The Alliance - 17. Chapter 17

Alexandre rotated through the air, artfully dodging as Barclay swung his false club in the courtyard. His torso was suspended in the air, belly up and parallel to the ground. His legs, however, were making a wide V-shape that moved in a semicircle as the massive weapon of his opponent flew underneath him. He landed, and readjusted his stance. Both Barclay and the general’s son backed up a few feet, conserving their energy and constantly thinking as they moved in a slow dance of circles.

Mikhail had devised a suitable practice weapon for the huge seventeen year old to use, which was essentially like a giant club shaped pillow. The outside of the weapon was made of boiled leather, and the entire thing was filled with stuffing that one might find in a couch. The weapon still would hurt if Barclay landed one of his formidable swings, but would not damage in the same way that the real thing would. To balance out the weight, Mikhail had added a lead core to the weapon, that way Barclay wouldn’t get used to something unlike the wooden contraption he usually brandished.

Barclay swung downwards savagely, and Alex had barely enough time to jump back before the cudgel slammed into the ground just before his feet. I suspect doing that with the real thing would send painful reverberations up one’s bones… I will have to talk to him about practicing like it was the real thing, not just some glorified pillow.

Barclay was surprisingly agile with his monstrous weapon and size, and Alexandre had realized he originally underestimated the man. He prepared, and went in for the strike.

Alex darted to the right, but shot back left in a series of steps that had successfully messed up Barclay’s footwork. He lashed out with his right wooden hook sword, and wrapped the curve around the back of Barclay’s thick neck. Because of their height differences, the blade was at an upward angle, and Alex hoped that he would be able to use this to his advantage. He used his left leg to kick Barclay’s right wrist, which held the club, at the same time leaning back and putting the left sword into the ground behind him. Pushing up on the left sword and pulling on the right, Alexandre hoisted both legs over Barclay’s right shoulder and slid over top of it to land on the ground behind him. Now that the two boys were back to back, Alexandre placed his swords and pulled.

Using the left hook that had been supporting him just moments earlier, he wrapped the blade around the front of the bigger man’s foot near the ankle. The right blade was still near Barclay’s head, and Alex wedged the hook underneath the chin so it pulled up into the jaw. Pulling both swords back at the same time made Barclay trip forward, and the right hook jerked his head upwards. In a real fight, the blade likely would have pulled out the jawbone and gashed the man’s face in two. In this battle, however, the bigger man just fell with a pained ‘oomph.’

“Alright alright, you win boss.” Barclay had always called Alexandre that, and Alex wasn’t quite sure why. When he insisted that Barclay referred to him by name, the man would always acquiesce but ‘forget’ about it shortly after. Alex had given up, resigned to accept the nickname.

He looked down at the mark he had made underneath Barclay’s chin, and winced. It was already beginning to bruise.

“Sorry, Barclay. I didn’t mean to hurt you that badly.” The bigger, younger gent looked down at him kindly.

“It’s no worries boss. It makes me get better, and its excusable. I can see you’ve not been in your right mind lately too.” He had meant the words to be kindly, but they only darkened Alexandre’s mood.

“Yeah. I’ll see you at the feast. I’ve got to wash up.” Without even waiting to see Barclay’s nod of comprehension, he skulked off.

Alexandre walked to a small stone bench in one of the covered walkways between courtyards, and sat on a stone bench in between two pillars. He ran his hands through his hair, and half sighed, half screamed.

This is so frustrating. Alexandre was bitter about what Carlin – Carlisle, now – had revealed to him a few days earlier. He was angry, and sad, but most of all hurt. Alex had never let emotions get in the way of duty before, and he felt like he had truly failed for the first time ever. The worst part was that he had no one he could talk to about it. He had thought about telling Luca, but he just didn’t see that as ending well. Luca and Carlisle were good friends, and it didn’t seem wise. He also found himself flustered with what the people he knew would say about the revelation and how he should deal with it. Even if it wasn’t something so serious, just getting his heart broken was something that would warrant severe punishment.

If Talia were in his place… she would kill him. If his father was in his place… Carlisle would be beheaded on spot. If his mother were in his position… she probably would have tortured him first, and then killed him.

But it’s not their problem. It’s mine. Alex put is face in his hands, and looked down at the ground. How could I have been so stupid? He had no reaction to wealth… and he carried himself about royally, certainly. When he had been thinking back to the arena, Alex realized earlier that the tall Tomacian enemy in the ring he slew fought similarly to Carl. And the announcer had said what? The Stance of the Crown?

I am so damned foolish. Alex knew that the right course of action was to turn him in and watch him die, but he didn’t think he could bear that.

Could I?

All in all, Alexandre had been played. It was unfair, cruel, and too similar to every other kind of treatment he had received in his life. He was told that adversity would make him a strong person, but Alex had never felt so weak. He felt nauseous when he even thought of the man he loved, and he came to rage whenever he had to see him. So far, Carlisle had avoided the courtyards after a few well-practiced glares had been shot at him. But it was inevitable that they ran into each other occasionally, and each time rubbed salt in the wound. He would have to make a decision sooner or later, as remaining in this state would be just as good as doing nothing.

But I don’t know what to do. He wanted to sob, but that was out of the question. Perhaps… just get through tonight. Then you can focus on the Tomacian situation.

That night was the feast of the eclipse, an extremely important celebration in Nabian culture. That day, the red sun was to be shadowed by a black moon, and everyone in every region would be feasting. Respecting this natural testament to Nabius’s colors was supposed to ensure a good upcoming year, ripe with success. All of the officials in Mullansburg – though there would be notably less, thanks to Talia – were invited to the Di Coteau manse, and would sit in the great dining hall. In the spirit of unity, the Di Coteau leaders would sit with their personal men beside them. For Alex, that meant Carlin and Luca. His three guards would also be present, but they would be seated at the guard’s table.

Just one night of formal pleasantries. I can do that.

***

Jezebel walked through the halls carrying a plate from her lunch, with a false look of annoyance and disgust on her face. She had planned this moment carefully, aiming to take the kitchen staff off-guard at a time when they were very busy.

Lunch had just been served, and the Di Coteau lady knew that the staff would be incredibly busy with preparations for the feast later that night. Even more so, they also had the dishes to clean up from lunch, so the kitchen areas were bound to be hectic and crowded. This would be the perfect opportunity.

Jezebel knew from a childhood incident that her cousin was severely allergic to peanut, which was used very often in the kitchens. She had stolen a few nuts previously, and had powdered them the night before. A small compartment in one of her rings now held a highly concentrated powder, which was ready to be spread over whatever she could get her hands on. The knowledge of the nut allergy was perfect, because it meant that food tasters would have no reaction and clear the food to be passed on to the more important target. Smiling wryly, she pushed her way through the kitchen doors and resumed her look of annoyance.

“Who made this dish?!” Some of the kitchen workers froze when they realized who had entered, and began to nod to get the others to look up.

“Who!” Jezebel yelled, and some of the workers began to scramble. Finally, one man spoke up.

“I – I believe that Alfie made that dish, Lady Jezebel. He is the head chef, and prepares all of the Di Coteau family’s meals.” Jezebel narrowed her eyes.

“Bring him to me.” The man nodded deferentially, and scampered into the back areas of the kitchens.

What do I do? Jezebel was looking around quickly, knowing she had limited time. A high lady like herself would have no excuse to be in the kitchen after making a scene. Eventually, she spotted what she was looking for.

Pretending to pace, Jezebel walked over to a vast table on which all of the fine glassware was set up. There was a row very fine goblets, which she guessed would be the ones used to serve the members of the Di Coteau family during the feast. Perfect.

She was almost started when a fat, happy-looking cook made a noise to catch her attention. Her head snapped around, and she gazed him up and down.

“You made this garbage?” she asked, holding up the platter from her lunch.

“Yes, Lady Jezebel.” She appraised him, and finally moved.

“Disgusting!” she yelled, and threw the plate at his face. Bits of food splattered all over the man, and the plate fell to the floor and shattered. It was easy to see that the jovial man was humiliated, but he just stood and tried to keep himself together.

“I’m sorry that it displeased you, my lady.” The entire room was silent, and the kitchen workers stared at Jezebel and Alfie with wide-eyed shock. Eventually, Jezebel spoke with a hiss.

“You should be. Ensure that it never happens again.” Jezebel turned on her heels, and walked out of the kitchen.

Smiling in the hall, she knew that her plan had been a success. When she had thrown the plate of food, she had also twisted the ring on her throwing hand. While the plate flew straight towards Aflie’s face, peanut dust was launched through the air and came to settle over the goblets. No one had even seen the fine brown dust arc through the air, given that they were so shocked and fixated on their head chef. Knowing that each cup was sprinkled with a fine layer of Alex-specific poison, Jezebel mused that it would be a historic day.

Pyconne is set to die tonight, and now so is Alexandre. I will be the one to fill in for my cousin when the coup happens.

She set out for the courtyards, ready to watch the eclipse happen. Though she was very good, she hadn’t been as sneaky as she thought. A small blonde boy that she had once tortured had hidden behind a pie rack in the corner when she had entered the kitchens. From his angle, he saw the brown dust quite clearly.

***

The eclipse had been amazing. Of course, Carlisle had seen it every year since he was a kid, but something about being in Nabius had made it that much more special. The sun here was red, and seemed larger. Many people had gathered on the Di Coteau lawn already, and they all watched it with vigor. When he saw one couple laying on a blanket to look up at the sky, Carlisle felt pangs of hurt and sought out Alex. The younger man had been watching, but was blatantly ignoring him per usual. It was sad, but Carl supposed he deserved it.

After telling Alexandre who he was, the prince of Tomacia had been ignored and outcast immediately. The first couple days afterwards, he had been extremely paranoid that Alex would decide to rat him out at any time. He still carried a knife at all times, but now felt a little bit more relaxed. He hadn’t been attacked or executed yet, so there was no point in worrying about it.

Besides, he thought, now is not the time. Carlisle shook himself, and walked up to Alexandre’s double doors. Eamon and Roark were posted outside them, and Carl noted with a touch of pride that they were in battle ready stances that had undergone lots of improvement.

“Hello men.” The two guards nodded, and the Tomacian braced himself. It was time to go to the feast, and the two ex-lovers would have to face each other fully. He cleared his throat, and raised his hand to knock. Just then, the doors to the chamber opened.

Good Gods, Carlisle thought, and felt he could almost hear his own heart breaking. Alex… you look beautiful. The Nabian was dressed in fine clothing tonight, befitting the feast. Black fur adorned his shoulders under pads of metal, and from underneath it spilled a long maroon cape that came down to the floor. He wore black boiled leather that had been emblazoned with designs of the sun, and dark mail and scale-plate boots, pads, and bracers decorated him elsewhere. His silky black hair was pushed off of his forehead and face in the most dignified manner, and he very much looked like a prince himself. Carlisle felt his voice hitch in his throat, and hoped with everything he had that the boy would be his again some day.

“H-Hello, Alex.”

Alexandre shifted his eyes at the sound, but seemed otherwise to stare right past him. He walked past, and Roark and Eamon began to follow. A beckon was all Carl got, but he supposed that was better than nothing.

Looks like we wont be talking much tonight.

***

At the table, things felt almost worse. Carlisle had to sit so closely to Alex that he found ignoring the urge to reach out and take his love’s hand was actually painful. Alexandre hadn’t said a word to him, but rather gazed out at the scene in the hall.

The great hall had been converted into a huge dining room. Three tables made a “U” shape, and the Di Coteau’s and their closest sat at the base table. General Darion was in the middle, and Alexandre was at the left of Jamison Hadeaux and the blacksmith Wilhelm. They were General Darion’s personal assistant and councilor, respectively. To Alexandre’s left were Carlisle and then Luca, who at least made some company. He didn’t speak much, but Carlisle had gotten to know him well and rather enjoyed him. Talia sat on the other side of Luca, and fill in guards were seated next to her in the spaces of councilor and personal assistant.

On the other side of the General sat Jezebel and her flock of women poisoners, along with the highest ranking official in Mullansburg and his own crew. The two other long tables in the room seated the guards, and then the Mullansburg officials. It was a full room, and the feast seemed to be a very big deal.

In the middle of the three tables was a troop of actors, preforming some play about the sun and Nabius’s legendary triumph over the world of the cold. From what Carlisle gathered, the play referred to an ancient battle between Nabius and some frigid ice land in what would probably be modern day Illjard. Illjard was a country on another island continent, whose main exports were ice and crystal. Carlisle had never sailed off of the continent that held Ironia, Nabius, and Tomacia, but thought he probably didn’t want to. The other countries were hard to get to, and it seemed that they would be undesirable anyway.

Besides… he is here.

Carlisle looked to Alex once more, and admired the way his porcelain features surveyed the room. He knew Alexandre knew he was looking, but didn’t care. I have to talk to him.

Carl reached over to place his hand on Alexandre’s, and mumbled his name softly in an attempt to capture his attention.

“Alex, I – “ THUD.

Carl looked down, and saw Alexandre’s dinner knife sticking straight up out of the wood of the table. It had stopped his hand from getting any closer, and stood quivering in the space between Carlisle’s index finger and thumb. The message was clear.

We are not speaking.

Glumly, Carlisle hung his head and looked out to the crowd in front of him. These people are all so worthless… they do nothing but fight and scramble for power, and then use that power to do some more fighting. Carl wondered if this was the life Alexandre truly wanted, and thought he might ask him one day. Not now, though, of course. He wasn’t sure if he’d lose a finger next time.

After what felt like ages, a small tinkling sound indicated that a toast was to be made, and wine was poured into the goblets all over the room. Carl saw that Alexandre’s cup was particularly grand, and that the wine in it seemed potent. He smelled his own cup.

Yes. That’s definitely strong. But he would not be drinking tonight, and doubted that Alexandre would be either. They both seemed always to have their wits about themselves, and an eclipse wouldn’t change that. He knew Alex didn’t really like wine anyway, preferring ale.

General Darion stood, and the noise of chairs scooting across the floor filled the room. Carl followed suit, and stood himself.

“Red, for the power in our hearts and veins, and the remembered blood of our valiant fallen. Black, for the stealth that we possess, and our fearlessness in the darkest of times.” General Darion had said the words, and now the crowd in the room repeated the mantra. Carlisle mumbled along, and was glad to sit back down when the rest of the crowd did. As suspected, Alexandre did not drink of the wine.

Conversations began again, and the room once more hummed with life. Only once the noise got a little bit too loud did Alexandre, Carlisle, Luca, and Talia turn to see what the commotion was.

Is he… choking?

General Darion was red in the face, and he seemed to be gasping for breath. Thick, gloved hands grasped at his throat, and the owner of the estate seemed to be trying to claw away his flesh at the windpipe.

“Somebody do something!” a red-faced Jamison Hadeaux roared, and by then the entire room was watching and talking loudly. One handmaid was screaming, and many people were on their way up to the table. Alexandre stood, and the rest of the people at the table followed suit. They ran over to the general, who was now collapsed against his throne-like chair of black and red velvet.

“What’s going on?” Talia cried, She was undoing the laces of her father’s armor, trying to give his chest more room to expand. He was purple by then, and his eyes bulged at his daughter.

His face is swelling… its an allergy.

Alexandre was bent over his father as well, trying fruitlessly to help what he could. He shouted correctly for some herbs that would help combat the swelling, but Carlisle knew that it was too late.

A few moments later, Darion Di Coteau passed away with a ragged shake of his body. His eyes were wide open, and Alexandre was feeling for a pulse. He looked up at his sister, and gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

No.

The room was dead silent, and lords and ladies in their finest clothes remained still, shocked by what they had all just witnessed happen. Darion Di Coteau had just died, and everyone had seen his disgraceful and common end. No one knew what to do, until finally a medic worker with a bunch of herbs burst back through the door. He stopped in his tracks when he saw that the general was gone, and the room stayed still once more.

Talia rose from her squatted position, slowly. Her black dress glittered and sparkled, and the earrings that dangled beneath her elaborate hairdo shook side-to-side just as slowly as she turned to face the room.

“GET. OUT. NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Talia screamed, and the room held its silence for not even two seconds.

All at once, the crashing of silverware and the din of people trying to escape the room filled the air with noise, and the hall slowly emptied out of people. Only those who were at the main table and guards that belonged to the Di Coteau estate remained, and everyone made a circle around the massive, slumped body in the chair. Carlin shook his head in disbelief, until he looked at the son of a dead father and realized that he was in danger.

Alexandre fixed him with the most hateful glare he had ever seen the boy give, and Carlisle knew what he thought. Alex would have assumed that Darion Di Coteau had just been assassinated, and he knew Carlisle to be the only assassin in the house that had it out for his father.

Oh shit.