The Silenced Speaker

Chapter 79 - Enemies of Shadow

It is my new goal to finish this before the 12th of September. Seven more chapters to go, I think. 

######################################################

Roxanne stood for a long while, staring at the grand iron gates leading to the Palace. It wasn’t until the solemn hymn to the dead broke, and she suddenly realised how rapidly her hand lost warmth in the evening wind, that she finally moved forward.

In her thirteen years in the Elrtiv Palace, there had never been a significant death. There was no war fought on a large scale. The knell had tolled twelve – once, for the death of the king’s late cousin, royal in name, only through marriage.

That time, the funeral was held in the day. With only half as many wreath on the ground as today.

For the significance night had to mages, a ceremony held during day was incomparable with one held at night. It was useless to hope that the royal family’s loss was trivial. A loss that she would not feel.

She was here, the last step of the kilometre-long carpet. The silent gate barred her entrance. She stood just as still, setting her gaze inside. There were three more pairs of gates guarding the palace like stoic soldiers; the guards who were normally stationed on vigil were gone. Not a breath to be heard.

In a distance, the knell began striking another twelve.

Roxanne raised her hand and touched the bars. Recognising her touch and her silent spells, the dozen fastened bolts slid open simultaneously. She pushed through. The gates didn’t even make a sound. As she disappeared through the first gates, they flashed back shut noiselessly.

Now there was no turning back.

There was no reason to turn back. Roxanne proceeded forward in hurried steps, chanting the gates open before her every time.

For now, the palace was the first and only place she would seek help from. The Eraines were powerful, but they were also unpredictable. Above all, they were deity. Alzentis may know about mages and about the Eraines, but he did not know her world. Deity did not care. Every mage believed and worshipped the Eraines, but few knew their history; fewer still ever saw them.

Even Roxanne would not be foolish enough to think that having seen two of the four goddesses made her special. Asking for help from them was fantasy.

After all, she was very rational.

The voices that wafted through the wind became clearer: they were prayers, hundreds of prayers with the same words, layered with hundreds of emotions.

Her steps were sure: she knew every inch of the palace and their usage. They approached the source of the voices, but turned away at the last moment. When she stood still again, she was leaning over the crenulated walls of the tallest keep in the Elrtiv Palace. Here, she could see almost all of the palace – the hall, the amoury, the chapel; every choir, every congregation of nobles – all shrouded in black and gold.

Roxanne lowered her head and trained her eyes on one particular space. They should be nearest to the altar – on the left, where the grandest chairs were reserved. She narrowed her eyes and counted the crowns.

Princess Tathiette was the easiest to spot. There she was in her flowing golden gown, fully embroidered in varying shades of the princess’ favourite colour, with only a black waistband and black taffeta layering underneath, cutting off mid-calf. A gold tiara rested on the princess’ head. This time, it seemed to weigh down on its carrier.

The king’s majestic crown was next. It was not the red and white crown he usually wore. Roxanne had never seen this crown before, but she knew the values of the embedded gems by their gleam. No one else but the King could bear a crown with such design.

She couldn’t find a third crown.

Roxanne drew back, shut her eyes, took a deep long breath and leaned back down. She scanned the entire mass of mages from one end to the other, and back. Movements of people rippled in gold and black waves. Through them, crowns flashed: crowns of archbishops and cardinals, crowns of aristocracy, but none of royalty.

Her breath caught in her throat. She allowed herself to straighten slowly, the palms of her hands scraped across the rough wall. The pain from straining her eyes set in; she shut them tight.

Where is the Queen? Where is Prince Trenton?

It’s been only weeks since I saw the Queen, smiling, nodding, wishing me well on my quest. She and the king never parted – wherever he was, she followed. In rare occasions where they had to part, she was never far from sight.

And Prince Trenton? He had left but a few days ago. If the last of the Queen I’ve heard was sickness, the prince was perfectly well. He left with Princess Tathiette. Surely that isn’t the last time I’d see him.

Perhaps it was the effect of seeing death of someone she held dear at such a young age: she never took such losses well. Call her selfish – she’d never killed anyone she knew. She valued life, even if she held other values higher.

The Auetexes saved her life, be it out of concern for her or their political interest. Thirteen years of shelter left her deeper in debt than she’d imagined. She could not help feeling their loss.

She could never handle regrets.

If it’s the Queen… She’ll never see me bring back the Prophecy. She’ll never see me return from the mission she’d blessed. She’ll never attend son’s wedding… with me, or her daughter’s, with Prince Alexis. The kingdom will never see another of her smiles.

If it’s Prince Trenton…He’ll never carry that crown his father bears now, the crown he’s born to. I’ll never see him rule the kingdom with his young but benevolent heart. And he’ll never marry me, the bride he’d desired for years. The kingdom loses its only prince.

If it’s both.

She clenched her fists so hard that her palms began to bruise.

She searched in every corner. Even if others may sneak off, the royal family – they were supposed to be all present.

What the Speaker missed, however, was a silent shadow melting into the darkness behind her – a soundless shadow without even a heartbeat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Black was the colour of shadows. Black was the colour of death. In a funeral themed black and gold, shadows easily manoeuvred around.

One of Roxanne’s hands shook faintly. The next moment, her figure flashed half a metre to the left. Her right hand shot up easily and pinched a flying needle right between her fingers.

Slow, but with precision.

Her enemy was either weak or too close to get enough acceleration on the weapon, or both.

In one second the alertness of her senses reached maximum. If her enemy had underestimated her before, they won’t make the same mistake now. She spun around warily, the needle still in her hand.

A figure shrouded in darkness greeted her. The shadow took the shape of a woman, lean and tall. For a moment their gaze met, neither fazed.

There was no way to tell her assailant’s age. The woman’s eyes seemed to be the only part of her body that reflected light. The rest of her was as well as invisible. Her other features were included only as estimates; outlines of her face, arms and legs only where Roxanne expected them to be.

Utterly inhuman. Yet as vague as her appearance was, something was oddly familiar.

Roxanne assessed her environment using her peripheral vision. At the top of the keep, the area was plain and clear, offering no hiding place. There was no stray equipment or weapon around either, no surprises to manipulate to her advantage. There were only the spiralling stairs.

The tension increased with every moment. Any second now the woman would strike; but she would strike first. Her fingers itched for the feeling of her swords and daggers, poisoned needles and darts inside the sleeves of her lost jacket.

Never before had she been so acutely aware of her lack of weapons.

The woman blinked and curled a delightful smile. “Behind you are many more of my brethren,” she hissed. “Behind you.”