Page 65 of Veil of Vasara (Fate of the Five #1)

CHAPTER 65 - NATHON

“W here is he?” I asked a guard standing outside my father’s office. I had barged in, expecting to see him sitting there, waiting for me.

The guard opened his mouth in shock, as if he hadn’t expected me to speak to him at all, or anyone to speak to him, ever.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Where…is…he?” I repeated.

“He’s not receiving you here, Your Highness.”

“Couldn’t you have told me that before I walked in?” I grumbled.

“I’m not permitted to speak to Your Highness.”

“You’re speaking to me now,” I alerted him to the obvious.

The man seemed absolutely stunned by this revelation and opened and closed his mouth a few more times before shutting it for good.

Asking him any more would be pointless, and cruel. If it had been Sarlan who had given him the order to keep quiet, then I was risking his tongue, and perhaps his life.

I was exhausted. I had left instantly after the festival and ridden here as fast as possible. I had only just made it on time within the three-day window, mostly due to the fact I had only slept three or four hours each day, and travelled for the remaining hours at full speed. I had debated leaving Loria a note, but my disappearance would probably have only made her slightly suspicious, not enough to cause alarm. And truthfully, I hadn’t had the time.

Just as I was about to traverse the dark hallways to look for the man, a voice emerged from behind me.

“Come. He’s waiting.”

I turned around to find my mother, standing at the very end of the corridor. She had her hands clasped in front of her. Her face was stoney and full of undisguised contempt.

I strutted towards her, my steps fast and clipped. “Mother. It’s been so long. Did you miss me?”

My mother said nothing, but her face contorted even more painfully.

Of course, she hadn’t been bothered by my absence. In fact, there had, not in my memory, ever been a time when my mother had loved, cared for, missed, or worried about myself, or Loria. To her, we were Sarlan’s possessions. It was as if she saw us as a gift she had promised him, and handed over, and now that she had, she was devoid of any responsibility towards us, any relation.

It was honestly baffling how easily she had been able to achieve such a distance.

She walked onwards and I followed her. We came to a set of stairs I was unfamiliar with, that led deep underground.

She stopped and outstretched an arm in a dismissive gesture towards the stairs.

“Go,” was all she said.

I glanced at the passageway leading into darkness. Although it would theoretically make no sense for my father to end my life at this stage, I could not rule out the possibility.

“Don’t be impertinent. He is waiting. He does not have all day.”

I smiled tightly. “I rode three days and nights here with hardly any sleep to arrive on time, so you’d think that—"

“Stop whining,” my mother cut me off. “That is your duty.”

I clicked my tongue.

Why had I even opened my mouth? Arguing with her was pointless. My father could slit her throat, and she’d likely gargle out a choked ‘thank you’ as she died.

I licked my lips and smiled tightly at her once again. I began to descend the stairs. Her gaze from behind felt tangible. I was almost glad when I was swallowed by the darkness and could no longer feel it on my back.

That was until the screaming reached me.

I had heard screaming several times before. I had even sometimes, been the one to induce such noises. But, these screams, they were…not the same.

I slowed my steps. Gradually, light emerged in the form of candles and torches adorning sandy walls of stone.

The screams grew louder. I turned a corner.

Three people were standing there. They were slim and dressed in rags.

One of them ran towards me and fell to his knees, gripping at me with his hands.

His chained hands.

“Sir, Sir…do you…do you have any…water…”

I couldn’t move. My muscles had tensed up at the sight.

The second person, a woman, followed. She had been holding a tool. So had the first man, but he had discarded it before falling at my feet. By the looks of it, they had been fixing some part of this wall.

“Water…water…” the woman chanted moving towards me as well.

The only one who wasn’t speaking, who didn’t move, was the third person.

It was a young boy, about twelve, who looked at me with hatred.

He glared at me for a while, then shouted at the two adults. “Get away from him. He won’t help you. They’ll be coming back soon.”

The woman turned slowly towards him, as if she were caught in a trance. The man was still plastering himself to my shin.

“Do you want to die?!” the boy shouted angrily. He rushed towards the man and yanked him off me. He took several hasty steps away, watching me as if I were about to pounce on him.

“Don’t punish them for this. We haven’t had water for nearly a day,” he said to me.

“Water…water…water…” the woman continued to chant, her voice raspy.

I was utterly perplexed, I couldn’t gather myself or understand anything that was happening around me. I watched the scene as if in some kind of hypnosis.

Two voices came around the corner, one of them instantly recognisable.

They both stopped speaking when they saw me.

“Good. You’re here,” Sarlan said.

“That one, Your Majesty, one of the assimilated,” the other man, presumably an overseer, pointed to the child.

The boy stiffened up and let go of the man’s arm. “I haven’t done anything,” the boy protested.

My father smiled at him. “I believe you.”

The man with my father came towards the boy, and roughly dragged him away. The boy tried to loosen himself from his grip. “Get your fucking hands off me!” he screamed.

Something switched inside my mind.

I stepped forwards and pulled the boy towards me.

“What are you doing?” I addressed Sarlan and not the other man, who looked at me with shock as I took the boy from him. The boy continued to look at me with loathing.

Sarlan chuckled with his mouth closed. “It’s no matter, we are going in the same direction. Bring him.” He turned around and walked off. The man followed him.

The boy squirmed under my grip.

I let him go.

He grabbed his upper arm and looked at me under furrowed brows.

“Leave,” I told him.

The boy laughed brokenly. “And go fucking where?”

I couldn’t help but raise my brows. Nobody ever spoke to me that way, not because I forbade it, but because they were far too afraid of me.

“ Your father is waiting,” he said sarcastically.

I couldn’t process anything that had happened within the last few minutes. This boy knew who I was, and still.

I debated what to do, but I truly had no idea or inclination. This place, this situation, was far too unfamiliar.

I followed where my father had walked off to. It took me several minutes to find him.

He was standing in the centre of a rectangular hall. It was a dull brown, and its base was stone, the four narrow walls around it made from dark brick.

To the left, right, north, and south, several rows of stone narrow benches were lined up against one another. In the centre stood my father, and the man who had been accompanying him.

And I counted instantly, sixty-seven people.

Sixty-seven terrified looking people.

They all looked at me as I entered, some pleadingly, some with detestation, some blankly.

The sixty-seven people were surrounded by around thirty or so people, many of whom carried weapons of Noxstone. There was a boundary drawn on the ground in front of them, a partition separating them from the rest of us. They were huddled and squashed together.

Sarlan outstretched his hand to the space next to him, indicating I should stand there. He frowned as he realised the boy was not with me. He whispered something to the man next to him, giving him an instruction. That man disappeared.

I didn’t move. Sarlan came towards me instead. Unlike my mother, he didn’t seem to care much for shows of winning or losing. He knew after all that such gestures and actions meant nothing in truth.

He sighed as he looked me up and down.

“Why am I here?” I asked him pointedly.

My father chuckled again. “Here in Audra or…” He pointed behind him “Here?”

“Both,” I replied.

“Because you answer when I call. Because...” Sarlan didn’t offer an end to the sentence.

“Very elaborate,” I said.

The people behind my father watched our conversation tensely, their eyes switching between our two faces.

“I would like to show you something.” He came closer and stood at my side. He let out a loud sigh as if he had just breathed in fresh air.

Moments later, the boy was dragged in, kicking, and screaming. “Fucking pig! You piece of shit! Let fucking go of me!” he cursed.

I stepped forwards. My father’s arm came out in front of my torso instantly.

I looked at the scene around me. Thirty, no I counted, thirty-four men were ready to attack me, some with Noxstone, if I so much as moved another finger.

I looked at my father from the side to find him watching me, smirking.

He dropped his arm, after all, he knew that I understood.

I could defeat a large number of people in hand-to-hand combat at once, but not when they were trained in a similar manner to myself. Not these soldiers. Not alone.

“I heard you were asking about this place,” he stated.

“I was curious,” I lied. I had asked because of Arton’s dying words.

“It would have been better for Marco had you curbed your curiosity.”

I squinted and side-eyed him.

“He told you little. He is a loyal servant.” Sarlan almost sounded as if he admired the man.

It was true, Marco had barely told me anything. All Sarlan’s subjects were circumspect about speaking openly. Attempting to extract information from Marco had been like trying to draw blood from a corpse.

“But still…he told you too much.”

I swallowed. In the silence, it echoed as a loud gulp.

“Your mother dealt with him. I’m sure you can imagine what that entailed.” Even without looking at him, I could hear the smile in my father’s voice.

If it was my mother who’d dealt with him, then I would have preferred to not dwell upon it. Either way the result was the same. Marco was dead.

Another life, ended by my hands.

“Why kill him, only to bring me here now?” I asked the obvious question.

“Because only I decide what you know, and when.”

This place, this draining centre, I had figured out, it was why Arton had run. And standing here now, his na?ve, desperate bravery seemed, I could finally decide… not ridiculous in the slightest.

“And what…is that?” I asked, glancing around the room.

“Mathias has told me you have failed to ascertain who the thief of our intelligence is.”

I tried my best to remain composed, to think of anything other than the Captain as I replied, “That’s true.”

My father spun on his heel and came to stand in front of me. “I don’t believe you. I think you do know, and that you are withholding information from me. You’ve gotten into a habit of doing that lately.” He smiled very slightly then said, “Before, Silus would have been able to confirm such suspicions, but… no more.”

I couldn’t withhold my shock. I hadn’t liked Silus, but I could admit that he was skilled to almost the same degree as myself.

“Silus?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“And not just him.” My father seemed to delight in delivering the news. “Alijah, Julios. Rina .”

He exaggerated Rina’s name. There had been a time, many years ago when she and I had been engaged in a strange and altogether empty relationship. I supposed he thought her name would hurt me somewhat.

But the truth was that each name, including hers, was like a jolt to my system, and not for emotive reasons. It was simply for the fact that these people had been some of the most loyal and skilled warriors that had worked under Sarlan. If they had died, then…

“You feel sorry for the boy?” my father asked, pointing at him. The boy’s face was twisted in anger.

I was distracted by his expression of fierce determination and the information I had just received.

“It was his kind that ended their lives.” Sarlan’s voice rumbled with aggression.

I had been right. It was unsurprising and baffling simultaneously. Which sorcerers would dare to fight Audra’s legion head on? Why take that risk?

My father continued. “The information that has been taken is in relation to our activities here.” He pointed out around him “Activities you understand, which are for the good of our people, to protect them against the devastation these sorcerers can unleash.”

I remembered the note, I remembered what it had described in relation to experiments…assimilations?

Were all these individuals a product of such tests? I stared at them all helplessly.

My eyes found their way back to Sarlan’s again. Despite their gold colouring, they were darkened by the shadows. It made his face appear even more brutal.

“You say you have not found the culprit. We cannot afford for the information to fall into the wrong hands, and so…”

My father spun back to my side and nodded at the black clad guards.

In an instant, they stepped backwards in unison. Each of them raised a crossbow.

The people behind the partition began to scream, their voice curdled with unhinged levels of panic and fear. A few attempted to run but were hit by an invisible barrier as they tried to cross the partition line.

The boy stood there, his eyes, his facial expression hadn’t changed once, still full of unrestrained fury.

Despite my father’s previous warnings, I made a move to step forwards.

But the guards were faster.

They fired. Their dark and thick arrows were enough to skewer a bear, some went through two people at once. Some landed in the neck, the abdomen, the face.

The screaming intensified. In less than a second the bowmen fired again.

I jumped forwards and disarmed two of them. I knew it was useless, and yet I dared. For as soon as I did so, another arrow flew past me, taking the place of the one I had prevented firing.

The screaming stopped, replaced by the groans of the dying noises of sixty-seven people.

No. Sixty eight.

The boy was on his knees clasping at his stomach. One of his hands was on the floor in front of him. He coughed up blood and spat it out of his mouth. I stared at him wide-eyed. He stared back at me.

He didn’t look sad, he only looked enraged.

Then he fell forwards, his face smacked against the cold hard stone.

Their bodies were piled on top of one another. The smell of blood was pungent. It reeked of it. It reeked of urine. Some had soiled themselves through sheer terror before they had been killed.

I had seen things, things I could not forget, things I could not forgive both myself, and others for, things I hoped I would never need lay eyes on again.

And yet somehow, this was the worst of them all.

My father placed his hand on my shoulder softly and whispered in my ear, “This is for the best. They cannot be allowed to live, with such information out there, unacquired. If you had found the offending party this could have been avoided but…”

I smacked his hand off my shoulder and glared at him. He professed the death of these Vessels was for the greater good, that these sorcerers were a stain on society, but he massacred them in front of me, because he knew I would shoulder the memory, the guilt.

Guilt was something I had grown numb to with time. Through necessity. Through the inevitable change that had occurred in me as I had grown, been honed as an instrument of death.

The Bird of Death.

But this…this…

He could always see, always see the parts of me that ached, and fired directly at them when he wanted to win.

And it almost, always guaranteed he did.

He knew I could not bear to witness it, that I had refused to take on such tasks in the past. I had been punished for those refusals then, and I had accepted that, I had taken that pain gladly.

But this, I could not stomach.

“You act as if they would have lived regardless,” I spat.

My father chuckled once. “You’re right, but they would have served their purpose. They would have lived for longer. Especially the children.”

My eyes were drawn to the boy.

“He reminded me of you that one,” my father said, following my gaze. “Just like you at that age.”

My throat felt tight. I swallowed the urge to scream.

After all, as he had yelled ‘Get your fucking hands of me,’ I had thought the exact same.

Sarlan took one step towards me. “Kill the thief. You have three more days. I know you know who it is.”

“I don’t,” I insisted.

Sarlan smiled, coldly. “Three days, Nathon. Three days. If it is not done, then I will have to devise a way to loosen your lips. I’m sure you’d prefer that didn’t happen. After it is done, you will inform me of their identity. After the Season is over, you will return here immediately, since I am short on weapons now.”

My father approached and softly patted my upper arm. He said in a calm voice, “If I find out you have been protecting the culprit, I will make sure they suffer immensely for your attempt at heroism.”

I thought of the Captain, of him being subject to some of the methods of torture I knew Sarlan was capable of.

That I had experienced.

I shuddered slightly at the thought. My father, with his hand resting on my arm, noticed.

He looked at my arm with fascination then back at my face. “I must admit, I’m most curious to find out who this person is.”

I shook my arm out of his grasp. “As am I.”

“Ha. Truly, they must be an incredible individual. Do not forget however, it is I you obey."

“You can make me suffer,” I bit. “But you cannot make me kneel."

Sarlan’s smile was predatory as he replied. “Kneeling means nothing. You would kneel to Vasara’s King, would you not?”

“He is more worthy of it than you,” I spat.

Sarlan laughed then. “I am sure your high opinion of His Majesty will reassure him greatly as he lies in a grave.”

“Is that not what you chase?” I huffed. “The empty adoration of thousands, praising your name.”

Sarlan chuckled. “Mass hatred. Mass love. They are unshakeable forces of cultivated truth. One you yourself, have experienced.”

My brows flattened.

“And cultivated truth… is often more powerful than any reality,” he added.

“And more convenient,” I spat.

They called me the Bird of Death, then hid behind my wings. The more feathers they gave me, the more shade I cast over their own foul deeds. Including Sarlan’s.

But that was fine. If that shade protected Loria from the blinding heat of the sun, of our father.

And I would not shield the rest forever, despite what Sarlan thought.

“But I do not seek praise for praise’s sake,” he stated.

“How noble of you,” I smiled falsely.

“Your Kazal has recovered, you should know. Ride the Erebask back if you wish.”

I had only been gone a little over a month, that injury would only just have healed.

“I’ll use a horse,” I said.

“Are you sure? You have three days. It will take you that time to get to Vasara on horseback. You’ll effectively have to kill the culprit on sight as soon as you return.” A slow grin spread across Sarlan’s face as he spoke.

“I’ll have to find out who they are first,” I maintained my lie.

“So, you have no intention of meeting the deadline?”

I didn’t reply.

“I’ll be generous. Four days. You have no excuses after four days.” His tone of voice was teasing almost.

I fiddled with my fingers.

“How’s your sister? Is she doing well?”

“Yes,” I replied gruffly.

My father raised his brows at my answer, then turned to the guards.

“Clean this up,” he ordered.

Sarlan's face settled into something of a calm expression as he turned to leave, the guards following him. A face of falsified warmth, ready to meet those beyond these chambers.

I stood there for a moment, looking at the pile of bodies in front of me.

No wonder that cloaked woman had tried to kill me. In fact, it was a wonder she hadn’t tried to kill me beforehand, knowing my identity.

I quickly left soon after, desperate to get out of that place, desperate to return to Vasara.

After all, once I’d arrived, I’d have one day.

One day to produce a plan I had never tried to enact before.

To save my target’s life.