Fatal Bonds

CHAPTER SIX

They always run away. The moment Cassian and I step into the town, with an army of a dozen soldiers behind us, all the children scurry away. Whether it's to their parents or down an alleyway they rot away in, I don't know. The adults merely look at us, briefly, before turning away, resuming their business with unsteady hands and slow steps. I feel the fear in their hearts.

"Right," Cassian says, stopping just before the bustling markets. "We need to find the town's blacksmith. His name is Caldor, I believe."

I stand just behind him. "And then what?"

Cassian doesn't even look at me, only continues to scan the crowd. "Well, we find out what we need to know."

I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Bitterness pools in it. Again, we're on a mission to murder a perhaps innocent man. At least, innocent in his eyes. Evil is subjective.

More villager heads turn in our direction. The chatter of the markets seems to tenfold.

"All right," Cassian starts, turning to face us all. "Four of you circle the right side of the markets. Same to the left. Then I want the rest of you standing by the entrance - make sure no one escapes. He will likely try to flee. Azael and I will search inside the building."

One of the soldiers, Amiel, steps forward, his bushy brows furrowing. "Are you sure that's wise, Your Majesty?" he questions. "Shouldn't you have more men behind you?"'

Any other prince would have struck a man down for questioning him. But Cassian only shakes his head. "No, Azael is more than enough protection." He pats the back of my shoulder. "Let's go."

The soldiers fall into place. Cassian and I start to make our way through the crowd, commoners scuffling to the side to let us through. My fingers twitch towards my sword, but we're not to draw them yet. Not until we're sure we need to use them.

We weave through the markets, dodging the wooden posts upholstering the ratty sheets to cover the goods. The blacksmith building is just ahead, with a worn sign dangling from the front of the door - Molten Metalworks. It's the only blacksmith amongst the village, unlike the several residing in the castle's lower floor, working day and night to produce the finest weapons and armour for the royal guard.

Cassian reaches for the door, about to knock, but I slide in front of him and pull it open. If this blacksmith, Caldor, formed an alliance with both Dragan and the rebellion, he will take any chance he gets to run a blade through the prince. Especially if we're after him.

Cassian must realise this, as he lets me stalk ahead of him. He shuts the door quietly behind us. The entire room reeks of hot metal and singed wood, layers of dust and dirt coating every surface. Tools lay on the anvil, and the forge flames tick away.

"He's still here," I say, scanning the room. There's a door behind the counter, one that must lead to his sleeping quarters or office.

I creep forward, drawing my dagger and pinning it to my side. I hear Cassian's sword unsheathe. My fingers wrap around the handle, and I pull it open. A small desk, scattered with papers, spilt ink and lit up by a melting candle. Only, that's not what catches my eye - it's the man slumped on a bed, a sword protruding from his chest.

"Bloody hell," Cassian curses, standing directly behind me.

It's not even the worst part. "Look at his arm," I say, staring at the charred red letters branded into his skin.

Cassian steps forward now, right up to him. He kneels down to grab his forearm and read it. "Reign's will be cut free," he whispers. He looks back up at me. "What on earth does that mean?"

I swallow hard, and my mouth suddenly dries. "I don't know," I admit. "It sounds like... a warning, perhaps. From the rebellion."

"Reign's will be cut free..." he recites, as he rises onto his feet. "This makes no sense. Why would he take his own life and... brand that onto his own skin?"

I trace my tongue over my lips. "He knew we were coming," I reply, gripping the handle of my dagger tighter. "He had something to hide, and he knew we would've taken it from him had we caught him."

Cassian stands there, staring at the dead man. "This is insanity," he exhales, exasperated. "These rebels truly hate us. I don't understand why."

"Nor do I," I chime, "but we ought to go. The guards will be growing anxious."

"Yes, you're right. Let us leave." He's the first to step out, striding with a purposeful bounce out the door.

I follow shortly after, stopping to gently close the shop's door. To think a man killed himself, as opposed to being imprisoned, unsettles my very bones. He could've lied his way out of it. There would've been no proof if we couldn't find anything. But the truth is compelling, and he would rather take his own life than take his integrity away. 

Fire crackles in front of me. Cassian and I slant on the velvet chaises in front of the fireplace, staring into its lively embers. A small, round table with a bowl of freshly baked ginger biscuits on top of it, served with cool glasses of milk. It remains untouched between us despite the accumulation of hunger from another long, dreary day. Time spent searching for traitors, who are hard to come by - alive, at least.

Cassian is the first to finally reach for a biscuit. "I fear the worst for Eldorium," he voices, while he grabs his glass of milk and dips the biscuit in. "Everyone fears us. Did you see it? The way even children scurried away from us. My own people." Crunch.

I grab a biscuit - only because he has. "They should fear you to some degree." I dunk it in the milk and take a bite, the hard crumbs softened and sweetened by the cream.

Cassian finishes chewing before he speaks. "It's different, though," he contends, taking another biscuit. "Children used to come up to us knights and marvel at us. They'd proclaim their desire to become a knight, too - a warrior. Even little girls." He chuckles slightly. Crunch. "But now..." His biscuit hovers by his mouth as he stares aimlessly into the flames.

I slowly, silently swallow the crumbs. "It's not your fault," I tell him, rather than etching this truth into his brain like I wish I could. "It is the rebellion causing this unrest - this distrust of you and the palace. They're merely afraid."

Cassian draws in a deep breath. "Perhaps there's something we can do to fix this." He takes a sip of his drink and sinks further back into his seat.

My stomach churns for another biscuit. But I sense his thoughtful silence and I do not wish to interrupt it with the crack of gingerbread.

He turns his head to me, a gleeful glint in his eyes. "I have the perfect idea, Azael."

I raise a brow. "What is it?"

Cassian smiles for the first time in what feels like forever. "A ball."

I cannot help but drop my face. "A ball?"

It's already set in his eyes. "Yes," he confirms, looking back at the fireplace with the light gleaming on his grin. "And everyone shall be invited."