Page 50 of The Ballad of a Bard

Forty Nin e

C rimson heard the footsteps first. Heard the soft click of expensive boots on the rough hewn ground, and the tapping of manicured fingers against a soft velvet fabric as someone appeared in her sightline. There was only one person who dressed like that, who would casually stroll through the cells as if it were a fine row of shoppes instead of damp steel cages.

Altivar.

She didn’t move as he paused before her.

His intrusive, probing scan was long, lingering and was all together unwelcomed. It made her throat clog up in anticipation and he studied her like she was one of his creatures in their glass confines. Whatever he was here for, whatever he was about to say, it wouldn’t be good.

“Good morning, Crimson.” Altivar drawled at last after a moment of unnerving silence had passed between them. He clicked his tongue in disappointment as he noticed the amount of crust dirt layered on her like a second skin.

Four days .

That’s how long she’d been here.

Four days in the dungeons of Tazali, and anyone would not be looking up to par. She didn’t answer him as he awaited a response, nor did she meet his gaze. She pressed even further into the corner, knees huddled up to her chest.

He frowned, tilting his head with vexation. “That’s not very polite of you. Even if you’re from the slums of the Bronze Gate, I expect you to have a semblance of manners. Let’s try that again, shall we?” He jerked his boot tip against the metal bars twice to catch her attention. “ Without ignoring me, pretty little Saint.”

Crimson blinked through the scorching sunlight up at him, through her dark lashes that were damp with her previous tears. “What do you want, Altivar?”

She didn’t use any of his titles, didn’t give him an ounce of the respect that he usually commanded from others. She wouldn’t show a kernel of like towards the male who she suspected was the sole reason for her surprise capture.

They’d just dragged her away, without letting her explain her sides of things as West roared for them to let her go. It’d taken five men to hold him back, hold him down as they swarmed her.

“I’d say that’s an improvement on your lack of manners, even if it’s just the barest of one.” Altivar smiled down at her. There was true delight, pure amusement and undiluted joy in his ivory teeth. One that made her uneasy, for a good reason.

Nothing about this male screamed trust.

“I figured it was long past due for us to hold a conversation.” He shrugged as she stood from her kneeling position against the wall.

“And what could we possibly have to talk about?” Crimson bit out, already tired of his presence and growing glibness. “Your love of clothes that seems to grow far faster than your love of people? Other than yourself, that is.”

He barked out a thick laugh. “No, but I would happily discuss ramients with you at another time, if you so wished it.” He lowered himself slightly, bending towards her level as his hand brushed off the dirt of the bench seat across from the cells. “I wanted to talk about my mother’s murder.”

A chill brushed across her spine, coating her in a thin layer of unsettling ice. “What about it?” She asked hoarsely.

Altivar crossed one long leg over the other, his saffron trousers rustling with the movements. He wore a black velvet jacket that was as dark as pitch, with gold trim up the edges until it reached the collar. The entire neck piece seemed to be fashioned from the colour, with slightly puffy sleeves that held diamond shaped buttons.

“Everyone seems to think that you did it.” He began to trifle with the black satchel as his side, threading the thick strap through the buckle as he loosened it.

She already knew that.

The guards liked to gossip.

“And?”

He lifted a manicured brow. “Oh? There’s not a hint of denial to be found. Are you pleading guilty, then? Shall I whip up a trial like that?” He snapped his long fingers. The sound echoed throughout the lone corridor.

Crimson scoffed at his jovial resonance. “I know better than to try to prove my innocence. I didn’t do it. I’m sure that there’s a ton of evidence that will illuminate that particular fact, and I’ll be let out of here in no time.”

Even if it had already been four days, and hopelessness was settling in like a hook in a fish’s mouth. It wrenched her back and forth, slamming her from side to side in a cruel method. She’d already cried twice, but he didn’t need to know any of that. Once for Muse, to allow the sadness to climb over her about her death, about the fact that she would miss the shimmering ball of light in a mortal shell. And the second time had been for herself. For her situation.

His smile was lupine and feral, and she didn’t like it. “Will they?”

Tension curled in her gut like an awakening hurricane. “What did you do?” Crimson whispered, horror filling her voice. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t keep it at bay as she began to slowly understand her predicament a bit better.

Altivar flipped open the flap on his bag and reached inside, searching for something. He pulled out two, long items that were horribly familiar to her.

Her blades.

Her heart sank like a stone thrown into the ocean as she understood that it was pointless. It didn’t matter if she was innocent or not, because Altivar would make her look as guilty as possible.

“I did what I did.” He casually shrugged, as if it were a mere insect on the summer breeze. “But it’s not the past I want to talk about, it’s the future.” He angled her blades towards her as he peered at the carved heart on the handle. “Do you know what these are?”

“Of course I do. They’re my fighting knives.”

Altivar’s smile grew into something even more vicious. “Yes, Red Lyric. These are your fighting knives. The very ones that you entered into the Blades of Blood with and earned the respect of most of the citizens in Tazali with.” He flipped them around for her to see. “But look beyond that. Don’t tell me that you’ve never thought about it before, about what these truly are. ”

His tone was condescending and she wanted to plunge one of her blades into his lean chest, if only to grant her a momentary pause of silence.

“I don’t need to, because I have no doubt that you’ll tell me.” Crimson muttered, laying her knotted head against the crumbling stones. It was as comfortable as it would get. “Get on with it already.”

Altivar chuckled lowly, shaking his head near his chest. “Firstly, they are the murder weapon. The left one was found shoved through my mother. Since these beautiful blades are Saint-made, they killed her.”

Everything inside of her shrivelled up to the point of discomfort. She became a lead stone, tumbling back into herself. The deep pool of anxiety swallowed her whole and she felt as though she were drowning in the waters of worry. It didn’t matter what she said, what she did or who could vouch for her. She was going to die for a crime that she didn’t commit.

But there, like a murky flare in the bleak water, a slice of light in the darkness, a star in the sapphire sky gleamed down at her.

No, not a star.

The Star.

The Northern Star.

West.

If West testified for her, vouched for her, she wouldn’t be prosecuted. He was the Captain of the Watch and Osira’s most faithful companion. A loyal friend that everyone knew and trusted. His words would be taken seriously and they would all believe him if he said that she was innocent. And there was no way that West would think her to be capable of such a horrible deed.

He knew what she’d done in the Blades and how she selected her kills with the limitations in place. Of course to anyone else, it would only serve as proof that she was a killer, capable of taking a life without an issue. That it was entirely plausible for her to have taken out the Saints-damned Empress. But beyond the things that she’d done to survive, to make sure that Cobalt survived, there was no reason behind the murder unless in cold-blood. Their interactions had all been public, all been pleasant and without any sort of reasoning to kill.

In a quiet voice full of trepidation she said, “West will defend me.”

Altivar looked mildly interested in that, like the cat who caught the canary and swallowed it whole. “No, he won’t.”

Her head snapped up, her heart turned into a raging storm. Her hammering pulse was the massive beats of thunder and startling lightning that flooded through her system with a chilling electricity. It shocked her very soul, sending her into a cataclysmic shock.

“And why is that?” She tried to steady her tone, tried to force her confidence into her words.

He toyed with her weapons as he toyed with her. “These are your fighting knives. But these are also your talismans.”

In two sentences, her world flipped upside down.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

“But I understand if you don’t feel inclined to believe a word I say. So let’s test that theory, shall we?” Altivar rose from the bench and strolled across the small space. He unearthed a key from his amber trousers and fit it into the lock, turning towards the left. The lock clicked and he pushed it open as he entered the cell. With his fingers firmly clasped on her right blade, he uttered a command at her.

“Don’t move. ”

Within a second, her body went rigid and her spine locked into place.

No, she whispered to herself, inside her head. Because her mouth wouldn’t open, her jaw firmly shut and she couldn’t speak out loud at all.

The Prince approached her.

She stood against the wall with her back firmly against the stones, frozen in place. His hand lunged out to grab her by the back of her neck and she internally winced at the pressure he applied. She wanted to shirk out of his grasp, to dart to the side and avoid him entirely but she couldn’t because her body, her soul, her will, no longer belonged to her.

Instead, they belonged to him.

And nothing scared her more.

He smirked to the side, “Wonderful. But you could be pretending, so let’s add another test on, shall we?” He leaned down as his thumb traced the outer lines of her mouth. There was an underlying urge to tremble. “Just to make sure. Then I vow to leave you and your no doubt frantic thoughts alone. For some time.”

Crimson could taste her terror.

Altivar came closer until they shared a breath and it shot dread into her stomach, curling and clawing at her to move, to escape, to do anything. But she was frozen, as if he’d transformed her into a block of ice.

With a tight grip still on her knives, he whispered, “Give me a taste of what you gave the captain. Kiss me, lovely Lyric.”

Her heart sank into levels of despair that she didn’t even know she had as her body moved forwards without her permission. Crimson closed the gap of space between them as she stood up on her toes and placed her mouth against his. He exhaled as she kissed him against her will, moving in tandem with his lips. Altivar shoved her against the wall, harder as his kisses deepened and became rougher. She whimpered but not in pleasure or enjoyment.

Crimson had only ever kissed one person before.

West.

And she’d wanted it to stay that way for the rest of her long-lived, Saint’s blessed life. But now, her entire system began to shake as the Prince took this from her.

He broke away at last, wiping his glistening mouth on the back of his hand as he smirked. “Well, I can certainly see why Westley Saint has kept you around after all this time.”

She poured all of her hatred for him into that glare, until she could feel the burn behind her eyes. “Get out of my cell.”

“Gladly. Once I tell you your next command.”

Her lip twitched. “I hate you.”

“I don’t care.” Altivar slyly said. “It won’t stop you from doing what I’m ordering you to do.”

Crimson didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to hear him. She wanted to block her ears with wax and forget that he ever existed. Because what he said next, what he forced her to do, was the worst thing she could ever imagine.

The Prince inhaled deeply, “West is going to come visit you within the next few days. I suggest you act your part for the sake of your brother’s life. He’s going to try to get any information out of you regarding my mother’s untimely death and you’re going to give it to him without hesitation.”

The command felt oddly good, as if he wanted her to seem innocent.

“Why?” She asked bitterly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There was no doubt in her mind that it would, and that he was merely waiting for dramatic anticipation.

He lifted his chin and grinned at her. “Because when West asks if you killed my mother, you’re going to say yes.”