Nattas

An astute man, keeps his affairs to himself

“FILTHY IMBECILE!”

Lord Storm Nattas was beside himself with righteous rage.

“YOU MORONIC BUFOON!”

Titus attempted to defend himself.

“Chief, I saw no one comin—”

“BLIND N’ THICK-SKULLED RAT!” Storm bellowed, frothing at the mouth and hurled his cane hard as he could, aiming for that big head of his. Titus raised an arm and jumped back, the staff bouncing off it and smacking him bellow the left ear.

“Gah!” Titus groaned rubbing hard at the spot, already turning an angry red. “Ghief, for fuck’s sake. You’re overreacting!”

“I had a blade on my throat!” Storm barked back.

“Yer throat seems fine!” Titus countered.

“You sound disappointed.” Nattas retorted, voice dripping venom.

Titus stepped back and stooped to pick up Nattas expensive rosewood cane. “All I’m saying, is you appear rather unscathed, considering—”

“Give that back,” Storm ordered him. “So I can smack you again.”

“I saw no woman leaving,” Titus insisted, still holding on to Lord Nattas’ property. A fact that didn’t sit well with Storm, among all the other things that kept piling up. “Especially Maja,” The large man finished lamely.

Nattas smacked his lips and eyed the spot where she had stood earlier.

“She was right there,” He started, reaching for his goblet. “That’s three times now, you tried to have me killed Titus—”

“Bullshit, I had nothing to do wit the second attempt! It was all Sudi’s fault!” His man protested.

“Sudi drank the poison to save me!” Storm, sort of defended, his loyal hand.

Now loyal was perhaps too strong a word, but still it was the kind of staunchness one looks for in a subordinate.

“Bah!” Titus guffawed throwing his arms up. “He was enjoying yer wine collection for months!” The latter validating Storm’s reservation.

That son of a wayward pussy!

“Is he in on it?” Storm probed, determined to reach to the end of this and cut the rot off. Excise the decaying parts off of his inner circle.

Kill it whole, if he have to.

“What? For Uher’s sake, the man’s a scoundrel, but innocent!”

Unlike you, Storm thought, narrowing his eyes.

“So you admit to the fact?” He insisted, voice icy.

“No I bloody don’t. There’s no fact in what yer saying, Chief!”

“Didn’t you just assumed responsibility—”

“I assumed nothing!” The former pirate turned hired blade, protested vehemently. “Surely yer jesting!”

That was twice in a row he’d interrupted him. There was something brewing here. Storm tasted Mercos’ wine in thoughtful silence. Sighed once but deeply, when he finished pondering on his next move and yelled at the end of it.

“GUARDS!”

“What did he do?” Parkor asked seeing the two guards dragging a protesting Titus away. Storm grimaced and eyed his nephew suspiciously.

“He let Maja slip inside and almost had me killed again.”

“Wow. She was here?”

“Yeah. It was a close call.”

“Wait, how did that bitch get away though? We were standing at the entrance!” Parkor wondered and looked about the walled backward.

She fucking disappeared.

“Climbed the wall, I reckon,” He said instead, the three meter stone wall looking mighty impressive from where he was standing.

“What did she use?”

“I’ve no bloody idea,” He admitted. “But I made a deal with her.”

Parkor stood back surprised. “A deal? She’s a murderer!”

Storm frowned. What was this constant questioning of his decisions?

Sirio Veturius, looking tired and worn out from his journey, all but collapsed on the armchair in front of his house’s office desk. Storm had returned there, as the night came over the city of Alden. Lord Nattas, himself without sleep for more than two days and nights, returned his eyes on the scowling Secundus Sorex, the leader of his armed guards.

“Where did you put him?” Lord Nattas asked, as Sirio placed a heavy leather satchel he carried on his shoulder, next to the armchair and turned to listen to the man’s reply.

“In yer cellar, milord.”

“What about that room across the kitchen we don’t use?”

“The cellar has a padlock, milord.”

Storm frowned.

“Well, it is kind of dark, I suppose.”

“Plenty of room as well,” Secundus added with a nasty smirk.

“Right,” Storm cleared his throat, a little unsure about locking Titus up, after he calmed down from his earlier encounter. Seeing Sirio’s questioning stare, he attempted an explanation. “We placed Titus, ahem… under house arrest that is… in my house, since he doesn’t own one,” The young historian, he’d added to his staff, raised a querying eyebrow. “He’s… a suspect in another assassination attempt.”

Sirio sat back worried.

“What happened? I just came from Aldenport,” He paused unsure. “It was horrifying hearing the news about the Heir’s vile assassination, as much as disappointing for I have missed it.”

“Lady Silvie also perished in the attempt,” Storm pointed.

“Of course, an equal loss.”

Storm wasn’t certain, if Sirio was being truthful. He sighed and glanced at the still waiting Secundus.

“There was a Sorex accompanying Sir Lucius to Fetya,” Storm said and noticed Sirio had gotten a blank vellum out of his satchel and placed it on the table. He then reached for one of Lord Nattas’ many quills only pausing, when he sensed Storm’s stare. Sighing Storm nodded it was okay for him to use one and Sirio quickly scribbled something on his parchment.

“Milord?” Secundus asked politely.

“Yes!” He snapped annoyed at the interruption.

“You asked about me brother…” The man said.

“Ah, the man with Sir Lucius,” Storm retorted, remembering his query. “I was wondering about that.”

“Anything else, milord?”

“Nothing else, good man. Leave him there for the whole evening. No food, or water. Lock the rest of the house down as well.”

“It shall be done. I’ll take my leave sire,” Secundus replied with a bow of the head.

“Rigid man,” Sirio commented, when the hired sword left them alone. His meaning vague per usual.

“He comes highly recommended.”

“You don’t believe Titus was involved back in Cartagen?” Sirio asked.

“Not really. Still he’s incompetent enough. I shudder to admit, I’m missing Sudi.”

“Is he faring any better?”

“Well, he’s not dying,” Storm commented. “So there’s that.”

“Was it Maja? I would have rather asked for your version of the events, but I understand your heart may not be in it.”

Lord Nattas reached for a half-full bottle of Flauegran he always kept in a drawer. Poured himself a generous dose, spilling some out the rim of his silver goblet. He wiped the spillage with the sleeve of his new, but rather ruined now doublet.

“I haven’t slept in days. Living off wine and a single meal for all that time,” He started with a grimace of distaste. “Maja was behind the attack on the Royal children—”

“Half a wedding,” Sirio interrupted him with a smile. “I apologize. It is what I will call this attempt to bind the two kingdoms for posterity. In my book.”

Storm smacked his lips, thinking about it. “And three funerals,” He said and Sirio wrote it down. “Anyway, she also visited me here, well… actually across the street at Mercos place. Put a knife on my throat.”

“Interesting she didn’t follow through,” Young Sirio pointed.

“Guild rules apparently,” Storm explained. “You get to make your attempt all right, but if you succeed and the victim survives some-fuckin’-how, then that’s it. The contract is up. I got lucky in a sense.”

“You were prepared.”

“That’s what luck is, my friend.”

“You mentioned the guild,” Sirio pressed on, always thirsty for more details. “I know the Merchants guild, even the Mason—”

“A dwarf runs it, the latter,” Storm cut in and an astounded Sirio run a hand through his surprisingly well combed hair, for a man that was on a ship for ten days that is. “Met him once, about six years back.”

“A dwarf,” Sirio droned.

“There are lots of them,” Storm pointed at the quill the young historian still had in his hands. “They made these for example. Fantastic crafters and builders.”

“Kept hidden,” Sirio noticed, glancing at the thin, but beautifully engraved writing tool.

“You know there’s men that prefer pleasuring a cock,” Storm replied pointedly and Sirio blinked in shock. “But you won’t see them advertising it in Alden’s square, for much the same reason.”

“The realm is bigoted,” Sirio said, a bit of more color on his cheeks. “Unfair and full of greedy hypocrites."

“Our realm is. An astute man, keeps his affairs to himself, dear friend.” Lord Nattas advised. Storm would repeat that same advice to Sirio years later, the words almost unchanged, just before he died.

“I can accept a Masons Guild, run by a dwarf, but assassins? Or even thieves?” Sirio continued their discussion moments later.

“I made a deal with her,” Storm said, hoping for a better reaction from the young man. “And by the way, killing and stealing man learned, before building a single darn thing.”

Whoring as well.

“Why would you do that?”

Sadly people just couldn’t grasp the bigger picture.

“Because there’s a purge coming,” Lord Nattas replied, his face darkening. “And I don’t believe the uprising was spontaneous. Not with assassins in the mix. Someone paid for a contract on me, wanted the young heir dead and it was no bloody protester.”

“Who stands to gain from that?” Sirio inquired. “Queen is pregnant. The High King still very young. I know it’s a tragedy, but still…”

“Kaltha needs a boy,” Storm said matter-of-factly. “Infants die easier than teens and the King, well… the King just started a difficult war and might not be there to see another son grow up.”

Sirio narrowed his eyes.

“You have news,” He said simply.

Storm nodded and reaching on his desk, tossed him a scroll he’d read earlier. Sirio Veturius unfurled it and read the report.

“The Prince is headed for Altarin?” Sirio asked, himself reaching to write down Storm’s reply, so he won’t forget it. Lord Nattas scoffed at the words, downed the rest of his wine and obliged him, his tone cautionary.

“The Leopard,” Regia’s Master of Silence said. “Is loose in Raoz.”

Where he would appear next, naught but a guess.

The garden behind the palace was covered in darkness, but the sky was clear over his head and the moons illuminated the old building. Storm entered through a back door left open, an expecting servant leading him to the guard from earlier, stationed outside the Queen’s chambers.

The octagonal room, was large and its ceiling high. It had three great windows covered with drapes, on the wall facing the garden and the grand royal bed, half-hidden under the white mosquito net, was across from them, an antique ornate table with comfortable armchairs right at its center. It was relatively well lit by at least four large oil lamps, one for each wall. Miranda wearing a thin silk tunic that pooled at her legs and a red shawl around her shoulders, was sitting alone when they entered. She supported her head with her ring-adorned hands, long blond curls loose and hiding her expression.

“Leave us,” She said simply, voice hoarse and haunted and the guard paused stiffly, as if in silent protest at the order, before bowing and turned heel to leave the room.

Do not make any mistakes. Keep it professional.

“Your Grace,” Storm started. “I apologize for the hour.”

“You don’t have to worry about appearances, Lord Nattas,” Miranda replied.

I shall worry just the same.

“I shall strive not to, your Grace,” Storm agreed, keeping the thought to himself.

The moment dragged after he did, breaking only when Miranda gasped and her breathing turned rugged, the intakes coming faster and faster, face still hidden behind her hair. When Storm saw her shoulders shaking, he realized she was crying and the moment turned awkward.

He endured her heart-rending mourning in silence, for what appeared to be forever it seemed, but it was less than five minutes. Lord Storm Nattas was still standing, before a perfectly fine and vacant set of chairs, on tired legs, almost all his weight resting on the cane. His mind on something else entirely. Because it affected Storm greatly, seeing her vulnerable side. It was understandable and perfectly normal given what had transpired, but also perverted and arousing that she was even giving him a glimpse of it.

Almost forbidden.

Without a doubt, a calculated dangerous opening.

Why would she do it? Storm thought, torn between his feelings of sympathy for the young distraught mother, his lust for a beautiful woman and the fear of the repercussions, if any of it came out the open. In a world of secrets, Lord Nattas knew very well that nothing remained hidden forever.

“It’s so chilly in Alden,” Miranda said, when she came about. She’d pushed her hair back and clasped them in place expertly, with a beautiful ivory barrette that probably worth as much as a small house in the city she’d just mentioned.

Storm had started sweating, despite the breeze coming from one of the open floor to ceiling windows, but nodded in agreement.

“It’s a cold month, your Grace.”

“I grew up in Aegium,” Miranda continued, her famous blue-silver eyes swollen and hazy, a heavy dose of nostalgia in her hoarse voice. Storm felt his cock stir in his pants and bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood, to combat the perilous yearning away. “The Scalding Sea made some days so hot, the water boiled in its bowl by itself. It was torture to endure it inside our home. So I used to run away and spent my time near the sea, playing with the sand and getting blisters on my naked feet, until I was discovered by my sitters and got beaten up for my troubles with a hairbrush,” She stared at him and Storm gulped down nervously, as no word he could utter was safe now. The Queen hadn’t revealed yet, what she wanted. “I couldn’t walk for a week,” She said after a moment of silent contemplation. “Then I was back at it. I’m an Alden. I won’t be denied.”

“It is a lovely city, your Grace,” Storm agreed, although he didn’t like it. The brothels in Novesium are famous for a fuckin’ reason.

“Ever been to Aegium, Lord Nattas?”

“A couple of times, your Grace.”

“I never liked Alden,” She admitted, a small grimace following his answer. “It’s old and smelly. It has dead people, buried under our feet. Under this very palace. In the dark, it’s so cold…” A tear run down her cheek and she wiped it away casually with a graceful hand. Her voice turned into a whisper, face contracting violently, as if in horrible pain and her fists clenching so hard, the knuckles turned white.

“I can’t let them put her there… not my little girl. I can’t…”

Storm took a step back, his cane dragging on the tiled floor, the rawness of the emotion coming out of her too great to withstand. A callous fellow, he found himself tearing up as well, which was ridiculous and quite unprofessional for a man of his station. He couldn’t help it, her pain affected him too much.

“Your Grace,” He struggled to say, scrunching his mouth this way and that. “I believe the High King will built a garden in Issir’s Eagle, if my sources are correct.”

They won’t burry her in the catacombs, was his meaning.

“I won’t see her again, Lord Nattas,” Miranda whispered with finality.

Storm wetted his dry lips, unsure how to help her.

“My condolences, your Grace. It’s a real tragedy.”

“I caused this,” She said, her voice hardening.

“No. Your Grace did not,” Storm cleared his throat. “Those that did, are responsible and the Gods will judge them.”

Miranda raised her head and stared in his soul.

“Fanatics. Followers of the Old Gods,” She said and got up from her seat to approach him. Storm tensed up, as she came near in her elegant manner, silk tunic flowing over her fit body. Miranda stopped well inside his personal space and stooping traced the silver brooch he wore on the right side of his doublet with a well-shaped finger. “I’ve seen them,” She said, pulling away. “Heard their stories, witnessed sailors pray to them. Why would they kill my baby, Lord Nattas?”

They wouldn’t, he thought, quite shocked at her gesture.

“Your Grace,” Storm started and paused, no lie coming to mind.

“Everyone tells the King they did. Kelholt and Gordian speaking with one voice. The Five demand justice, they say,” She paused, a small pout on her lips. “I want justice.”

Storm bowed his head.

“I will strive to find the culprits, your Grace.”

“Hmm,” The Queen murmured, examining his face.

Storm tried to remain calm under her scrutiny, his nervousness spilling out. She was standing so close, the moment dragging and he could smell the oils she’d used in her bath on her skin.

Wild roses and jasmine extract.

Abrakas ye vile, un-redeeming monster!

Stop it. You are going to get me killed.

Be gone demon!

“I didn’t like you at first. You have an abhorrent reputation,” Miranda said finally, side of her mouth curling upwards. “Rumor is, you were sleeping with the Davenport girl.”

“I wasn’t, your Grace,” Storm defended himself. “It is nothing but a bad gossip, a vile accusation. The thought of it makes me shudder.” He added truthfully, alas thinking about the Queen’s curves, while he did it. The Queen standing in front of him that is.

Abrakas help me.

Wait…

Miranda narrowed her eyes at his outburst.

“Then I met you privately in Cartagen,” She continued.

She changed her mind.

Why?

“You don’t believe they did it,” Miranda noted. Storm opened his mouth to answer, deny the whole thing and walk the party line, but she moved ahead interrupting him. “I don’t believe they would. I know they won’t.”

“Ahm, your Grace…” He had nothing.

“Who did it, Lord Nattas?”

Storm gasped, his knees shaking a bit. It took an enormous effort from him to stabilize himself enough, calm down and attempt a reply, with no idea where to go. Will she consider, his opinion? Was it a trap to out him and have him executed? Was the King behind it?

Why though? Why all this theatre?

It didn’t feel like a lie.

Heard their stories, witnessed sailors pray to them, the Queen had revealed earlier, after reciting a tale from her youth to a stranger, she used to dislike. An offer of peace. An opening of a tortured and hurting soul. No one prays to the Old Gods in the fuckin’ open.

Most of all though, it was a cry for justice.

Gods telling him, he couldn’t sit this one out.

Oh, you horrible bastard of a deity.

All of you!

Miranda stood back seeing his expression change.

“I had to come closer. Find a way, any type of pretext,” She started, pausing as if unsure they were spied upon. “To make sure it is what it looked like.”

A Kraken.

“It isn’t,” Storm croaked, the lie pathetic and obvious, terrified and excited at the same time. Twice his secret was brought to light in a single day now.

A mere coincidence, if one believed in them.

Nattas didn’t.

“The God will understand,” The young Queen said simply, calmer now, as if a weight had lifted off her shoulders. “But will he help me avenge my daughter, dear Storm? Bring me the real killers’ heads?”

Storm desperately wanted to believe her. He also desired to hug her tightly and burry his face in her golden curls, consequences be damned.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“He’s the vilest of Gods, your Grace,” He managed to say and Miranda nodded in understanding. You can be sure for one thing with Abrakas followers. They were no fools. “But he’s wrathful enough to make it happen.”

To love, is to feel pain. Desire fulfilled, comes with a price.

What the heart wants, walks afar from reason. It simply is.

An astute man, keeps his affairs to himself, dear friend.

Or he dies because of it.

Lord Sirio Veturius

Circa 207 NC

The Fall of Heroes

Chapter IV

(Lord Storm Nattas,

The Last Letter,

-final paragraph-

Unknown date.)