Refuge In The Shadows

14.

This was a Dolgellau castle dinner turned into a nightmare. Carys was not one for formal dining events, but at least those social functions revolved around actually eating food and sharing laughs. Here, Carys could discern nothing but vanity and greed among the wealthiest individuals in the country. Leaving their tiny portions of expensive refreshments to get cold, the guests engaged in terse and superficial conversations all while hungrily eyeing companions for any more material wealth and prestige that they themselves did not possess. She was in an expansive ballroom with vultures perched at the edge of their seats at circular tables.

The largest table in the centre of the room had yet to be filled. Carraway would make his grand entrance most likely when all the guests finished trickling into his home. All they could really do now was wait. Carys had only been in the ballroom for fifteen minutes and already had her fill of the glitz and glamour to last a lifetime. She turned to look at brother. Judging from the subtle slump of his shoulders and the dullness of his cobalt blue eyes, Carys knew he felt exactly the same way.

Together they both leaned against the western wall of the ballroom observing with attentive eyes the activity enfolding around them. After several minutes of silent thought, Carys and Cadeyrn found two of their own. James and Jonathan, albeit wearing stolen waitstaff uniforms, stood out to them in their well-trained gaze. The hired help all seemed to struggle with the weight of platters laden with plates of food. The readjustment of the hand, the tremor of the arm, the sheen of sweat on the brow–all details evident of the staff's lack of adequate upper body strength. The incognito hunters balanced their trays with the palms of their hands effortlessly, having carried much heavier items in their lifetimes. Their much more bulkier and brawnier biceps were no match for the thinner, weaker upper arms of the other servers.

Carys carefully watched their interactions with guests as they offered them champagne glasses. From guests' cursory glances in their direction, Carys was relieved that others did not notice the slight change in staff. Cadeyrn caught James's eye and James wandered his way over. "A glass of champagne, for both of you?" James asked as if he did not know them. He remained courteous, Carys's parting words doing nothing to disrupt his usual charming self. She plucked a glass from the tray and drank its entire contents in one gulp. Carys frowned into the empty chute. "This is but merely flavoured water. I would kill for something much stronger, gin or whiskey perhaps," she said lowly so guests could not hear.

"By the end of this night, I would like a stronger drink as well," Cadeyrn sighed. He then glanced at an ornate grandfather clock, "Carys, you and I should find our seats. Carraway's due to arrive any moment now." Cadeyrn turned to James, "Keep your eyes and ears open." James nodded and left to serve more guests.

It did not take long for the twins to find an empty table furthest away from the centre where Carraway was to dine. Carys only just begun to pick at what she thought was an unappetizing piece of meat with a fork when the back doors of the ballroom opened to reveal Carraway and who he deemed as part of his exclusive inner circle. As they filed into the room towards their table, guests stood from their seats to give Carraway a round of applause. Scattered in different locations, Carys, Cadeyrn, Bryn, Rhys, James, and Jonathan had no choice but to follow suit, their impassive, yet murderous eyes set on a beaming Carraway, an action that betrayed their clapping hands.

Disguising her appraisal as nothing more than a cursory look, Carys took in Carraway's older age and his bodily weaknesses such as his dependence on his cane, an indication he could not run if a killer pursued him. As she catalogued his vulnerabilities, Carys suddenly became aware of the fact that she was being appraised herself. Sitting directly to Carraway's right at the table was a young man roughly the same age as Carys and her companions. His grey eyes bore into hers curiously and cautiously, as if trying to figure out who she was. Carys broke eye contact to look at his immaculately-dressed figure. Something did not seem right about him. After a few moments, she knew why. The young man did not look like the frail, feeble, high maintenance men of the upper-class. The callouses on his palms as he held a knife easily in his hands, the alert position he sat in–he was someone like them.