THE FORTUNIST

57. Wuxhia

“Jacque stone can only be mined in the Tai.”

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Wuxhia had not thought very highly of Ciara Mulden when he set his eyes on her finally. She looked more desperate, not aloof like Feng had been. She looked like a girl trying to wear shoes that did not fit. Ciara would not summon the Fortunist!

But perhaps he could give her some credit. He had to admit that she was more than he had expected. She had seen things in the fortune that he had missed. It bothers him. First Fowella, and now Ciara.

He enters his room and goes to the safe where he hid Salem's Flower. A person to rule all cryfixes? The only person fitting that bill so far is the Fortunist. Yet, while is the interpretation coinciding with the time of a thief who fit the description of Bough's purple clad assassin moving across the major houses, stealing the cryfixes and disappearing into thin air?

Wuxhia squints his eyes before rubbing them with the back of a hand but it is just the same. His safe is empty. Salem's Flower is gone. He had locked the chaotic comb up, trying not to think about it. Who in the seven major houses could have taken it? His first thoughts deliberately go to Fowella as he tries not to imagine the alternative, that the thief had somehow found it.

"Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" It is Fowella in a regal midnight blue gown. She is wearing an elaborately designed blue turban. Instantly, he remembers the question he had forgotten to ask her the last time because he had been distracted by the obtaining of Ciara Mulden.

"Do you have the Winter Solstice?" he asks it now.

Fowella furrows her brows, totally serious. "No I do not have the Winter Solstice. Who even put that idea in your head?"

Wuxhia swallows and says the name. Fowella straightens her posture.

"Ahem. She wasn't brave enough to accuse me to my face. Take me to her so I'll watch her mouth move while she's saying it again."

"That won't be necessary," Wuxhia says gruffly. His mother is being annoyingly dramatic.

"Why not? I'm not just going to sit down while some low classed commoner accuses me of something that grievous!"

"That tale you spun about your grudge with the queen, am I truly the only one you've ever told?"

"Yes! And I meant it when I said you are the only one who can open a window for me."

"Did you take Salem's Flower again?"

"Well," she sputters, "Salem's Flower is mine."

"So you took it."

"You are the one who took it."

"Whatever Mom, Fowella, wife." By instincts he goes right for her bedside towards her battered cupboard, knowing it must hold something precious for her to keep it. When he opens it however, it is empty. "Where is it?" He growls impatiently.

She frowns, "it's there isn't it? That's exactly where I left it." It might be the most earnest Fowella has ever been as she stares at Wuxhia in confusion.

"Get out of the way," he brushes past her rushing to the throne room. He had thought to lure the thief to the palace but could it really be so soon?

The sight in the throne room leaves him flabbergasted. He had hidden the cryfix parts from the Bureau under the throne chair but they are apparently no longer there. Sitting on the throne is a figure nearly donned from head to toe in vibrant purple. The strange man has a dashing figure with permed curls and purple kohl lining his eyes. Wuxhia gasps, amazed at the audacity of this stranger who is currently putting a blade onto a hilt— he is merging Xri's Blade. On his laps, he has a merged Dian's Teardrop, the Winter Solstice, the Sun's Chronicle, the two ears of the Twin Mountains, the ornate looking Lemohn's Mirror, Zia's Spring without a locket and the broken Salem's Flower.

"You!" Wuxhia blusters.

The stranger looks up sharply. He grins looking thoroughly amused.

"You must be the thief stealing all the cryfixes," Wuxhia says with a level tone. He does not want to underestimate the peculiar man who has just done what the Anviem rebels could not achieve in their time— bringing the cryfixes together.

"Ooh, and you must be the Lord General!" The stranger's voice is condescendingly smooth, high and mellifluous. He picks up Salem's Flower and waves it about. "You did quite a number on this one."

"I am the Royal Highness, the Queen's Regent and that is my chair you are sitting in… and the cryfixes, those cryfixes!" Wuxhia stops for want of words.

"I think there's a misunderstanding here but I'm sure it'll be resolved in due time. Maybe we should wait for company."

"I'm calling the guards."

"They've all been incapacitated somewhere I'm afraid. My show has no extra tickets for them."

"Show? Tickets? I'll make you regret thinking what you have done is a joke."

The stranger's nostrils flare. "And what about you? The things you have done, won't you regret them? If I say them out loud so you can hear it from a stranger's lips, won't you melt down in shame? That's what I thought. Give them some time. They're not very far off now."

"Who?"

"Five," the stranger purrs. Wuxhia draws out his sword. "Four, I'm afraid I'm not yours for the taking. Three, two, one."

The doors at both entrances of the throne room fly open. Wuxhia turns his head sharply confused on which one to rest his gaze upon.

Through the main entrance, a fair haired guy and a red haired girl have barged in. Through the entrance nearest to the throne chair, the brunette Ciara Mulden and a dark haired boy. Wuxhia has never seen both young men before but his senses are screaming at him that they had to be the princes.

The clash of eyes is endless.

"Lay?" The blonde blusters, blinking in disbelief.

"Leu?"

The dark haired boy, Lay scowls. "Who's Leu? Rayton what are you doing here?"

"Rel?" Ciara's eyes bulge.

"General Xihan," Rayton acknowledges.

"Royal Highness," Wuxhia blurts out.

"Purple Shrimp!", "Assassin!" comes the simultaneous exclamation from Rel the redhead and Rayton the blonde.

Wuxhia raises a brow, "Purple Shrimp?"

"That's not my name, alright," the stranger mildly denies.

Rel raises her hands as if in imploration. "He talks!" she yells sarcastically.

"Okay I'd really like to know what's going on here," Ciara says.

"Me too," Wuxhia admits.

The stranger is laughing. All eyes are now on him.

"What's so funny?" Rel snaps.

"Just just," the assassin wipes his eyes in a show of dramatic flair, "the discrepancies in identity is mind-blowing. I'll lead by example." The assassin grins, "My name is Zen. And I am the ninth cryfix."