Verita - The Guardian of Darkness

16

Now, Aetrian moved closer to inspect the reason for her horror. She felt the air move as he closed the distance between them, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the worn-out blade in her hands.

"What is this?", asked Aetrian, with a tone mirroring her own astonishment. "I was expecting your people to come after me – and possibly, mine after you –, but what, by Gratia's grace, is this?"

Elanthin stared at the dagger in her hands, which proved that the assassin hadn't been Gratian. The hilt was wrapped in worn-out monster skin; the common kind. It had probably belonged to one of the lower creatures as it was too thin for anything higher level.

A gurgling sound interrupted the pensive silence, which had covered the room, and Elanthin grabbed the handle of the assassin's dagger with her dominant hand.

But nothing moved. The intruder just wasn't dead yet; at least not completely.

Without losing any time, Elanthin knelt down beside the convulsing person and held the blade to her throat. Under the thick hood of the dark cloak, delicate features and long, dark hair showed.

A woman, recognized Elanthin. But that was all; she had no idea who this person was. At least, the attack hadn't been personal.

"I'll end the pain if you tell me who you belong to."

Elanthin wasn't even sure that the woman would be able to make a sound, but it was worth the try. She gripped the assassin's back of the head and propped her up a little.

"Who sent you?"

A cough escaped the stranger's mouth, accompanied by another handful of blood. Still, she tried to speak up.

She must be in indescribable pain, if she's giving in this quickly, hypothesized Elanthin without much compassion. She hadn't forgotten that this stranger had wanted to kill her, while she'd been sleeping and vulnerable.

"Chil ... dren of... of the ... deep."

Frowning, Elanthin moved closer to the assassin's mouth to understand her muttering. "Did you say, Children of the Deep? Did they send you?"

"We ... will rise ... to ..."

Instead of more words, she coughed up a few drops of blood, until Elanthin put her hand over the assassin's mouth. But she'd caught something important besides the fact that the woman was native in the Veritan tongue. We, not they. This woman wasn't contracted, she was acting out of conviction.

"We don't have time for you to evade me. What do you want from me? Why do you have to kill me?"

Deep in the stranger's eyes something glinted. As she made another attempt to speak up, Elanthin removed her hand, whose palm was covered in warm blood.

"Gratia will always ... the enemy..."

"The Children of the Deep, your people, they don't want this unification?"

"It ... can ... never happen. Never ..." Her voice was barely more than the scraping on gravel, before it trailed off completely.

Elanthin gave up her questioning after a look in the assassin's glazed eyes. Letting go of the woman's head, she scrutinized the state of the body in front of her carefully. Dark blood had crusted over most part of her face and neck and got covered in fresh gushes, whenever the stranger opened her mouth to speak or breathe. However, the amount of blood grew smaller and smaller with every passing second.

Elanthin didn't recognize the spell which Aetrian had used but she did recognize the look of a dying person. The assassin wouldn't hold out much longer, no matter what she did.

Still, she kept her promise. With a swift motion of her right hand, she reached out and slit the assassin's throat. There wasn't much blood left to escape the women's blood-starring throat. Thanks to that, Elanthin was spared the need for another bath – but the formerly white-blue rug would need to be incinerated.

Poor thing, she thought, while nodding to the innocent victim trapped underneath the assassin's limp body.

As she'd stood up and started to clean the dagger with her snow-white skirts, she felt Aetrian's gaze rest on her.

"If you need to throw up, do it somewhere else, please." She was tired; all the relaxation due to Myrel's efforts had left her body as soon as she'd seen blood.

"No, I was–"

"You can't be surprised that I'm used to this." Then, she remembered. He could very well be. The Gratian king had never set foot on the Plains at all.

"That's not what I was going to say", said Aetrian firmly. His solemn expression told her that he felt wronged. "It's simply ... next time, you can ask me to do it for you."

"Why would I need you to?"

"Well, wasn't she a Veritan? A woman of similar age?" He cocked his head to the side. "I think I'd feel bothered about these things, that's why I offered it."

"Sounds like next time I'll have to be the one to help you."

Aetrian let go of a quick sigh, before he loosened the scarf around his waist and slipped out of his pastel blue robe. Underneath, another although much thinner and lighter version appeared. Then he stretched his free hand out towards her.

"You might be right, but my offer stands." Aetrian's amber eyes locked with hers for a moment, before trailing down to where she was holding the assassin's dagger. "If it's alright with you, I'll take that dagger now."

Reluctantly, Elanthin followed his request and gave up the blade. If he'd wanted to hurt her, he'd had many chances, she knew that. It was still uncomfortable to hand a weapon to someone else, leaving her unprotected. However, if it was Aetrian, he probably could do just as much damage to her without a blade – and she could win over him in a fist fight, even if he was in possession of one.

But instead of storing the blade away carefully, Aetrian threw it onto the floor before he quickly moved to grab her wrist. Gentler, he turned her hand around to expose the blood-covered palm.

Elanthin had nearly forgotten about it, but the assassin had coughed up blood – straight into her hand.

"I'm sorry that this happened in my palace. It shouldn't have."

His apology was simple; simple enough that Elanthin couldn't detect anything suspicious about it. Silently, she watched him use his outer robe to wipe off the blood which had started to dry on the palm of her hand. His lack of dignity and suspicion suddenly didn't strike her as a flaw in the faint glow of runes and fire; instead, she felt herself dangerously close to trusting someone, whom she was meant to keep her distance from.

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