Chapter 334: Boy Three
"Father, did you choose to make a certain impression on the Saintess?"
Bimo’s voice floated up from beside him. They had left the temple behind and were winding through the narrow alleys of the capital’s outer district, where the shadows pooled thick and the lanterns were spaced just far enough apart to leave pockets of convenient darkness between them.
"For example?" Roarke asked, not looking down.
"An honest, kind healer who cares about others." Bimo ticked the qualities off on his fingers. "Despite your circumstance. You know, humble, sympathetic, the sort of man who asks a troubled Saintess to get some rest because he genuinely worries for her wellbeing."
A pause.
"Well, since you, as a werewolf with a near-perfect humanoid form who is also a healer, already stand out, it made sense. People expect a story. You gave them one."
Roarke’s stride did not change. "Are you implying that my cover is not ideal?"
"I am saying it simply does not suit you." Bimo shrugged. "When people look at you, they expect something a bit more... detailed. A bit more textured. You look like a man who has lived, Father. A simple backstory feels like a shirt that does not quite fit."
Roarke considered this. "Oh. A fake mystery will hide the truth, you mean?"
Bimo’s face split into a grin. "Yup!"
Roarke chuckled despite himself and it sounded rusty from disuse. "I understand. Who taught you things like this, hm?"
"The books!" Bimo declared. "The Princess taught me how to read, and I read about stories. All kinds of stories. I love analyzing people’s characters, what makes them believable, what makes them memorable, what makes them invisible."
"And you chose to be the most mundane of all?" Roarke raised an eyebrow. "A nervous, nameless servant boy?"
"Yes." Bimo nodded. "The unnamed ones. The ones with numbers in plays. Boy Four. Boy Five. The ones who cross the stage carrying a tray and no one remembers they were ever there."
"Not even Boy One or Boy Two?"
"Those usually have lines." Bimo’s nose wrinkled.
Roarke shook his head slowly. "You do not even want lines?"
Bimo’s smile was answer enough.
The alleys opened up slightly as they neared a wider street. From somewhere in the near distance, the faint strains of music drifted through the night air. A fiddle, a drum, the muffled chorus of voices raised in drink and questionable harmony.
The taverns were alive again. The mourning period had passed, and the capital was remembering how to breathe.
"So," Roarke said, steering them back on course, "what fake mystery should I have?"
"Hmm." Bimo’s face scrunched in thought. "Let us say... you have a dead brother. And it is your fault."
Roarke’s steps faltered.
Just a heartbeat of hesitation before his rhythm resumed. He covered it well. His eyes cut to Bimo’s face, searching for something behind the innocent suggestion.
Nothing. The boy’s expression was open, thoughtful and without guile. He was not probing or hinting either, not realizing he was hitting a sore spot.
Come to think of it, Arkai did go south to look for Roarke.
Because Roarke had assassinated those southern beast lords, he had drawn attention. He had pulled Arkai away from his territory when he should have been preparing for the mountain.
Mount Saede.
The eruption.
The Saintess’s prophecy had said Arkai was dead. And Arkai could have died. He had nearly died, according to every informations Roarke had devoured in the weeks afterward. If not for Lady Sees, he would be dead.
What if he did die?
What if his son, Rinne, had lost his father because of Roarke’s choices?
What if the worst mistake ever conceived had not stopped with Rinne hearing something he should never have heard, but something earlier that almost claimed Arkai’s life?
"That is a fitting mystery." Roarke said, his voice steady. But his eyes, hidden by the darkness of the alley, had gone dark as old blood. "I will use that."
Bimo giggled, unaware of the minefield he had just skipped through. "See? I am so good at this."
"You are."
They changed their robes in a prearranged spot, a narrow gap between two buildings where the shadows swallowed everything.
The temple garments were folded and hidden beneath a loose stone, replaced by plain, unremarkable clothes that would draw no eyes and leave no memories. Bimo moved efficiently, his boyish clumsiness nowhere to be seen.
Then they were off again, heading toward the Dawnoro Capital Residence.
The night air bit with the promise of coming snow.
Iondora Capital would see its first dusting soon. In two weeks, perhaps three. A few inches on the streets, enough to turn the city briefly beautiful before it melted into slush and memory.
The winters here were shorter than in the northern territories, but somehow the cold felt the same. Just as sharp and unforgiving, as though the temperature had followed them south out of spite.
"If there’s nothing wrong with whatever message you just received, I think the Lady will praise you since you managed to get even closer to the Saintess," Bimo said as he shook his body to make some heat. "Congrats!"
"As long as there’s you, everything will go well anyway," Roarke rolled his eyes. He pulled his coat tighter and wondered...
What had Ivy and Isla Cassia sent him? What message waited in the tube Bimo still carried, tucked safely in the seam of his plain clothes? What instructions would the Cassian Twins deliver after so long a silence?
It had been a while since they contacted him at all. Months, perhaps. Long enough that he had begun to feel like a blade left on a shelf, waiting for a hand that might never return.
And now, of all times, they reached out. In the wake of the Emperor’s assassination. Surely, they did not want him to do anything in this time window—
"Kill Saintess Ruby Vaiva, and make it look like an accident. Details by the river, three days."
Eh?
Lady Sees read the paper slip aloud. She sat in the center of the reception room at Arkai Dawnoro’s Capital Residence, the black veil of her mourning attire now replaced by something softer. She wore an elegant desert dress that moved with her like water, cream and gold.
But—what the fuck did she just read?
Beside Roarke, Bimo had gone similarly still.
And in front of them, Lady Sees held the paper slip between two fingers.