by Kyle Prue
Neil clenched his teeth and materialized onto a roof where he could see the city better. Down below, the older members of his family were heading into restaurants. In the distance, he could barely make out the twins skipping hand in hand toward the Opera House. He began to walk along the rooftops, materializing between buildings when he had to, heading in the general direction of his favorite bar, The Laughing Mask Tavern. His father’s voice rang in his ears. Do not disappoint me. Do not disappoint me. You have one last chance.
Neil materialized down to the street in front of the bar. He inspected his evening cloak quickly to make sure it was in presentable shape. It was a long, black cloak that lapped near his knees and hugged his sides nicely. It also had a subtle, purple trim to let everyone know who he was. He put on a fake smile and pushed through the double doors with a cry of jubilation. Everyone in the bar turned as he came in, and then echoed his cheer. The girls all sat up a little straighter, and even some of the men improved their postures. They all knew what it meant when a Vapros showed up in a bar—free drinks.
Neil swaggered through the masses of people up to the bartender. “A round for everyone!” he shouted, throwing his hand in the air. The bar erupted into applause. For them, this was a kind gesture, but it was nothing for the Vapros. They owned the bar and they even manufactured the beer. Grinning, Neil scanned the crowd for possible sources of information. If he returned tonight with intriguing gossip, maybe his father would finally realize his worth.
Through the hordes of men chanting tuneless drinking songs, Neil spotted a table of girls giggling and chatting. Women were always good for gossip. In the center table, a group of Imperial soldiers were sitting, laughing, chugging and waving their tankards in Neil’s direction. Perfect. The best way to learn new things about the state of the city was from its soldiers. Despite the fact that the punishment for revealing details about military occupation outside the wall was death, Imperial soldiers could still spill little details about what products were coming into the city and what laws were close to being passed. Neil leaned over the counter and grabbed the bartender by his lapels. “Keep their glasses full,” he whispered, gesturing over his shoulder at the soldiers.
The bartender smirked knowingly and said, “Soldiers—a wealth of information there. Excellent choice, sir. But are you sure it’s not that table you want drinking?” He jerked his head toward the girls in the corner.
Neil grinned, “I don’t need booze for that.” The bartender nodded in approval. This bartender knew the drill and loved the Vapros like most did. The Vapros kept him employed and provided protection. After Neil returned the nod, he waded through the crowd to the table of women. “Hello, ladies,” he said, sweeping a bow. “How are you this fine evening?”
A few of them giggled. One finally spoke up. “We’re all doing well. And yourself, Mr. Vapros?”
Neil pulled up a chair. “Can’t complain.” That was a lie. He, of all people, had every right to spend a great deal of time complaining. His father didn’t approve of his dreams. His sister had willingly sold him out, most likely because she saw Neil as a threat to her position as top Vapros assassin. His younger brother’s powers had advanced farther than his own, and he’d ruined his family’s reputation by running for his life through the markets, until a girl from the streets saved his life. It had not been a good day.
“So,” Neil remarked, “how’s the city treating you all tonight?”
The girls exchanged a glance and burst out laughing. “We heard it hasn’t been very kind to you,” one of them said finally.
Neil repressed a groan and tried to fake a smile. “Hey,” he said, “I’ve been through worse.”
“Worse than almost dying?” the girl sitting across the table asked.
“I could have killed him if I wanted to,” Neil said slowly, making it up as he went along. “But the first thing they teach you in assassin school is that you are only allowed to kill your target. That Taurlum boy wasn’t my target. I had to let him chase me.” He shrugged. “Call me a pacifist.”
The girls, amazingly, bought into his lie. Neil signaled to the bartender to bring more drinks. “So, ladies,” he said leaning in, “just out of curiosity, have you all heard about Quintus, the emperor’s advisor?”
CHAPTER SIX
CELERIUS ESTATE
LILLY CELERIUS
Across town, the carriage ride back to the Celerius estate was a silent one. Lilly stared blankly ahead, ignoring Jonathan in spite of his best attempts to talk to her. When they pulled up to the main house, she jumped to the ground without waiting for assistance and walked quickly to lock herself in her room. She exhaled slowly and let herself fall onto her neatly made bed, smoothing down minuscule wrinkles in the comforter with her hands. Lilly liked everything to be tidy, cleaning and straightening up provided her with a good distraction from the chaos that followed her everywhere she went.
A knock at the door made Lilly jump. Glancing in the mirror briefly, she smoothed down her hair and rose to admit the visitor. Lady Celerius stood outside the door, cupping her hand around her tight blonde bun to make sure it was still perfectly in place.
“Mother,” Lilly said, automatically dropping a curtsy.
Lady Celerius nodded in acknowledgment and came into the room. “Close the door, Lilly,” she said. Lilly obeyed. Lady Celerius looked as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. The bags under her eyes were too heavy to be concealed by makeup. “What did Anthony tell you?” she asked, skipping over the formalities of small talk.
Lilly stared at the wood of her door, willing herself not to cry. “He says the rumors may be true,” she whispered. “His life is in danger. There are changes happening in the Imperial Army—big changes.” She took a deep breath. “They’re going to execute him.”
“No.” Lady Celerius sank down on the bed. She did not abandon her perfect posture, but her face grew white. “I was afraid of that.”
Lilly didn’t reply.
“Why not ask him to step down?” Lady Celerius asked. “Why not just dismiss him?”
Lilly clenched her fists at her sides. “Because they’re trying to send a message. They want everyone to see that the families aren’t all-powerful. That’s what Anthony said.”
“I believe in Anthony,” Lady Celerius said. “We are very hard to kill. He may have a chance.”
Lilly turned to face her mother. “That’s not all of it,” she said.
Lady Celerius pursed her lips. “What do you mean?”
She took a deep breath. “If Anthony resists—if he fights back at all— the emperor will send his Imperial soldiers here … to kill us. So Anthony . . . he says he isn’t going to resist.”
Lady Celerius clutched her daughter’s bedpost. “But that means …”
Lilly closed her eyes. “He won’t risk our lives. He isn’t going to fight back. He’s going to let them kill him.”
Lady Celerius rose and took her daughter’s hand. “There is still a chance the rumors aren’t true. This could just be more Vapros lies to force us to move against the emperor,” she said.
Lilly shook her head. “I think they might be true. So does Anthony,” she said, voice cracking. She leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder and cried harder than she had in years. “I hope he fights anyway,” she choked out between sobs.
Lady Celerius hugged Lilly tightly. “I hope he doesn’t have to. We’ll discuss this with your father when he returns from his trip tonight. He will never let this happen. If the emperor really wants to send us a signal, we’ll send one right back. We’ll see him bleeding on his own palace floor.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE LAUGHING MASK TAVERN
NEIL VAPROS
Neil was getting frustrated. He had easily convinced the girls at the bar that Quintus was a womanizing alcoholic, demanded all their gossip in return, and bought them so many drinks that most were past offering any more reliable information. Now there was nothing to do but wait for the Imperial soldiers to
become intoxicated enough to spill their secrets. He set his chin in his palm, gazing absently at his targets.
“… Captain of the Guard is dead,” he heard one of them say above the din of the bar. “… Taurlum injured him … cracked his skull … furious … the emperor says … last straw … Vapros …”
One of the soldiers noticed Neil listening. He nudged his comrades and whispered something that made them all look over at him. Neil waved and crossed the room to meet them. A few girls groaned in displeasure as he departed but most were too intoxicated to notice. He turned his attention back to the soldiers. “How are you gentlemen this evening?” he asked. The soldiers exchanged glances. None of them would meet his eye. “Come on, men. Why so glum?”
One of the soldiers threw back a shot exclaiming, “We’re not in the mood to socialize, Vapros.”
Neil flashed his famous, charming smile. “What’s wrong? Bad day?”
The soldier suddenly became fascinated with his helmet on the table.
Neil tried again. “Must be hard to get comfortable in all that armor. Might that be the cause of your unrest?”
The soldier reddened and looked Neil dead in the eyes. “Listen, Vapros. No offense, but you are literally the last person on this earth I can discuss this with.”
Neil raised an eyebrow. “Why?” he asked with genuine curiosity. “Is it something about my family? I’m sure we can handle any complaint you have. Something about the bar?”
The soldier rose to his feet and started toward the door. The others followed. “Thanks for the drinks, kid,” muttered one of them.
“Wait.” Neil jumped up to follow them, starting to panic. He’d waited all night to pump these men for information. He couldn’t let them get away without getting something out of them.
The largest soldier turned around and gave Neil a small half-smile. “Be careful, kid,” he said sadly as he walked out the door.
Neil growled and curled his hands into fists. His father was right. He was a disappointment. Those soldiers had been hiding something, something huge, something that concerned his family specifically, and he’d let them get away. He slammed a small sack of coins on the counter for the bartender and started out the door to meet up with his brother. He gave one last wave to the girls before leaving. Maybe Rhys had had better luck tonight. Maybe he’d found his own group of soldiers to question at the masquerade ball . . . or maybe Rhys hadn’t thought to question the soldiers, and he, Neil, could swoop in and get the information first.
Neil pulled open the door and stepped back into the bar. “You forget something, Mr. Vapros?” the bartender asked.
A smile was growing across Neil’s face. “You don’t happen to have a mask I can borrow, do you?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
TAURLUM MANSION
DARIUS TAURLUM
Darius Taurlum had never attended the opera. Not only did he hate the music, but the operas performed at the Vapros Opera House were basically propaganda discrediting the other families. The most recent featured brutish clans of barbarians running across the stage dressed in red and gold before being vanquished. The allusion didn’t escape the clever minds of the rich, and consequently very few Taurlum attended performances there.
Tonight, Darius would be the exception.
The Taurlum boy dug furiously through the armory, searching for suitable armor. He slid a chain mail shirt over his shoulders, wincing as it chafed against the knife wound in his neck. They were going to pay.
Most of the time, members of his family didn’t bother with armor. It was unnecessary; their skin was tough enough to prevent injury. In all his seventeen years, Darius had never felt the need to wear the full body armor that protected each of his pressure points. But choosing not to wear all his protective covering had almost cost him his life today, so Darius felt safer with his limbs shielded. He pulled on a breastplate over the chain mail and fastened it tightly. The armor was specifically built for Taurlum warriors, featuring a double layer of metal covering the pressure points. Nothing could touch him now.
Darius smirked a little as he lowered a helmet over his head. The Vapros brat wouldn’t be wearing armor. His kind hardly ever did. It was too heavy for them. It slowed the weaklings down. Even the Celerius family was too frail to handle real armor. They had to build their own version out of leather. Only he, a great and powerful Taurlum warrior, was strong enough to protect himself completely. With strength like that, he knew, he could never fail.
The door to the armory heaved open while Darius was selecting a weapon. “I’m going to the market for some tail,” said Michael. Darius grunted but didn’t look up. “You want to come?”
“I’m going on a mission tonight,” Darius replied, weighing a hammer in his hands.
Michael closed the door. “Dad gave you a mission? After what happened today?”
Beneath the helmet, Darius felt his face redden. “I asked him for one.”
“Because you’re embarrassed,” Michael guessed.
Darius clenched his teeth together. “Yes.”
“Dad never would have given me a mission if I let a Vapros assassin escape. Maybe back when I used to be the Golden Boy…” Michael rubbed his stubbly chin thoughtfully and then moved to the far edge of the armory. He removed something from a chest and tossed it to Darius, who was still examining the hammers. It bounced off the back of his armor and hit the floor. “Darius,” Michael complained, “pay attention, will you?”
Darius didn’t have time for Michael now. He had to focus. He felt guilty—not that he would ever admit it—about hurting the Captain of the Guard, and if he didn’t take time to plan his every move tonight, he might end up hurting more innocents. He turned to look at the object that Michael had thrown at him. It was a golden helmet, much heavier than the simple silver one currently on his head, but more regal. The finishing touch was the large pair of horns protruding from the top that would likely give the wearer the appearance of a bull.
Darius smiled. “Perfect. Thank you.” He pulled the golden headpiece down over his face. Michael gave Darius a cocky grin before heaving the door open again. Darius could hear him whistling as he walked down the stairs toward the front door. Darius removed his cloak from a hook on the wall and draped it over his armored shoulders. He checked his appearance briefly with the reflection in a suit of armor propped up by the door. He looked like a warrior.
Tonight, the rich nobles of Altryon were going to the opera. Darius was not.
Darius was going to war.
CHAPTER NINE
MASQUERADE BALL
NEIL VAPROS
Neil entered the lavish masquerade ball silently and assessed the crowd, looking for his brother. Rhys wasn’t easy to spot. He’d chosen to come to the masquerade dressed as a Taurlum, complete with a red and gold coat to match his mask. If Rhys’s hair had been a little better hidden and if he had been a little taller, Neil would probably have been completely fooled. His brother stood among four other men who all seemed overly excited to be talking to one another. Neil wove his way through the waltzing couples and tapped Rhys on the shoulder. “So it looks like I’m not the only one with an ironic mask, huh, brother?”
Rhys peered out from behind his mask, with his jade eyes, and then grinned. Neil had donned a blue mask with gold stars: Celerius colors. “Excellent,” he whispered. “Have you met the doctor’s guild yet?” he asked in his normal tone, gesturing to the men with whom he’d been conversing.
Neil faked a smile. “I haven’t had the pleasure.” Neil had never liked doctors. They talked like they were members of a cult. “What’s the latest in medical news?”
Rhys began to bounce with excitement. “We have a basic knowledge of where organs are located in the body and how they work.”
Neil glanced over Rhys’s shoulder, scanning the room for soldiers. “Uh-huh.”
“And there’s the nervous system, and we’ve discovered these chemicals that are produced by the brain and they actually control—”<
br />
“I hate to cut you off,” Neil lied, “but did you manage to tell your friends about Quintus?”
Rhys waved his hand in the air. “Of course I did. So basically these chemicals can control—“
A doctor in a wolf mask had been eavesdropping. “I already knew,” he boasted, cutting Rhys off mid-sentence.
“Knew what?” Rhys asked excitedly. “About the chemicals?”
“No,” the doctor admitted, “about Quintus.”
Rhys and Neil stared. “You knew about Quintus,” Neil repeated.
“He’s a patient of mine,” the doctor informed them. “I’ve known of his ailments for months.”
Rhys and Neil exchanged glances, and Neil tried not to smirk. They both knew the rumors about Quintus’s drinking and marital problems were just that: rumors. They were entirely unfounded, just like all the other stories the Vapros family invented and spread around to hurt the reputations of their enemies. Inevitably, someone would pretend to have known about the rumor all along. It was incredible and terrifying to Neil how easy it was for rumors to gain false credibility.
The doctor moved on, and Neil grabbed Rhys by the back of his Taurlum cloak. “Come with me.” They wandered away from the group. “First of all,” Neil said, “brilliant costume.” Rhys grinned. “Also, this could be nothing, but I talked with some soldiers this evening. They were acting really suspicious.”
“Suspicious?”
“They wouldn’t talk to me. But I overheard them talking about the Captain of the Guard and it being the last straw. They mentioned the Taurlum and our family. One of them told me to be careful.”
