Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

62 - Chapter LXII: A Blood-Soaked Rag

The Tilbury Garrison.

"Leave us."

The words were spoken in a tranquil murmur, thereby forming a sharp contrast to the heightened flurry of movement that occurred shortly thereafter. That momentary pause before the bulk of his infantry had abandoned their posts and scurried for the exits. He could hear pens dropping, boots tramping, and the occasional soldier leaping to the side as he tried to avoid being trampled by the swish of fabric sweeping between desks.

Raze continued to ponder the wall, daring to linger in her scent. The mask she so often wore, greeting her followers with roses to hide her strength. She was a tide that would not be swayed. The sweetness of a knife that had just been sharpened.

Allegra.

She appeared to have dressed for a court-marshal. Skirts of grey-wool with military-precision. Taking the time to remove her gloves, delicately pulling each finger by its tip, and only waiting for the door to shut behind the last infantryman before she casually turned to the side and said, "My darling, is this a mutiny?"

He inhaled. "No."

She said nothing more. And for a time, they simply stood, staring at the pocket-watch he'd hung on the wall. It had been placed with ironic precision between the flayed skins Kolya had been sending him for the past three hours.

His desk was littered with maps of the Tilbury tunnels, a majority of them ancient and a good number of them bearing the watermark of Charles Andreas Finnegan. Hardly the type of thing one thought about during a mutiny, whether two-hundred-year old maps of all things might have been falsified. In any case, if there was a secret lair filled with dynamite beneath Exile's Port, they would not find it easily.

The rest of the papers spoke for themselves, of course. Although his wife was never one to let the silence speak...

"Six crates of dynamite." She had opened one of his folios, flipping slowly through what appeared to be a collection of newspaper clippings, yellow with age. "Eight cases of paraffin oil." Another clipping. "A set of sterling silver goods forged in a range of sizes for the discerning butcher." She sat down at his desk, closing the folder with quiet precision. "This is an executioner's list."

"I know."

"So accept their offer..."

"We need two more hours."

"And the Council values your opinion, Raze." She started to thumb through the stack of Line Orders he'd been ignoring for the past hour. "But we have voted already—there was a majority—and though you may still lead this military, my darling, you are still subject to our authority."

"Only in matters of parliament."

"Why do you think they sent me?" she sighed, rising to her feet for the sake of his arm. The unspoken dynamic that lay between them. Not only a Council-member, but a pack-leader—one who could strip him of power with only a word. She continued. "You and your men are to prioritise on a rescue mission with immediate effect. All documents in this garrison, including scent cards, are to be burned, and all evidence of lycan society is to be eliminated." She turned to survey the room. "I may not agree with the law, Raze, but I will uphold it."

"The law does not account for these odds, Allegra." He continued to stare at the pocket-watch. "No matter what we do, there is every chance Kolya will set off that dynamite. If we accept the offer now, if we lead the mission now, we are looking at extensive casualties among the exiles."

"There is no proof he will set it off."

"He is mad, Allegra."

"Even a madman will negotiate." Her voice was steady, but he could smell the strain. A woman who had dedicated her life to a cause that was now struggling. "...and for bloods' sake, Raze, they are skinning him alive. If all they require is safe passage in exchange for him, how can we possibly ignore that?"