Six years ago.

Eli chopped away at the tree in front of him. He had been chopping trees in some minor village deep in the Monarchy’s heartland for five months now. No assassins, no talk about ordinations, nothing at all to indicated that Mercia was sparing a thought for one of her missing sons. His ordination however had not forgotten about him at all. His veins were turning blacker by the day and with it had come haunting thoughts. Sometimes a voice would whisper in his ear just before he fell asleep. However, knowing what something is shields you against it. Eli had done his very best to defend himself against his ordination.

“You know, it is funny.” Eli assumed someone said. Assumed since the people’s accent was so thick around these parts that Eli had trouble understanding them. “Most people try to flee to Mercia, not from it.” The man, a co-worker named Fritz or something picked his teeth as he spoke, making understanding him that much harder.

“Well, Mercia isn’t all it is cracked up to be.” Eli said, focusing on the tree in front of him. “Maybe, maybe, but it has got to be better than living here.” Eli grunted in response. It had been a wise choice to move to Grünig. Half of a conversation consisted out of grunting, which suited him just fine. There were a number of questions he didn’t want to answer.

Fritz found his own tree to chop and nobody else felt like harassing Eli. The life he was leading was a peaceful one, and yet, he didn’t feel at peace. His dreams were still haunted by Keith Randal and the little girl whose father he had helped kill. Now that he had left Mercia he was no longer seeing a therapist, or whatever doctor Meier had been, and his anxiety had been increasing. More than a few times he had woken, gun in hand, covered in sweat.

“Eli de Winter, you are not a good man.”

Eli lost his balance, not prepared for the voice. It wasn’t Meier’s voice, or Charles’, like before, it was the voice of the little girl. The one who he had promised to protect from the monsters so long ago.

“But you were the monster, weren’t you?”

Eli never talked back. Talking back would be accepting that the voice was real, and he refused to believe that. He was sick, he knew that. The price for a cure however was too high. It maybe was hypocritical, seeing the trail of bodies he had left in his wake, but he was trying to be better.

Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Up and down the axe went as Eli cut the log in front of him to pieces.

“Chop, heave. Chop, heave. And another part of your soul gone.”

Eli ignored the voice, trying to ban it out entirely.

“You can run Eli, but it won’t change what you are, who you are. You are a murderer, just like us.” Charles screamed.

With a roar Eli brought the axe down. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Don’t think about the past. Don’t think about how easy it would be to walk to Fritz and chop his head off. It would be an easy way to make the voices stop. Kill Fritz, chop his body into parts and bury them in the woods somewhere. It would be so easy.

“Eli de Winter, you are a good man.” Meier whispered.

Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave.

“I have seen your future Eli de Winter, and this isn’t it.” An unknown voice hissed. The voice sounded like something was crushing insects between two rocks. A horrible grinding that never ended. “I will get your story back on track number 2500116, nobody will escape my grasp.”

Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop………..

“Thomas are you okay?” A kind voice asked. Eli whirled around, his hand reaching for a gun that was no longer there, his eyes bloodshot, black veins bulging in his neck. Rosa looked up at him with her big brown eyes. Sweat was pouring from his back, his hands were bleeding and he was panting.

A soft hand caressed his face. “It is all over, Mercia is in the past, we’re together now.” Rosa whispered. Slowly Eli untensed, sagging to his knees. Soft lips were pressed to his as she drew him into her embrace. There was peace there, one of the few places where the voices didn’t reach him. She had been a stroke of luck, put in his path to make him happy. Rosa’s father was the local foreman, in charge of coordinating the logging business. Eli had run into Rosa when he had registered with the Lumber Guild. They had taken a liking to another and before long there had been talk of a courtship. It was all very old-fashioned and decent. There had been kisses, but nothing more. Her father had made clear what would happen if something happened before their union in the eyes of the gods.

Eli hadn’t told her everything, but she knew he was burdened by his past. He couldn’t talk about it, and she never asked. her father didn’t care as long as Eli did right by his daughter. No one had said a word about Eli not responding to the name Thomas. They sat for a while together, until he calmed down.

“Father send me to fetch you, there’s going to be a storm and he doesn’t want anybody out in the woods. The soil has been loose lately, too many felt trees in the same area or something. He fears there will be a mudslide if the rain is strong enough. He also invited you to eat with us, he wants to discuss something with you.” Rosa smiled at him in a meaningful manner. She seemed to already know what her father wanted to talk about.

⤊

The dinner had come and gone like a pleasant dream. The Hertzfeld family was gigantic, Rosa being one of her father’s many children, several of which had children themselves. The patriarch had however ordered the entire family to make themselves scarce while he talked to Eli. Undoubtedly some, if not all, family members were listening from somewhere.

“Thomas, son, you’ve been good for my daughter these past few months.” Klaus started in Germanic. He spoke slowly, because he knew Eli hadn’t grasped the language completely. “You’ve worked hard, and although I don’t like your tattoos, I think you are a good match for my daughter.” He smiled, his beard almost cracking in two. “I never used to be fond of foreigners, but you’re one of the good ones.” He switched to English. “Mary my daughter, yes?”

Eli’s face cracked into a smile and he was about to respond when the front door was kicked out of his hinges. Both Klaus and Eli jumped up in surprise at the sudden intrusion. The intruder was big, having to duck to get into the house. Eli’s stomach dropped when he saw the necklace the man was wearing. He recognized the snake eating its own tail, it was a sign he had learned to fear while under the care of Cabaneri Incorporated.

“Eli de Winter, you’re a hard man to find.” The ordained retributor said. “The council of senior alderman has ordered an inquiry into your whereabouts, seeing that ordained assassins aren’t allowed to leave the country. Upon closer inspection I find you guilty of forsaking the path set out for you by God, which is an offense punishable by death. My authority isn’t recognized by the Rosharian authorities, which is why you will be taken back to Mercia where you will stand trial for your crimes against Mercia and its people.” The retributor pulled his sword from his sheath. “Submit or die.”

A voice was laughing in Eli’s ears, one only he could hear.

“It isn’t over Eli. For you it will never be over.”

⤊

Now.

The prince and I were sitting together in a car heading for Kinestorm’s grand radio tower. Instead of being accompanied by the entire Armerian army the prince had preferred his security team to consist out of the driver and myself. So far anonymity had worked rather well. For all the prince’s face had been plastered over the front page of nearly every newspaper in Mercia nobody recognized him. It is a curious phenomenon that I’ve observed before. When people don’t expect you to show up somewhere they are less likely to see you in a crowd. Nobody expected to see the prince at Kinestorm’s attractions and so they didn’t.

We arrive at Kinestorm tower, a pinnacle of modern engineering, which I find rather ugly. Call me old-fashioned, but I’ve always like the more classical buildings. All the steel and concrete reminds me of Victoria’s lower districts. The prince however is rather impressed. “And this single tower transmits to the whole country?” I shrug. “I wouldn’t know, I’m not terrible familiar with how radios work. I personally never used one.” The prince frowns. “You’ve never listened to the radio?” I shake my head. “I dislike waiting for good music to come along, I tend to purchase records whenever I want something new.”

The driver joins us shortly after he parks the car. The bulky man had a professional air about him that I quite liked. He was a solemn man who didn’t talk much. I like him already. “Can we go up? I would like to view the city from above.” I nod. “Please follow me.” We enter the building where I explain to a worried guard who we are and what we want. The prince shows his royal seal and I slip a few red notes into the guard’s pocket. Before long we’re standing in an elevator heading for the top floor.

The top floor is an observation platform where parties are hosted from time to time. Currently it is empty, which I don’t mind at all. I stay at the prince’s side as we walk around, looking at the city. “It is quite a beautiful city, yet there is something that puzzles me.” He halts and points at the walled off district. “Why is it that the city has no defensive works, safe for that wall?” He shoots me a puzzled look. “Your majesty have you wondered why there don’t seem to be any poor people in Kinestorm?” The prince clasps his hands behind his back. “An entire city built for the rich, where the poor are locked away, simply for being poor? That seems rather harsh, no?”

“Doesn’t Armes have a gap between the rich and the poor?’ I counter his question with one of my own. “Yes, it does, yet my country doesn’t lock them up.” I raise my eyebrows. “The rich and poor mingle than? Go to the same pubs, visit the same hospitals, enjoy each other’s company?” The prince shakes his head. “I see your point, yet this still feels wrong.” I shrug. “A cultural difference, I would presume, your majesty.” The driver approaches. “Gentlemen, it is about time to head to the palace for the gala.” The prince smiled. “Thank you Fabio, we will head there in a minute.” The prince gives me a thoughtful look. “When my home is annexed into the bureaucracy, will a divide like that be mandatory?”

I shake my head. “No, but if Armerian people start thinking like the Mercian government it will happen regardless.” We ride the elevator down in silence. I slip the guard at the entrance another red note and we step outside. “Oh fuck.” The square adjacent to the radio tower generally is a busy place, but right now it is deserted. Completely empty, save for one woman. Sharp teeth are bared into a ferocious smile. Wearing a whole lot of leather and carrying a whip with attached sharp blades, Olivia looks like a very angry dominatrix. “Hey boys.” She calls out.

I pull my pistol out of its holster attached to the small of my back. The movement is mirrored by the driver. “Shoot to kill.” I order and start firing. Olivia however is already moving, racing towards us. She moves with unnatural grace and precision. A bead of sweat runs down my forehead as I try to aim where I think she will be, instead of where she is. I hear a click beside me as Fabio runs out of bullets. Olivia is too close to reload so instead the driver pulls a knife from somewhere. Olivia snarls and the whip cracks through the air. It winds itself around Fabio’s throat, the blades digging deep. “Get to the fucking car.” I growl as I fire three shots into Olivia’s direction.

Electricity crackles and the driver’s skin starts smoking. I reload as the man’s eyes roll back and he collapses. Olivia licks her lips as she pulls back the whip. She gives me a hungry look, which pisses me off more than a little. Fucking Charles and his shitty plots. Exactly this is the reason Moose was in charge, she kept things understandable. I hear car tyres shriek, which means that the prince at least is getting away unscathed.

“I promised to put a bullet in you.” I sneer. She just smiles, does a trick with that fucking whip of hers and comes for me. I pull my second pistol from its holster and for a single, very satisfying moment she seems surprised. I open fire and she scrambles. Firing two pistols looks really cool, just like in the moves. What they don’t tell you however is that when you aren’t trained to shoot with two pistols your aim is complete shit. Fortunately, Olivia doesn’t know that.

A car comes to a squeaking halt behind me and the door is thrown open. “Get in!” The prince yells, sounding both excited and frightened. It takes me a whole wasted second to realize that I rather have the prince behind the wheel than Olivia’s whip around my neck. I fire a couple more bullets in Olivia’s general direction before throwing myself into the car. We take off as quickly as the car can manage. For once I’m glad with the carriage like design of the machine, as it is harder to hit someone through the smaller windows.

“Who the hell was that?” The prince yells as we leave the square behind. “Certainly not a colleague of mine.” I grunt. “That woman is crazy. Who uses a fucking whip? The bitch killed Fabio.” The prince is a bit out of sorts, which isn’t that odd, since a mental case just tried to kill him. “I’ve never been considered important enough to warrant assassination.” The prince muses and I’m surprised to hear a bit of joy in his voice. “Congratulations, your majesty. The only thing you need now is a bureaucratic victory and you will fit right in with the aristocrats and bureaucrats.” The prince gives me a lopsided grin. “Call me Antoines, any man who saved my life should address me by my name.” I nod, but if Antoines thinks it means I will call him by his first name in public he will be sorely mistaken. I’m not painting a giant target on my back advertising that I’m friends with foreign nobles.

The prince pushes his spectacles higher on his nose as he focuses on the road. “At some point you will have to give me some directions, since I have no idea where we are going.” He suddenly says. I chuckle and instruct him to take a right. “Where are we going?” I become serious again. “To my hotel, to pick up an additional agent and some ammunition.” The prince raises his eyebrows. “You’ve got some accomplice stashed away at your hotel?”

“Something like that.” I mumble vaguely. “You’ll see.”

⤊

“So, you’re left alone with royalty for a few hours and somebody tries to kill you within a few hours? Eli, this is rough to say, but I think you’re cursed.” Jesse badly tries to camouflage the worry in her voice with levity. The prince meanwhile paces through the hotel room.

“I have to go to the gala.” The prince suddenly says. “That would be stupid, people are out to kill you. We should be closing the ranks, let your delegation handle things.” The prince shook his head in agitation. “I can’t, it will project weakness, which I can’t afford.” I throw my hands in the air in disbelief. “Antoines, you don’t know how many people are trying to kill you. There are over two thousand assassins in this country, they might all be after you. Let your nobles do the partying and negotiating.” I sit down, and Jesse gets me a glass of wine. Normally I wouldn’t drink on the job, but my head was almost electrocuted with a whip today, I deserve a break.

“Since when are you on first name basis with the prince of Armes?” Jesse asks softly. “I’m well connected.” I wiggle with my eyebrows. The prince glares at us. “You don’t understand, the nobles are part of the problem.” I sit up straight and play close attention as I notice the worry on the prince’s face.

“The reason Mercia wants to make peace is because the war is no longer profitable. Too many men and resources are lost at the front, even though the Armerian army has been defeated.” I raise my eyebrows. “If the army has been defeated who are our forces fighting?” The prince pushes his spectacles up. “Mercenaries, bought and paid for by the southern nobility.” I shake my head. “Impossible, it would take a country’s financial capabilities to pay that many mercenaries. Mercia has deployed almost its entire standing army.” The prince nods. “You are right, the nobles are receiving financial aid.” The statement puzzles me. “From who? Who would help a country prolong a war they would eventually still lose?” Jesse asks.

“Someone within the Mercian government.” The prince states. “We traced the noble’s expenditures, they were all in Mercian crowns.” I shake my head in disbelief. “It would cost a fortune; the government can’t just throw that kind of money around. And why would they?” The prince shrugs. “I don’t have a clue, but you understand that I must go, or this peace deal will go up in smoke and my country will be torn apart even further.”

⤊

The prince is late. The tardiness of some people never ceases to annoy mister East. Tonight, however it grates on his nerves. He spends too much time talking with Armerian inferiors and Mercian riffraff. The whole thing is quickly turning into a waste of time.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the most honoured crown prince of the sovereign nation of Armes Antoines de Puissance will now grace the room with his presence.” An overblown statement if ever there was one. Fucking royalty and their high horses, they should hang the lot of them. Nobody should be born to a throne, they should either take it or carve it themselves.

The prince is in the company of a rather plain woman, not that she will form a problem. East patiently waits until the prince’s drink is empty, and he is without company. Carrying a glass of poisoned wine, he walks towards the prince, a smile plastered on his face. Even though he despises the man’s position, this is purely business, courtesy was a must.

“Your majesty, what a pleasure it is to meet you.” He hands the man the poisoned glass. Etiquette dictates the prince to take it and the prince can’t afford to be seen snubbing a Mercian. The other man politely smiles. “I’m sorry my lord, but I don’t know your name.” The prince’s accent is cultured, tailored to sound Armerian, yet grammatically perfect. “Knight, Rowan Knight, your majesty and of course I’m not a lord, just a mere gentleman hoping to steal some of your time.” The prince’s woman snorts.

East turns his gaze to the woman. “I wasn’t aware I said something funny, please let me in on the joke, my lady.” The smile is still fixed in place, but his voice has grown cold. He didn’t claw his way out of the gutter only to be disrespected by some Armerian whore. “Oh, I thought you made a joke regarding stealing some of his time, when you are in fact planning to steal all of it.” Her accent isn’t Armerian at all, it is Mercian, Victorian middleclass to be precise. “A trap.” East whispers, just as the barrel of a pistol is pushed against his back.

“Mister East, what a pleasure it is to see you again.” A familiar voice whispers in his ear. “Mister de Winter, I thought our business had been concluded.” The sound of a humourless chuckle comes from behind him. “Mister Aksokov disagrees, now let’s go on a walk, I know a perfect place in the garden where you and I can have a drink. I will take that your majesty.” The gun prods in East’s back. “Start walking, I have questions, which need answering.”