It was succulent, bitter, and yet so refreshing that the taste of the blood-red pomegranate left Chrys desiring more after every crunch. Placing another seed in her fingertips, her hand dripping in the crimson ooze, she took a careful nibble, savouring every moment as she crunched into it.
It was her first ever pomegranate, and now she realised why they were so expensive and deemed only suitable for nobility.
Taking another seed and biting into it, she failed to notice the man that took steps into the cellar of the Wild Oak tavern where she and several crates of the stolen fruit had been hidden.
"I do believe they are for the less fortunate than you?" the man said, his voice echoing off the mishappen stone walls of the cold dark room.
Chrys jumped from her stool, realising that her hands were sticky from pomegranate juice. As the leader of the only resistance in Lionmane, she felt a tinge of regret at how easy it had been to sneak up on her.
Perhaps stealing pomegranates was not such a good idea.
"Hanekin, I did not hear you," Chrys commented shyly, wiping the juice on her plain brown dress.
Hanekin smiled, "I did call three times."
Embarrassment embraced Chrys as she turned her eyes away from the man standing on the steps towards the bustling tavern above them.
The greeting from his crow's feet and rounded face quickly dispelled any embarrassment that had embraced Chrys. His whitened smile and bald gleaming forehead eased Chrys back to the task that she had set herself to do, to hide the crates of pomegranates that had been stolen from the Emperor's concubine.
"I apologise," Chrys replied, her voice sounding like she sang when she spoke, "but have you ever tasted something so divine? I have had strawberries, blackberries, gooseberries, raspberries, blackcurrants, apples, and oranges and even managed to get a hold of an apricot one time, yet nothing compares to how sumptuous this fruit is. No wonder they are so expensive. Da' had explained to me about them before, along with Mangoes and Kiwi, said they were almost impossible to get into Isovine, yet here I am, neglecting my duty as I eat this succulent Pomegranate. He would be ashamed of me right now."
Hanekin continued to walk into the cellar of the tavern, grabbing a hold of a crate of pomegranates in the process. As he moved it into a storage room, designed to be concealed from the outside world, he allowed Chrys to continue her rant about how she ignored her duty and the various tastes she was experiencing when devouring the pomegranate seed.
"How did the other drop-off points fare?" Chrys eventually asked.
"The contraband has been successfully hidden, we just need to finish up here," Hanekin explained.
With only the last few crates to hide, Chrys had taken a little breather to enjoy the luxuries she had confiscated for the people of Lionmane. Today's plan had gone as expected, liberating the food had been challenging, but the hardest task was what was to come. Taking a little time out to savour the taste of the fruit also gave her a few minutes to contemplate answering her most burning questions.
How do they distribute the food to the people without anyone noticing, in a timeframe that allows the fruit to remain edible?
She had hoped that they would be stealing dates, they were a lot easier to conceal than a large red fruit the size of a hand that required to be torn into to eat it. If one person was found eating one, they would be captured, interrogated, and eventually used as a tool to dismantle her distribution network.
Who was she kidding, she had instantly forgotten about all her worries as soon as she took the first scoop out of the pomegranate.
"Have you received word from outside of Lionmane?" Hanekin asked as Chrys took another crate to hide away.
"Nothing. Things have been somewhat quiet since that army left some moons ago." Chrys replied, somewhat downbeat.
Hanekin assisted her with the moving of the crates. "Do you think the Empress is safe?"
"Lady Loldirr?" asked Chrys, her dimpled smile appearing at the sound of her name. "I'm almost certain of it, she's such an inspirational woman."
"You admire her greatly?"
Chrys nodded enthusiastically, "Aye, that I do. See, I've served many a noble in my life in the castle, and yet Loldirr is the only one that treated me as if I was special. So many I served because I had to, but for her, I wanted to. She is so fragile, yet so powerful, so fearful, yet so confident, naive yet intelligent. She's a conundrum I could spend a lifetime trying to work out, yet at the same time, I feel like I know her intimately. It was a privilege to serve her."
Hanekin smiled at Chrys' enthusiasm, "You serve her still. Here, now, with pomegranates, for her people."
"Oh, it's nothing really," Chrys replied with childish modesty.
A small unfamiliar frown appeared on the round-faced Hanekin. "You are running an entire network of infiltrators in the largest city of the Empire, and you think it's nothing. You've been an influence on us all, including my boy, Ioco. And trust me when I say, it's been difficult to motivate him with anything since his hormones play havoc."
Chrys was grateful for the little light in the room and that it could hide her blushing red cheeks. "The Lady Loldirr, how did you first meet?"
Hanekin smiled, showing his super-white teeth. As he waved his dominant hand in the air, Chrys watched as it sported one less finger.
"She saved my life. I was tasked to serve as a fool for the feast when you first arrived here with her. I inadvertently insulted Lady Nimue."
"She is no lady!" Chrys interjected.
"No, you are right. Nimue called for my immediate death. The lady Loldirr interjected on my behalf, commuting my sentence to the loss of a finger from the loss of my life. I devoted that day to serve her in any way possible, for my life is now hers to command."
"I remember that day," Chrys recollected, "Loldirr told me of the incident and she spent the entire evening distraught on how she caused you to lose a finger."
Hanekin looked at her confused, "Distraught?"
"Aye, 'Chrys', she said to me, 'I told them to cut a man's finger off', she said, 'I said his tongue first but changed to a finger, what have I done?'"
"Bizarre!" Hanekin responded, "If she had not reacted in the way that she did, the Emperor would have happily taken more from me than my finger. The way she spoke, her strength of character, the mercy she showed, she is the Empress that we should be serving."
"Aye, indeed," Chrys said as she collected another crate.
As Hanekin placed the last crate into the confined space, voices started to crescendo above them, an unnerving urgency appeared to embrace the tavern as a voice could be heard shouting out "WHERE IS MY FATHER!"
Hanekin immediately stopped, placing the last crate on the floor, and as the sound of feet running frantically down wooden steps shattered the peace, the concern on his face was evident for Chrys to see.
"Ioco, what is it?" Hanekin asked, watching as a boy of thirteen winters descended the stairs.
"They're coming here, with a Lionguard, they plan to turn this place upside down," Ioco responded, his breathing ragged, his heart racing.
A look of horror plastered itself onto Hanekin's face, his eyes full of fear as he glanced towards the crates full of pomegranates and then toward Chrys.
"You said you spoke to a Lionguard before the heist?" Hanekin asked.
"Yes, Sir Searmundr, but the chances that he remembers me," Chrys replied. She could instantly see what was on his mind, and it concerned her greatly, "No, Hanekin, we can't do that."
As if ignoring her plea, Hanekin walked directly to the first crate, grabbed a hold of it and placed it back in the room where it was before, he then instinctively took the next one and placed it by the side.
"Ioco, assist me," the former fool encouraged.
Without hesitation, Ioco grabbed hold of a crate and assisted his father in removing the pomegranates from their hiding place.
Chrys grabbed a hold of Hanekin, he was not an imposing man, yet Chrys' attempts to stop him were futile.
"We can not risk it, if Sir Searmundr is the Lionguard to come here, he may recognise you. A loss of a third of the pomegranates is nothing compared to if we lose you."
A tear slipped from Chrys' eye and looking briefly toward the confused Ioco seem to compound her turmoil further. "I'm replaceable, another will take my place."
Hanekin smiled, "You silly girl, you have achieved more in a few moons than someone could expect to achieve in several winters. The Empress needs you ready for her return, do not doubt your importance or your destiny."
"Father, what's going on," the confused Ioco interjected, removing another crate from the secret compartment.
"Hanekin, if they find you, they will torture you to get to me, they may still torture everyone upstairs," Chrys explained.
"If they torture those upstairs, they will garner little information. I promise you, they will not torture me." Hanekin explained.
Ioco's face turned concerned as the talk of torture was becoming rampant, "What's going on?"
As Hanekin removed another crate he then walked toward his son and embraced him tightly, tears glistening on his face. "I'm proud of you my boy, for everything you've done. From helping me through the death of your mother, all the way to my returning home with one less finger. I may have not done much in this life, but to produce such a handsome, brave, and intelligent man was beyond my wildest dreams."
"Father... What?" Ioco's concern appeared greater than before, a small realisation of what was to come was dawning on him.
"Protect the Nightengale, at all costs," Hanekin instructed him, pushing him into the space where the pomegranates once rested.
"Please don't Hanekin, too many have done this already on my behalf," Chrys blubbered, her cheeks and eyes bursting with tears like a broken dam.
"And you, protect my boy," Hanekin continued, ignoring the cries from the young woman in front of him. "That's all I ask of you."
Before Chrys could object, Hanekin had forced her into the confined space along with the terrified Ioco, and within moments, had pushed the wooden wall designed to hide the room back in place.
She was so conflicted as her tears running down her cheeks like a waterfall. She knew Hanekin's decision was the right one, but how much more of this could her conscience take?
As the room turned black except for a small slot to view through, Chrys tried to unsuccessfully steady her breathing. As she could feel Ioco pressing against her, his normal hormonal reaction was replaced with a tremble. Normally confident and cocky, used to confined spaces and a lack of life, this was a new side to Ioco that she didn't know existed. She could feel his heart trying to escape his chest, and his shallow, almost hyperventilating breaths, were uneasy and discomforting, and as the loud clunk of a solid metal shoe crunched into the ceiling above them, it seemed to unsteady him further.
The voices above them had quietened to a whisper and the initial brutal steps were followed by several more.
Chrys couldn't tell what was being said, but within moments the voices started to raise anxiously and as the sound of glass shattering pierced their ears, it could only spell doom for the men and women above them.
Once again, the voices quietened to a whisper before the steps clunked once more.
The stairs to the cellar creaked anxiously and as Chrys stared through the gap, she could see men, crossbows at ready, pointing them eagerly towards Hanekin who was pushing crates of pomegranates to a compartment of no significance.
Several more men descended before the towering golden figure of Sir Searmundr uneasily made his way into the confined space. He took discomfort as his hulking and tall figure caused him to cock his head sideways just below the ceiling. His face was full of thunder as his eyes focused on the crates of pomegranates before glaring menacingly at Hanekin.
"Stealing from the Emperor, an incredibly stupid move." Sir Searmundr spat towards Hanekin.
"I stole from his concubine, not the Emperor," Hanekin replied, a small smile crept onto his face as he raised his hands in the air.
Sir Searmundr did not flinch at the response, his face appeared lifeless but full of contained rage. "The Lady Nimue is the property of the Emperor, therefore these crates also belong to him."
"I do not believe the Lady Nimue would look too fondly on being called his property," Hanekin responded, possibly a little too flippantly.
Hanekin was sure that Sir Searmundr did not recognise him, despite the number of times he had performed in the halls of the Emperor, but he also knew it was unlikely to matter.
"What upsets Lady Nimue is none of my concern at this time, what concerns me greatly is that I can have you executed for treason for your thievery, what say you now?"
"Is it thievery I am being charged with or treason? Surely it can't be both!" Hanekin mocked.
Sir Searmundr sighed profusely, angered by the flippant response. "How about I charge you with both? Slice your hands off for thievery, and then slice your head off for treason?"
Hanekin was a man no stranger to threats. He smiled cheekily, "Well at least I'll then have the same number of fingers on each hand."
Sir Searmundr appeared to be becoming frustrated. "Do you think you are some sort of fool?"
"Now you mention it..."
"Look, I tire of this conversation," Sir Searmundr commented, "tell me where the rest of the supplies are, along with any information that you have on the Nightengale, and I will make your death clean. Otherwise, I shall take considerable pleasure in exercising tortures you didn't know existed."
Hanekin knew the Lionguard was not bluffing, he needed to act fast and decisively now, or he knew that losing his finger was pain that was nothing compared to what he would have to endure.
Without rhyme or reason, he lowered his hands and sprinted for the stairs to his freedom.
"Stop him!" Sir Searmundr called out, instantly encouraging the crossbowmen to raise their weapons.
One man fired, ignoring the stupidity of firing in a confined space, but his aim was true, causing the bolt to embed itself deep in Hanekin's throat.
Dropping to the floor, Hanekin clutched his throat and the bolt protruded from it. His wide eyes grew full of fear and his mouth gurgled streams of blood. He attempted to breathe, yet all he felt was the metallic taste of blood, and every time he tried to breathe in, the air was replaced with more blood. As he writhed around, it felt like an age, but within seconds his life was no more and his struggle had ended.
"I said stop him, not kill him!" an angered Sir Searmundr stormed towards the crossbowman. Like a pouncing tiger, he reached for a blade attached to his back, inserting it deep into the belly of the man who fired out of impulse rather than premeditation. As his eyes widened, he looked directly into the hate-filled blue eyes of the Lionguard who appeared to take pleasure in seeing the pain in the man in front of him.
Pushing the blade in deeper, Sir Searmundr twisted it, causing the man to whelp in agony, and as the Lionguard's bloodied hand removed the blade, the once loyal member of the city watch was lying on the floor clutching his abdomen, hoping the blood that poured from the wound would stop from draining his life force.
Sir Searmundr knew that a chance to find the Nightengale had been lost, and with it, a chance to find the remaining supplies. Glancing at the other men within the room, and the deathly silence that accompanied their fearful stares, he was determined not to make this trip to this commoner's tavern a wasted one.
"Collect the supplies and round up the patrons up the stairs. We interrogate all of them until one of them spills something." Sir Searmundr commanded.
As he stomped from the room, his anger fuelling the creaks up the stairs, the remaining men stared at each other in disbelief before staring at their fallen comrade that only hours before had eaten and drunk with them at the barracks.
Chrys felt helpless, gazing towards Hanekin's lifeless eyes, with the stifled cries of Ioco continuous behind her and as the stools of the tavern above them scraped furiously along the floor, they both knew they would have to endure the torturous sounds of the patrons being abused for hours to come.
***
The candles in the cellar were now almost lumps of deformed wax and it had been some time since the sounds of patrons being beaten and bloodied by the men recruited to protect them had dissipated. It was quiet, almost deathly, but enough to convince Chrys to leave her hiding place.
Pushing her way out of the hiding place into the dimly lit cellar had been unnerving. With every sound that was made, she hoped and prayed that they were indeed the last people in the tavern.
As her slippered shoe slapped onto the stone surface, no one reacted, a sigh of relief came as she continued forward.
Two bodies lay motionless in the room, a pool of blood congealing slowly around them. As Chrys kneeled with her friend Hanekin, placing her hand on his cooling lifeless head, tears swelled effortlessly in her eyes. They had only known each other for a few months, but his ability to make people laugh, at times when it didn't seem possible, had been an inspiration to her.
As the leader of a resistance, she had needed his positivity, and while she understood the need for his sacrifice, Chrys felt a part of her had died on the floor with him.
Ioco stood, staring at the corpse of his father. He was no stranger to death, but to see his father join the many that he had seen before had left him as a husk of his normal self.
Now an orphan coming up to his fourteenth winter, the emotions he was feeling were indescribable and incomprehensible.
Chrys's brown dress had turned black as the blood soaked its way into it, and as she kissed the top of Hanekin's forehead, she was startled by the small groan of the crossbowman that had ended the life of her friend.
Grabbing a hold of a candle, she knelt beside the man that appeared in agony, laying on the cold hard floor, waiting for death to embrace him.
His dark brown eyes looked upon the devastated Chrys, but there was no anger in them, just disappointment and betrayal. As he groaned, "Kill me," he hoped that the young woman would end the suffering that he was enduring.
Chrys focused the light first on his face. She studied how his soul was gradually leaving his body, his face white and displaying excruciating pain. Sliding the candle towards his abdomen, and the gaping wound that oozed blood, she knew that his death was uneasy and that the Lionguard, Sir Searmundr, had made sure his final hours alive would be horrific.
"Kill me," he struggled to say again, looking up to Ioco as the boy's face had turned from the pure heartache of his father's death to the pure anger of staring at his killer.
"Gladly," Ioco commented, his voice cracking as he said it, but before he could turn to find a weapon, Chrys grabbed a hold of his hand and caressed the back of it.
"No more death," she whispered, cries diminishing her voice substantially.
"But he killed my father!"
Chrys stood, embracing the boy tightly, allowing his wails to flow effortlessly, "No more killing, Ioco, your father wouldn't want it, and neither do I."
"But he is the enemy," an angered Ioco retorted.
Once again, Chrys sat with the dying man, as his looks became more hazed and pitiful. "He may stand with the Lionguard, but he is no enemy. What we do is for the people of Lionmane, and even the city guard deserves our help, whether they ask for it or not. We are not at war, Ioco, we are starting a liberation. Your father knew that, and you must learn it too."
"He will die soon," Chrys continued, "and his death is not pleasant. Killed by the man that was supposed to protect and support him. Nobody deserves to die in this way, just as your father did not deserve it at all. Let us make sure that we do not become like the Lionguard, let us make sure that we are here to preserve life, not to end it."
Ioco cried, his bitterness replaced with hopelessness, but as he sat with Chrys and embraced her, his thoughts of retribution were quickly gone.
As the crossbowman struggled to breathe, his world ending far too soon, with all the regrets and anguish that plagued his mind, the Nightengale sang to him a ballad of Ixnja, the winter witch. Her voice echoed throughout the cellar, beautiful like that of her moniker, easing the man into an eternal slumber.
Breathing his last, his regrets were gone, the pain no more. His last thoughts were not of betrayal but of forgiveness brought to him by Chrysanthemum Sagard, the Nightengale of Lionmane.