Dreams of Blood and Stardust

Ch. 1 part 2

An hour later, Vivian could be found in what was known as the Gold District.

Reinfell was the large, glittering capital city of a relatively small, largely agricultural country. It was a port city, rich in trade and goods as well as jobs and industry. As such, the city expanded upward from the coast,  surrounded by cliffs on two sides and the ocean and farmland on the other two. The city began at the port, or what was known as the Nickel District right off the ocean. This was where all the business happened, be it currency exchanges or housing bought or licenses purchased; it was the practical, necessary end to business, the less glamorous part. North and east of the Nickel District was the Coal District, a gritty, metal patch of city that sat right up against the cliffs, the industrial edge of the city. On the opposite side of the city, against cliffs, sat the Tin District, separated from the rest of the city by a creak. They were swimming in poverty; most of the people in the Tin District were unemployed and living in filthy, flimsy living conditions. Bracketed both by Tin District and the Coal District was the Silver District, home of the middle class, center of business and life. It circled upwards towards the Gold District like a crescent moon, holding it in and then fanning out behind it. The Gold District itself was upper class, wealthy and glittering, a small circle of city. Within that circle, on the far northern edge, was the Platinum District, a tiny, tiny group of social elitists; the king’s councillors and their families, and the royal family itself. Past the Platinum District, the Silver district and the Tin District continued outward until they tapered off into farmland, with patches of civilization few and far between. A few miles from the city was the Regal Palace, or the Diamond District; this was where the King and his councillors met and decided on the laws of the city, where all things of political importance occurred. It was surrounded by a stone wall, and was very heavily guarded.

Vivian’s own home was solidly in the Silver District, not far from the Nickel District or where the Tin District blended into the Silver District. She had been in the upper edge of the Silver District when the thugs had come upon her in the alley; now, perhaps a half hour later, she was at the very edge of the Gold District, almost at the Platinum District, and she had come in her best clothes for stealth. She had discarded her bloody dress in some back alley, and now she stood in the shadows wearing all black, her knives strapped to her thighs, arms, and ankles, her crossbow strapped across her back.

After all, you did not break into the palace unarmed.

The Prince sat in the quiet of his office. The room was dark; the sun disappeared past the sea now, and he had but a single lamp lit at his desk. He was bent over his papers, his shoulders tense, his fingers gripping his quill exceptionally hard. Vivian took a moment to observe him from the shadows of the room; the furrow in his brows, the soft set to his beautiful brown eyes, the tousled look to his hair, the fine cast to his bones. He was handsome, but more than anything else, she saw that he looked tired, his hand fisted in hair loosely, his mouth downturned, his quill still on the paper. She almost felt bad for disturbing this moment of quiet, but she had not snuck past the nobles in the street and scaled the wall surrounding the palace grounds, located his room from her position in the trees, and then climbed into his office without anyone noticing to leave without what she came here for.

Vivian cleared her throat delicately.

The Prince jumped, but less than she had been hoping he would. He set his quill down and turned slowly in his chair to face her. Pleasantly, he said, “Well, that was a surprise.”

She said nothing. She had learned, over many years of practice, that silence was perhaps her greatest weapon when it came to getting what she wanted out of people, equal to her ruthlessness and her body.

“Might you come out of the shadows?” he asked, lifting his lamp from the desk and holding it towards her. She stepped back so it’s light did not reach her. “I won’t call the guards, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She was not worried.

She said nothing.

“Well, obviously you came for something, or you would not have come at all,” he said, still in that same pleasant, calm tone of voice. Vivian would deck him just for not reacting the way she had wanted him to if she wasn’t already planning on decking him for sending thugs after her.

His logic was irrefutable, however, so she stepped into his light and removed her hood.

For a moment he just stared at her, his mouth parting a bit, his eyes roving her face, skimming briefly down her body, taking stock of her knives and her gear.

She said nothing, though she did begin to smirk as his eyes grew wider.

Finally, he said, sounding somewhat bewildered, “I was told you would be blonde.”

She took a step backwards, away from him, her hand going immediately to the knife at her hip. “Who - who told that to you?” she asked. Vivian’s voice was strong, though she was reeling. There were few people alive who would recognize her by her blonde hair.

He held up his hands against her, taking a step away from her, his expression calm again, collected. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, edging back to his desk. “I didn’t realize how it would upset you.”

As he settled himself against his desk so that he was leaning against it, she shook her head and drew herself back together. If the conversation went the way she wanted, she would have that information soon enough anyway. “You were right,” she said, using her best voice for this sort of thing. Intimidating, full of authority, with just enough edge in it to be a warning. “I did come here for a reason.” She paused for effect, and he nodded for her to go on. The desire to hit him only grew; he was ruining all her dramatics. “I came to see why you sent thugs to kidnap me.”

This time, her words had the effect she wanted, revealing his thoughts by his reaction to her words. His mouth dropped open.  “Kidnap you?” he repeated, his voice open with incredulity.

Vivian narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn’t send them.”

“I sent them,” he said, eyebrows high on his forehead, “to talk to you. To give you an offer. But not to kidnap you.”

She pursed her lips. “I believe you,” she said slowly. “What was your offer?”

“I wanted -” He stopped, tightened his hands at his sides into fists, his jaw feathering a bit, and then he calmed. “I wished to offer you a position, working for me.”

She let out a short, breathless laugh. “Working for you? What could anyone possibly have that you would need me to get for you that you could not buy for yourself?”

His eyebrows creased. He leaned forward, his elbows on the knees of his fine brown trousers. “Get for me?”

“Yes. I’m a thief.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. No, I don’t need you to - to steal anything for me. I wished - I wished to hire you as a spy for me, here in the court.” He paused, seeming unsure. Her eyes were narrowed tight on him, her stomach quivering with something akin to fear disbelief and fear. “I wished for you to use your abilities with - dreams, to infiltrate my court and -”

He did not finish, for Vivian was on him, pressing her knife to his throat, using her weight to push his back onto his desk. His ink blotter spilled over, staining the crisp whiteness of the sleeve of his shirt. “Who told you about me?” she growled, pressing her knife harder against his neck when he failed to respond. He struggled for breath beneath her. “Who told you?”

Eyes wide wide wide, chest heaving, he gasped, “It was Ryder! Ryder Penhallow!”