The assassin lunged.
Her circumvention was automatic, as though her body had a default program from all the years spent fighting to stay alive. The sword almost scalped her neck, only to cut into her shoulder instead. It throbbed furiously, but she refused to scream.
A candle holder was the closest thing in reach to grab, and it was all the weapon she needed. It broke the assassin's mask and sent him reeling backward.
The chant of "Run" echoed in her ears.
But Kaelith ignored it.
As heavy, dizzying breaths came from her, the blood running from her arm got faster too. It would make a mess if the unused space was not covered. The assassin finished his movements. His broken porcelain mask framed his eyes, which were obscured by the mask.
He rasped a single sentence—"You weren't supposed to live."
Wrapping her fingers around the bloodied candle holder, Kaelith fought back her rage. Eyes hardened with bitterness, she told the assassin, "Inform your mistress, it's going to be a long battle."
Another charge, another futile advance, but this time a different figure stepped into the room.
Him.
A voice filled with exhaustion called out, "Late-night research? Tanner," she whispered as steel clangs filled the space, "any other day would've been boring."
"I could've very well waited till daylight."
Kaelith smirked, stumbling backward. "Nope—ellipse out the ass and execute the fucker."
His smile was feigned, though her suggestion was pure. "It would be an honor."
Time halted as the assassin was plunged into the cold-hard truth of his incorrect assumption. An illusion. A turn. An unceremonious stab to the side.
"You're joking," he gasped.
Crumple.
After Theron kicked the corpse once, he turned to Kaelith. "You alright?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Get the book, we are leaving."
While tears streamed down Kaelith's sleeve, they escaped through the servant tunnels. Theron prepared the room, cleaning her wound, burning the crest—a silver sun on black velvet.
"Who are they?" Kaelith asked.
"House Valcere," Theron grimaced. "Queen Velis's private dagger. She sent him to silence the archive."
"She is aware I found the ledger."
"And not in the middle of a panic. That's good." He paused. "Or reckless, depending on how dangerous she gets."
In the mirror, Kaelith fixed herself. Blood bathed her cheek. Eyes like frozen flames.
"She knows I won't stop now," she whispered. "And neither will she."
The next morning, the palace was in mourning.
"An archivist was found dead in the lower chambers," a courtier murmured. "Collapsed from age, they say."
"Poor man," another sighed, "such a quiet soul."
From her spot, Kaelith said nothing, just wished for more of Theron's smile.
The queen was attempting to bury the truth yet again, but this time, Kaelith had the shovels.
Said truth baffled said courtiers as they whispered behind jeweled hands. Corven entered in full ceremonial garb, awaiting the royal announcement in the sun-drenched grand hall.
Kaelith remained vigilant against the walls, the dull thrum of her heartbeat pulsing in her ears.
Silence.
"The Ball of Blood and Bloom will be presided over by His Majesty the Crowned Prince Corven Dareth in three days. The presence of every noble house will be required." Corven let the last word resound in the hall for added effect.
Kaelith's eyes shone like hot balefires. Her expression radiated anger taut with uncurled fists.
Wine fueled the intertwining of empires fought at balls like the one slowly cooking around her. It was only a matter of time before everything went downhill. If that wasn't the least of her problems, then being "set" to the stage was at the top.
"Which day do we attack?" Theron dropped beside her and spoke in a hushed tone.
"We unsettle," she retorted.
"Is that so?" A smug look spread on Theron's face.
Leaning further with ease, "It's so we can fearmonger them until we're ready to strike," Kaelith said willfully.
As the wind shivered around them, Kaelith glared into the untended garden. The vines, dried branches from bushes and the hedges whipped around wildly. A simple gaze pent the need to escape so greatly inescapable.
A knock.
"Come in."
Corven, looking royal as ever.
"You're brave showing up in front of me," Kaelith shouted. "Got anything else to say? Someone from your camp tried very brutally killing me."
"Only for now, to tell you..." He walked in, gaze locked on the floor. Within seconds, the door behind him lifted, leaving him oblivious. "We... um, no one caught me in here."
"You shouldn't."
As he advanced, so did his boldness. "But you have secrets too, Kaelith. And I want to know them."
Their gaze clashed. "You lost the right to seek any modicum of truth from me when I hung there like an animal," she stated calmly.
"I didn't—" he tried to respond, but paused. "I wasn't brave enough."
"And now?" she interrogated.
He paused for a moment. "Now I understand you've transformed into something else entirely."
Kaelith laughed lightly. "I had to."
Their stares intersected. Bound tension mingled with silent sorrow, shattered loyalty, and something primordial. Something alacritous.
Corven moved away from her. "I will catch you at the ball."
With his absence, Kaelith returned her gaze to the window.
Her focus shifted to one part of the garden hedge, where something glowed in the moon's rays.
A mirror fragment?
No.
A watcher.
A tilt of the head revealed me—and then I retreated into the dark.