Mercy & Fire

25. Haunting Memory

He smiled slyly and nodded nonetheless. Truthfully, I wasn't sure if he'd believe me, but I could see the nervous doubt in his gaze as he glanced around.

"There's not much stopping me from killing you right here and now. We both know you're not the one in the contract with my familiars, and seeing as there is no proprietor any longer, I have more freedom." I placed my empty glass on the armrest and tapped the velvety cushion adorning the throne. "Stop wasting my time. Do you agree or not?"

His voice trembled a bit, "Would there be a contract?"

"No. I won't be coming back if you succeed. Ideally, we'll never see each other again."

"Understood."

With my back turned toward him, he walked away to start the pursuit of the others, not knowing that I'd given them the same assignment. I just had to be away long enough to let them kill each other.

Meanwhile, I'd come up empty handed at the Valis estate two weeks ago, and Katar and her daughter were still at large with no sign of any human remains that could be Roselena. Even if I did find remains, there wouldn't be much left to identify her anyway.

I wouldn't even bother searching for her body if I didn't know Bermillian's practiced such strict funeral rites. Usually, the family would immediately clean her up and make her as presentable as they can for her to walk into the afterlife with grace. A burial site was chosen usually based on where the family had previously been buried, which could require travel. If that was the case, burning the flesh of the deceased was standard to avoid the purification of the body, and the bones were taken to the burial site.

I thought it was tedious, and the need to burn the body sort of defeated the purpose of dressing them well.

In Dhernon, it was common to simply have a drink in their honor and leave them untouched in the battlefield. If they died near civilization, their bodies were moved to a far removed area and left there. They either became food for dark creatures or simply wasted away.

Now, as I walked through the same streets of DuPont that Roselena likely grew up in, it felt like walking through a memorial sight. Everywhere I went, I imagined her walking ahead of me or toward me. It was harrowing to know she never would, and I suspected that her memory would haunt me for a long time.

A cold breeze blew by as I read the sign carved into wood. Printing. A very simple title that said all it needed, reminding me of Joaquim's report on her background.

I walked to the front door and tried to turn the doorknob only to meet the resistance of the lock. With a little force, the door gave way, tilting at an odd angle as if I'd broken it, which didn't seem serious as the place was obviously abandoned. Passing the threshold, I looked down to see some scattered paper and ink pots, but otherwise, the place was pristine. 

There were many bookshelves with many bound and unbound books, and many framed portraits on the wall. My eyes trained directly over the portraits featuring four individuals. Drawn in detailed pencil sat a small  young girl, who I immediately recognized as Roselena, an older boy, a man, and a woman, who I knew had to be the young princess in the frame hidden away in my room.

My eyes trailed back to the man, settling over the two matching freckles above his lip and on his chin. The very same ones Roselena had. Undeniably, I came to the obvious conclusion that Roselena was the late princess's daughter.

Roselena and this young boy were likely the last of Bermillia's royalty, and my stomach sank to dangerous lows. A feeling I'd grown used to. Only this time, the creeping feeling that I would only make an enemy out of the only Bermillian royal left alive was unavoidable.