Viola sat in between the Marquise and Lady Livilla and across from Prince Edison. Everywhere she looked she saw royalty and nobility. She was surprised she got a sit in the table in the first place; the Marquise's hand was behind it, no doubt. Still, even though the food was great and the wine even better, she didn't feel comfortable. It wasn't just the fake smiles and the lies that were spoken. Danger lurked in every corner.
At the head of the table, the absent and uneasy Queen constantly shot nervous looks their way. Ever since she had summoned the Marquise to her chambers, that random morning four days ago, she had become more paranoid. Locked in her chambers, she refused to see anyone other than her favourite and the Marquise, who she seemed to trust for some unknown reason.
Viola was now certain the young woman knew exactly what was happening. The Marquise seemed to be the puppet master, pulling the strings to achieve some still mysterious goal. Viola couldn't say for sure what her endgame was, but one thing was clear: nothing that had happened in the last couple of days was coincidence.
The Shark of Heliport, despite his apparent infatuation towards the Marquise, was not blind to this. That much was clear when, just earlier that day, Viola had overheard a conversation between the Viscount and him.
"There's something wrong alright." The Shark's voice had taken her out of her thoughts. She had wanted to take a shortcut back to the Marquise's chambers, when she took a wrong turn and ended up lost on the eastern part of Leverfort. "There's something seriously messed up with that doctor. Physically."
The Viscount's hushed voice followed. "What do you mean?"
"His tongue was blue. Fucking blue. And his breath, God above! It was like smelling a whorehouse after too much fun has been had."
"What does that even mean?"
"Whatever, the point is it was foul. Fucking disgusting, if you ask me."
"He's an old man. Perhaps he had poor hygiene? Wouldn't be the first."
"You're young. You're still a shave tail in these matters. I'm telling you, that old crow ain't normal. And I bet the Marquise knows exactly what's wrong."
"You reckon?"
"Absolutely. I ain't no nickey. I know when someone's knowing more than they're saying. Her pretty face and fancy manners can't fool me."
The Viscount let out a smirk. "You seem pretty fooled every time you're with her."
"Nothing more than a trick, now ain't it? Women like their men stupid. They feel like they're in control. They lower their guard."
The Viscount sounded unconvinced. "She's not lowering anything. As a matter of fact, I still don't know if we can actually trust her. I wouldn't be surprised if she was actually behind everything, even the so-called attempts on her life."
The Shark answered matter-of-factly. "Nah, that ain't it. The Shooter would know by now if that was the case."
"And you think she would tell us? Women stick together."
"The Shooter is a soldier first and a woman second. Trust me, Viscount, if she had something on the Marquise, she'd come to me."
The sound of faraway steps made the men stop their talk. Still, Viola had heard everything she needed. Walking back to where she had come from, she toyed with the men's words. They, like her, weren't all too sure about the Marquise's intentions. That wasn't a surprise. What was shocking was knowing that the Shark had so much faith in her, especially because it was rather misplaced.
Even if she knew something about the Marquise, she wouldn't tell the Shark. Truth was, Viola didn't trust anyone at Leverfort, not even the gullible Lady Livilla. She had always been wary, especially of men. After the betrayal that left her face permanently scared, any trace of trust she had left was obliterated.
Now, as she sat in that table, surrounded by people wearing masks, she felt fortunate. She too wore a mask, as effective as everyone else's, but far more menacing. And she, unlike the rest, wore it with pride. She had so many things to hide. The fact she was hiding them wasn't one of them.
In front of her, the arrival of a servant interrupted her train of thought. He was like all the rest, except for the fact he was wearing goggles. A weird item to wear during the job. He approached Prince Edison and whispered something in his ear, before stepping back and disappearing in the shadows behind.
The Prince cleared his throat and spoke in a whisper, as if he didn't want anyone to notice him. "Excuse me. Something's come up."
He stood up and discretely left the room. Viola followed him with her eyes before turning to her left once she felt the Marquise's gaze on her.
Before the young woman spoke, she knew what she would ask. "Follow him. Don't lose him out of your sight."
Viola didn't think twice. Desperate to leave that table, she stood up and exited the room using the same door as the Prince. Her hand resting on the gun that hung from her belt, she saw Edison disappearing at the end of the dark hall and followed him.
She had to be fast. Leverfort was vast and full of passages. She had become lost more than once. If he turned on the right corner or went through the right passage, she would lose him for good. Trying to blend with the shadows, she kept a considerable distance from the Prince. More than once, he turned back to make sure no one was following him. Each time, Viola was certain he knew about her presence.
As she ventured deeper into the castle, she had the growing fear that she was being led into a trap. The words of the Viscount then came back to her. Might the Marquise be trying to get rid of her? It wouldn't work. Viola had fought tougher enemies than a Prince, or even two or three. She was no shoddy pigeon. This wouldn't be her day.
She now seemed to be in one of the western towers. Looking back one last time, the Prince walked into a room and shut the door behind him. Viola remained hidden behind a column, silently considering her options. The idea of going back was a ridiculous one, since the way up had been so intricate. However, if she just barged into the room looking for trouble, she'd certainly find it.
She then heard it. Stealthy steps behind her. They were barely audible, yet she knew they were there. Her hand wrapped around the gun. She feigned ignorance, not turning back. Even though they were now closer, the steps were hardly there. For a second, she fooled herself into thinking there was nothing. But she was never wrong. Not about these things. She waited. They'd be within her grasp in a matter of seconds.
Just one more moment.
In the blink of an eye, she took her gun out, turned around, and pointed it at the man that had just appeared behind her. The muzzle pressed against the man's skin, right in the middle of his eyebrows. It took her a few seconds before distinguishing his face.
"Nice reflexes," the Viscount whispered. Hands raised in surrender, he was quite calm for someone who had a gun pointed at his face.
Viola didn't lower her guard. "Why are you here? Were you following me?"
"Of course," he simply replied. "This concerns us all, doesn't it?"
Her wounded pride spoke this time. "How did you sneak up on me?"
"Did I? I was under the impression I had a gun pointed at my face."
She clenched her teeth. "Flattery. Typical man."
He gave her a smile full of teeth. "Can't blame me for trying. Come on, I bet we can hear what's happening from the adjoining room."
Rolling her eyes, she followed him to the door a little further away from the one the Prince had used. Entering the room, they found three servants who stared at them, confused; by the look on their faces, it was clear Viola and the Viscount weren't supposed to be there.
"Leave. Now." The Viscount's order was straight and tactless and the servants exchanged worried looks before obeying, bowing before the young man before exiting.
"They'll let someone know we're here," Viola said as the door closed behind her.
"Then we better move fast."
They walked towards the door that led into the other room, where Prince Edison was. His voice was muffled by the thick wood and Viola could barely understand what he was saying. She turned around and, finding the wine cart, crossed the room and grabbed a stemless glass.
The Viscount arched his eyebrows. "Really?"
She ignored his scepticism. "It works."
She placed the open end against the wood. The voice became clearer but she still had some trouble understanding the words.
"Well?" The Viscount pressed his ear against the wall. His face was now in front of hers and she pressed her lips, uncomfortable with the sudden proximity.
"Something about a bird." She signalled him to hush and he obeyed at once. "The remains of the bird were found in... I can't understand. One of the ports."
"That narrows it down," he said sarcastically.
She shushed him just in time to hear it. She'd recognize that sound anywhere, through anything. No walls or doors could disguise it. A gun firing was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. Whatever was happening, it was clear someone wouldn't be leaving that room.
Viola didn't need to hear anything else. "Time to go."
"Couldn't say it better myself."
As they both headed towards the exit, the door through which they had been listening burst open. It took the Prince a moment before noticing them. When he did, he immediately reached for his gun. She, however, was faster.
She tackled him before he had even raised the gun. Through the door, a group of RoyalCorps appeared. Like their Prince, they too were wearing goggles and mouth covers, and they immediately launched at the Viscount, who had trouble fighting them off. On the floor, she rolled under the table at her side. Gun in hand, she began shooting at the soldiers.
Her aim was perfect as ever. Her bullets reached their targets with no problem. And yet, they didn't fall. They kept fighting as if nothing was happening. Even as they bled, they kept going. Her shock was even greater when she saw blue instead of crimson, as the blood poured from them and into the wooden floors. A strong and disgusting smell soon filled the room and she held back the desire to throw up.
Beside her, a scream. She turned too late and found a fist. Her nose cracked and a wave of pain shot though her head. Her world turned upside down. Her vision blurred as the sound of the fighting became distant. She was falling. She was going away from the room, away from the fight, and into a new place. A dark place.
No. She refused. She fought the darkness away and forced herself back to moment. Her eyes opened again. She was still on the floor. She could feel the blood gushing from her nose and maybe even her one good eye. Yet she demanded resistance. She forced herself to focus just in time to avoid a new strike.
Prince Edison crawled like a deformed spider. His limbs twirled and twisted as he attempted to stand up. She fought through her shock and shot at him until her bullets ran out. Like the soldiers that defended him, he too bled blue. And he was still alive, even though the bullets had certainly reached him.
Edison, now standing, threw himself at her. He was fast and incredibly strong. Even when she dodged his attacks, she took damage simply by coming in contact with him. But she kept fighting. Her honour demanded it. Locked in a death grip, they crashed against the wall. She was using all her strength to keep him away, growing weaker by the second.
Her eyes travelled to the other side of the room, where the Viscount was barely holding on. He was heavily bruised and bleeding, and while he seemed to have defeated at least one of his attackers, three still remained and were ganging up on him.
A flash of silver then caught her attention. Lowering her eyes to the Prince's belt, she saw a silver gun. Small, delicate and surely filled with bullets. She seized the opportunity. With renewed vigour, she crashed the Prince's head against the wall, splattering herself with his blood. Drops of it fell on her arm, making her scream in pain. They burnt, like blazing flames against her skin. Tears came out of her eyes as she grabbed the silver weapon.
It felt familiar in her hands. She relished the feeling, almost forgetting about the intense pain that had now reached her wrist. She raised the gun and as soon as she pulled the trigger, she was in awe. No bullet came out of the muzzle. Instead, a bolt of lightning shot directly at the Prince. He let out a piercing scream and instantly collapsed. She fired two new bolts. He shook aggressively, blue blood coming out of his mouth, nose and eyes. Then he stopped and simply lied on the floor. Viola knew he wouldn't come back up.
Turning around, she shot three more times, hitting each one of the RoyalCorps with ease. Like their Prince, they too roared before collapsing, their bodies trembling in the same way Edison's had.
With all the attackers on the floor, Viola's legs gave up. She collapsed to the floor, panting. Her shaky hands released the gun, which fell pathetically next to her. The burn scar on her arm was now shining bright and ugly, but she hardly fell the pain anymore. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the wall.
The Viscount spoke in between gasps. "We need to go. More will be coming. And you just killed one of the Princes."
Viola let out a tired sigh. She looked at the body that lied next to her and considered the consequences. She shook her head, defeated. She had won the battle, but she may very well had lost the war.
********
The second Viola and the Viscount crossed the door to the Queen's parlour, all eyes were on them. It took the Marquise a couple of seconds to notice the burn. As soon as she did, she looked in her small leather bag and took out a round crystal vial with a yellowish liquid inside. Then, the Marquise got up and walked to Viola. The young woman examined the burn, which somehow had gotten worse in the time it took them to get to the parlour.
After a few seconds of silence, the Marquise drew a thin smile and pressed Viola's hand warmly. "It is not so bad. I can take care of it."
"What happened?" The Shark asked as he paced around the room.
"We were attacked," the Viscount replied as he walked over to his future bride, who was sitting besides the Lady Livilla and Prince Buford. "Prince Edison got angry about the news he had just received. He killed someone, we heard the shot. Once he and his men discovered our presence, they attacked us. We barely got out alive."
The Shark grunted. "What about the Prince?"
Viola and the Viscount exchanged knowing looks. The Queen sat in her usual chair, her favourite next to her. Her eyes went from Viola to the Viscount and back. She understood right away. Still, Viola forced herself to speak. There was no point in delaying the truth.
"He died. I killed him."
Silence. In front of her, the Marquise remained stoic as she gently covered her burn with the yellowish liquid. Across from her, the Withered Flower had lowered her eyes, which were now fixed on the floor. Her face seemed to reflect a mix of confusion, fear and, dare Viola said it, relief.
Buford spoke first, standing up and pointing at Viola. "Well what are you waiting for, Captain? Grab the bitch!"
Queen Estella raised her voice. "He will do no such thing. Sit down, Buford."
Her son remained defiant. He shot her a murderous look before speaking again. "This woman just killed your son! And you don't care!" He took a couple of steps, stopping in front of his mother, towering over her. "If you don't do anything, I will."
The Queen, who up to this point had refused to face her son, finally met his eyes. Her face was now stony, steely determination filling her eyes. She spoke in a lower, menacing voice that was somehow scarier than any scream could ever be.
"Shut up. Sit down. And listen. God knows you need it."
Prince Buford's eyes went wide with anger. He tried to speak again, but her mother's dominance over him prevented further words from leaving his mouth. Face red and hands shaking, he clumsily went back and sat next to his wife. Lady Livilla tried putting her hand on his, but he slapped it away. Viola clenched her teeth. Right now, she wouldn't mind shooting another Prince. She was about to say something, when the Queen spoke again.
"Shooter Viola will have to answer for her actions. Eventually. Right now, I want to know everything. Speak. And don't lie to me. I'll know if you will."
The yellowish liquid stung and Viola let out a soft whimper. The Marquise whispered a feeble Sorry and Viola tried to ignore the discomfort as she began retelling the story.
"Bullshit," Buford said once she had finished. "Utter nonsense. People who get shot and don't die? You're full of shit."
"It sounds ridiculous, I know. But it's true." Viola's words were simple, not a trace of irony or exaggeration in them. Her eyes travelled the room.
The Prince was completely unconvinced. Lady Livilla looked frightened, her eyes reflecting all the fear that lived within her. Beside them, Princess Electa clenched to the Viscount's arm, both looking as apprehensive as they were worried. The Shark, who was still pacing, was lost in thought, as if he was still trying to make sense of her words.
The other three women in the room, however, were far more intriguing. The Queen and her favourite held hands. They both looked alarmed and disturbed, but not unconvinced. As a matter of fact, there was only one other person in that room who looked more certain than them.
"You know," Viola said, her one good eye fixed on the young woman in front of her.
The Marquise feigned ignorance. "Excuse me?"
"What they are. You know what they are." The two women were now fighting a duel with their eyes, daring each other to turn away. Neither did. Viola, now more than ever, was determined to get answers. And the Marquise had them. "We almost died tonight. The Queen has been assaulted. The King was murdered by his own son. You know something and you're going to speak. Now. Otherwise, I'll have to pull my trigger again."
"I'm afraid the Shooter is right, Marquise," the Shark said, walking towards the door and standing in front of it. "You're not leaving this place until we get the truth out of you."
"Which truth would you like to hear?"
"Even now, you're still playing games." Viola's words were filled with a contempt she didn't know she had. Yet, now, facing the Marquise, she was ready to lay it all out.
"We are always playing games, all of us. Some are just better at them than others." Closing the vial, she put it back in her bag and began wrapping Viola's arm with gauze. "Your sons are sick, Your Grace."
The Viscount snorted. "Understatement of the gear."
"What do you mean by sick?" The Withered Flower asked in a shaky tone, almost as if she didn't really want to know the answer.
The Marquise smiled cryptically. "Do you like scary stories? I have the scariest of them all."