THE FORTUNIST

7. Eim

"There are eight known cryfixes; one remains enduringly unknown."

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Eim blinks. There is a tingling sensation in her hands and feet. The assassin has no idea yet that she has summoned company. She can feel the vibrations of a personal army and at the fore front are two particular pairs of heartbeat. She would always know the pattern of her sons' hearts.

Now, she must make sure the assassin does not withdraw his sabre. That would cause her to bleed out and he would also be able to strike her again. Her primary plan is to uncover the lace handkerchief wrapping his face and shielding his features. She must sync with the movement of her sons' so that the moment they enter her chamber would also be the moment she reveals the assassin. She knows the assassin would not want to be revealed, he would certainly flee. He has always had his ways. He clearly did not want his face exposed but she must stay alive till the moment he decides to run or disappear.

The assassin is standing over her. His chuckle is so low. Pretending to be helpless and despairing, she smears blood on the assassin's cheeks and hands. This will cause his grip to be slippery when she ultimately attempts to slide out of his radar. She does it successfully and does not miss the assassin's startled blink.

Three hundred and sixty five seconds away.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this? Who sent you?" She is not expecting to get a definite answer, she had never gotten one the last two times she saw him. But he hadn't come to kill her either time, why now? He tries to wipe the blood on his gloved hands but his leather outfit is not absorbent. Eim cannot help but crack a laugh as she stands against the wall, her hands firmly on the hilt of the sabre lodged in her belly.

"You can't live."

Eim smirks, "You can't decide that for me"

"I am doing so right now, yes?"

"I've done nothing wrong. Why should I die? If I'm to die anyway, I should at least know why I'm dying!"

"I've had enough of your antics. There is mischief all over you. You are choosing your life over my death by not drawing out that sabre and striking me." He spots her silk cloth carelessly strewn on the ground. He picks it up and cleans his bloodied hands. He then twists the material around his palms. "Keep your blood in and I'll keep out the air in your lungs." The assassin leaps in for a second tussle. Eim once again barely dodges.

Three hundred seconds.

Eim changes her tactic to offence and runs right into the assassin, ramming into him like a sledgehammer. Her move causes the sabre to pierce an exit through her back. Eim stifles a groan as she and her assailant tumble to the ground. The assassin is temporarily dazed.

One hundred seconds.

In this split opportunistic moment when the assassin tries to unravel the mystery behind Eim's suicidal move, his hands are connected around her neck by the scarf. She swings over in his embrace giving him an accurate slash with the sabre. The assassin draws in a harsh breath but Eim is not done. She slaps the assassin after feinting a punch. She yanks away the handkerchief.

The piece of lace, sailing through the air is forgotten as time slows down briefly. Eim's eyes clash with the assassin's purple ones.

Sixty seconds.

The assassin blinks. Eim gasps. A nod of his head sends her flying across the room and hitting the opposite wall so hard that it knocks the sabre out of her. Her queenly robes rapidly drench as she coughs up blood.

"You." She had never seen him without the mask before but the reality of who he is hits her as she realizes with acute horror that he has not aged a bit.

"Me. I don't usually handle killing contracts but you're the queen. You like being the queen. How do you like it now?" the assassin gloats, walking towards her with slow deliberate steps. Eim already knows what will happen the moment he reaches her front. He would pick up his sabre— and he would permanently end her.

With her eyes, she tries to find the royal hairpin. It is her last resort. She spots it but it is far away. She would have to get past the assassin to reach it. No chance.

'This is all happening so slowly,' she thinks, 'my sons. Why are they still thirty seconds away? And Rayton, can you hear all of this?'

"Rayton," she mouths, "Ray listen. I can only say this once: Min droth mo geimim, guman kuiera sein." Even though she said she'll only say it once, for some strange reason, she continues to chant it almost desperately.

Meanwhile, the assassin is still speaking condescendingly. "Albeny will know of this taboo. This taint in royal blood. You have ended the royal lineage. Your tainted mongrels you call sons will follow you. The country will fall."

Twenty seconds.

The assassin reaches her front and indeed picks up his sabre. He hears her desperate chant.

He is irritated. "What are you saying?"

"Can you feel it?" Eim vindictively asks. The assassin frowns. He can feel it. The thud of the royal army is within feeling distance. They are coming to rescue her and the smug queen must have known all along. In fact, she might have summoned them. Damn! How could he have forgotten that she is connected to Zia's Spring.

Fifteen seconds.

The vibration of the approaching army seems to shake the ground. The assassin had been talking freely because he knew his voice was too low to discern. She had somehow been able to understand him! Her son's would also be connected to Zia's spring through her.

"Ray, if you can hear me please don't forget this, please." She continues to chant.

She is speaking Anviem, a language that has long ago died out. He can understand her but what she is saying makes no sense. It disconcerts him but it does not make him forget what he needs to do. He raises his sabre to strike.

"Shaviem!" Eim yells. Her body slumps and the sabre passes right over where her neck once was, taking away wisps of hair instead.

Ten seconds.

The assassin stops in surprise.

Nine.

He watches a bluish smoky entity float past him.

Eight.

He tries to grab it, maybe strangle it, but it seeps through his fingers and gets sucked into the hairpin.

Seven.

He crouches before the queen and places two fingers under her nostrils.

Six.

No breath.

Five.

"No!" He angrily cries. Potential victory had blinded him so that her soul had managed to escape her death sentence for good.

Four.

He runs towards the hairpin and grabs it.

Three.

He shields his exposed faced with an arm. He is confused whether to slash through the queen's body nevertheless.

Two.

No time. He'd get caught and he had had no orders to deal with the princes yet.

One.

The main doors to the queen's chamber bursts open.