The echo of clashing metal rang through the space.
Two men crossed swords. At another time, in some other instance, they were far different from each other. One was highborn, bred to be a ruler, and that he was. An emperor trained formally in the fight, though he had never seen a skirmish. The other, bastard-born, knew his blade well. He was a knight, a warrior, he had to know his weapon. The man had seen battle countless times and with them, death. He had come to learn his swordsmanship on the fields and rocky plains, stained with blood.
Yes, the two men were vastly different. However, here they were meant to be equals. Birthright and riches were irrelevant, only one's mastery of the weapon. And while one had taken to his skill through weekly lessons, the other had his hand forced. Driven by desperation and the will to live, which made him a fierce competitor. But, the lower man knew his place. Despite the equality of the fighting floor, one was still an emperor and the other was still a soldier. So the lesser held back, he kept to the defensive, rarely striking. He would save his energy for a true fight, one with stakes. And he had an inkling that such a fight was not far in coming.
"Have the council reached a decision, your majesty?" The man, Zafiyr, spoke evenly as he parried a blow.
Vuros neither confirmed nor denied Zafiyr's questioning, simply tilting his head to the side in consideration for a few moments as the clanging of the blades conversed for him.
He sighed, finally relenting a response. "No," He said darkly. "They have scoured the law for an escape clause, yet there is nothing."
"How much longer can it go on like this?" Zafiyr huffed, sweat beginning to break on his brow. "The people will talk, the merchants more so."
"They already whisper and gossip," Vuros murmured angrily. "They have for months. They speak of the incompetence of the crown. My crown, as if I uttered the mindless decree from my own lips."
"And what of the southern regions?"
"The attempts to slow word of the liberation have finally been breached. For now, it has amounted to rumors amongst the Cals. However, those rumors will quickly spread." As Vuros spoke, his hand tightened around the hilt of his blade. He lunged forward, Zafiyr narrowly intercepting the blow.
"Soon enough," Vuros struck again. "The Cals will retaliate. If they haven't already."
"And what will you do with them?" Zafiyr asked cautiously.
"The Cals have no power." Vuros swung his blade.
"No leaders," Zafiyr avoided the hit.
"No structure and no knowledge."
With a final blow, Zafiyr's sword clattered against the floor.
"Those who do not comply and swear their allegiance to the Athrosian crown will be slain," Vuros spoke, looking down on the other man who grappled for his fallen weapon. "Their heads will be displayed on spikes all around their penurious, pest-ridden villages as an example to anyone else interested in this treason."
"What about the law?" Zafiyr questioned quietly, his eyes shifting away.
"When my father created that law he was half-dead and senile. The decree was as legitimate as a bastard son and I am finished with allowing it to define my rule. Aedina and most of the council are the only ones holding me back from doing what needs to be done. They hold on to their archaic traditions too deeply, but even they know this is far from profitable."
Vuros slid his sword into its sheath and leaned against the nearby wall, the divets and texture snagging his clothing and scratching his skin, "The Athrosian people would sooner kill their firstborns than give up their slaves and free labor. And I do not intend to force that decision."
He looked curiously over at Zafiyr who busied himself with replacing his weapon on the wall mount.
"I imagine I can rely on you to make sure things run smoothly. That the soldiers are at the ready when action need be taken." Vuros pressed.
"Of course, your majesty," Zafiyr answered, his eyes still on the swords. He tensed as Vuros rested a stern hand on his shoulder.
"Good." The emperor said. "How are the arrangements for tonight?"
"Everything is in place. The battlement has been prepared and the assigned guards have been briefed and sworn in."
"How many of them?"
"Twelve, your majesty."
Vuros hummed in disapproval. He was not keen on having that many men there. He was diligent about ensuring that as few people as possible knew about his condition. And while the details of the night would be kept to a minimum for the guards involved, some of the men would be curious. They would be told to train in their posts, the defense of the battlement. They would be lax in their roles, but at least they would be there. Twenty-four eyes were not nearly enough, but it was also much more than Vuros allowed himself to be comfortable with.
"The Princess spoke of someone with a cure recently," Zafiyr mentioned, curiously. "Have you met with them?"
Vuros scoffed, recalling the incident without fondness. "It was a farce. Aedina is easily convinced and far too optimistic."
Without introduction, and as if summoned by name, the heavy doors to the sparing room opened up to reveal Aedina. Frantic frustration decorated her face.
Zafiyr bowed at the sight of the Princess.
"Aedina?" Vuros questioned. "What is it?"
"There has been an incident." She huffed, out of breath from clearly running to the room.
"What is it, Aedina?" Vuros pressed further.
"An assassination attempt." Aedina clarified. "On Lord Barakos. The council is awaiting your arrival in the tribunal."
Vuros furrowed his brow in confusion. There had not been an attempt on the life of a courtesan in decades. Who dared do so now? He dismissed Zafiyr and followed after Aedina.
"When did this happen?" Vuros questioned as the two traversed the halls, side by side.
"Ten past the hour. The offender was apprehended by Barakos' guards soon after the act, and travel back to the palace commenced immediately after. The council is enraged." Aedina explained.
Finally, they reached the tribunal room. As the doors opened, Vuros wondered about the face of the man with temerity enough to make an attempt on the life of a councilman.
The room was full and loud, the chorus of angered voices from the councilmen tearing through the walls. None more so than Barakos himself.
They sat, two and two, on the side of the table that stretched the length of the room. And at the end, bound, gagged, and flanked by two guards was the criminal.
A tiny Cal girl.
Vuros kept a serious disposition, but within he struggled to keep from laughing at the absurd scene. Most of the men yelled, faces red and fists in the air as if they themselves had been attacked. Barakos, the victim, clutched blood-stained linen to his eye. Every moment or two he cast a venomous glance toward the Cal girl with his one good eye. Yet, of the spectacle before him, Vuros found the most interesting aspect to be the girl. She sat perfectly still and calm. If anything she looked mildly irritated. Of course, that may have all been due to her situation, fetters, and rope keeping her firmly in position.
As Vuros and Aedina entered the room, the voices in it quieted slightly. Vuros took his place at the end of the table, Aedina standing just next to him.
He took a moment to assess, merely staring at the tense group in front of him. Finally, he spoke.
"I have been informed that there has been an assassination attempt-"
"Yes, your-"
Vuros raised he had to cease the interruption from Lord Vaegar.
"That being said, I would like the target of the attack to speak on the matter." Vuros turned his attention to Lord Barakos, sitting down and beckoning the other man to speak. "Proceed."
Barakos stood, and with acid dripping from his lips, explained. "This Callistaen whore was generously brought to my estate on the pretense of mistresshood. And during this evening's banquet, she was meant to serve myself, and my fellow councilmen. In the process, she shattered a priceless pitcher and used its shards in a vicious attack against me." Barakos removed the cloth on his eye to reveal the wound; a tiny nick just above his brow.
"A vicious attack, you say?" Vuros reiterated sarcastically. Barakos did not reply.
Vuros then turned his attention toward the girl. By now, the accused would have managed to worm their way out of the gag to begin screaming about their innocence and defending themselves from punishment. However, the girl was still quiet. Vuros could have sworn he had seen her nod in agreement at Barakos' recounting of the night's events.
" And you, girl," The emperor addressed. "Did you attempt to kill Councilmen Barakos?"
The guard pulled the gag from the girl's lips.
She cleared her throat.
"No."
"Lying harlot!" Barakos screamed, spit and blood painting the table before him. Vuros raised a silencing hand.
"If you did not attempt to kill him, why attack him?"
The girl spoke evenly and quietly, the whole room leaning in and staining to hear her response.
"My intention in attacking Lord Barakos, was simply to dig his eyes out of his head. Should he have died in the process, I would not be opposed. But, his death was not my goal."
Quiet surprise reverberated through the room.
Vuros nodded. "On the grounds of attempted maiming and assault evidenced by self-incrimination, I sentence you to death." He announced.
"Send her to the lowest level of the caves."
The guards promptly lifted the girl and obliged the emperor's orders, the doors to the tribunal room slamming behind them. The councilmen, satisfied with the hearing, noted their regards to their emperor and were quick to leave the room.
Vuros sighed and leaned back in his seat, noticing that Aedina still stood in her place, gripping tightly to the gold finial of the chair.
"Are you all right?' He asked.
The princess only nodded. Silence overtook the two before Vuros could not stand it anymore and spoke.
"I apologize, I should not have sent you to that banquet." He placed a cool hand across his shoulder and over his sister's, his eyes focused ahead. "It is not your duty to take my delegations."
"And it is not your duty to engage in menial tasks. You had and still yet have, more important things to do than entertain idiotic councilmen at trivial dinner parties."
Vuros let a low hum out in response. His sister was an ally, a trusted one. It was not in his best interest to allow her undue suffering. However, it had been evident over the years that any association with the crown was indeed synonymous with suffering.
Aedina released her grip on the chair, walking to the door in a way made it seem like she was stuggling to stay steady. When she neared it, though, she stopped, turned to address Vuros again.
"Will you really kill the girl?" She inquired. "Men have done worse and gotten lesser punishments."
Vuros did not respond. Not because he did not have an answer. No, he was merely giving Aedina the reminder that she was not to question. It took a moment or two of silence for her to recall that.
"Your majesty," She finally addressed in parting. She lingered as if she wanted to say more. However the heavy door shutting behind him singaled to Vuros that whatever she did have to say would wait for another time or never be spoken at all.
Vuros retired to his chambers, knowing that he would need rest for the coming night, He always tried, fruitlessly so, to sleep. The hours went by quickly, as if he was in fact asleep. Rather, he could onyl stare intesly at the ceiling. And he never felt truly rested.
Eventually, a tinge at the base of Vuros' chest and the darkening of the sky beyond the frosted window served as a reminder. Vuros rose with a deep breath and dressed, then left the room, making his was down a farmiliar path. His feet hit cobblestone and with it, a flurry of cold. The storm had set in hours prior and the snow had already set in, midway up to Vuros' calf. The night would be bitter. He would survive it, unfortunalty. He always did.
He made his way down past the battlement to the training yard, delayed by the snow. Soliders stood just outside it's walls, sparing. They did so halfheartedly, especially in the cold. Vuros could hear then whisper disgruntledly as to why Captain Zafiyr insisted on making them train in such conditions. Within the battlement walls where the usual two soldiers and Doctor Raelis shivering madly against the cold. The process went by wordlessly, it was so indoctrinated in each of their minds. Vuros lowered himself, the stocks and his dose of sedative down into the grimy cave. He used to flinch at the loud snap of the hatch closing. It was a releif now.
He took the syringe in his hand and stuck it into the vial, turning it over and extracting its contents. He took the needle to the vein in his pale arm and injected the substance, before snapping the stocks into place.
Later in life, his father had become addicted to the sedative, and Vuros could see why. It's efffects were immediate and euphoric. His body warmed and his mind numbed. Vuros almost smiled as the feeling spread through him. Snowflakes and sea spray clouded his vision. But, something was wrong. The pleasent high he felt with his usual injection did not sustain. Within minutes, he should be sleeping like the dead. Only, he was still awake now. Albeit, terrible shaky and lightheaded.
This was not supposed to be that case and he knew that as the pain began to set in. The seering burn of a turning was a sensation he had not felt, nor allowed himself to feel, in years. It felt like his skin was splitting. The substance he injected was meant to numb that feeling, and while tonights dose had done so partially, even a fraction of this pain was immense. Vuros could not help but let out a deep rumbling caterwaul that echoed across the sea.
And yet, even over his droning screams and the rattling of the stocks and the crashing of the waves beyond, something carried over to him. A voice, a siren song. The melody was pleasent and soothing, like a balm over his burns.
It tickled his ears and convinced him of things he knew were not true. The tounge it spoke was farmiliar but still foreign to him. It whispered an ancient hymn that he could not decipher, though he made up a meaning for himself.
He sat quiet as he had ever been and listened.
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