Secrets of the Crown Assassins

23

ARIELLE

Men, women, and children filed out of the ballroom in their dresses and suits which, no doubt, hid weapons and gear underneath. They had already bowed before the Crowns and said their goodbyes before leaving the room. There was no mention of Aunt Erilia. There wasn't supposed to be one. Funeral receptions were done to show that the loss of a loved one wouldn't slow us down and that we will continue forward in their memory.

The wealthiest Streeters in the nation were too, milling about in groups and speaking to Assassins with ease. It would've been difficult to figure out who were Streeters if not for the white wrist bands they were required to wear while in the streets of Cressida. The wrist bands were now ornated with embroidery and jewels for the occasion.

Standing near the doors, I smiled and nodded as Assassins nodded a respectful goodbye while they left. I had no idea where Xavier, Damien, or Phoenix was and was left to do the task all alone. My mind wandered until I started paying close attention to the music still playing overhead.

They stopped playing Aunt Erilia's old recordings sometime through the night to signify the continuation of life, but I could still hear it as if it was playing now and Xavier was right by my side, still humming as we spun around the floor.

It was surprising at first and it took me several moments to quite believe it was him. I didn't hear him sing in years. And, though it was off and his voice was rough and swallowed, it reminded me of when we were younger.

I would pass by the hall of the Kingstons and could always hear the music in the distance, be it Aunt Erilia's voice, a violin, or a piano. But Xavier's voice always stood out. It was loud and echoing, drifting through the halls and filling your ears with the sweet sound. It was angelic.

And I, who always loved to dance but quickly lost the habit after Phoenix left, used to climb up the arches and inch as close to his room as I dared. I used to stand on any foothold I could find, balance on ledges that were only inches wide, and moved to the beat, the rhythm, and the sound of his voice. I swung my arms and legs as I twirled on a stage high above anyone, out of sight but yet right there, feeling the music and soaring through the air as I jumped across columns.

I learned the art of moving without producing a sound when I was up there—I didn't want to get caught and be forced down. But, even though my performance was always done in pure silence, it spoke volumes.

And then Xavier's voice was gone. I can't remember exactly how old we were, but I could remember the way it slowly started to slip away, one day at a time. He started to struggle, sounding strained as he gave his all to produce a sound similar to his previous talent that was no longer there. I couldn't feel the music anymore. The magic slipped away, little by little.

And then there were the weeks Xavier was in the infirmary. First came the leading doctors in the nation. They couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. Then came the experts from all around the world—Variatus, Nefaria, Zion, even the Southern Republic—but they all said the same thing.

"A rare disease," they said. "No way to treat him."

So, Xavier's voice faded. In the weeks after he left the infirmary, he could barely speak. He would whisper only a few sentences when absolutely required, and even then he would wince. Slowly, almost as if from pure determination and stubbornness, he managed to speak louder and clearer, though it was rough, like an elderly who had worn out their vocal cords over the years.

But he knew what to do. He always knew. Xavier never forgot how much of a wretched world this was. He knew how the Assassins treated their disabled members and he now fell into that list. He would have to live in fear, watching the vultures swoop overhead, wondering when they would dive down and tear him apart.