Tales of the Vangen: The Black Ministry's Betrayal (Book 1)

Chapter 44: A Gesture of Goodwill

Libro stood alone on Gate Secondus's parapet, watching as rebel torches flickered off in the distance. They looked like stars from so far away, thousands upon thousands, glittering over a sea of stone and darkness. Up above, though, amongst the real stars, the moon had begun its crooked descent down towards the western horizon. Tomorrow morning would soon be here and with it the duel.

Libro brushed a hand over the spine of the Archive strapped to his side. A meaningless gesture now, but it gave him some comfort. There was no way Regis could kill the giant as the Vangen were now. As far as anyone else was concerned, that big bastard of a Jotan was practically immortal, and no one knew why.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Both Magus and the Empress knew something, but both were equally unreachable at the moment. One was locked in the dungeon, the other forbidden from all contact.

Libro rubbed at his temples. How was it that everything had become more complicated now? Yesterday, reaching the palace had been considered the hardest part of this whole damn operation. Now, this. It was all just too much to handle sometimes.

A hand on Libro's shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. He turned, seeing Nox smiling at him. The Austerlander had his crossbow nestled across one shoulder, the four arms sheathed back.

"Watch over," Nox said, nodding his head over towards the palace. "Get some rest ya?"

"Yeah, yeah." Libro rubbed at his eyes as he shuffled past. "Say, your Byzan is getting pretty good there." He pointed out.

"T'anks." Nox said.

Libro stepped down the parapet, through a descending staircase that opened up into the third gates courtyard. The massive iron doors loomed over him as he marched through the porter's entrance, passing Hallan spearmen and Kent bow levys along the way. Most of the other Vangen were either guarding the front of Gate Secondus or were given leave to rest. Four hours on, four hours off. Dux's orders were being followed to the letter. From across the hall, Libro made his way to the staircase leading down towards the barracks. He should have been resting now, but his mind still raced with questions, whose answers lay locked behind iron bars or hidden behind ivory masks.

Instead of descending, Libro meandered down a nearby hallway, his gaze shifting between the many tapestries and paintings that lined the stone walls. Proud, nobly dressed men and women with stern eyes glared back at him from scenic vistas and romantically interpreted battlefields.

In the past, Libro had wanted one of his own. He pictured himself smiling proudly, dressed in the Vangen colors, holding the Archive in one hand with the standard billowing in the other, but now, after everything he'd seen so far, the paintings had lost some of their enticement. What pride was there to have on a battlefield? What honor was there in killing? There was none, he realized, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Libro moved onto the next painting, a raven-haired woman with piercing eyes, her skin as pale as cream. He froze at the sight of it, his thoughts creeping back to Elena. But the woman in the painting wasn't her. Her eyes were hazel, not purple, and her nose was much too small. The chin was less pointy. Her jaw wasn't broken either and jutting in the wrong direction.

Libro sucked in a harsh breath to steady his nerves. His legs wobbled as the world suddenly began to spin around him. He grabbed the wall for support as his heart started hammering into his chest.

No, Elena was gone, he reminded himself. She'd tried to kill him, and he stopped her. He had to do it. It was his life or hers. He closed his eyes, pushing the memory as deep down as possible, but the look in her eyes when he struck her kept resurfacing. All the love she had for him before had been a lie, revealing her genuine hatred, burning him to the core.