It wasn’t often for me to find any time to work in silence, courtesy of my rambunctious, wiggly twin brothers no more than 10, my sister’s many questions related to her arcane studies, and my mother’s enjoyment for the activity of seeing herself into my office, without knocking, to suggest possible ladies for me to consider for a marriage union, not that I ever actively listen. If I did, I’d never get anything done and, in my occupation, there isn’t time to let tasks float in the air. So, it would respectfully be in one ear and out the other during my mother’s reports on available noblewomen who took notice of me while I was trying to strike agreeable terms with various local farmers to sell food to the crown for distributions to markets so we could feed everyone in the country. Checking reports from the borders to keep informed of the security of the kingdom and write back with updated orders. Writing to Queen Amirah Djeserit with confirmation of the annual trade agreement, supply of our river water for their medicines and safe passage. The usual high staking decisions.
Today was different than the usual chaos of my family. My study was peaceful. Quiet. With my mother and brothers in the south and my sister visiting Runedara’s Academy, I had the whole palace to myself and I’d be enjoying every second of the relief from the daily chaos. For once in a long time, I heard the faint sea breeze all the way from the edge of the city, the rustling foliage around the castle, faint windchimes from the market, usually drowned out in the chatter of my siblings and mother. Letting myself sink further into that focused serenity, I moved my quill across a page in response to a warning from the Governor of Aurodor. The mountain city would be closing its passes and roads to travelers. Aurodor’s governor had decided simply warning travelers of the weather wasn’t enough to keep them from attempting to brave the mountain range, so he chose to close the territory altogether. With fall beginning to wane, wintry weather would doon set in, and the dwarven city would evidently close its roads to protect travelers from the dangers of the coming snows within the next fortnight. Sign, seal, log, leave in the lockbox of other communications to be sent out once I was finished here. Next.
While it grants one access to riches, kinghood, is not a luxury, but a heavy responsibility and a title. Beyond the crowns and jewels, every king worthy of his rank uses it to create a sanctuary for life to prosper. Aside from using all of the education and arts of diplomacy, aside from all the physical training and studies of war, language, and history, every king possesses the task of sitting for a long while to communicate with everyone in his kingdom who relies upon him. So, there I sat in my unusually quiet study, going through the stack of papers one by one. I’ve never minded the work.
Even with my father’s firm mentorship, I ended up putting more effort into my development than he did. In my earliest years, my father had me up and outside for training when the sundials turned to the 7th hour, had me learning all types of weaponry and combat, granting me breaks in between physical training and education in the later day, and I did what I was told, but it didn’t particularly tire me. I only lasted a few years before I started training at dawn before father had woken, and continued honing myself far into the evenings. He’d worried for me when I spent so much extra time fixated on my duties, and he didn’t scare easily. Even then, the grueling nature of the training was better suited to my threshold, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt I thrived the way I was doing things, even if others worried. I was not worried. I’ve always known kinghood was in my heart as much as it was in my blood.
Somehow, even though I focused more on my responsibilities than anything else, I managed to find friends, mainly by attending festivals and events in the country, meeting noble boys of my age that were brought along to the parties by their own families. I hadn’t particularly cared to come, but my father required I go with him, so I went, and there I met Talon, the Northcliff Governor’s nephew, and Ethari, heir to the governing noble house of Quadele, the elemental city. To this day I’m not sure why they valued their friendship with me so much, besides the networking nature of nobility and royalty, but they seemed to take the clearly uninterested, king-driven nature in me as an invitation to become best friends. After all those years, I still can’t make any sense of it, but they proved themselves reliable to me anyhow.
I took a second to sip my dandelion tea, observe the shifting light of the sinking sun through the pale chiffon curtains, turning the oak walls into radiant, vibrant shades of golden brown, and then resume devouring the paperwork pile once again. The work began to make time blur together as I moved from document to document, discarding some for later consultation, storing others away for later reference, or chucking more signed, addressed, and sealed envelopes into the lockbox with all the others.
It was another blur of time and reading and writing until the pile dwindled down to 2 more documents. One ledger report from the small village of Mulvic, and one more letter. It took a considerable moment to go through the ledger from Mulvic, despite the small size of the village, due to the insightful reports from a well-known tavern in the area on the condition of the village as well as ledger information. It never took long to write a short response, conveying approval and confirmation to the tavern’s owner. Into the lockbox it went. Now to log the data. A quiet knock sounded at the door.
Without breaking focus on my work, I replied, “Enter.” A turn of a doorknob and rush of air from the door, for a figure in a white apron to fill my peripherals.
“Your Majesty?” My eyes flicked up to settle on a kitchen maid, clasping her hands in front of her body, watching with her tentative, chestnut eyes. Helena was her name, if I remembered correctly. The baker’s apprentice. An empty void of silence prompted Helena to clear her throat awkwardly and say, “The kitchen staff just finished the evening meal. I was sent to ask if you’re ready for your supper or if you wish for more time to work.”
I waved a hand. “I’m about to finish. Prepare for me to dine shortly.”
“Yes, your Majesty.” After a simple curtsy, her lips curved into an innocent smile, drawing a polite smile from myself. A light blush bloomed across her cheeks. “Right away.” With haste, she nodded and turned to make her way back to the dining hall, closing the door behind her with extra care. A blink, and I was back to where I left off.
The remaining letter was surprisingly made from thicker parchment, which meant it couldn’t have come from Serenfel, or any of the other surrounding kingdoms. My only hope was that it didn’t come from Mystria, from the elven empress with talents to make me feel strangely uneasy rather than humbled and impressed. I’d made myself clear without making a definitive statement about her interest in a friendship and trade agreement between kingdoms. Outright refusal could have been disastrous, as elves are always taking things personally, so subtlety was the only way. I hoped Queen Meridian wasn’t already becoming pushy about furthering relations.
Initial inspection revealed the envelope to be completely blank, as well as the seal. It couldn’t have been from the queen of Mystria, not that it brought any relief. A blankly addressed letter is many things: bewildering, suspicious, almost indicative of some kind of mistake. It wasn’t just an empty envelope. There was enough weight to it that I knew something was in there, but the lack of communication transparency was…concerning. How does a blank, unaddressed envelope, clearly from a foreign establishment, with a seal that doesn’t even have a crest, end up in a king’s office? And another insidious thought, how many of those individuals who send an envelope like this have good intentions?
Brandishing a small tether of my magic, I couldn’t tell if I was surprised or not to find an arcane signature on it, but it was abjuration magic. Evocation magic would have been far more indicative of a rigged parcel. So, I broke the seal and flipped open the envelope to find a single page, whatever magic had been protecting the document fizzled away with a faint, satisfied sigh, and I read.
To King Avalon Lumenson,
Your Majesty, I hope this letter has found you well. In the case that it falls into the wrong hands, precautions have been taken to prevent anyone unauthorized from reading the contents. The hope is that you read this just so you know that I believe you and support your disinterest in the Mystrian empire’s attempts to align with you. Your suspicions are correct. I have been in the empress’ innermost circle; seen the atrocities she’s committed all in pursuit of power and control. No matter who insists to you how beneficial an alliance would be, do not give in. The first strike is always letting her and her agents into your establishment. Meridian is slippery and she will not make it easy no matter what. You must remain vigilant and don’t rule out anyone as a suspected agent of hers. I would never underestimate you, Your Majesty, but I know Queen Meridian personally and I know what she is capable of.
I cannot make my identity known at this time with Meridian’s forces searching every corner of the world for me. Kingdoms aligned with Mystria would turn me in quickly. I’ve had little luck finding other defectors from her country, if there are any. We all must make careful decisions because one slip-up, and everything could fall apart.
For now, I am nothing and no one. I’m wherever I can collect information and weapons in preparation to take her out of power. My greatest wish is that I could bring down the walls of her empire today, but Meridian has intricate plans. This must be investigated thoroughly before any opposition makes its move.
Believe me, don’t believe me. With all due respect it doesn’t matter to me either way, Your Majesty. Meridian has no heart, no care for life. Anyone that associates with her is harmed terribly. She’d subject even the most innocent and undeserving soul to the most painful suffering we can imagine.
I’ve made it my mission to take her out of power whether I do it in this life or the next. I don’t intend to sway you, but to simply warn you to be on your guard.
Stay vigilant Your Majesty, for yourself and for your people,
The Night Owl
I flew out of my chair with a pathetic stumble and reread it several times, just for it to sink in, especially the last three words. The Night Owl. The death incarnate Ethari and Talon spent countless nights telling horror stories about over a campfire. The Assassin with a Thousand Faces. The one that spent a decade in Mirasis killing target members of the Djeserian royal court, one by one. Never anticipated, never caught, never the same description to those who would catch a glimpse of the killer. Only the threat of their return come nightfall, and the one consistent observation of an individual wearing the mask of an owl. The symbol of the Ash Twins, death gods. A switch might as well have been flipped, and lords and ladies of the court would wound up dead in one night, some nights victims were discovered in multiple homes. The people of Mirasis became petrified night after night, afraid of when the Night Owl would again strike. Security fortified itself tenfold after the it became clear the usual target was always nobility. Even then, it wasn’t enough to keep noble families from losing a loved one in the night. Any evidence wasn’t enough to build up a concrete description to look out for, save for the mask. Witnesses only retrieved the varying descriptions that belonged to many different kinds of people.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Some said they saw a woman with a long, golden-haired braid and eyes of pure, ice blue. Others described a half-elf, if only because they were shorter than an average elf, with short red hair and a dark complexion. Others saw a raven-haired lady with pupilless, glowing silver eyes like a vengeful spirit sent by Morros himself. There were theories that the assassin couldn’t be one singular person with how many different individuals were described by witnesses.
Some believed it was a group of scorned concubines, come to take revenge on their nobility clients. There were some who suggested it was Morros himself, come to take many mortal forms and right the wrongs of the city. Others looked right to nobility and considered that the families hired assassins to target each other in their own covert, brutal brawl for power, and lied about the whole thing to keep the crown from getting involved. The Dunestone Order was even investigated in their settlement miles out from the city, in the middle of the Helion Desert. Yet, even with the Order’s particular specialization in assassin work, and their considerable number of fighters, it was clear, none of them fought like the Owl. Their weapons matched none of the wounds on the Owl’s targets.
The victims of the Night Owl had always bore the same wounds every single time. A deep stab, sometimes two, but always directly into a vital organ in the body, but no weapon to match the wound. No, no murder weapon had ever been found. Only blood, silence, and death.
Some who fit the various provided witness descriptions were convicted, put into queue for execution, only to disappear from their cells, a message scrawled on the wall that they planned to kill an innocent person in the place of the real murderer. None of those prisoners were ever recovered from wherever they vanished off to. They were all presumed victims of the Owl. The sheer difficulty of breaking a prisoner out of the dungeons of Djeseria, and the blatant callout for the conviction of innocent people was a laugh in the face of the Djeserian court at the time, not that the Djeserit family had much control over the situation. They knew as little as the people, and they were far less favorable to the nobility all those years ago. Serenfel hadn’t yet been recognized as a kingdom then. No, our people were in the works of gathering resources to begin trading.
There was only one murder by the Night Owl to have happened in broad daylight. Lord Elix Menzar of Souktan had been found dead at the edge of the capital road leading back to his home city, him and his men. The corpses of his men had littered around the carriage, with Menzar found inside with a wound to his throat. Initially the crown guard hypothesized he seemed to be returning home after a grueling period of time arguing over water shortages with the royal family in Mirasis, but word had been leaked from the crown guard that Lord Menzar had taken every one of his assets with him in his largest carriage. Chests of gold and scrolls detailing promises of asylum and protection from the Omazi Tribes had been found, all completely untouched by the Owl, along with the uneasy horses, freed from the carriage, feasting on nearby grain.
After the weaponless stab wound had been identified, with the communications from the Omazi for proof of Menzar’s panic, it was clear then that the lord of Souktan was attempting to flee the country from the Night Owl, but his efforts to run only sealed his fate. By then, the royal court was trapped in a prison of pure chaos knowing the killer targeted nobility, but the recovered documents from Menzar’s murder captured the attention of King Oret, driving him into an investigation of the lord’s murder specially carried out by the crown.
The other lords in the court had furiously opposed it, demanded Menzar’s nephew be bequeathed the title and estate he was entitled to as the next of kin. Instead of taking precious time to catch a killer that couldn’t be caught, restore control to the largest trade city in the nation so the vital supplies from Souktan could keep more commonfolk fed through sandstorm season, they’d demanded. Oret, in response, ignored their inquiries and simply ordered ledger data from each of their provinces, and he sent his own emissaries to accompany each noble family and receive the documents personally, Princess Amirah being one of them, going straight to Souktan herself to look after the massive merchant city accounting for the majority of their trade. The noble houses were outraged, and the commonfolk in their uncertain livelihood had been even more so.
Mirasis had endured civilian violence on a scale never seen before, namely from peasants and humble occupations, vandalizing the palace, burning down businesses after going bankrupt, there was even the occasional criminal that tried to replicate the Owl’s work, targeting courtesans in the dead of night, making pathetic attempts at the same wounds as the Owl made in their victims. It wasn’t long before the pretender-killers would turn up dead themselves at the hands of the real assassin, a note nailed to their heads of their own abhorrent enjoyment in killing for vanity.
There was a period of time the people believed the Owl was an assassin of the royal family, hired to purge the nobility in their court that had designs against the crown. Yet, the Owl’s next target had disproved that theory completely. Oret’s third son turned up dead after two years of inactivity. Rumors were going around that the Owl was gone, only for the prince to be found in his bedchamber, a bloodless wound in his lower neck. A single flower was left on his unmoving chest in the only calling card the Owl had ever cared to leave behind. A purple hyacinth. An offer of condolences. An apology. It was quickly realized the wound on prince Ashkan had been cleaned after he was already dead, as if the Owl had taken time to make the murder scene less brutal, perhaps to make it as easy on the family as possible.
There were many doubts in Mirasis, but one thing no one ever doubted was how fiercely the royal family loved and protected each other. They would never have hired the Night Owl to kill one of their own, a widely adored crown prince at that. It was clear the crown wasn’t behind this and it was clear, the Night Owl had far more serious motivations for their crimes than everyone initially thought. The Night Owl, whoever they were, were dangerous, lethal, and filled with rage.
King Oret immediately called Princess Amirah home, who in response refused her father’s orders, believing her authority over Souktan and distance from the capital city kept integral security of the market city while keeping her as safe as possible. It was then she brought in the Dunstone Order to protect her in Souktan and to send warriors into Mirasis to personally assist in finding the killer. Bounties were released by the crown. Alive, they’d requested.
I’d had long to ruminate over the events in Mirasis. It had become clear that particular nobles were primarily targeted either with a lengthy influence over the resources in Djeseria, or a strong connection with the commonfolk. Certain nobles demonstrated a remarkably profound level of concern for the lower classes of the country, pushing for the crown to address lackluster harvests and the declining supply of water in the desert nation. The rate of mortality put the masses in a faster downward spiral of panic. The nobility became increasingly furious with the king over the wellbeing of the citizens. And after prince Ashkan’s death, the nobility took one of his last correspondence documents as evidence of an oath violation by the king to begin an Oathbreaker Trial, designed to remove a king, or even a family from rule. One day following the trial’s announcement, Lord and Lady Pashe of Vascus, the entire Azhar House, and the newly appointed Lord Mek’Ran, all dead, all killed by the Night Owl. The three families leading the case against the royal family.
It was days later, after the remaining noble houses continued debate over continuation of the Oathbreaker trial, Princess Amirah Djeserit strode into the hearing hall, a party of Dunestone warriors guarding her, as she presented documentation detailing allocation of vital supplies to remote warehouses in the desert, all funded and filled by House Pashe, the Azhars and the Mek’Rans. Signed, sealed letters of Menzar’s communications, with detailed letters, orders, and the seals of every house were damning proof, a formal confession from all of the accused. Carts of recovered trade supplies were wheeled and parked outside the palace, which King Oret made sure to allocate to his people in their dire need for food, but Amirah's discoveries were damning, and undeniable. The royal family hadn’t failed their people. The houses in their court, retaining rank for long enough to let it go to their heads, had stolen vital water, grain, foods, minerals, hidden them away, covered it up, and blamed it on the king. And prince Ashkan, thirdborn prince of Djeseria, aided them with his inside eyes in the castle, planning with the noble houses to openly announce his opposition to his father for the Oathbreaker Trial, all to seize the crown for himself. Afterall, he was thirdborn.
The Night Owl was never seen again after that. Gone at the flip of the switch. After the loss of most of the royal court, the royal family refilled the court with qualified officials, most of which came from the Dunestone Order, to restore a country that took care of its people. Some noble families retained their status, as the lords and ladies plotting against the crown did not all involve their predecessors in their treasonous efforts. King Oret and Queen Malika had never had a word to say about the assassin, even if they were directly presented with questions in the presence of an audience. There was only a moment for sorrowful gleams in their eyes at the mention of their son.
The Night Owl eliminated most of the royal court, including a prince, in ruthless fashion, put a thousand-year-old country in terror, and yet, what they did saved thousands of citizens from starvation, allowing for famine and supply shortages to end. This killer with thousands of faces, as violent as they were, saved a nation. The Night Owl, a killer from three decades ago, long before I’d even been born, was writing to me. Divulging vital information about themselves to me, assuming this was legitimate. Everyone had always assumed the Night Owl was Djeserian, but maybe everyone’s been looking in the wrong places.
Quickly, I pulled my seat back up to the desk and pulled another piece of parchment out, fingering for my quill. I kept my letter respectful, considerate of their feelings, and formal. It would be wise to remain patient over this particular inquiry, but I kept it short and simple. I needed to know. A murderer of legend was claiming to be writing to me. I needed to know if the Djeserits had ever received such direct communication from the assassin. There was only one way to find out. Sign. Seal. The Night Owl’s letter went straight into the drawer hidden in the desk alcove, under the protection of a lock, and an enchantment lock added on.
Normally the postlord retrieved the lockbox after I finished paperwork for the day, but this time, I would do it myself. The royal post was with the ravenlord anyway, so I bounded across the castle, hurried down some staircases, and left the lockbox with a startled mailboy on the second level. Then, I quickly made my way to the ravenlord’s chamber.
“Majesty?” Oh, I’d forgotten to knock, simply burst through the door in my hurry. I jolted still for a second to close my eyes and count to five. Some needed visual darkness and a long deep breath cleared the muddled thoughts in my mind, and then I opened my eyes to lock them onto the ravenlord.
“The best raven we have, send it out immediately.” He blinked in response, then moved hastily.
“Yes of course, right away your Majesty!” He quickly moved to one of the larger cages, swung open the door and beckoned the raven to his arm with a whistle. A flap of its wings echoed through the chamber before the raven was perched on his forearm. I’d done this so often I knew where to get the parcel case to conceal the envelope, waving off the muttered apologies of the ravenlord.
“The palace of Mirasis, to Queen Amirah Djeserit, immediately.” Safe in the case, I handed it to the ravenlord, who fastened it to the bird and locked his eyes on the raven’s, his pupils dilating dramatically in the melding of his mind with the bird’s. A moment later, and the raven was flapping off as fast as the wind could go.
I clapped the ravenlord on the shoulder. “Well done.” A moment of silence, standing side by side was all I gave him before I was off again. Where I was going, I didn’t know, and that didn’t often happen to me, so eventually I found myself back in my study, cleaning up before I went downstairs to dine. There wasn’t much cleaning to be done, but I needed something to do. So, minutes later with the inkwell refilled, books reshelved, and teacup empty, I leaned back in my chair to watch the oil burner glow before me.
And as I stared into the golden, flickering flame, a rush of dread crept through me, as if someone was watching me, but a quick scan out the window and a tap into any presence my magic could detect, and I knew I was alone. Still, the dread remained, beckoning adrenaline with nowhere to channel it. I was not afraid, but ready. For something. Perhaps, in anticipation that somewhere far off, deep down within a mysterious stranger, a raging darkness burned, burned, burned, with a fury that could level nations and shatter a world.
