Wolves of Empire [EPIC DARK FANTASY] [Book One Complete]

Thirty

Sephara

Empyria, the Imperium

17th of Tantus

Sephara waited a full twelve days after the attempt on her father's life before returning to the Praevin compound. In that time, the Caesidi stayed their blades, but her father's already considerable paranoia deepened. He'd told no one of the near miss, instead replying by employing another twenty personal guard to constantly attend him and his family around his estate. He dedicated half of these to her older brother, thus preventing Kaeso from another ill-advised foray into Traian's.

She'd slipped through their scrutiny in the late afternoon, donned in the blue coat of her station. Her father was too distracted to note her absence, and she supposed his reservoir of fatherly affection had been exhausted that afternoon on the Path of Triumph. Besides, even if Valerian thought to challenge her, her uncle had assigned her a task, and she meant to fulfil it.

In the time since the scuffle with the assassin beneath the Iron Wolf's statue, she'd met with Dexion again to maintain their courtship—or whatever the term was for what they shared. They'd wandered around the city, stopped at restaurants or cafés he frequented, had once even journeyed out to the pristine countryside surrounding the city for what he termed a 'sickeningly romantic picnic'. She'd refrained from questioning him about the investigation, but remained tense in his presence, as if she expected him to suddenly ask why she'd infiltrated his archives and stolen evidence. Her crimes remained undetected, for now, but she'd kept her distance from the compound just in case.

The Praevin officers posted at the outermost guardhouse recognised her and escorted her straight to Dexion's private apartments, where he'd retired for the evening. As she followed two armed guards, she wondered how these men viewed her. Was she Dexion's harmless lover? A casual fling, a thing they knew wouldn't last? Or did they think the pair were courting? Did any of them have any idea Sephara used Dexion for her own gain?

That was her father's paranoia: the belief that everyone knew everything about you. She couldn't think like that.

The guards led her right to Dexion's door, where they stood aside and waited for her to enter. Perhaps they didn't trust her entirely, then. She paused, her hand hovering over the door's surface, unsure whether to knock or not. For the sake of her escort, she tried to appear as a lover worried her interruption wasn't desired; with an exaggerated exhale, she struck her knuckles against the door and, upon hearing Dexion's grunt of affirmation from within, entered.

He was sprawled on his bed, one of his many dog-eared books in his hands, a frown aimed in her direction. After a brief second of incomprehension, he shoved the book aside and got to his feet.

"I had trouble sleeping," she said, meeting his cool blue eyes, raising a sly eyebrow for good measure.

He met that with a coy smile. "Anything I can help with?"

Her reply was to grab his shaven face firmly in her hands and kiss him forcefully. Her broken nose, reset and mostly healed, flared with a brief, dull ache when he angled his head against hers. His cheeks were smooth against her skin, his breath hot in her mouth, his hands gentle around her waist. His closeness warmed her, and she was relieved when he returned her passion.

Dexion wasted no time undressing and had them both stripped within the span of thirty seconds, their clothes discarded in a heap at the end of the bed. He swept her up and pushed her back onto his bed, pinning her beneath his comforting weight and spreading her legs to settle between them.

"Are we going to make this a regular thing?" he whispered into her ear as he slipped a hand down to kindle her arousal with deft fingers.

She grinned as she returned his teasing caresses in kind, her grip around his erection gentler than their first time. "What, like prostitution?"

As if in punishment of the sentiment, he crooked two fingers inside her, coaxing free a surprised gasp even as her hips bucked involuntarily against him. She retaliated by tightening her fist around the head of his cock, prompting him to clench his teeth and thrust into her hand. They continued their teasing game for a few moments more, winding each other tighter and tighter, battling to not be the first to lose control. Eventually, with a shaky exhale that illustrated how close he was, Dexion extricated himself from her hold and adjusted his position atop her. He eased himself smoothly into her, uttering a small sound, no louder than a sigh. She struggled to hold back a deflating groan.

"I was thinking something more romantic," he said, rolling against her. "And more permanent."

She raised her hips and pressed their stomachs together as he started a slow rhythm, ardent and methodical. "We're already courting. What more could there be?"

"We're courting quietly. We could do it openly."

"You'd want that?" Sephara asked as she hitched a knee against his side.

As powerful as he was, and despite his common background, Dexion was an enviable match for any noblewoman. She was surprised he hadn't already married and solidified his dynasty with children, though she'd never heard any rumours of affairs or lovers. Even Kesa's women claimed he'd never sought them out. Had she not ended up so quickly in his bed the very first time she'd seduced him, she might've thought he was celibate or preferred the attentions of men.

He thrust hard, just once, bringing her up with him, then smoothed one hand along her raised leg, where he gripped her under the knee to hold her in place. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I'm just a bodyguard."

He lowered his head down to hers, pressed a soft kiss on her lips. "I don't care."

His words, murmured in her ears, made her smile like an idiot. Sure, she wasn't just a bodyguard—she almost outranked him as the daughter of a Corajus—but the fact he was willing to overlook any differences in their stations, and even suggested the idea of courting publicly, made her want to sink even further into his embrace.

He quickened his movements, his teasing flowing into long, sure strokes, and further conversation soon became impossible. After, he collapsed onto her, his head on her stomach, his rough palms cupping her breasts as she stroked his hair.

"I read something interesting, the other day," she said, shattering the easy silence culminating between them. He disentangled himself from her and lay on his side, watching her. "Did you know the Arisen once had an order of assassins called Caesidi?"

A glimmer of shock, so fleeting she'd have missed it had she not searched for it. "Sounds archaic," he said, masking his lapse.

She settled her hand on his hip and drew soft circles in his hot flesh. "They were shadowmancers." She paused, looking across at him and trying to judge his expression. "My employer was attacked by a shadowmancer a little while ago."

He tensed. "Your broken nose?"

She nodded. "The assassin got a punch in." When she'd first met up with him following the attack on her father, she'd explained away the violent bruising to her recently reset nose as a training accident. His eyes had flashed, and she'd assured him it hadn't been Kaeso.

He swiped his thumb across her cheek, tracing the lingering discoloration marring her skin. "I wasn't informed."

"Corajus Boratorren didn't inform anyone," Sephara said. "The family's paranoia is famed. He thinks the Caetoran is responsible, after all."

"And what do you think?"

The lie, prepared days beforehand, came easily. "I think whoever is behind these assassinations is employing shadowmancers, making allusions to the Caesidi to invoke fear," Sephara said. "I was expanding my theories on the basis the Caetoran is involved, because my employer believes him guilty and it's not my place to disagree. But he's not guilty. I can see that now. Having Valerian Boratorren killed would get him nothing. It really is the Drasken Empire." She slapped a hand to his sculpted chest. "Maybe you should consider the Caesidi link. Might give you some clues about who runs them."

He frowned, his face darkening with severity. Sephara wondered if her sudden outburst was too convenient for him, if he'd seen through her placating lies. Instead, his frown lifted into a smirk as he leaned in close, their faces a breath apart.

"I think," he said, "that the issue will be resolved when we win the war. No more Drasken Empire, no more assassinations."

She didn't have time to dwell on his words, because he was sliding his hand along the smooth length of her stomach and down between her legs, a sensual smirk on his lips.

―

He fell asleep an hour later with one arm draped over her flank. No matter: she lifted his arm by small degrees, crawled out from under it, then set a pillow in her place. She'd practised such escapes before, extricating herself from past lovers she had no desire to linger around.

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His keys weren't in his pocket but, after a hurried search of his bedchambers, she located them in the top draw of the cabinet beside his bed. She prised it open with a slow, grating squeal, every muscle in her body freezing as Dexion twitched in his sleep. She saw his grip on the pillow tighten and forced herself to uncoil.

She bunched the keys in a fist, muffling the clink and, dressed only in a pair of trousers and an undershirt, eased the door open and peered into the hallway. It was unlit and unguarded at this time of night; Dexion wasn't an entitled and paranoid noble to have his own men watch his chambers as he slept, and for that she was thankful. Then again, didn't she prove the necessity of such measures?

Her bare feet whispered along the stone floor. Shadows had taken on a more menacing cast in the last few weeks, and the darkness stifled. It occurred to her that, if Dexion was involved, he might have shadowmancers prowling the compound, but she shook her head in dismissal; if there were assassins tailing her, she'd be dead in the next few minutes and nothing else would matter anyway.

She shunned the arduous trip down to the archives, having already decided to infiltrate Dexion's office in the vain hope he'd have something incriminating or enlightening left as carelessly unhidden as his keys.

The office was unlit, though the moon's powerful glow pooled in through the west-facing window, bathing the desk in a muted silver glow. There were a few documents there, but a quick surveyance proved they all concerned unrelated cases. She ground her jaws together and set the keys on the desk; she was about to take a seat to consider her next move when her eyes snagged on one key in particular.

Engraved into the bow was the familiar symbol of a dagger beneath a series of interlocking symbols.

The Caesidi.

Could it be possible Dexion Mendacium, Captain-General of the Praevin, was the Caesidi's mastermind? Was he behind all this? Had she, in her pursuit of the truth, been right next to the man responsible all along?

She had, since Lexia had mentioned it, tried to imagine Dexion as an Arisen, to even imagine him as Godking Skiron himself, but it seemed implausible. Somehow, she didn't think Dexion capable of such subterfuge. At least not alone. He had, after all, let an unknown variable into the heart of his domain. A key piece of evidence had been smuggled out from under his nose, and now she rifled through his office because he'd left his keys in obvious places, and because he'd taken her to bed without much persuasion. He was too lacking in caution, too confident in himself, to be planning such things.

She removed the key from the bunch and pocketed it. Hopefully, by the time Dexion noticed it was missing, she wouldn't need it anymore.

She lowered herself into the seat and ran her hand over the desk's surface, searching for concealed switches, a loose section, a hidden compartment. Then, because there was nowhere else to hide anything incriminating, she pressed her palms against the underside of the desk.

Nothing.

Deflating in defeat, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes snagging on the paperwork she'd dismissed as unimportant. She pulled the stack towards her and flicked through the first few sheets, finding nothing but reports of minor unrelated crimes Dexion had yet to assign to his officers.

A handful of papers at the bottom of the stack boasted Dexion's neat calligraphy where everything else had been hastily penned by a variety of Praevin. Frowning, Sephara scanned the first paper, finding the unfinished draft for a memo that must've already been released to his entire workforce:

The murder of Novissa Boratorren on 13th of Tabus, is to be delegated to the Castrians after an initial sweep of the crime scene has been overseen. Praevin officers are not to pursue any investigation into this matter.

The memo's layout repeated beneath, though the victim and date changed. Sephara stiffened in her seat as she scanned the names.

The murder of Noster Seius on 1st of Tournus…

The murder of Tullus Gavius on 4th of Tournus…

The murder of Gaius Cassian on 8th of Tournus…

The murder of Valerian Boratorren on 5th of Tantus…

Sephara halted at the last. The memo for her father's murder had never been sent out, she realised, because Valerian hadn't been successfully assassinated. And her uncle's death wouldn't have fallen beneath the purview of the Praevin, hence its absence here. But the rest must've been, as the three other men had all died, after Novissa. She recognised their names from the reports in the archives, the night she'd taken the dagger. As she'd guessed, they'd been killed as part of the same plot.

But why let the Castrians take over the investigations? Had Dexion been instructed to deflect Praevin attention from the murders, or had he made the decision himself?

She turned to the last sheet.

The murder of Iana Mallian on 17th of Tantus…

"Iana's not dead," Sephara murmured, frown deepening.

Not yet, anyway.

It was the 17th of Tantus today, Sephara realised with a jolt. That Dexion had already drafted this memo meant he knew who the targets would be and when they would die. Did his involvement end there?

She tried to still the panicked staccato of her heartbeat as she memorised the list and then fumbled with the memos as she slipped them back in place within the stack of paperwork. Then, as quietly and quickly as she could, she paced back down to Dexion's bedchambers, slipped the keys back into his drawer, then extricated the pillow from beneath his arm. She hurriedly undressed, slipped back into his embrace, then made a show of grumbling tiredly, like someone pulled unwillingly from restful slumber. When that failed to wake him, she nudged his arm away and slid out of bed.

Dexion shot up, one arm raised as if poised to strike.

"Sorry to wake you. I need to go," she said, pretending to search for her discarded clothes. "Exalt-Lord Boratorren doesn't like me to be away from his estate for too long, especially not right now. I was going to love you and leave you, but your bed is just too comfortable."

He smiled sleepily, watching her as she dressed. "It's yours whenever you want it."

"I'll remember that," she said, then slipped on her boots, grabbed her padded coat, and left unchallenged.

It wasn't until she was several streets away that she lurched into a sprint.

Although Iana lived in the same district as the Praevin compound, the Myriad District, the journey was still a lengthy one. It seemed to take half an eternity to wind her way through the opulent streets; every ragged heartbeat that passed was to her in that moment another heartbeat closer to Iana's murder, as if Sephara herself heralded the woman's demise. She arrived at the Mallian estate windswept and sweating, her breaths coming in fitful gasps as her muscles thrummed with aching pain.

Iana didn't consider herself important enough to merit a household guard, so Sephara had no choice but to knock, calmly and without urgency, lest she alert any nearby assassin. The hefty wooden door sprang suddenly open and Sephara stumbled beyond the threshold, straight into Lexia's waiting arms. The girl grappled her into a headlock, keeping painful hold for the few seconds it took her to recognise Sephara.

"What the fuck?" Lexia demanded. "I hear nothing from you since the Library, and now you show up on my doorstep at night looking like shit."

"Where's your mother?" Sephara asked, lifting a hand to halt further curses.

"The garden," Lexia replied. "She likes sitting out there when she can't sleep."

"She's still alive, then," Sephara said.

The other girl gripped her shoulders and shook her. "I repeat," she hissed, "what the fuck?"

Sephara slapped her cousin's hands away and stepped back. "Your mother is the next target. The date of her murder is listed as today."

Lexia glanced across the entry hall, presumably to where the garden was located, and was about to bolt when Sephara took a handful of her shirt and held her in place.

"The assassin might panic," Sephara said. "We need to be clever about this. We need to be able to see them before we do anything. We can secure them so we can get some fucking answers."

Lexia tried to prise herself free. "You want to use my mother as an assassin's bait?"

"I wouldn't phrase it quite like that," Sephara said, then dragged the younger girl out into the hallway. "Now take me to the garden. Slowly, quietly. Find us somewhere to hide with your mother in view."

Iana's garden was small and reserved, though obviously well cared for. A stone pathway wound through it, a stone bench at its centre on which Iana perched, her face turned towards the fattened moon, her expression contemplative. Sephara squatted on her haunches on the threshold of the back door and motioned for Lexia to copy. The girl seemed incensed, her anger directed at Sephara in a smouldering glare.

Sephara narrowed her eyes and studied the surrounding darkness with intent, trying to discern if any of it gleamed unnaturally, straining to see if the shadows flickered anywhere. Lexia stared at her mother, her hands curled, her knuckles white and bony.

There.

A ripple, gentle as the shimmer on a lake's surface. Directly in front of Iana.

Sephara was about to signal to Lexia to charge forward when Iana leapt to her feet, plucked up a knife she'd set beside her, and fell into a defensive duelling stance. The shadows parted, falling away like shed locks of hair, to reveal an assassin bedecked all in black and armed only with the trademark curved Caesidi blade.

"I thought it might be my turn," Iana said, tone firm and fearless.

She struck first, a wicked slice that made the assassin step back. Their daggers clashed and, before either could lash out again, they'd leapt apart. It was as if the brief exchange had been choreographed, the pair two dance partners rather than assassin and would-be victim.

Sephara had always believed sparring with daggers an exercise in ridiculousness, like whipping out the meat knives at dinner and having a go at your dining partner, because the reach was too short for anything genuine. She resolved to update her opinion as she watched Iana and her assailant pirouette, dodging away and around each other, slashing only occasionally, their movements controlled and precise. They were two competing air currents brought together as a whirlwind.

Sephara tore her eyes away long enough to glance questioningly at Lexia.

"Father taught us a little," Lexia said by way of explanation, though it was clear from the way Iana moved that she'd received more than just cursory lessons from Endarion.

The younger woman started to move forward, but Sephara grabbed her again. "You might distract your mother," she hissed, her eyes locked on the scene. Every fresh flurry brought Iana and her assassin closer together, the pair of them drawn inexorably inwards, coaxed by the limited reach of their weapons. No doubt the assassin hadn't planned for such an extended scuffle, though it would only take one slip-up to end Iana's life.

Between one blink and the next, Iana faltered. She moved her foot too close to her attacker's and, in the half-second it took to correct the mistake, the shadowmancer kicked her knee between strikes. Iana collapsed, mouth open in a silent cry of pain.

Lexia didn't hesitate. She bulled forward, leaping over her mother's gasping form and throwing herself at the assassin, who dodged aside and tripped her up as she passed. Sephara was a few feet behind, ready to meet the mage head-on. She had only a heartbeat to regret not bringing a blade with her this evening.

"I know who you are!" she shouted, hoping to catch the man off guard with the lie.

No such luck. He reaffirmed an offensive stance, dagger jutting from his right hand. He slashed at her stomach as she surged at him, forcing her to veer aside and almost lose her footing. A second slash followed, aimed for her face. She jolted her head back and snapped out an elbow, catching the mage's forearm with the joint. The dagger skimmed the bridge of her nose then flew out of the shadowmancer's grip.

Unarmed now, the assassin seemed to freeze. Sephara acted without thinking, shoving the Caesidi backwards with enough force to make him stumble. He staggered against Iana, who'd straightened a leg to trip him. He faltered down onto his knees, though righted himself almost immediately.

Before Sephara could act, the assassin spun on his heels and fled, vaulting over the stone bench and shoving his way through the back door and into Iana's estate. The grinding of the front door yanked wildly inwards confirmed the bastard had escaped out onto the street.

Sephara glanced at Iana. "Go to my father, tell him what happened," she said as she set off in pursuit, Lexia up on her feet and close behind.

The girl shouted a quick "Be right back," as if they were going out to play, giving her mother no time to call her back.

They tore through Iana's entry hall, pausing only long enough for Lexia to retrieve a pair of short-swords mounted on the wall. "This ends tonight, partner," Lexia cried as they barrelled out onto the moonlit street after the shadowmancer.