THE FORTUNIST

11. Lay

“The three independent territories are the Albenian Palace, the Albenian Bureau and Albenarum."

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Meanwhile, tension is burrowing its hook into the Albenian Palace as unconfirmed rumours flitter through the air. The truth will not be contained at this point. The queen's indisposition would have to be revealed to douse any fake news and mutters of dissent.

Rayton and Lay are still in their mother's living room. Her body had been relocated to the inner chambers by most trusted employees. Rayton paces endlessly round the room, with long strides, as if the space is not enough for him. Lay stares at the upturned writing table which had taken a heavy sabre blow. If staring could bare any more clue or hint from the table, Lay would recover it. The scarf and lace handkerchief had also been stowed safely away for further investigation.

"You confound my thinking, Brother," Lay comments. He is indeed trying to think but he does not know even where to begin on that.

"O great and mighty thinker. Have you finally come up with a tangible idea for world unification and mass polarisation?"

"Glad you haven't lost your sarcasm," Lay says wryly. He wanted to say: "Mother was writing." but that is an obvious fact he and Rayton have already covered. Lay is only a little thought away from becoming disoriented. He tries to arrange the immediate past events in his mind as accurately as he can.

He was keeping his brother's company. Rayton was telling him of how his former lover had somehow absconded with the Winter Solstice. Rayton was plotting to keep their mother in the dark at least until Lay could go as far away from the palace to retrieve a drawing of the ring in question. Rayton was hearing a tussle afterwards. Lay was smelling blood.

They had only caught a glimpse of the assassin —vivid purple hair and eyes— with an unmistakable hairpin in his grip. He had disappeared in a smoky haze. Their mother's lifeless body was on the floor along with a bloodied scarf, a silk handkerchief and a sabre. Right! There was a sabre.

"Where's the sabre?" Lay asks causing Rayton to shoot him an inpatient look.

"I do not need you confused Grand Prince. I need you thinking on your feet."

"I am thinking on my feet," Lay murmurs. Rayton stops his pacing.

"Sorry, what was that?"

Curse his super hearing. "Can we go over what you heard again?"

"Why? You think I'm lying?"

"You've never been a forthcoming person Ray. I just want to think on my feet without feeling crazy. The discussion, roll over it again."

"I don't exactly want to do that."

"For our mother's sake Ray."

Rayton sighs, rolls his shoulders uneasily. "She was calling for us and he was mimicking her, mocking her. She asked him who he was and he just hints that he is the one to end her. They struggle, struggle, struggle…well. At a point his disguise might have fallen through because she seems to recognise him. She says 'You' in that recognising way. He doesn't know we are already coming. She was smug about that until the very last moment."

"Her smugness didn't help. He got away."

"Lay."

"What?" Lay snaps irritably. He cannot help but feel his brother is omitting something. His brother who had gatekept information on the royal cryfixes for a good number of years. Who had only confessed to the possession of one two weeks after it was stolen from him and the disappearance of the other many days before that.

"You said the assassin's voice was deep."

"I only heard him because of my connection to Zia's Spring."

"His voice was probably deep also because of Zia's Spring. And disappearing like that. He must somehow have affinity with the Twin Mountains. That's not enough to work with."

"What do you mean? The Bureau has a register for the whole country along with their affinities."

"It'd take years to go through the records of the last ten years alone. I need something more."

"An…Anviem Script. That's it. She was begging me to remember something. Chanting some gibberish I couldn't understand. Now that I think about it. I wouldn't have understood it if it was Anviem."

"Great, you just thought to mention that."

"It was gibberish. I didn't think it was relevant."

Lay rolls his eyes in exasperation. "Where could our mother have learnt Anviem?"

"Maybe she didn't. Maybe it was indeed gibberish."

Lay chooses to ignore. "So what did she say? Do you remember? The Bureau could help with translation."

"That'd take weeks."

"Can you try to be a bit more positive?"

"I don't remember."

"This is our mother's legacy we are trying to protect, not that of some common whore."

"Drop it, I don't remember."

"Just like you didn't remember that you coveted the royal heirlooms and that your lover stole one of them?"

"She's not my lover."

"Deny it all you want but it won't change much what you are trying to make yourself out to be. Hiding information that can help not only us but the whole of Albeny. Your kingdom. The kingdom you are supposed to rule."

"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."

Silence.

"Queen said that?"

Rayton turns to face the wall, splattered with their mother's blood. "No, assassin did." Rayton's voice breaks.

There's a stiff knock on the door. It opens shortly after, one of the most trusted palace officer's head peeping in.

"Come in Leign," Rayton says putting up a brave front.

Leign steps in and bows. A young man in his late thirties, he is the head of the palace guards. " It is as you said your Highnesses, the General dropped by indeed."

"With his son?" Lay asks.

"His son was nowhere in sight."

"Can tonight get any weirder?" Lay blurts.

"You sent him back like I ordered should be done?" Rayton enquires.

"Yes, your Highness."

"And Bough?"

"On his way as we speak your Highness."

"Very well, you may leave."

"One more question before you go," Lay intercepts, "Who delivers the Queen's letters?"

"The… the Chief Messenger I suppose."

"Oh, and do you also suppose my mother would undignify herself by trotting about the palace to find him?"

Leign bows his head to hide a fast growing blush. "It should be one of the higher level courtmaid's. I… I will inquire."

"See that you do," Lay says sharply. "And report back immediately. Make sure Bough arrives with no hitches."

Leign hurriedly rushes out as if it was a mistake he was slower when Rayton first dismissed him. Rayton remains staring at the entrance where Leign once was. He seems to be out of it. Lay walks up to him and puts a form grip on his shoulder.

"Brother, I know you are to be king and all but as long as I'm alive, you don't have to bear anything alone. Not one single thing."

Rayton clears his throat begrudgingly. "So, the assassin's words stay between us."

"It sure does."

"Thank you," Rayton says gruffly.

"You owe me no thanks. Now tell me the gibberish you believe Mother to have said."