CHAPTER 44: The Truth of Masks and Veils

  Lady Langard had her head buried in her hands. The blankets were pulled up around her trembling frame.

  The room around her was dim. The glow of fire made warm shadows on the cold stone walls. The same walls that had always seemed so sturdy and dependable suddenly felt suffocating. The thick velvet curtains were drawn tight against the windows. Still, a faint chill lingered in the air, and the warmth of the fire couldn’t quite reach her.

  The smell of burning wood mixed with the faint scent of lavender from her pillow. The comforting scent felt hollow. She shifted with a grimace.

  Even as she felt the blankets rustle and a heavy form settle next to her, she did not look up. Her fingers clenched her hair, her shoulders drawing in on themselves. She was shaking, but not from the cold.

  General Langard peered at his wife’s despondent form, his eyes narrowing in concern. “My love, what is it?”

  The lady finally raised her head, the motion slow and reluctant. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, as though trying to comprehend the fear that gripped her.“Rufus has not returned.”

  She looked at him expectantly despite the way her pale lips shook.

  "When has that boy ever returned on time?" The father sighed heavily, the weight of her words settling on him with an odd familiarity. It was not the first time Rufus had stayed out late, and it wouldn’t be the last. “If you're worried, we can send someone to go look for him.”

  The mother nodded jerkily. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, twisting the hem of her nightgown. “Yes, let us do that.”

  "You know, he is almost a grown man," with another sigh, the general got out of bed and began to make his way for the chamber doors. At her glare, his shoulders drooped. "But if you insist."

  The heavy silence of the room wrapped around them like fog. This youngest son of his really had a way of… His thoughts were interrupted by Lady Langard’s voice, suddenly strained.

  “My love, I feel like something horrid is going to happen tonight.”

  The general stilled, his back still turned to her. Her tone had changed, not one of calm resignation but a desperate note he had never heard from her before. Not even when she was sending him off to the frontlines. His wife was not a fretting woman. She was not cold, but her nature was calculative and clear-headed. Together, they had navigated countless challenges. She often offered insight into battle plans and treaties that he had missed. But now, her composure seemed to be unraveling at the seams. "My love, I'm sure he's out playing with the other children. They likely lost track of time during the festivities."

  Lady Langard pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Her hand twitched as they gripped the fabric. “It’s been weighing on me all day,” she faltered for a moment, allowing the words to take shape. “I cannot explain it, but I just continue feeling this sense of dread.”

  She shivered in spite of the warmth blanketing the room. Her teeth chattered despite the fire crackling heartily.

  “For nights, I keep seeing our son. Alone. He’s calling for us to aid him. But-” she shook her head, trying to shake away the very thought. “We can’t. We’ve left him behind.”

  Her voice broke on the last word. She wiped her eyes quickly as if embarrassed by the tears that threatened to fall.

  The general gritted his teeth. His hands twitched at his sides, wanting to reach out but unsure if it would comfort or add to her distress.“My love, if you’re sleeping uneasily, we can send for a physician. They could prescribe a draught-“

  “No,” she cut him off, pushing herself up from the bed slightly. “There’s only one thing that will keep me calm.” Her eyes found his, wide and pleading. “Husband, please, bring Rufus home. I don’t want him out alone on a night like this.”

  Her hand found her forehead again. As though the very act of holding herself together was becoming too much to bear. She settled back against the pillow, her fingers pressing against her throbbing temple. “Bring our son home,” she whispered, exhaustion clinging to her every word.

  The general did not move. His gaze softened, but the room remained thick with the weight of her unease.

  A loud crack filled the room as the wood splintered and sparks flew in the air. It sent a brief flare of light across the walls.

  General Langard opened the door softly. His movements were stiff, almost reluctant. He beckoned the guard stationed outside their rooms, his face set in hard lines. “Tighten the security around the perimeter and alert me at the slightest sign of trouble.”

  Bewildered by the request, the guard could only nod. “Yes, sir.”

  The general’s frown deepened. “And bring my son to me. I don’t care what means you need to use to track him down, but bring Rufus home.”

  His eyes hardened as he turned back to his wife’s still form. “At once.”

  The fire crackled in the silence that followed.

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  Two servants scurried along the side of the Lucky Charm, keeping their heads low. Something was off. The halls were far too quiet for such a perfect night.

  There was a nervous energy thrumming through the air. The usual chatter of laughter and music was suspiciously absent. In its place were hushed murmurs and shifting glances towards the doors. Even the regular patrons and serving girls flinched at the slightest noise, jumping out of their seats as if to rush for the nearest escape or cover.

  From her office overlooking the first floor, Madam Athena’s long shadow drifted across the paper doors, pacing back and forth. The sly matron was replaced by an agitated silhouette, blurry and restless.

  Faye glanced around the dimly lit corridor. The usual scent of wine and incense clung to the air. She set down the basket of turnips and nodded at the stairs. Reaching up to scratch her face, she sighed and adjusted the golden veil. Her brows furrowed. The coarse material was a suitable disguise, but it was also extremely itchy, tickling her skin with every step.

  Beside her, the masked man kept his hood pulled low. He set down his satchel of carrots.

  “You two!”

  They stiffened, turning slowly towards the sharp voice. Had they already been caught?

  “Quit dawdling,” snapped the plump manager, head buried in his ledgers. He didn't spare them a glance.

  “Take this dinner up to Lady Harmon,” the manager ordered before scribbling something onto the page. “She has an important guest arriving later.”

  Before he could protest, a steaming tray of food was unceremoniously shoved into the masked man’s open arms.

  Faye cleared her throat. “And where exactly is her room?”

  The manager grunted, distracted. Licking his finger, he flipped a page of his ledger. “Fourth floor, third door to the right.”

  Faye tugged at her companion’s sleeve, already moving. She grinned as they darted up the stairs. “Thank you!” she called back cheerily.

  The manager finally looked up at the unusual reaction, concerned. “Wait a second. You two look- Hey! Which manager do you work for-“

  Before he could press further, a slurred holler interrupted.

  “Why is no one filling my cup? It’s been empty for days!”

  “Apologies, dear patron!” Forcing a smile, the manager quickly turned towards the irritated client. “Sir, your next jug is on the house! Someone fetch this lord his free drink at once!”

  All too soon, the stout man was pulled back into the action, forgetting about the two suspicious servants. It’s not like anyone would pretend to work here for fun, he figured.

  Faye cackled under the veil, leaning against the masked man as they ascended the stairs. “That was close! Did you see his face? You’d think he’d never heard a thank you before!”

  They settled in a shadowed corner, away from view.

  “Please refrain from laughing so loud,” he sighed, setting down the tray of food. “I’m afraid you’ll give us away if you continue.”

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  With a final snort, Faye acquiesced. She stifled a yawn.

  A brief silence settled between them.

  The masked man stood still, waiting for the other to make the first move.

  "You know," Faye crossed her arms over her chest. Her voice lowered. “We don’t have to do this.” She brushed her hair over her shoulder, looking away, forcefully nonchalant. “I know you’re hesitant.”

  The other gripped the banister of the stairs. He glanced over the crowd clustered in the ornate halls and decorated walkways. The toasting ministers and nobles, placing bets with the boasting merchants. Below the stage where dancers preened for attention stood jeering farmers and wasted soldiers. All drowning themselves in liquor and eye-catching company. Despite their differing status, their eyes were round, sharing in the secret indulgence and satisfaction. The Lucky Charm was more than just a pleasure house. It housed patrons at their highest and lowest moments, offering reward and comfort. The ultimate meeting ground for drunken whispers of power and betrayal.

  “Snowfox?”

  The hesitant call broke him out of his thoughts.

  “Harmon is under Cristin’s command,” he responded at last. “She’s a valuable resource for him in the capital.”

  Faye tilted her head. “If you don’t want her to leave,” she said slowly, “you don’t have to find excuses.”

  Even under the veil, her amber eyes gleamed. “And you certainly don’t owe me any explanation.”

  She leaned against the railing, joining him in studying the masses below. “Seems to me this Harmon is very important.”

  He exhaled through his nose, a quiet scoff. “She is. Strategically.”

  She hummed, eyeing him skeptically.

  “They’re from Feldgrau,” he added, shifting the focus. He noted the gleam of understanding that flashed through her gaze.

  So, she mused, the sisters were more than just informants.

  She settled her arms against the wood, peering up at him. “How’d they end up so far from home?”

  He hesitated. His grip tightened just slightly, small enough to be imperceptible to anyone but himself. In truth, he had very little to do with Harmon. When Cristin had first recruited the sisters, he’d left it up to his attendant to decide their training and positions. They were paid, given shelter, and their skills put to use where they were needed.

  “We needed eyes in the capital,” he started, voice low. “They were the best choice.”

  It was a simple answer. Easy enough for Faye to read between the lines.

  “You sent them together so that you’d control one if the other got out of line,” she summized, her tone light but the meaning pointed. “They could never leave here without becoming a liability.”

  His jaw tensed. He never claimed to be just or noble despite how others tried to paint him. He had learned, painfully and irrevocably, what such naivety could cost. If it meant protecting his people, if it meant keeping his promise…

  His cold gaze flickered away.

  He never wanted to be a monster. To be like Rewanna. But how else could he fight her, except by being even colder, sharper? By making his moves before her scheme claimed another bloody victory?

  Faye was right. The sisters were never officially held against their wills, but what real choice did they have?

  A strange weight settled between them. He didn’t know what compelled him to speak next. “Maybe that’s why they betrayed us.”

  A firm hand landed on his shoulder.

  He turned to find Faye watching him, her expression solemn and… understanding. “I was not implying blame.” She flashed a humorless smile. “You have been much kinder to them than I would have been.”

  His gaze dropped, tracing the jagged pattern of scars across her hands. He never asked, but he suddenly wondered.

  How many battles had she fought? How many sacrifices had she been forced to make? Did she remember every banner that had been raised, every life that had been taken? Or had it all blurred together?

  Faye let out a slow breath. “The first spy I ever sent to an enemy camp died on her first night,” she admitted almost absently, as if speaking more to the air than to him. “She was barely twelve summers old. But we won the battle, and despite the guilt…”

  Her gaze met his, steady and searching.

  “I cannot find myself to regret it.”

  For a long moment, neither of them moved. But there was something in her eyes, quiet and unspoken, that lingered between them.

  Does that make me a monster too?

  Nikolai inhaled slowly, steadying himself. Too many delicate truths had slipped out into the open tonight, tearing the edges of his carefully woven facade. Beneath the mask, it was easier to pretend, to let himself be someone else, if only for a little while.

  And yet, Faye, who hid just as much under her brash laughter, had shed her invisible armor just as easily.

  For once, despite the veil and the mask, neither of them were hiding.

  Pushing herself off the banister, she turned toward him. “If you call it off, I’ll follow you out the door.” She smirked, though it barely reached her eyes. “I’ll win over Nikolai’s heart in some other fashion. So what if one courtesan fancies him?”

  Nikolai leaned down to pick up the tray of food. It would be a good alibi. “I have a feeling Elody put Rufus up to this.”

  Faye’s knowing gaze told him she suspected the same.

  “There’s something more she’s not telling us,” he continued. “But if she’s warning us to pull Harmon out, it must be serious.”

  Faye stated the obvious. “It could be a trap.”

  Nikolai nodded.

  “Only one way to find out,” she huffed.

  He held out his tray to her.

  “We best hurry.” Grabbing some of his plates, her smirk returned, in full this time. “My marriage is on the line here, Snowfox.”

  To his credit, the masked man only snorted in amusement.

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  The Lucky Charm shuddered as the beautiful doors burst open, the violent crash echoing through the grand establishment. A stunned silence gripped the room for half a breath.

  Then, chaos erupted.

  Tables overturned with thunderous clatters, spilling wine and silverware across the floor. Patrons shrieked, scrambling over one another in a frantic bid for safety. A courtesan tripped, her goblet shattering beneath her palm as she clawed her way forward. A drunken merchant toppled backward, his chair splintering beneath him as he scrambled to flee.

  Men and women clad in black flooded in, their movements swift and merciless. They shoved any that dared to come in their line of sight. One noble screamed as he was thrown to the floor. They advanced toward the center of the room, marching in a coordinated line. Each step was an echoing warning. Their violent presence swallowed the once-lively atmosphere like a cursed maelstrom, threatening to swallow everything in its path.

  “Where is Madam Athena?” a voice hollered, sharp and unforgiving.

  Above, in her office, the pacing shadow froze. For a moment, all eyes turned to the mistress of the establishment. Then, the doors above slammed open, and Madam Athena tore through the hallways, descending like a vengeful tempest as she stormed forward. Fury flashed like a blade in her eyes. Although her lips curled in a poisonous smile, her fingers twitched. As she bowed towards the intruders, it was hard to tell whether she was welcoming them or reaching for a concealed weapon.

  “I thought you already got what you wanted, dear patrons!” she cooed, venom lacing her sweet voice. “What else could you possibly want?”

  The two servants by the stairs stiffened. One was wearing an unusual veil, while the other was even stranger, his face entirely covered by a lowered hood and dark mask. But Madam Athena was too busy glaring daggers at the intruders to notice them.

  The lead intruder took another step forward, his boot crunching against shattered glass, unfazed by the matron’s murderous glower.

  “We want the other one too,” came the demand.

  Madam Athena stiffened mid-step. Her fury momentarily gave way to something colder, something dangerously close to fear. Her gaze darted past the wall of black uniforms to catch sight of the unmoving guards. Her men. They were slumped against the doorframes, their weapons untouched. And their bodies were disturbingly still.

  Her nails dug into her silk sleeves. “How dare you?” she snarled, the sharp edge of her voice barely masking the undercurrent of alarm. The matron took in the disastrous state of her beautiful establishment. Her piercing gaze swept over the toppled tables and shattered porcelain before landing on the patrons frozen in a mix of terror and fascination.

  “You have disturbed my other guests enough.” Her painted lips curled into something resembling a smile, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her unease. She gestured sharply towards her office. “Let us discuss this in private.”

  “No.”

  The single word was as heavy as an executioner’s blade.

  Madam Athena bristled. So, they wanted to play dirty, did they?

  “Oh my, how demanding you are,” she purred. Her smile snapped, revealing her teeth as she hissed, “Do you think you have any power here, dirty dogs? Damned animals like you should be taught a lesson in respect!”

  The crowd flinched. As the patrons glanced around in fear, the squabble had already begun as the matron and her uninvited guests traded insulted barbs and demands. Eyes darted between them with morbid curiosity.

  “You glorified whore!” one of the intruders spat.

  Madam Athena’s sneer was practically audible. “Please. Not even my cheapest courtesan would be desperate enough to lay with the likes of you-”

  “Wench-!”

  A drunken soldier cheered.

  “Shut up!” came the sharp reprimand.

  “Oh, did I strike a nerve?” Madam Athena jeered.

  It was an epic, bloodthirsty duel of words. A battle where blades were held back only by the sheer force of mutual pettiness.

  Those who had saved their drinks settled uneasily, ready to bolt… but also way too invested to look away.

  Unnoticed by all were the two odd servants tiptoeing their way up the stairs. They slipped past the other serving girls who were clinging to the bannisters, straining their ears to catch bits of the verbal battle. They crept past the gaping managers and pale courtesans who clutched their jewels in excitement and fear. All eyes were fixed on the growing chaos below.

  At the stairwell, the masked man cast a glance at his companion, eyes sharp beneath the hood. “It seems we are not the only ones looking for her.”

  “No time to waste then!” Faye chirped happily, expression akin to a tiger who had caught sight of their prey. Her pulse thrummed with the thrill of the hunt.

  Nikolai could only sigh.

  In unison, they turned to stare at the heavy doors leading to Harmon’s private rooms.

  Faye’s smirk widened, though something dark and calculating gleamed in her gaze.

  “Let’s go meet my competition.”