-35-
Another day passed in a blur. Then another. Elle found herself walking from grub back to training wrapped in her own thoughts. Mather had found her another agents willing to partner with her. He wasn't Cerid, but his toothy grin and enthusiasm was nice enough. He didn't seem to bat an eyelash at her sulks and general bad moods.
What she wasn't prepared for was Cerid, sat at one of the long tables of grub one night. He was laughing with some agents with a tray full of food before him. What the hell happened to increased security?
As Elle looked around the room, she noted the guards stationed at its edges, a certain cook standing by the kitchen window surveying the room and one or two agents sat a few seats away, not talking nor eating any food.
They all tried to act natural, but their eyes constantly drifted back to Cerid. Every assassin who brushed his shoulder as they found their seat made them jerk to attention. Elle hung back in the doorway for a moment longer, suddenly not feeling very hungry. A new sort of sickness had got her stomach rolling.
She couldn't help but observe the man, his honey hair glistening in candlelight as he treaded the line between heir and fellow comrade. He nodded courteously, listening intently to whatever was being said. His lips moved quickly and articulately in response. The Imperial Heir had been trained not only in sword-work, but using his words to win a victory. It was obvious now that she looked closely.
Tan and Kovar ate across the hall with Rand and Hana, on a table where she wasn't welcome. She scowled, not that she'd want to sit next to Rand. Shaking her head at herself, the assassin went to turn away and return to her empty section. That was until her ears pricked up at a voice ringing louder than the rest. Someone calling her name. Cerid's misty eyes had fallen upon her, with a gracious farewell he placed down his folded napkin and strode over.
Should she run? Pretend she hadn't heard him? But a new alarming thought rattled about her skull: what if someone from her team saw them both, took one look at Cerid and put two and two together?
"Vhiena—" he began, glancing behind him at the guards. "Have I done something wrong? You don't seem happy to see me."
She offered a small smile, now aware of a dozen sets of eyes on them. The guards, the men at his table and Tan glaring daggers into the back of her neck. "And I'm supposed to jump at you every time we meet?" Automatically she glances at his side, noting how his jacket and shirt covered the healing wound.
"Do you have somewhere to be?"
Elle pretended to think about it for a second. "No, I don't think I do. What have you got in mind? Not training, I hope."
Shaking his head slightly, he grinned the boyish grin she had missed. "Come with me. This is a surprise I'm certain you'll like." He grabbed her wrist, tugging her out of the hall. Once they were out of sight and weaving through hallways, he wove their fingers together. Elle resisted the urge to look backwards as they passed the entrance to the Order's meeting room.
If she had her bearings correct, continuing down would lead them to the big room with all the doors where she had entered the caves.
The heir to DETRA, wearing a satisfied expression already, pushed open double doors down a hall which seemed formidably dark. Cracks of light shone under the door. The first things Elle's eyes snapped to were the mezzanines and bridges running over their heads, layers and floors above them with stepladders to reach the next level. She beamed to see panelled flooring, a difference from the ceaseless stone décor. Silk cushioned chairs she could just sink into, drowsy fireplaces carved into the stone with chimney shoots travelling all the way to the surface.
But what made all the air whoosh out of her body had to be the oval room's most prominent feature. Shelves, ordered and arranged with books. Everywhere she looked they spiralled upwards to dizzying heights; an endless collection of beautiful tomes.
Elle wouldn't have minded dying there and then, among old friends and slaved-over parchment. She took a step forward, then another—entering the world of ink. "A...library!" She breathed.
Candlelit and smelling of wisdom, she inhaled deeply. "I'm speechless," the assassin admitted, craning her head this way and that.
Cerid laughed, picking up one of the books left on a console, weighing it in his hands. "As you should be. The last time someone could be bothered to count states that around a million volumes resided here. And that was fifty years ago."
"I can't even comprehend that many books," she grinned.
He looked about the place. "I plan to order a recount and complete organisation, further widening its usefulness. Most in DETRA don't spend their time among paper—preferring metal and steel." His voice was laced with sadness.
"Well you'll just have to change that, won't you. Or, keep this place a secret for your own private escape." She nudged him before navigating her way through shelves. As she glanced at the doors, one still open, she noticed a blur of movement and repressed a sigh. Cerid's guards were never far behind them. They would most likely report back to his father with everything that was said or done.
"Is there anyone upholding its keep?" She called, pulling out a leather-bound novel and blowing the lazy dust from its cover.
"I try my best."
"Alone?"
He grunted in reply. For a moment she didn't say anything, marvelling at her surroundings. "A mammoth task, I'm sure. It astounds me that the secrets of the stars are recorded in this room yet no one would ever know."
The assassin didn't need to see Cerid's face to know he grinned. "I did hope you would treasure it as much as I do. Ever since I saw you reading that book—what was it, again?"
"The Splitting of Saryn," she murmured, running a hand over the spines.
"One of the more unsatisfactory editions," he replied airily, "there are countless others you could find in here."
Huffing a laugh, she pulled another book down from a shelf, inspecting the cover, then tucked it under her arm. Through the gap in the infinite line of books, she could see Cerid on the other side. "I can certainly believe that. Thank you for showing me this wonderful place. Can I return again at some point?"
He peeped through the hole. White teeth gleamed as he smirked. "My dear assassin, these doors are always open to you. One day, in fact, I might show you my own private collection: the tomes I deemed too special or rare to live among these shelves."
Elle's chosen pile only grew as she navigated the shelves. Her choices differed in genre, time and subject—original copies she could only dream to have found in the bookshop of whatever city she visited. Then, sinking into one of the chairs by the main fireplace, she selected the one that most intrigued her. Drafts of wind blew all the way from the surface, the fire flickering amiably as they settled.
Turning crisp pages and smelling the leather binding brought forth memories of her room in Eryan, or the windowsill she had spent her days sat in.
Too wrapped up in printed ink, she didn't notice Cerid's eyes resting on her. Satisfaction crept across his features as he noted the title in her hands—one of his firm favourites. Perhaps they might discuss it later on. He neglected his own manuscript, opened in his lap on page one. Instead, he watched her expressions shift as she read, smiling as her lips silently sounded out the words.
Elle glanced up from her pages. "You're looking at me," she said softly.
"Yes," he replied. His eyes drifted back to the words but they remained unfocused.
"So, you collect books?" Elle sat up a little. He nodded, "Yes, those that I found from antique dealers or the storage rooms here. A meticulous job to find those golden manuscripts."
"I have a smaller, less grand collection at home. Wherever I travelled I'd always make sure to visit bookshops and markets." She tilted her head to the side. "And the Imperial Heir managed to escape to these bookstores often?"
Cerid watched the crackling fire, the light reflected in his eyes made them look brighter than before. "On rare occasions," he sighed. "My tutor would take me to Lorel whenever he had business there. He was the one who showed me all of the near-forgotten shops. I loved the hush of a bookstore and would sit and play among the stacks of bound writing towering above my head." He shook his head, "that was until my father found out, by me returning with more and more books. From then on he made sure that the days when I didn't have lessons, training or meetings were scarce."
"That doesn't sound like much of a childhood."
"It wasn't," he shrugged.
But when he next looked at Vhiena, her sharp blue eyes, that scar that he wanted to kiss better, he wanted to go back to that boy he had left behind in the bookshop. She made him want to break the rules again, to take her by the hand and run through the streets of Lorel.
He wanted to take her to the famous flower market, to smell the intoxicating scents, to buy her the largest bloom he could find. Images of them catapulting themselves over roofs, sliding over the terracotta tiles made him want to jump from his seat. Laughter filled his head, laughing until the peals of the bell tower echoed them with its chimes.
She leant forward, "is being the heir all so bad, always growing up with this weight and expectations of others?" Her heart thrummed faster as he mulled over her question. Both of them were increasingly aware of the guards posted outside.
Cerid lowered his voice into a deep whisper, "a part of that is truthful, I'll admit." He kept his eyes on the flames. "My grandfather used to joke that the pressure would haunt me for the rest of my life. He called it the Blackwood shadows." A wry smile flitted across his features.
"Optimistic pearls of wisdom there, then."
Cerid chuckled slightly. "He was a good man. A good leader. Everyone liked him, as in his first few years he reorganised our entire system of operations. When I was younger I wanted to be just like him: strong, wise, independent."
"He died?"
"Killed by the Order. The bastards couldn't let an old man live in peace." She went silent at that. "His funeral was one of the biggest events DETRA have held. There's a tradition when a member of the Imperial family dies, that we have a service at the top of the Vault then their ashes are burnt down, mixed with powders and metals and forged into a weapon of the member's choice. To be killed and displayed on the floor of the Vault is reserved for traitors and the most evil of people."
Elle's eyes widen. "How many funerals have you been to?"
"Three."
"And you've already chosen what form your ashes will take?"
His misty eyes met hers as he placed his book aside, folding his hands in his lap. "My father has chosen a great longsword, similar to my grandfather. Like gods, we live on in artefacts, still present on the battlefield. It is a great honour to be handed an Imperial weapon for war or big fights. I will choose my form at the official ceremony as I am crowned Imperial Leader."
"You make it sound like royalty: all this crowning and godly presence." The whole idea seemed absurd to her. Cerid shrugged, not denying the statement. "Is everyone so fiercely loyal to your bloodline?"
"To a fault." Clearing his throat, he shot a meaningful look at the doors where his guards stood just outside. "Sometimes I wish..." He trailed off, waving a vague hand. Elle bit the inside of her cheek. how was he going to finish? Did he wish that the worship would cease, or that he was born into a different family? She stood, watching the doors and tugged him up. Looping their arms together, they set off around the library, climbing the ladder to higher floors.
"This isn't particularly practical," she huffed. He didn't reply. Soon enough they leant over the railing, now out of earshot if they spoke quietly. She sighed, turning so that her back was against the rail. "Do elaborate, your Imperialness. What do you wish?"
"Sometimes I wish that they all disappeared." He admitted softly. "I used to dream about living a normal life in the sun. Get a job somewhere, pay my way. To be done with killing and constant planning our next moves like an intricate game of chess; one wrong move and you're dead."
"You would give up riches, political say, power? Few men would follow through on their fanciful dreams when they live such a comfortable, preened life here." She tilted her head, her tone unsympathetic. "Be thankful that you have never gone cold or starving in the slums."
"I have all of those things. What I wish for is more independence. Have you ever travelled?" His eyes lit up at the thought. Elle smirked, "a little."
"I've only read about most places. When I was permitted to go on missions, the council made sure it was never too far, never someplace they couldn't track me. Now my duties lie in strategising." Biting his lip, he looked away, focused on the floor below.
"The Iysi Desert is so hot it induces hallucinations. I was stuck out there for a week longer than I had planned, walking in circles. And the jungle of Sirimiri is home to the rarest of plant species, found nowhere else. Have you ever been to Orea?" Cerid shook his head no. "Charming port-city. Although stinks of fish. I couldn't wash it from my clothes for days afterwards. All the roofs are made from the blue rocks that form around the coast so when the sun sets each house glistens and ripples: a shimmering city, creating the illusion that it's almost underwater." She smiled at the memory.
Elle stopped herself. She had been speaking as Elle, not Vhiena. All the tales she had told him were a delicate interweaving of truth and lie. The assassin forgot sometimes that she was supposed to be playing a part with Cerid. He hadn't picked up on her sudden stiffness.
"You wish to travel, to become more independent." Elle paused, icy orbs flicking to his grey ones. "Why not escape? Disappear from DETRA and go somewhere they won't find you."
It felt like a long time before the heir spoke. "I would. To start over, with a new name and a new life." The heavy words were suspended in the air between them, hushed in a whisper. "There's nothing left for me here."
Only the most powerful position in an assassin's guild. Only a life of riches and beautiful blades, revered by everyone, where he would marry a pretty girl and have pretty heirs. She didn't like that thought so much. Elle mulled over his confession. "There's me."
Perhaps she was a fool to think that Cerid would think twice about her.
"Since I am telling you these harboured thoughts, I had hoped you would join me."
Elle fought the triumphant smile from tugging at her lips. "Is that a formal invitation, Imperial Heir?"
"An honour, to receive such a personal invite," he nudged her. She pretended to fan herself, fluttering her lashes. "I'm flattered." Cerid grinned, running a hand through his hair. He took her hand in his and pulled her through more bookshelves, pointing out his favourites.
Just seeing him in his element, a man amongst paper versus steel made her smile. He talked animatedly about his favourite copies, started debates on philosophical things Elle hadn't considered. She liked the challenge. For the first time she saw what lay underneath his layers of Imperial Heir, mentor and assassin in clear light—and it didn't scare her.