claim, Prince Asphodel,” she whispered as she leaned in, the silence of the room carrying her hushed words throughout the hall. “And who, pray tell, is the leader of these cultists that dot our queendom so?”
The name tasted like poison on his tongue as he pushed it upward. Still, a poison was better spit than ingested, so he forced himself to look High Queen Diana in the eye as he said it before reaverting his gaze.
“Master Assassin Casus,” he stated, the name feeling as though it were made of sharpened stones. “Leader of Luna’s Open Hand.”
As the name fell from his mouth, the pair began to hear footsteps again, the castle returning to its duties. The strides were heavy, however, and armored. Of steel hitting stone as the steps began to encircle them. Not only that, but they grew ever closer with every passing second.
