The Alliance - 6. Chapter 6

Ysabel woke up when a laughing child had run through the street beneath her bedroom window, and scowled to have been disturbed. I will kill that child, she thought while she imagined its little head on a stick. Rising quickly, she looked into the wall-sized mirror that was across from her bed, noticing she had looked especially beautiful this morning. It would be a good day to seek pleasure. Perhaps Count Gorget, or another General that happened to be in town. Plenty were in the city, and Ysabel knew that the key to their secrets lie in their cocks. Gorget had never taken to her advances before, and Ysabel thought maybe it was about time he did. Or perhaps he is sick in the head, and prefers little kids. Reflecting on the events of the previous day, however, made her remember that she had a few things to do. Her face now unreadable, she spoke out in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper. “Rodrick,” she purred. Instantly, a muscular man with fear in his eyes opened the door to her bedchambers and strode in, bowing his head out of respect and waiting for orders. Rodrick was wearing an elaborate silken servant’s smock and bore five parallel scars on the face. Ysabel had once slapped him, forgetting that she was still wearing her claws. “Have my son await me in the parlor. I wish to speak to him.”

“Yes, Madame. You should also know that General Damien Di Coteau and his daughter Jezebel have just arrived as well. They seek your council.”

“Why had I not been notified of their coming before?” Ysabel snapped.

“My apologies, but you told me never to wake you,” Rodrick said, practically quaking. Ysabel laughed internally at the man’s fear.

“Very well. I will meet them.” Ysabel immodestly changed clothing in front of her servant, and slid on many dark pieces of obsidian jewelry. Walking out of the room, she turned to walk towards the entrance hall while Rodrick went to fetch Alexandre. At the sight of her brother-in-law and niece at the foot of a grand, curving staircase, Ysabel gave a wolfish smile. She elegantly stepped down the staircase, and kissed both relatives on either side of their cheeks. She stood back to look at this family, noticing that Damien looked similar to how she remembered her husband, his brother. He did not have any grey hairs, however, and seemed a bit more youthful. I wonder if he is as big under the smallclothes. Smiling sweetly at the niece she knew idolized her, Ysabel noticed that the girl was becoming more beautiful every day. Little cunt, she thought.

“Why had I not been informed of Alexandre’s plan? You realize it made me look foolish when some of the Di Coteau’s in the city were unaware. I do not appreciate this, Ysabel.”

Straight to the point, I see. Ysabel fixed her eyes on him, and was disappointed when he did not show the fear that seemed to haunt everyone else’s face under her gaze. “Perhaps you can ask him himself. Alexandre awaits us in the parlor. I would like an explanation for his actions as well.”

“You did not know?” Jezebel asked, narrowing her eyes. Ysabel did not like Jezebel’s insinuation that everything was not under her control. She thought briefly of shredding the girl with words, but instead answered diplomatically.

“I was unaware of Alexandre’s intentions, yes. When I spoke to him after the games last evening, all I was able to discern was that he had gotten himself enslaved, gained proof of Mortisse’s illegalities, and went to the arena as befitting the role he was playing. The execution, I believe you both saw. Damien looked annoyed, and decided he wanted an explanation first.

"What proof? We've had many informants trying to take down Mortisse for months. Surely Alex wasn't able to glean something from the distance of your husband's estate?"

"I think his being captured is proof enough," Ysabel replied coolly. Raids on the estate of a general would never have been sanctioned, and the fact that Alexandre had been taken so near to Mullansburg was certain proof that Mortisse was operating in ways that he shouldn't be.

“Let us go, then,” said Jezebel.

***

When a twitchy servant named Rodrick had summoned Alex to his mother’s parlor, he gulped. His mother was impulsive, and he hoped that she would not be upset. Noticing the scars on Rodrick’s face, he knew that he might have to defend himself shortly, at least using words. He had hoped that Ysabel would be in a good mood that morning. In the best possible mood, Ysabel would simply talk to him about what he had done, and glide away. In the worst case scenario… Darion Di Coteau had pulled his wife off of her children many times when they were growing up. She was a stickler for stern punishment, and thought that the best kind was physical. Alex bore a few scars that had come from his mother, and hoped that he would get away with simply speaking and leaving. Slipping a dagger into his boot, he went up and awaited his mother. When she walked in flanked by Damien and Jezebel Di Coteau as well, he was confused. Why are they here? Alex stood from his position on the chaise lounge, and offered a few greeting formalities. Jezebel was the only person he hadn’t been worried to see, but his mood darkened when she seemed to be glaring at him. What is her problem?

“Why did you not notify the rest of your family of your plan in the capitol?” his hulking uncle asked.

“My plan?” Alex replied, wondering what he meant. He had been confused, but was glad to hear that the way he had asked the question appeared to sound less like confusion and a lot more like he was playing dumb with his uncle. Damien’s face darkened, and his mouth opened to speak before Ysabel cut him off.

“You could have simply assassinated Mortisse in the privacy of his own home, Alexandre.” Alex glanced up and down at his mother, immensely relieved that she was not staring at him like he was prey. Instead, she was bejeweled and elegant, wearing so much black that were it not for her long hair, she could have passed for a shadow. She’s not wearing the claws, he thought, and felt a bit more comfortable. Her nails were still painted black and sharpened into points, but Alex knew that those claws did a lot less damage.

They think I had gotten enslaved on purpose, he realized. This could go better than I had thought. Slowly piecing together all of his family members’ reactions, understanding came flooding in. If I had gotten myself captured, they thought it was to assassinate Mortisse. By becoming a gladiator, I had shown courage and my fighting skills to almost the entire capitol. A high-profile assassination had struck fear into the hearts of the rest of the underworld leaders, and also shown off that the Di Coteaus were not afraid to enter life-threatening situations when carrying out missions. All in all, Alex knew he had looked brilliant to everyone in the city that had seen him. He absolutely did not want anyone to know that he had actually been forcefully apprehended, and was in reality fighting for survival. If they discovered that, he would have displayed great weakness. Luck is on my side.

Playing it off coolly, Alexandre smoothed his shirt and looked at the three inquisitors. Ysabel and Damien are just mad that they didn’t know, and Jezebel is probably jealous. He constructed his next sentence carefully. “Not that I don’t trust you all, but a single word could have betrayed my position and blown cover. After all, I was under the scrutiny of all of Nabius.”

His uncle looked displeased, cutting his eyes towards his daughter, then back to Alex. “You are lucky that you bear the Di Coteau name, nephew. Anyone else would likely have not shaken off that lieutenant.”

“But he does bear the name, Damien. And he is right to trust no one in the context of a mission. Not even family.” She was right. No great assassin spilled the details of their mission to anyone before it was completed. To do so was an unnecessary risk that seemed foolish to take. Ysabel looked her son up and down. “Perhaps you are not useless.”

Was I before, bitch? Alex looked at the rest of his family, and was displeased that Ysabel was the only person who wasn’t taller than him. Mustering all of his acting ability, Alex did his best to imitate his father. “I will be returning to the manor house soon. I will leave this evening. It was good to see you mother, uncle, and cousin. Until our next meeting.” The three seemed to accept his bravado, and he walked out of the room and left to go into the city.

Exhaling with relief one he was out the door of Ysabel’s manse, Alex turned to wander in the streets. He had very narrowly escaped, and his circumstances had made him look like he had known what he was doing. That was lucky, and he was glad that he was away could get away from Madame Ysabel’s house. If he were to stay too long, he knew she would have pressed him and weaseled every detail out of him. Instead, had gotten a few hours to browse the capitol and perhaps find some souvenir to bring back home for his blank room. He thought briefly about getting Talia a gift for her birthday here, but knew that she would not want him to. The two had not given gifts since they were children, because they could have anything they wanted anyway. Gift giving seemed a chore that both liked to avoid, and they had an unspoken pact. Alex was looking over wares when he realized that yesterday had been his sister’s seventeenth. That meant that she would be leaving the academy, and soon would be officially receiving missions. Do I get a gift for that? Talia had obviously received targets and missions before, but now any mission she carried out would be officially recognized by the capitol. Alexandre had remembered the enormity of his first mission when he was a fresh graduate, and wondered what she would be doing. He certainly hoped it was nothing as big as securing an entire Ironian region, king and all. Regardless, he didn’t feel that it was a milestone where gift giving was really appropriate. He put down a small silver blade, and walked on.

Passing under the church of St. Melvin, Alex looked up at the stained glass windows. St. Melvin was one of the great assassin saints of Nabius, who had died almost fifty years ago. He was famed for capturing an Ironian province in the south by sneaking into the regional king’s court, dressed as a jester. He slaughtered everyone in the great room, and had later conquered the city by opening the gates to his troops. With everyone important dead because of his or her attendance in the king’s court, the city had no leadership and fell quickly. St. Melvin was often depicted in a black, white, and red jester’s costume, and Alex found the stained glass he was looking at distasteful. The man’s white face, goofy hat, and red eyes surrounded by black diamonds in the typical jester’s fashion looked eerie as they stared down at him. Holding in his disgust, Alex walked further down the street.

He wondered how his father would receive him once he returned. Though Alex had missed his wedding to Marion Monciet, everyone seemed to think of him as some kind of hero. If his act had been a little grander, perhaps there would have been a Saint Alexandre. The Gladiator, he thought. Glancing over his shoulder back towards St. Melvin’s church, he thought that he’d rather not be sainted. What if news does not travel quickly enough to the manor? If that were the case, his father would think that Alexandre had simply disobeyed him. No, no. Ysabel was highly efficient when it came to controlling information, and he knew she had probably written her husband as soon as Alex had debriefed her after the arena. Wondering what she had said, Alex hoped that his father saw the assassination of Evangelo Mortisse as worthy of outweighing his skipping the marriage to Marion. I guess I’ll find out soon.

***

Apparently, Alex was some kind of hero? Carlin shook his head while he digested the news, mystified as to why his master had gone all the way to the capitol and missed the wedding. Carlin had suggested doing something fun, but he hadn’t realized that Alexandre’s idea of fun was some showy assassination. This guy is more messed up than I thought. He didn’t understand how Alex had misinterpreted his message this badly. When Carlin said to do something rebellious or exciting before the wedding, he had meant to go get drunk with his friends and take a girl to bed. Alex had done something completely different, displaying “fun” to be an outburst of violence and stealth. He is a Nabian, I suppose. At least I wont be in trouble. Man, I had thought he had gotten kidnapped or killed or something! Carlin wasn’t aware that his first suspicions had actually been correct.

Then again, I don’t think he has any friends. Carlin had noticed that Talia wasn’t exactly sociable, and he knew that Alex was even colder. Talia had mentioned classmates at the academy, but knew that they were probably just given some of her attention because of their abilities to fight. Carlin had been just the opposite, and was doing his best to befriend as many of the estate workers and slaves as he could. His favorite so far was Mikhail, the blacksmith’s son. Mikhail was a few years Carlin’s senior, but was a little bit shorter at an even 6’2. He was well muscled and toned, and had dark brown hair that always seemed black from soot. His grey eyes were always creased at the corners from smiling, and Carlin found that the Nabian was actually very kind.

“Hellooooooo!” Carlin bellowed into the shop, expecting to see his friend come out from the forge in the back. He had walked to the shop out of boredom, considering he had been free that day. Talia was at the academy, preparing for some kind of graduation ceremony. Thus, he wasn’t needed for target practice or conditioning.

“Hey Carlin!” he heard a voice yell. “You can come around to the back if you’re here to talk, I’m working on something at the moment!”

Carlin was glad his friend was there, and moved through the backdoor of the shop to find a focused Mikhail, inlaying strange designs into what Carlin thought were very strange-looking swords. They seemed to be a pair, but Carlin thought they looked like they wouldn’t be very useful in battle. Rather than being pointed, the blades seemed to curve backwards in a way that made them look like sheep herding staffs.

“What are those?”

Mikhail smirked, obviously agreeing that the weapons seemed strange. “My father received them earlier, sent from the general himself. Apparently, they’re very deadly weapons, though I don’t quite see how. The general wanted them decorated in Nabian colors and symbols, so my father passed them on to me to do the inlays. I’m better at them.”

Carlin looked at the extravagant black and maroon and ivory designs that decorated the weapon, and agreed; Mikhail was good. He then noticed that the handles themselves had a blade that wrapped around from base to top of the hilt, which almost looked like an axe head. The only difference it had from the smooth curve of an axe was that it came to points in three different areas. It looked sharp. At least your hands are protected. Maybe you could even punch with them in combat.

“Anyway, what have you been up to? Talia’s still in Mullansburg, right?”

“Yeah, I have the day off. If you finish that early, do you still want to hit the training courtyard with me? You could use a little more practice.” Carlin pushed his friend’s shoulder playfully, and the other man looked up at him with glee.

“Absolutely!”