the sable spy

CHAPTER TWO,

THE SABLE SPY | TWO

TEN YEARS LATER,

IT WAS A RAINY DAY, and Cassalyn Diao was dying.

There had to be some kind of irony in this, she thought to herself, almost smiling as she staggered through the streets, a hand pressed against the bleeding wound on her arm with a grimace. She was losing far too much blood. She needed to get help soon, and fast. She weighed her choices.

She wasn't supposed to be in Arecia. No, she wasn't supposed to return from her posting in Gira for at least a few more months. She had started separating herself from the Arecian Secret Service years ago, as her family worked to return to their home in Sai. This wasn't a sanctioned mission. Her mistake. But when she realised what she had unearthed was far past her own ability, and she suddenly found her allies dropping one by one like stones, she had sped to Arecia by boat. But she was too late. They managed to catch up with her the moment she got her feet on dry land. Or perhaps they were waiting for her here all along, and she had walked neatly into their trap. She barely escaped with her life.

Fuck. Cirinique, her little sister was out of the country most likely, on a mission of her own. The mission they had discussed. The mission she got this damned slash trying to complete. There would be no help there. Lady Kuroki's School for Girls had a small house that would be sparsely populated at this time of year, but it was too far away. She thought about her other friends: none of them would be able to help her with a wound like this. They were too far away, anyways.

She was out of choices, then.

Coward, she spat to herself, her boots landing on a splash of water. He was one boy. She could survive one stupid meeting. Especially since the other option was surely to bleed out on the cold Arecian streets. The Arecian Secret Service would be more than equipped to deal with her wound. There was no better choice.

So Cass braced herself and started towards the direction of Borewood Street. If she wasn't injured, she could have made it there in less than ten minutes. But she was sore and tired and bleeding in more places than she could count. She caught a few stares, but no one stopped to help. She carried on. Through Fleet Route. Past Wright Avenue. She soldiered onwards. Didn't dare stop, because once she did she wouldn't be able to force herself to continue on. She blinked back tears.

Hadn't this been the situation she was in ten years ago, almost down to the exact day? Injured, going through the streets of Arecia? Though she was hardly as hurt as this the last time around, and Ciri had been there to help her. Clever, strong little Ciri. How she missed her little sister.

A turn. And she was on Borewood Street. The service had chosen well. The street was quiet at this time of night. No one would glance twice. Perfectly normal residential street. She let herself relax. Felt herself calm. Even if she fainted here, or died here, someone would see. Someone would avenge her, and tell Ciri what happened.

She forced herself onwards to Borewood Street. Felt her mind blanking as she managed to pull herself up the porch and rap her knuckles against the door. Felt the door swing open and then—

Darkness.

✴

"I SAID I WANTED to see her again. And now she shows up at our doorstep half-dead, unconscious and bleeding." Marcus Dalton paced around the room, a hand pulling back his white gold locks. Laurence sat on a chair near the door, quietly thinking, which was rare indeed. Thinking had never seemed to be one of Laurence Dumont's favoured activities, and when he did it, he did so loudly, rambling on and on until Marcus was tempted to shove his face in a chamberpot.