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

Thirty-Four

Sephara

Empyria, the Imperium

22nd of Tantus

It had been five days since Sephara tortured a Caesidi assassin and then watched him die soaked in his own blood. The memories hadn't dimmed. In fact, they'd grown more intense, each replay gorier and crueller and more horrific than the last. She wondered whether Lexia felt any guilt at having slit the poor man's throat; considering the fact the girl's mother had nearly been assassinated, Sephara doubted it.

She'd waited, tense and nervous, doing nothing with the information she'd fought so hard to gain. She needed to know if Dexion realised she'd stolen from him, needed to see what the Caesidi would do now they'd gotten to the end of their kill list and were seemingly awaiting further targets. Most importantly, though, she needed to see if any consequences arose from the murder of the Caesidi agents, and whether the assassin who'd targeted Iana had recognised Sephara when she'd intervened. If he had, had he told anyone in the Castrian Embassy before he and his ill-fated colleague had departed?

But nothing happened. No more assassinations. Nothing suspicious from Dexion. No indication she'd been found out. Kesa and Bekker had even gone to the effort of tracking down the thugs she and Lexia had battled and blackmailing those who'd survived. According to Kesa, the men, and other gangs like them, were paid to linger in such alleyways during the night of a kill, to offer their support to any Caesidi who happened to need them. A precaution, Sephara supposed, should any of the assassins be discovered and pursued. Not that it had done them any good, in the end.

Even her father, once he'd been informed of Iana's targeting and how Sephara and two of his brother's bastards had hunted down the culprit, hadn't been able to offer her more than a brusque nod and a Well done. "Surely we can do something now?" she said, knowing how childish she sounded.

Her father had frowned. "There's no proof. What do we take to the Prodessium beyond the words of a man already killed?"

He was right. If anything, Kesa might even be punished for arranging the torture. Best to keep the events of that night quiet.

As much as she'd wanted to keep herself hidden for longer, maybe continue her ruse with Dexion, she knew she needed to act on the lead the Castrian Embassy presented. That was why, a couple of hours shy of midnight, Sephara crouched across the street from the Embassy, watching a small gang of Slates orphans throw stones at the two guards posted outside. She'd paid the children handsomely for the task. The night before, she'd scouted the building and surrounding streets, marking the best place to enter, getting a feel for the guards' patrolling routine and deciding how best to lure them from their post.

The sky had bruised a shade of dark blue, and the moon was a weak shard in the heavens. Sephara felt about as safe in the shadows as a person who'd encountered shadowmantic killers could be. She watched the guards at first ignore the stones then, as more found their mark, begin to hurl curses at the children. Then, as planned, another child moved up behind them and slipped one of the guard's side-swords free and flew past him. They'd clearly not been warned against thieving children, because both guards shot off after the gang, leaving the way in unguarded.

She'd never trespassed before, though assumed the Embassy's protection would be minimal; the Castrian ambassador, Nazhira, was currently in Tharghest with the forces she'd offered the Imperium's campaign, so there seemed little of value to protect here.

Except, of course, for an order of aasiurmantic assassins serving an immortal.

She paced towards the entrance, glancing both ways along the street to confirm she was alone. Due to the area's political neutrality, it wasn't a well-travelled street. There might've been more embassies built along this path had the Imperium nurtured relations with any nations other than the Castrian League.

The archway above the main entrance was elaborately decorated, the typical white stone filed down to form images invoking the tropical, sun-baked climate of Castrio. Rigid thatches of Castrian sunwood, painted a watery Castrian purple, stood bold against clouds of stunted cacti. A cluster of lithe, cat-like kulosa curved at odd angles around the archway's frame.

She found a suitable foothold at the base of a kulosa's tail and wedged her boot into the small depression, lifting herself to test her weight. When certain she was supported, she reached up and latched her fingers into the raised twist of a stone vine embossed into the pillar.

For a panicked second, her weight shifted as both feet cleared the ground. Fortunately, her intensive training during her youth had included similar climbing exercises. She'd been encouraged to scale the myriad structures composing her father's estate in Akerdia, and she'd once managed to ascend the central tower—all three hundred feet of it—without major issue. The Embassy, a third the height and with many unintentional handholds, was a far easier endeavour once she'd adjusted herself.

She'd assumed the ambassadorial offices perched at the top. By the time she'd alighted the highest balcony, her arms were leaden and her lungs were solid rocks in her heaving chest, and she begrudgingly admitted she was out of practice. She braced herself against the railings for a moment, then glanced down to ensure the guards hadn't yet returned.

The balcony door had been carved from sturdy Castrian sunwood, a variety she'd heard acted as a substitute for stone as a building material in Castrio due to its sheer, stubborn strength. She bent down and retrieved a set of lockpicks from her coat pocket. Though Lexia had taught her the rudimentary basics, it still took her five agonising minutes to pick the lock, every second counted as a heartbeat pounding in her ears.

The office beyond was cramped and crowded. A long-smothered candle sat on a desk at the other end, and Sephara froze, scanning the room for occupants. When she found none, she approached the candle with a frown; that it'd been needed suggested there'd been someone here recently, or else hadn't discarded it. If Nazhira was hundreds of miles away, who was using her office?

Sephara kept the door ajar, a thin slice of moonlight all that illuminated the room. She squinted against the dark and tracked a path around the office. Unlike Dexion's, it was chaotic. The bookshelves sat half-empty, the tomes thrown randomly onto the shelves, and the desk was decorated with scattered papers. Sephara examined those, finding a couple concerning the provisions required by the Castrian troops fielded in Tharghest, and the overview of established trade alliances between the League and Imperium. Nothing incriminating. Nothing even remotely interesting.

Sephara produced the key she'd swiped from Dexion and held it out, as if for inspiration.

She examined the desk, testing the key in all the drawers. A satisfying click issued from the last she tried and, with a wide grin, she yanked the drawer open and found a stack of papers. On the top was a single torn scrap.

Imperium: A History of Swords and Thrones, by Canisius Thurinus. Volumes 1-5

She knew the saga, a collection of ten books covering the foundation and early years of the Imperium. It had been dictated by the man who'd founded it, and Sephara had been forced to read it during her adolescence. She'd found it far too self-congratulatory for her liking.

She turned to the bookshelves, thinking the disorder might be intentional.

Nazhira owned all ten of Thurinus's books. The latter five were scattered without regard across several different shelves, but the first five were stacked together.

"I'm not bloody reading them again," she whispered as she bookended them with her hands and lifted them. Each volume was easily five hundred pages long, heavy enough to beat someone to death with, if she was desperate enough. She would know; she'd considered doing that exact thing to the tutors who'd quizzed her on the books' content after ordering her to read them.

She was about to retreat to the desk and begin the laborious task of skimming through the books when she spied, in the corner of her eye, a small irregularity in the shelf behind where the books had been propped. Made almost invisible by the lack of light, a keyhole winked in the centre of an outlined compartment.

Sephara set the books down and slotted Dexion's key in. It exposed a shallow cavity with several sheets stacked neatly inside. When she held them down on the desk with the moonlight bathing them, she found each sheet to be of a different quality, as if paper from several sources had been filed together. She locked the compartment and stacked the books back where they'd been before turning her attention to her discovery.

The parchment of the first sheet was smooth and expensive:

Novissa Boratorren—I cannot abide a Boratorren so close to us, and so powerful.

Valerian Boratorren—he thinks to oppose us and is the mastermind of their plot.

Endarion Boratorren—he was supposed to die on Shaeviren. Kill him now, before he can destroy us.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Daria Boratorren—she'd be the Paramount-General if they had their way.

Kaeso Boratorren—they'd make him Caetoran. Let them watch him die.

Ricardus Naevon—an ally of theirs is an enemy of ours.

Kavan Aza—an ally, no doubt still in contact with Elerius.

Caelinus Naevon—a political ally and a traitor by association.

Calvus Valens—another political ally.

Iana Mallian—she is one of their whores and is too powerful by association.

Kesa Hult—another whore who knows too much.

Estrid Elerius—a traitor of the highest order, her continued survival is a mockery to us.

Kill Novissa first, the rest in any order. My uncle wants them all dead, but I think some of the targets are too obvious. We will blame these deaths on Drasken and destroy them in turn. After that, no one will oppose us.

Khian

"Well," Sephara said, clicking her tongue. "I probably should've guessed."

Here was proof. Khian, the Caetoran's nephew and his new Warmaster, had scribed a list of targets for the Caesidi, and admitted in writing he would blame Drasken and incite war. All the targets were Boratorrens and their allies, though she noted with a smirk that only Novissa had been successfully assassinated.

What confused her was that Khian, not the Caetoran, had contacted the Caesidi.

She folded and pocketed the sheet; she reckoned she was beyond the point of needing to cover her tracks. The next paper was grainy, its edges frayed. The writing scrawled in the manner of rushed military reports:

I have sent you Khian's original list. I think most of them are far too obvious, and the Boratorrens would swiftly figure it all out. We cannot touch Estrid Elerius, most importantly, or we would not be able to blame this matter on the Drasken. I also cannot see the sense in murdering all three listed arch-generals and three Corajus, though I believe both Valerian and Endarion can be killed.

Here is my amended list:

Novissa Boratorren—an acceptable catalyst. Not as directly linked to the Boratorrens as one would think.

Noster Seius—one of Iana's directors. His death will cripple the company and leave the Boratorren army lacking supplies in Kalduran and beyond.

Tullus Gavius—a minor aristocratic ally of the Boratorrens. Not the most obvious target, and therefore a better one, because he's always the first to support any decision Valerian makes in the Prodessium.

Gaius Cassian—a noble invested in the stonehound breeding. Again, another unobvious ally, but one who provides Endarion with funds.

Endarion—the bigger threat. If war erupts, it can be suitable cover for his death.

Valerian—kill him after Endarion, I would suggest. After him, they will either self-destruct or crumble.

Iana—even with Valerian and Endarion dead, she is still too powerful.

With these targets we can weaken them sufficiently. Once complete, more names can be added, and some of the Caetoran's original list culled.

Nazhira

There was no name at the top, and Sephara almost growled in irritation. This was written by Nazhira, clearly acting as intermediary between her son and whoever commanded the Caesidi. Whoever had received this letter was responsible for everything. The Castrian ambassador's involvement didn't shock her; as soon as she'd seen the Caesidi assassin retreat to the Embassy after Iana's botched assassination, she knew Nazhira had a part to play.

She frowned. If Nazhira had written the letter, clearly intended it for someone else, why was it in her office. Had the recipient sent it back?

She flipped the page over. Her heart leapt at the sight of a neat reply on the back.

It will be done.

"Fuck it." No name again. No seal or crest or signature. The handwriting, as short as the reply was, was elegant and precise, and something about it sparked a flicker of recognition.

She skimmed through the remaining pages, finding only official sanctions by the Castrian League giving Nazhira the authority to move her troops into Tharghest. There was also a letter from Nazhira's husband, Dobran:

I hear you are to present yourself at the upcoming Generals' Conclave. I know our son has been contacting you, though he refuses to tell me about what. I wish you would both confide in me. Have I not proven myself to you?

The Warmaster has been assassinated, but you know that. It was you, wasn't it? Is that what Khian asked of you?

You know I would do anything to protect our family.

Of all the people Sephara had thought privy to the details of this plot, Dobran was near the top of the list. After all, his brother, wife, and son were all colluding with an Arisen in a ploy to topple their political enemies, so why not him, who despised the Boratorrens just as much? Did that implicate a division within the royal household her father could exploit? Was Dobran discontent with being kept out of things? Were there issues with his marriage, aside from the not-so-secret context of Khian's birth? Could her uncle use this against the man in the field? Could they even make an ally of him?

The final sheet, torn and scribbled, matched Nazhira's handwriting:

Sudarium is working for Erdohan. He leads the Fensidium. Novissa was one of them.

"Sudarium, again," she mused, recalling the tomes she'd read that, when pieced together, had informed her what the Caesidi were. She'd already known about Novissa working for the Fensidium, having identified the symbol on her dagger. But Erdohan? The Novhar who, according to ancient legend, was responsible for opening the Abyss and almost destroying the Vast Infinite?

It was certainly a name to archive for later, but nothing she could address now.

Her mind whirred as she secured the papers in her pocket, chewing over the neat handwriting she'd seen on the back of Nazhira's list; she knew it, but couldn't remember where. She had just turned her attention back to the desk when she heard the tell-tale thump of approaching footsteps. She cast her gaze wildly around the room, ensuring nothing was obviously out of place, then slipped through the balcony door and closed it behind her. She stood, frozen, heart drumming, legs trembling with adrenaline, her back pressed against the door, wondering if these were her last moments. It struck her how unfair that would be, to have almost reached the end of the puzzle, only to be killed on the cusp of revelation.

She heard the intruder enter the office, but they made no move towards the balcony. Bending her knees, she aimed her ear at the door's lock.

"If it were up to me, you'd be strung up as an incompetent traitor and flayed before the baying crowds." It took Sephara a few seconds to define the voice as belonging to Khian Tyrannus.

"How fortunate for me that you have no real power, then," came the deadpan reply.

Sephara's heart lurched to hear that voice. Dexion.

"I have power," Khian countered, tone thick with anger.

She heard Dexion snort. "You are a child," he said. "Your mother performed all your dealings for you."

The slap of a palm against a hard surface, probably the desk. "It wouldn't be befitting of my station to contact an assassin," the Warmaster growled.

Dexion didn't sound cowed. "I am much more than an assassin, boy." The menace in his tone was palpable, so potent it seemed to flicker out towards Sephara and chill her.

"You're less than one, I'd say," Khian retorted. "How many of the targets we sent you actually died? None of the important ones, that's for sure. What use is an order of ancient assassins who cannot successfully kill a couple of old men and their friends?"

"Blame yourself and the Caetoran for that," Dexion said. "You contacted me and my order too early. Their training isn't finished and most of them are still amateurs. Had I the time or inclination to do so, I would've performed these killings myself."

Sephara started. His order?

Suddenly, the neat writing distinguished itself in her memory, as tangible as an assassin robbed of their mask: Dexion's annotations on the map on his office wall, as neat as the reply to Nazhira's list of targets.

"Amateurs commanded by an illustrious Arisen such as yourself, yet one of them couldn't even stab a mad fucking cripple in the back!"

For a few seconds, her mind failed to comprehend the words. Dexion was not only an Arisen, but the Arisen. The commander of the Caesidi. The man whose murder of Novissa had set the war with Kalduran into motion. He'd tried to kill her uncle and father and Iana.

And she'd thought herself so incessantly clever for slipping into his bed and believing him blind to her ulterior motive. She clamped down on the urge to smack her forehead in exasperation.

"I answer to my superior, not to you," Dexion said.

Khian snorted. "Let's move forward to the part where you tell me why you've brought me here in the dead of night."

"I want to make sure Miss Barum isn't on our trail. You're as culpable as I, so anything she discovers is as much your problem as mine." A weighted pause. "Besides, no matter how many targets were actually killed, we've reached the end of your mother's list. My relationship with your family is over, and it's time to burn the evidence."

"Why is there evidence in the first place?"

Dexion scoffed. "You think I trust your family enough to not have a paper trail linking us together? If your mother betrayed me, I could drag her down with me. It's that simple."

She heard the muffled sounds of books being displaced, of keys jangling, and a deathly grip stilled her heart. They were going for the compartment she'd stolen the evidence from.

Into the stiff silence, Dexion laughed.

"What?" Khian said.

"She took my key," the older man replied. "I knew she was onto me."

"Is that not a problem?"

"She'd never know where it's for," Dexion replied.

"How much does she know?"

"Not much. She took the dagger from the archive as well, but she wouldn't recognise the symbol. She's chasing shadows, literally."

Sephara clenched her jaw against her own short-sightedness. It hadn't been her who'd steered their brief courtship, then; Dexion had allowed himself to be seduced because he knew what she was after. Whether to toy with her, or to keep a potential enemy under close observation, Dexion had undoubtedly outsmarted her. He'd not put his keys in obvious places because he was careless, nor had he allowed her into his bed without precaution because he was reckless. He'd all but left her the trail she'd followed, and for what? Another layer of insurance against the Tyrannuses, so that someone else could out them if needed?

Khian's bitter voice drew her back. "Why was the dagger archived? Why not just get rid of it?"

"A Praevin officer was first on the scene at Novissa's death. I couldn't remove the blade without it being noted." Dexion huffed a laugh. "Wily old Novissa ensured the weapon remained lodged in her chest for just that reason, I'm sure. It was my fault for mentioning the blade to Silvia, but she'd already spotted it. I only just managed to prevent her from taking a closer look when it was still in Novissa's chest."

Khian sighed. "Why haven't you killed Barum? She's a Boratorren by association."

A pause, and Sephara imagined Dexion shrugged. "She's not on the list."

"If you knew she suspected you, why not stop her, or hide your keys, or even just not fall into bed with her?"

"Because by keeping her close, I control what she knows, what her employers know. What they think they know. All she has now is a key that's useless to her and theories she has no way of proving." A gruff laugh. "Besides, when you live as long as me, you learn to entertain yourself where you can. She's not a target, nor does she know what I am. She is not to be touched."

"Don't go falling in love, old tyrant," Khian sneered in reply, and Sephara could almost picture his ugly expression.

Dexion chuckled, though it was an unpleasant sound. "I've been alive for millennia; I think I know how to control my emotions."

Silence followed, then the gentle closing of the office door.

It might've been seconds, but to Sephara, locked in place, the evening chill starting to make her shiver, it felt like hours before she finally plucked up the courage to move. She peered over the edge of the balcony, scanned the surrounding streets, and waited for a shadow to displace itself and a Caesidi agent to come for her head.

Instead, there was silence, and she remained undiscovered.