Countdown: 23 hours, 4 deaths
Aurelia follows Lana in silence from the lighthouse, down the old dirt path that weaves between the moss covered stones of the craggy cliffs.
With every step she takes from the lighthouse, the cavern of her chest aches more and more. It is as though a rope has tethered her there, tied between her ribs and her home, and with every stride away, it grows tighter and tighter, pulling at her bones until she cannot breathe, until the tension of it snaps and breaks something deep inside.
She wraps Mara's borrowed sweater more tightly around her body, and wonders if she will ever make it home to return the garment. She quickly pushes the thought out of her mind.
Lana guides them farther down the cliff, in the opposite direction of the main road. They wind up at a small, ramshackle shack built of cracked and crumbling stone, partially hidden from sight by the twisted branches of gumbo limbos and grass that has been allowed to grow unencumbered.
The door creaks as they step inside the cramped, dusty space, and Lana immediately swings it closed behind them. It is dark within- the only light cast by the thin beams of sunlight that manage to squeeze between the cracks of the old wooden shutters that bar the windows, but the darkness does not seem to faze Lana.
The woman steps inside a fireplace that is much too large for the size of the cottage- whose presence alone indicates the age of the structure. It must have been built in the early days of Glascoast, before solar and current powered electricity had been re-discovered and cooking was done over an open flame.
Lana begins rapping at the coral hewn bricks at the back, her ear pressed to a wall burned black over the years. Finally, she steps backwards, a satisfied smile on her face, as she pushes forward on one of the bricks.
Aurelia gasps as the entire back wall of the fireplace swings open in response.
"Come," Lana orders, gesturing Aurelia forward.
She does as she is bid, stepping over the hearth and ducking under the lintel, crouching as they slip through the hidden door that is shorter than either of them.
"This is more what I expected of Aron," Aurelia says as the brick door closes behind them, and they are plunged into absolute darkness.
A moment later, the weak light of a glow-globe clutched in Lana's hand illuminates the gloom.
"You thought a pool house beneath him?" Lana replies with an arched brow, before stepping forwards- downwards- onto a spiral staircase hewn from the same warm-gray stone as the cottage walls.
"Not beneath. Just... unexpected," Aurelia replies.
Lana makes a noise at the back of her throat, and gestures for Aurelia to follow her.
They descend the staircase, which deposits them into a cool, damp tunnel with an arched ceiling. Lana strides forward, taking the light with her, and Aurelia has to hurry to follow her in order to maintain some of her vision.
"This is one of the older parts of the tunnels that we don't use very often. The areas closer to the city have electricity," Lana says.
"These go all the way through Glascoast?" Aurelia asks, and Lana dips her head.
"You've heard of Titus Pavonius?" Lana asks, and Aurelia rolls her eyes.
"One of our founding fathers. The architect of Glascoast. Of course I've heard of him," she replies, dryly.
"Well, apparently he had a fascination for secret passages and hidden tunnels. When he designed the polis, he included these as something of a passion project," Lana replies, ignoring Aurelia's tone.
"For one reason or another, most were forgotten or sealed off over the centuries, but there are a few areas that the Senators have re-opened for emergency getaways- the tunnels are the reason the Belvadosi selected such a modest estate, you know. But, as far as we know, they are unaware of how extensive the system is, and we plan to keep it that way," Lana explains.
"Did the pool house have one?" Aurelia asks, and Lana dips her head.
"Of course. We disposed of the body through it."
"How many of these are there?" Aurelia asks, reaching out to touch one of the walls. The coarse stone is damp beneath her fingertips.
"We are unsure. Many of the original buildings were torn down, built over, over the years. There are many tunnels with staircases that lead to nowhere. They are an endless labyrinth that we haven't even scratched the surface of."
"Why bother infiltrating the summit if we can just use a tunnel?" Aurelia asks, and Lana shakes her head.
"There isn't one leading into Polis Hall- believe me, we spent years searching. Remember, Polis Hall was one of the structures destroyed in the Great Fire two hundred years ago. They probably poured the new foundation over whatever tunnel entrances there used to be."
Aurelia hums in acknowledgement.
Aurelia tries to keep track of their path, but she soon finds that Lana was not exaggerating when she called it a labyrinth. They make a left, then a right, then another left, then enter a corridor lit with electric light and filled with doors. They take the third one on the left. By the second turn they make after that, Aurelia is hopelessly lost.
"How do you find your way?" she asks.
"Practice," is Lana's simple reply. "Here," Lana says, in front of a non-descript section of the tunnel, notable only for a small, chipped, circular carving in the form of a honey bee. Lana pushes on the carving, depressing it into the wall, and rotates it clockwise. There is the sound of a well-oiled mechanism clicking, and then the wall slides open.
Aurelia follows her up yet another cramped, steep, stone-carved staircase. The empty room Lana leads her into smells faintly of tea leaves and pastries.
"Have a seat," Lana offers, gesturing to a sofa upholstered in sage green silk. Aurelia nods. A glance outside the window reveals the moat, coral-block walls, and multi-colored dome of Polis Hall, just across the way.
"Our appointment should be here shortly. When he arrives, we will review the plan," Lana says, and gestures towards the sofa again. Aurelia recognizes the gesture as the command that it is, and complies.
"So. You've said your goodbyes?" Lana asks, politely, taking a seat in a shark-leather armchair across from Aurelia.
"I've made my amends, yes," Aurelia agrees. Now that she is sitting still, now that there is nothing else to focus on, her chest feels tight.
"Is that what you call it?" Lana replies, her voice thick with humor. Aurelia glances up to meet the woman's too-knowing gaze. In an instant, her mind jumps back to the feeling of Kaol between her thighs, of his hands on her, in her... Her ears burn and her face flames at the implication of Lana's words.
"Your hands are shaking," Lana notes, changing the subject, and Aurelia glances down at them.
Her throat feels dry, and her head feels cloudy. What she wouldn't give for a glass of rum- even the sharp, clear, acrid cheap kind would taste sweet, right now.
"Nerves," she excuses, clutching her fingers together to hide their involuntary tremble.
Lana glances over her with those too-knowing eyes, and then purses her lips. "Of course," the woman agrees. "I imagine it must be a nerve-wracking day, for you, with all that is at stake," she says as she rises from her chair and crosses to the other side of the room. "You must understand, it is a nerve-wracking day for us all. Much hangs in the balance."
Lana withdraws an amber colored bottle from a standing cabinet, and at the sight of it, Aurelia's mouth waters. Her hands tremble a little more, so she clasps them tighter together, until her knuckles whiten.
"More for me than you, I'd imagine. You can use either my success or death to your advantage," she forces out. Her mouth feels parched, her chest aches. She licks her lips, and can't pull her gaze from the glass Lana pours.
Lana tilts her head to the side, as though deep in thought, as she walks back to Aurelia and sets the glass in front of her.
"True," Lana replies, and Aurelia forces herself to count to ten before she reaches for the lifeline Lana had placed on the table. The first sip burns of fire, tastes of rebirth. The tension across her shoulder blades, the tightness in her chest, eases as the rum floods her tongue. She can breathe for the first time all day.
"You are laying the foundation of a new civilization," Lana says, leaning down to stroke Aurelia's cheek in a motion that is almost maternal. "You will be in the history books," Lana says, "You'll be remembered, for the part you've played here."
Aurelia shudders, her fingertips tightening around her glass. "I'm not sure I want to be remembered for this," she admits, and Lana scoffs.
"Don't worry. No one will remember you, personally. The scared, trapped little girl who had to kill to survive. Instead, they will remember The Sweetbriar Slayer- a fierce, taint-line woman who selflessly risked her life to help liberate her people from the tyranny of the Senators."
Aurelia laughs, at that, the sound an astonished, mirthless thing. She takes a gulp of her drink.
"Makes you wonder how many of our history books are reliable."
Lana waves her hand. "None of them, of course. But the events themselves don't matter. It's how you spin them that allows you to change the future."
"Spoken like an Entertainer," Aurelia observes.
"You win more wars with a pen than a sword."
"An interesting view for you to have, considering," Aurelia returns, and Lana dips her head in acknowledgement of the point.
"Wars are two-fold. Cultural and physical. Swords will win you the polis, yes, but the pen will win you the rest. What is a polis without its people?"
"And you are one of the pens?" Aurelia guesses, and Lana smiles.
"From each according to his ability, to each according to their need, little sword," she quotes the Ancient ones cryptically. Aurelia drains the rest of her drink.
There is suddenly a succession of knocks on the door- one, then three rapid, then another two slow. Lana rises gracefully to her feet.
"He's arrived," she says. Aurelia stands, uncomfortable remaining seated with unfamiliar people in an unfamiliar place.
The man who Lana lets in wears a traditional Senator's robe- one specifically reserved for official occasions, such as the Summit. The whole of the garment is Indigo- the color that represents the Senatorial class, while a thick band around the collar boasts the colors of his family: peach and beige. On each of his shoulders an oyster bearing a pearl is embroidered, the sigil of the Gemellus household.
"Antonius Gemellus," Lana introduces him. "Meet Aurelia Cornel, the Sweetbriar Slayer, in the flesh."
Aurelia swallows hard, and before she can process what she is doing, her uncapped hairstick is in her hand and she is crouched, ready to attack and flee if all of this has been an elaborate trap.
Why else would a Senator be here, if not to drag her back to the Interior before she has the opportunity to murder his coworkers and friends?
Antonius raises his hands, palms up, in a gesture of peace.
"I'm a friend," Antonius says, softly, as though talking to a skittish horse. Aurelia sees the glance that passes between him and Lana- a long, lingering, concerned look- and she forces herself to stand up straight, to re-cap her weapon.
"My apologies," she replies, stiffly. "This is... new... to me," she excuses herself, and Antonius gives Lana another worried glance.
"Is she up to the challenge?" he asks..
"If you'd seen her kill, you wouldn't be asking that question," Lana replies, before Aurelia can open her mouth. "She looks like a scared, fragile little thing, but she's fierce, and she takes pleasure from the kill. The Traditionalists won't know what hit them."
Antonius' eyebrows raise, but he looks re-assured.
"What's a Senator doing with the PLP?" Aurelia demands, suspiciously, and Antonius glances back to Lana.
"She's forthright, too," Lana says, with something that sounds mildly like fondness.
Antonius shakes his head. "You are not what I was expecting from the papers, Miss Cornel," he admits, and Aurelia cannot decide if this is a good thing or not. "As for your question- I suppose I am working with the Liberators because I agree with their vision of what this Polis could be."
She doesn't miss the word he uses to describe the organization. Liberators. As though a senator like him has something to be liberated from. Aurelia scoffs.
"But you benefit from how it is now. Why would you want to change things?" Aurelia challenges, and he smiles.
"Are we sure she can pass for a servant?" he asks Lana with something akin to humor. Lana's lips twist into a half a grin. Antonius turns back to Aurelia.
"The lines drawn in our government aren't as definitive as they appear to be, and many of the senators don't benefit from the current system as much as others. Besides, I have something called a conscience, Miss Cornel, and I dislike having said conscience agitated every moment I spend at my job. The Liberation party will right the wrongs of the Senatorial system I have worked for."
"A politician's answer," Aurelia replies, and Antonius' answering smile is a small, tight, forced thing.
"That doesn't sound like a compliment," he observes, his tone deceptively neutral.
"It wasn't meant as one," Aurelia says.
"She's not even an official member of the guild yet, and she's already developed an assassin's candor." Antonius notes, again talking over Aurelia's head as though she is little more than Lana's pet.
"Here are her documents," Lana says, smoothly interjecting, as she passes a folder into the Gemellus senator's hands. "She has a strong enough resemblance to your servant's alternate to pass the visual inspection, and as for the documentation... our forgers are impeccable."
Lana then passes Aurelia a glossy photograph of a girl who does, in fact, bear some small resemblance to her. "You are Laora Baliem," Lana informs her. "You must make yourself resemble this girl as closely as possible."
Lana then hands Aurelia a small box of items containing the same carved wooden necklace worn by the girl in the photograph, a case of make-up, as well as a tiny black box containing two circular pieces of clear and brown colored film. Aurelia glances up at Lana with a raised brow.
"An associate in the technological guild developed that- you put them in your eyes and it changes their color. The real Laora's are brown."
"You don't have much time- the Senators will meet at the doors of Polis Hall at noon," Antonius informs her, and Aurelia nods.
"You won't be able to bring any weapons with you, either. Or any outside substances. Each of us will be searched at the door."
Aurelia looks between the senator and Lana, her brows raised. "No knives. No poison. How am I supposed to kill these people?" she asks, and Lana lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug.
"Improvise." At the look Aurelia tosses her, Lana levels the younger woman with a warning glare. "I never said it would be easy."
Aurelia lets out a long breath of air through her nose. "After we're in- then what?" she asks.
Lana reaches into the box and hands Aurelia the make-up case. Recognizing the gesture as the command that it is, Aurelia settles herself in front of the floor-length mirror on the far wall and sets about preparing herself.
"The mercenaries will lock us in. The Summit lasts a full twenty-four hours, and the guards will be posted at the door the entire time. No one is allowed in, or out, except in the case of a medical emergency. We have been provided food and drink- you and the other servants will be required to taste the food before serving it to us. We will discuss all proposals that have been submitted to us by the guilds and the citizenry, and vote on which proposals will be made into laws. In the morning, we will draft and finalize all of the paperwork."
"That sounds like a lot of work," Aurelia observes as she begins shading her cheekbones to make them appear lower than they are.
"Typically, no." Antonius corrects her. "It is a token, more than anything, to make the Citizenry and the Guilds feel confident that they are being represented. We select one or two proposals to codify into law to keep the populace quiet and give them something to celebrate- but, for the most part, it is a chance to relax, to drink, broker marriage alliances and secure trade deals between families without the threat of an assassin looming behind every corner or mercenaries breathing down our necks."
Aurelia tuts, and shakes her head. "Senators," she grumbles under her breath.
Antonius says nothing.
Aurelia scrutinizes the picture Lana had handed to her, and decides she has more or less replicated the girl's appearance. "So their guards will be down," she observes.
"So long as you make it past the inspection at the door, and make your kills quick and quiet, they won't see you coming," Antonius agrees.
Aurelia nods, and eases her hairstick through the braided knot she twists her hair into to secure it in place.
Lana inserts the eye-film for her; the sensation of the foreign material over her iris is uncomfortable at first, but Aurelia is surprised how quickly he acclimates to it.
That done, she changes out of the too-revealing dress that Kaol had bought her and slips into the bundle of clothes she is handed- a simple gray, sleeveless tunic with the Gemellus sigil embroidered on the back and a pair of thin, soft, skin-tight black pants- a traditional servant's uniform, worn by males and females alike.
Lana eyes her critically once she has finished, holding up the photograph to Aurelia's face and scrutinizing the differences between the image and Aurelia's attempted replication. She tuts as she touches the bandage on Aurelia's wounded arm, but there is nothing to be done for it. Finally, Lana nods her head in approval.
"It will have to do. Follow Primo Gemellus," Lana says.
"Remember- always walk at least five steps behind me, but no more than ten," Antonius instructs. "And keep your eyes lowered. Servants are forbidden to make eye contact with a senator."
Aurelia nods her comprehension. She clasps her hands in front of her and lowers her eyes, sliding into the silent, humble posture that had so frustrated her about her maids on Indigo Isle. Antonius makes a noise of approval at the back of his throat. He gestures for her to follow him, and so she does.
As he opens the door, however, she breaks from her character and turns back to Lana, her throat tight.
"Our agreement- you'll keep your end of the bargain, won't you?" she presses, and Lana dips her head in acknowledgement.
"Aron never goes back on his word," she swears.
Aurelia swallows hard past the lump in her throat, and nods her head. She follows Antonius out through the hallway, maintaining the distance required by custom. As they walk through an archway, Aurelia comes to the sudden realization that she has been here before.
The scent of tea leaves and pastries makes more sense now.
She glances to the corner table where the servant Jaac had so enthusiastically agreed to sneak her into Castus' rowhouse, unwittingly ending his career and his primo's life. She swallows hard and ducks her head, hoping that Jaac is not a regular.
Antonius strides ahead, not bothering to glance behind him, his shoulders squared and chin raised with pride- a consummate Senator. Aurelia follows him out onto the street, tucking her chin even farther toward her chest when she takes note of the sheer number of mercenaries. They line every block, stand at every corner; Polis Blvd swims in a sea of black and gold.
Her palms begin to sweat, the tremble returns to her fingertips. She wishes she had asked Lana for another glass, that she had pilfered the bottle. She swallows hard, but her throat is dry as cotton.
She waits for the spark of recognition- for a black-gloved hand to wrap around her arm, for the bite of a metal cuff against her wrist, but she is apparently invisible. Wearing the uniform of a Senator's servant, trailing five steps behind him, she might as well be an accessory, an extension of the man himself.
Beyond them, past the barricade they form with their bodies, Aurelia hears threats and jeers. The citizenry are out in force today, emboldened by their fury and their burning of the Polis. They hurl insults at the Senators as they make their way to the Polis building, shout taunts and threats at the mercenaries who block their path onto Polis Blvd.
All it will take is one, Aurelia knows. One protestor angry enough to try to push past the line for the others to follow suit. The polis is a tinderbox, one short shove away from all-out anarchy. Aurelia shudders.
Antonius' posture does not shift, he does not spare the line of protestors a glance, but nonetheless he quickens his pace.
"What are you playing at, little girl?" a man's voice hisses behind Aurelia's ear, distracting her from the angry mob, and her heart flies up to her throat.
She startles, badly, and glances over her shoulder, but whoever it was is already walking past her.
Her face drains of all color as the man glances over his shoulder and she meets the Artist's gaze. She swallows, hard, and a shudder runs through her entire body, making her shoulders quake.
He turns his head and continues walking away from her, though, does not make any move to attack.
Aron's protection is a more powerful defense than she had realized... but it won't last for long. Aurelia closes her eyes and mutters a prayer to the goddess she doesn't believe in to protect Kaol and his family.