The cold embrace of the windStep tugged at Risens as he hastened down the underground corridor. Shrugging off the ever-present discomfort, he passed the doorways heading for the main portal ahead, only relaxing his hold on his blades once they were behind him. The looming raven and the portal to his private quarters were only meters away.

  His mission—deviations made out of necessity notwithstanding—was a success. It was with a distinct sense of satisfaction that he’d watched the elaborate, colorful outfit be reduced to ash in one of the small burn pits that seemed to be perpetually smoldering in the seedier alleys of the city. From there, he deposited Marlaine in the unexpected safe house, gritting his teeth as he suffered through Tawny’s all too familiar ministrations and questions. Once again, he denied her any attempts to inspect his abdomen or chest. He’d seen her curious eyes peek several times, though he’d not faulted her for her curiosity. At some point, the Brands would undoubtably be revealed, yet he would delay it as long as sustainable.

  Avoiding injury would be the most plausible defense, yet try as he might, the unpredictability of his line of work often derailed the best laid plans.

  Risens banished the Shadows Shroud as he stepped through the portal. He let out a hushed yet audible groan as he spotted Fendri pacing incessantly outside his door. The steward stormed in his direction as he noted his arrival.

  “Where is your outfit?” he demanded, the irritating tone of his voice already needling Risens’ patience as soon as it reached his ear.

  “Burned.”

  “And you suppose it is I who has to report to the King’s tailor, inform them that His Majesty’s feckless servant decided weeks of their labor was destined for a burn pit in the alleys of the city’s slums.”

  Risens was taken aback by the oddly specific and eerily accurate depiction of his destruction of the vibrant disguise. He, too, was caught off guard by the unexpected anger that rose at being called the King’s servant. Never before had such a thing bothered him, but now, in light of all he’d begun to uncover, fire danced through his veins.

  He stepped close to the steward, lowering his voice to an ominous growl. “I give my reports to the King. I don’t give a damn if it’s the tailor, the bread maker, or the poor sap assigned to dig the next latrine, that is your problem. Not mine.”

  “I’m sure it will please you to no end to know that, in this matter, you will give your findings to me. Should His Royal Excellency have questions, he will summon you.”

  Risens bit his tongue. He also held back the strength of a thousand oxen that stood behind his clenched fist.

  “You are not to leave the complex.” Fendri puffed himself up, not backing down from the challenge. Risens repressed the slightest inkling of respect. He would have been deceiving even himself to say he was unimpressed by the show of fortitude. “His Majesty rests now, and you are the last person he desires to rouse him in the dark of the night.”

  Risens opened his mouth to argue, yet he stifled the complaint before giving it voice.

  Reports, tasks, and communications frequently flowed through the steward. This was hardly out of the ordinary. In light of his current situation, the countdown flashing from symbol to symbol in the corner of his vision, the change was welcome. He would see this to the end, for the power and possibilities of the Roost called to him.

  “Why are you here?” Risens said, pushing past the man.

  Fendri appeared almost injured at the words. Then he sneered. “You are as foolish as you appear. My answer has already been given. I was arriving here just now to see if you’d returned.”

  The thought struck him as their back and forth continued. He’d never questioned the man about the note found in his room. There was no time like the present.

  “And I suppose if I hadn’t shown up when I did, you’d just break into my chambers to see if you could figure it out yourself?”

  Visibly flustered, Fendri stumbled through a response. “When your needs are so great that the added burden has been placed on my shoulders, I do not have the time to stand idly around for your return.”

  “That so?” Risens asked with a smirk, glad to see the man taken aback.

  “Indeed. Your carelessness of late has been impressive in its regularity and disaster. Perhaps it is you who should be more circumspect.”

  Risens held out the tome collected from the gilded vault below Lady Myrenas’s estate and Fendri snatched it from his hands before wheeling around and stomping away.

  While the steward was likely unnerved by Risens’ accusation, Risens was equally disturbed by the veiled admission that the man had entered his room. Presently, however, wasn’t the appropriate time to pressure the details. He understood without question that it was not complacency or distraction that had allowed Fendri access to his private chambers. A mageLock isn’t something that one can just forget to engage.

  If the insufferable Fendri had access to his chamber, who else in the King’s employ could do the same?

  The thought was chilling. When added into the uncertainty about the expected success of his most recent task, an alarm in him swelled.

  He entered his private quarters with caution, though he knew not why. There was no reason to believe any danger waited within, but with dagger in hand, he cleared the room, confirming his solitude before slamming the heavy bolt into place. Where it had recently protested the motion, it now slid easily.

  The first light of the coming day was just brightening the sky through the artificial window in his quarters. He laid down to rest. The long day had been both physically and mentally strenuous and eye opening all at once. Retrieving the carefully secreted section of coded paperwork that bore his title, he thumbed through the pages. Ten sheets were filled front and back with small, intricate script. Though a few of the markings looked like they could be numbers, he recognized nothing. The learners in the King’s employ were likely already pouring through the book while the soldiers already marched to collect their prize.

  The Lady Myrenas’ execution would be swift and the mercy lacking.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  ***

  A knot twisted in Risens’ gut. He stood rigid, a mere spectator to the hastily arranged execution. Only hours after he’d closed his eyes, Lady Myrenas had been dragged into the dank dungeon beneath Windwake’s castle complex. The writings and the information in her possession had condemned her to death, though even with King Lathrenon’s high dudgeon, her interrogation had provided nothing of substance. Thankfully, with Risens having no further information either, his meeting with the King had been just as brief.

  It seemed, regardless of the timing, there were always enough bloodthirsty or justice-craving citizens to fill the festival grounds for an execution. The innate curiosity of humankind overpowered the brutal reality of the event. Word was intentionally spread that it was one of Windwake’s elite, so the frenzy to attend was amplified exponentially.

  Risens was again cloaked in all black, though this time, it was of a different design. The setting was as disparate to his norm as imaginable. This evening, it was the mask and hood of an executioner that disguised him from view. At least the black covering alleviated his worry over the Shadows Shroud.

  Normally, his position atop the stained, weathered wooden stage would be among the focal points of the exhibit, yet today, he could have stood stark naked and no one would have noticed.

  Lathrenon himself stepped up to the front of the platform, his voice amplified by Magus Pol who stood discretely at the rear of the stage. “Good citizens of Windwake and the Great Halthome Kingdom. It is a rare thing, indeed, for the King to address the city, but today merits extreme action. Kneeling beside me today…” he motioned toward Lady Myrenas who was gagged and tied. All fight had left her by now. “… you will recognize as the former Lady Myrenas. Her titles have been stripped. Her estate has returned to the crown.”

  The crowd gasped. Though few had likely seen the Lady’s face, all knew her name.

  “We stand upon the gallows, but this morning, we need no such stage. Today, the streets will be our gallows, and you, the fine people of this great city, will be the hand of the King.”

  Risens was suddenly thankful for the executioner’s mask, for without, the entirety of the city would be privy to his surprise. The crowd, for their part, murmured, confused.

  “This woman paraded herself amongst you,” the King continued. “Nay, not amongst you. She believed herself to be better, special, above you. She also fancied herself above the law itself, and worst of all, above me.”

  King Lathrenon took a few steps closer to Myrenas and grabbed her by the hair. In the state she was in, she no longer looked the part of a noble. She’d been stripped naked. She was bruised and bloody, not just from being tortured for information, but in her struggle, she’d likely afflicted much of the damage upon herself.

  “This wretch of a woman has conspired against King and country. For the crime of treason, she has been sentenced to death.” He let the words hang long enough to create a sufficient level of drama. “By your hands.”

  With that, the King tugged her by the hair and forced her off the platform. She landed with a heavy thunk. With her hands and feet tied, she had no means of protecting herself as her head and shoulder slammed hard onto the dirt road.

  The crowd stood still and silent for what felt like eternity.

  “Tear her apart,” the King commanded.

  With looks to one another and an exchange of whispers, the crowd began to move. They daren’t disobey the King.

  It started with a kick, then a punch. In short order, all of those in attendance were given the opportunity to lay out their frustrations with the nobility without consequences for their actions.

  Lathrenon enjoyed every moment of it, prolonging it as long as he could. He’d called for the throng to stop many times, allowing Myrenas a chance to recover before issuing the order for the beating to ensue. Vile and disturbing glee was etched into the regal features of his face.

  Yes, she was a traitor; she deserved death, yet he had made a public spectacle of the event. She was tortured mercilessly by the boisterous crowd. They had hurt her in every manner they could conceive of. Finally, he called for their cessation once more.

  “Throw her up here,” he commanded.

  The order was immediately obeyed.

  Before ending her life with his own hands wrapped around her throat, he addressed the crowd once more. “Let this be a lesson to all men, both noble and peasant alike. The King will not be trifled with.

  He pulled a blade from the folds of his cloak and dragged it across her throat. The regal finery of his station was splattered with crimson and gore by the time her limp body tumbled forward, painting a arc of blood on stage as it lay inert.

  In the wake of the madness, the expectant crowd, never shying from executions, was left speechless and silent. From Risens’ position atop the gallows, he’d seen dozens attempt to abandon the event as the barbarity proved too great to bear. They were turned back by the guards and forced to participate. Now, with the deed done, dozens spilled the contents of their lunch on the immaculately tended festival grounds. The entirety of the council—many of whom Risens recognized from the previous evening’s festivities—remained on the grandstand, forced to bear witness to the cost of treason.

  “There is no place for safe for traitors.” Lathrenon boomed. “Not in Windwake. Not in Halthome. This is the price. Lady Myrenas’s holdings now belong to me. I will grant no last rights. Any caught celebrating her life will be executed.”

  Though the crowd heard every enunciated syllable, most of the speech was directed toward the nobles, cowering together in the front row of the grandstands.

  Sopping up the blood from his hands with a rag, the King tossed it arrantly to the floor before stalking off the stage into the palatial complex beyond. Risens cast a conspicuous view at the crowd that had lingered before following. Dissent had been rife among the city, echoing through through the cramped, decrepit alleys, amplified in the stations of power. The King’s warning had been emphasized by his utter brutality. Judging by the faces of those who had remained, he expected the message sent would only increase the disillusion. The tensions that tore at the fabric of the city and the realm would only increase until the strain became too much to bear.

  Something would break.

  The question was, what?

  He was no stranger to bloodshed, to the horrors of interrogation, to death, yet what he had just witnessed turned his stomach. He killed to protect the ideal, the very Kingdom of Halthome. He knew his fate would one day seal him to the fires of Pyklev, though the display left him feeling tainted and cold. The discomfort of standing in full view of the crowd paled in comparison to the unpleasantness he’d witnessed.

  He felt a distinct measure of regret for those who would be responsible for cleaning the mess. Had he just been ordered to assassinate the Lady as he had Duke Karieas, his internal torment would have been considerably less.

  He was a hired killer, the King’s Rightmaker, yet this was a step too far. The King had made the entirety of Windwake complicit with murder.

  There was utter silence as Risens descended into the shadowed mouth of the tunnels that would lead them back to the palace. The soldiers lining the walls stood rigid and at attention, each seemingly holding their breath as the King passed, fearful that he might question the loyalty of the very air in their lungs. A few dozen meters ahead, Lathrenon stormed onward, his personal guards flanking his movements, his mage a few meters behind.

  Risens rushed after him. But seemingly from thin air—though more likely it was just that Risens’ focus was so fixed—Fendri stepped in front of him, blocking his path. His head was still bowed low in deference to the King.

  For once, the indignant fire that seemed to fuel the man’s hatred of him had been shuttered.

  “The King is not to be bothered.” Fendri’s voice was uncharacteristically measured and monotone. “Your duties are no longer needed this day. You will report at first light. His Royal Majesty has another task for you. The moratorium on your movements has been lifted. Do your best not to earn His Excellency’s ire before the morn.”

  Fendri held out his arm, ushering Risens toward the smaller private exit from the corridor, though the steward remained where he stood.

  The irascible spirit of the man had been severely dampened but the veiled warning had been clear. Risens would take caution as he moved, yet he knew there was but one thing, one place that would distract his mind from the horrors of the morning.

  The Roost.

  Duty still bound him to the Kingdom, to Halthome, though he no longer knew if he could trust its King.