Chapter XXI

“She's going to be the death of your beloved wife unless you do something, Paolo.”

The young prince, now king of Arx, awoke to the sound of the voice. He recognized it in a second, the same voice he heard whenever he spoke with God. He sat up in the bed he shared with Aryn. They'd not made love, as newly married were expected to, much to his disappointment, but he understood that she wasn't yet comfortable with it. Looking down at Aryn's serene sleeping face, so beautiful and calm, he couldn't imagine life without her. “Who is going to harm my beloved wife?” Paolo quietly questioned the voice.

“Duchess Mahla, Amasi's bastard. She wants the throne for herself, Paolo. Aryn cannot do anything against her without starting a war, but you can. You must do what your wife cannot, stop the brewing civil war, which is threatening to tear the kingdom apart.”

“What must I do?” Paolo asked.

“Take your dagger with you and go to Mahla's guest quarters. Tomorrow she will leave the castle, so you must act tonight if you are to save Arx and Aryn.”

“But...it's wrong to murder...”

“Far more blood will be on your hands if you do not do this than if you do, Paolo. You must do what you must do. I will forgive any sin that serves a much greater good.”

Paolo argued no more. God had never led him astray before. Months ago, when word got out that the young princess of Arx was about to become Queen it was God who told Paolo to plead with his father to marry him off to her, for the good of Uvino. It was God who told Paolo that he would be the suitor whom Aryn chose, and that Aryn would be the love of his life. The voice of God, speaking in his mind, had led him to more rewards than he could ever hope for, every blessing greater than the last. Now he was called upon to defend one of those blessings, to show how far he would go for the one he loved.

Paolo slowly and silently slipped out of bed, his bare feet found their way into the warmth of his fur slippers. He carefully slid open the dresser and took his stiletto dagger out from the top drawer. It was still in its leather sheathe, with the symbol of Uvino upon it in gold and purple fabric.

Paolo walked down the halls of the castle, feeling his way along the walls in the darkness. One of the great things, he found, about being the Queen's husband was that the guards didn't question him as he passed. They knew it was no business of theirs if their king wanted to go for a stroll in the middle of the night, and in the darkness he found it easy to conceal the dagger.

It didn't take him long to find Mahla's room. She had posted two of her newly-knighted mercenary friends as bodyguards beside her door, but they had fallen asleep in their chairs, with flagons of ale on the floor under their limp hands and drool dripping down their chins. No discipline. Even Paolo, who was from a city with wine as its major export, had never seen such a drunken lack of responsibility in any soldiers.

“If I kill her,” Paolo thought, “Won't these two wake up and take my life?”

“You will be safe, Paolo, so long as you do as I have commanded. I will keep these men asleep, even as you place your dagger in their hands. Only the sheathe bears your family's symbol, so take that with you, and leave these men to suffer the consequences of Mahla's death. They are murderers anyway, they killed hundreds of people in Sabura, and have so far escaped justice.”

Stop a civil war, protect the woman he loved, and bring two murderers to justice. Paolo couldn't think of a better way for this to turn out. He had such an opportunity here to do so much good, few men got that chance. He slipped past the two bodyguards sleeping off their drinks and opened the door.

Mahla was alone in her guest bed, the covers pulled up around her shoulders, and her blonde hair let out. The crescent moon peeked in, casting silver light over Mahla's sleeping face. Paolo sneaked in and slipped the dagger from its sheathe. He crept up to the bed and peered down at Mahla, trying to decide where to put the blade. It could easily slip between her ribs, or through her trachea. He'd also heard that assassins would often aim for the lung, as doing so silenced the victim's screams.

As he stared at her, though, he couldn't help but start to feel some compassion for her. Her face, in spite of the battle scars, was peaceful. As serene as Aryn's was when he left their bed. Suddenly Paolo felt himself lose his nerve. Could he really kill someone in cold blood? He'd never even killed in self-defense, never taken a life before, not even of an animal. He'd heard his fathers warriors and assassins talk about the thrill of holding life and death in their hands, of how they felt like gods in that moment, but he felt no such thing. The dagger began to shake in his hand, and he worried for a second that he might drop it. How could he bring himself to end this young woman's life? Even if she was a threat to his beloved, she had done nothing wrong yet.

Paolo sheathed his dagger again, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I can't bring myself to do it.” If God truly wanted her dead he could strike her with illness, or even have the ground swallow her up, for all Paolo was concerned. Sure, the God who created Erets was not fully omnipotent, but he was powerful enough to deal with this problem on his own.

Paolo easily slipped past the two guards outside again and started walking back to the bedroom he shared with Aryn. “Turn back!” he heard the voice say, “You have not fulfilled your duty!”

Paolo stopped and stood where he was, his back still towards Mahla's end of the hall. “I can't do it. I'm not a killer. I'm too weak.”

As Paolo stood, his feet almost rooted to the ground, he heard an audible voice whisper in his ear, “I'm sorry.” The dagger was yanked from his hand and drawn from its sheathe by the large hands of a man who stood behind him. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, followed by the feeling of a warm liquid against the chest of his night shirt, which soon turned cold. As he looked down he could see one of the large hands holding the handle of his stiletto dagger, with the blade plunged into his heart. His white shirt stained a dark shade of red. He cried out in a mixture of shock and pain just before his knees gave out and he saw the floor hurtling towards his forehead, and then blackness.

The guards came running at the sound of King Paolo's scream, and saw standing over him a man with prematurely white hair, sickly features, and with hands soaked in the boy's blood. Paolo was dead on the ground, face-first on the stone tiles. Tassos raised his bloody hands in surrender when the guards arrived, his face ice-cold, emotionless. It was clear to all of them that this stranger had just murdered a thirteen-year-old boy in cold blood, and was completely unaffected by it. Each of the guards felt a chill as Tassos just stood there, face blank. Even as they clapped him in manacles he was unmoved. He cooperated with them and showed neither remorse nor fear. He had to know that being caught in cold-blooded murder he was destined to be executed. What manner of man approached death and murder so casually?

The guards sounded the bells, and soon the whole castle was awake, and everyone spoke of the horrid news, that the Queen's new husband had been murdered in the castle.

. . .

After seven hours in the dungeon, hands chained to the wall, Tassos heard visitors approaching. The Queen came to his cell, followed by a man with red hair, a big man in paladin's armor with long black hair, and a young woman with auburn hair, dressed in paladin's armor.

“Who are you?” Aryn snarled at him. She may not have been in love with her husband, but she still loved him, and such an atrocity as this could not go unpunished.

“I'm no one,” Tassos said.

“Damn you!” Aryn shrieked, tears in her eyes. “How could you do that? HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?”

“Do what?”

“Murder a mere boy!”

“Boys are often easier to kill than men, I find,” said Tassos. “They don't put up as much of a fight.”

Aryn raised her hand and small pieces of the broken stone tiles and bricks flew off of the ground and struck Tassos in the face so hard it cut his lip and forehead.

“Your highness, please,” Milo said, touching Aryn's shoulder. “Try to control yourself, if you kill him he can't tell us who hired him.”

“Control myself? Shove off, Milo!” Aryn shouted. “This man murdered my husband!”

“Yes, your husband and my prince,” Tamas interrupted. “But he's obviously an assassin, and we want to make the people who hired him pay too. Please, allow me to question him, your highness. I'm certain I can get answers.”

Aryn gestured to the door of Tassos' cell. “By all means, if you think you can get this bastard to talk then do.”

Tamas took the keys from the cell guard and opened the door to Tassos' cell, closing himself in. He locked the door again in case something went wrong, and handed the keys back to the guard. He checked the door for a second, shook it back and forth to make sure it would stay closed. Once he was confident of this he turned to Tassos and kicked him in the groin as hard as he could.

Every man in the room doubled over, as if it was they and not Tassos who had been kicked. Every man except Tamas, who sneered as Tassos groaned in pain. “Not much of a reaction there, numb-nuts. I'll have to kick harder next time,” Tamas said. He leaned in close and grabbed Tassos by his hair, yanked it hard and pulled his head back so that they were face to face. “Who hired you to kill Paolo? Tell me!”

Tassos, in spite of the pain, smirked and said nothing.

Tamas pressed one of his thumbs into Tassos' left eye, pressing hard and elicited a yelp from him. “Tell me who told you to kill the boy! Tell me! NOW!”

“Sir Tamas, please...” Milo pleaded, unable to watch this kind of torture. Years ago he'd seen Grigori torture men, but something about this seemed more horrific than that. Maybe it was just that Milo had become more empathetic to the suffering of others over the years.

“Don't you dare stop him,” Aryn said. “If you haven't the stomach for this then leave.”

Milo looked Aryn in the eye, questioningly, and when he saw that she was serious he sighed and left the dungeon. Shamira glanced back and forth between Aryn and Milo. She gave her queen an apologetic bow and then left, following after Milo.

“Speak, damn you!” Tamas yelled at Tassos. “I swear, your suffering will not end until I have my answers!”

“My suffering will never end,” Tassos groaned.

Tamas planted the heel of his foot firmly in Tassos' groin and began grinding it. Tassos screamed and fought against the bonds holding him to the wall. “Even God's wrath doesn't compare to mine, murderer! Talk!”

“Fine! Fine!” Tassos shouted. Tamas removed his foot from Tassos' groin and waited for his answer. “Duchess Mahla hired me.”

“Mahla?” Aryn asked, incredulously. “Why would she want Paolo dead?”

“I didn't ask. I'm an assassin, I do as I'm told, kill who I'm told. As long as I'm paid the 'why' doesn't matter.”

“Fine, then,” Tamas said. He looked at the cell guard, “You heard him say Mahla hired him?” The guard nodded. “You as well?” he asked Aryn. Aryn nodded as well, and with that Tamas reached over, grabbed Tassos' head in both hands, and twisted it suddenly. There was a popping sound as Tassos' neck snapped and his body fell limp, his tongue hanging from his mouth.

“Sir Tamas!” Aryn yelled.

“What more could he have told us? What more purpose could he have served? You want him to testify against Mahla? Three of us heard what he had to say already. You want to execute him publicly? That just risks his escape! I will not suffer Prince Paolo's murderers to escape! Now, unlock this cell!”

“Wait,” Aryn told the cell guard, who was about to do as Tamas had commanded. “What do you intend to do?”

“I'm going to make Mahla pay for what she's done!” Tamas said.

“Mahla must be tried for this, given a fair trial. If she is proven guilty in court then she will be publicly executed,” Aryn said. “But we have to make sure there's no doubt of her guilt.”

“The assassin himself named her as his patron,” Tamas said.

“One piece of evidence we need to make sure everyone's aware of before Mahla is executed.”

“She'd better not get away,” said Tamas. “If you fail to bring her to justice the king of Uvino will hold you responsible for her actions!”

“Don't you dare threaten me, sir!” Aryn said.

Tamas stepped back for a moment. He thought on how everything he'd said had likely sounded. “Listen, that's not how I mean it. If word gets back to the king of Uvino that his son was murdered within your castle walls and you did not bring his son's killer to justice he will suspect you had a hand in it. Yes, irrational as that is fathers get irrational when their children have been killed. He will start a war over this, I know it. He will not stop until he gets vengeance. I know you can't just kill her, that would make you a tyrant, but let me out of this cell and I will do it myself, and then leave Arx forever.”

“If someone from Uvino were to murder a member of my family, a noblewoman of Arx, then the noble houses would demand I go to war with Uvino,” Aryn said. “No, you stay in the cell with the dead assassin for now. I'll send my own guards after Mahla.” Aryn turned to the cell guard. “You will not let him out until someone arrives to take the assassin's body away, do you understand?”

“Yes, your Highness,” said the guard.