Part Two–Shadows in the night

Part Two–Shadows in the night

Four years later

The sun set and the moon rose, and while the castle slept, the night prince was busy about his rounds. The capital city stretched out before him like a tapestry wrought in shades of grey. The second prince slipped from shadow to shadow. He paused by an open window, hearing a child's cry stifled by the delicates strains of a hushed lullaby.

'Why has no one ever done that for us?' the prince wondered as his keen eyes caught sight of the young mother strolling back and forth, cradling her babe in her arms. The father entered the room and helped her place the child back in its cot, then begged her to return to bed with a kiss. The simple scene filled the cursed prince with such longing it made his chest ache, but he knew it was useless to linger here.

King Jae would surely be angry if he wasted too much of the night in idle eavesdropping. He had a lot of ground to cover. The city guards made their rounds on horseback; he didn't have that luxury. Trowa slipped down an alleyway balanced on a short wall, leapt to a nearby balcony, and took to the roof tops.

The next house he visited was the polar opposite from the previous. Drunken shouts and the sound of leather contacting flesh filled the night air. In general, the night prince did not think much of his duties as the king's personal assassin, but this particular mark truly disserved his fate. Duke Deklin Barlett was a dirty old man who believed his title gave him the authority to abuse those in his employ and harass everyone he came into contact with.

Even now he had some poor girl pressed against the wall and it looked as if he was attempting to strangle her with her own braid. Trowa sneered in disgust as he slipped silently through the second story window. He really didn't want to kill the girl but leaving witnesses was always awkward. Concealed by the heavy curtains, he ran his hand against the bracer lashed to his opposite forearm. His nimble fingers retrieved two darts he held one between his first two fingers and the other between the last two.

Bartlett was groping the smaller figure pressed chest first against the wall. The sound of ripping fabric revealed a swath of creamy skin and a shoulder blade already marked with red welts. Trowa had seen enough. With a backhanded flick of his wrist he sent the slim projectiles at their respective targets. The first buried itself in the back of the man's neck, the second, pinned the auburn plat to the wall. The poison was fast acting. Deklin was already gasping, shivers wracking his body. Trowa hoped that reaction should keep the girl frozen in place. If the girl was intelligent she would be wary of poison and take care to extricate the dart from her braid and that would only be to his advantage.

Shadows clung to him as he moved through the night. They were a physical manifestation of the curse. In most cases his life was made monumentally more difficult because of the curse but, he had to admit, there were times he found the concealing shadows useful. This was one such instance. If the girl was distracted by the dart there was a good chance she would be unable to get more than a glimpse of him. The shadows worked on the principal of "Out of sight, out of mind" making her memory of him hazy and indistinct. One less death to plague his dreams, he smiled, and hastily took his leave.

With feline grace, the night prince glided across tile roofs and the occasional window ledge before finally descending to street level. He could feel the sun moving just beyond the horizon, but the first flush of dawn had yet to touch the sky. It was time he was headed back to the palace. His soft-soled boots carried him swiftly home, back to his brother.

-0-0-0-0-

As it happened, the figure Trowa left behind was not female, despite the prodigious length of braid. The young thief froze at the almost silent hiss the darts made as they split the air. He felt the impact into the thick wood paneling by his ear. Deklin grunted, his meaty hand constricting the youth's air way as he convulsed and then slackened in death. Duo's heart was hammering in his chest. He'd heard rumors of the deadly phantom that haunted the capital at night. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing even, willing the specter to pass him by. Despite what people said of the thief lord, Shinigami, he wasn't eager to meet death. Duo was more than aware that he had literally come within a hairs breath of doing just that.

It was with great care that he finally moved to work his braided tail loose from its deadly snare. His fingers grew numb simply from residual contact. Duo wanted to be away from here as quickly as possible, and while he didn't want to run into the mysterious phantom on the rooftops, he was also vividly aware of the fact that Barlett's cronies knew he was here. He would be the one they blamed when they discovered their leader's body. It didn't matter that poison wasn't his weapon of choice; he would most likely take the blame, and it seemed pointless to escape one death simply to meet another.

The young thief barely took the time the time to grab the cashbox on the bedside table before clambering out the window. The moon was bright, and he thought he saw a wisp of something grey ghosting across the rooftops, in the direction of the palace. He shivered and decided his nightly jaunt would take him in the completely opposite direction toward the outskirts of town. By the time his heart regained its normal rhythm, he had found a secluded nook in the shadows of a chimney where he could make an account of his nightly take.

The cash box was a good size. He held it carefully, rotating it so the soft moonlight played on all six facets. To his perceptive violet eyes it gave off a faint glow, indicating it was magically warded. He was a street rat, not a master mage, but he wasn't exactly without recourses. "Not a problem," he confirmed, setting the box on in the back edge with the keyhole facing upwards.

The young thief began humming softly as he concentrated on the box. He studied it carefully till he could see it even with his eyes closed. Then he imagined how it would look with the lid open. His humming intensified as he focused on the image of the open box in his mind and willed with all his might. Then, with a soft click the box opened of its own accord.

It was a useful talent for a thief. True, you had to be in close proximity to your mark but if you could imagine it, you could see it done. If one knew what a silver piece looked like and if one were reasonably sure someone had one in their purse, it was easy to imagine it in your purse instead. If you were right, it would happen...sometimes. It was hardly a reliable talent, but when it worked, well, at least he could say Shinigami earned his reputation as a lord among thieves, honestly.

The box contained five silver coins and almost three times as many copper ones, but his real interest lay in the stack of papers marked with the Barlett seal. Duo didn't read well but he knew enough to recognize they were slave contracts. With any luck, his own would be among them. He removed his tattered shirt to examine the brand on his arm: D2O-MX11. When he was quite young his friend, Solo had helped him puzzle the letters out to spell, 'Duo Maxwell.' It was just about as good a name as a slave could hope for. If he could match those marks to the papers in the box, for the first time in as long as he could remember he would be free.

But young Duo wasn't the only one to be contemplating freedom that night. In another place, not very far away, something else was afoot.

0-0-0-0-0

Nighttime: the Mansion was dark and still. He liked it best like this, when everyone was sleeping and he had full run of the place. "Pussycat, pussycat where have you been…" the boy recited the nursery rhyme to himself. It was like a meditation, focusing his scattered thoughts. During the day, everything was bright and loud, servants bustling about, courtiers clambering for attention, advisors demanding precedence, guards shadowing his every move. There were so many rules he had to follow. No one seemed to realize just how draining it was for him. He was thirteen, but not a particularly big thirteen. At present, he was very tired of being a grown-up.

"I've gone to the capital to see the King." He told the darkness the next lines of the rhyme. And it was true. The previous spring, his family had completed the long journey from their kingdom on the fringes of the vast Arabische dessert. It had been a long arduous journey that had lasted months and months, but once they had arrived in the capital with forty retainers and full pack train, King Wyrdan-Yue had refused to see them. Father had made it clear that they couldn't go home again, so the clan had arranged to set up house indefinitely, waiting for the king's pleasure. He hated to think of this place as home…and despised it all the more because he knew the men were discontent, and it was his fault they were here.

The boy frowned. Seeming cool and collected was part of his nature, but beneath that façade, he felt so out-of-control it wasn't even funny. That was why they had come, after all. 'Why am I so unhappy?' he wondered. 'I have everything I could ever wish for. Is it wrong to want to be myself, to have the freedom to make my own choices? Am I a spoiled brat because I don't like people everywhere, watching me, questioning everything I do, every second of the day? They're always around, but I feel so terribly alone. Am I betraying mother's memory in dreaming that things might be different? Wishing I might be different?'

Bare feet padded silently down the hall and into the drawing room. "Pussycat, pussycat, what did you dare?" He barely breathed the words aloud as he crept quietly through the door. During the day this room was as oppressively brilliant as the rest of the place. White walls resplendent with gold-leaf, antique swooning couches and glass topped tables; clearly the furnishings were more for fashion than function. He could not help but appreciate how the moon-glow and shadow seemed to soften the ambiance, but he still wasn't truly happy here. "I frightened a little mouse under a chair," he quietly chanted to himself.

"I am not the timid little mousey many take me for." He frowned, slipping behind the rich velvet curtains and pressing his cheek against the leaded glass window in longing for the moon-lit world beyond. Bright blue eyes widened in surprise as the barrier shifted slightly, and before he could catch his breath, he had stepped over the sill and onto the balcony. The cool night air was intoxicating. He breathed it in till he thought his lungs would burst. Sparkles danced across his field of vision, making him feel lightheaded and giddy. Finally, he exhaled, mentally chastising himself for being silly, and began breathing in a more normal rhythm.

"I am outside." He grinned in sudden realization. I'm outside and no one knows it!" he leaned far over the marble balustrade and gazed down onto the carefully manicured lawn below. "I am outside and no one is here to make me go back inside!" His mouth gaped in wonder at the sudden realization, and quick as a flash he eased himself over the side and dropped lightly to the ground.

The dark earth was cool and moist beneath his bare feet. The lush grass tickled his ankles and he shivered with excitement before darting across the courtyard, wiggling beneath a row of decorative shrubs, scrambling over a low stone wall, and escaping into the night.

0-0-0-0-0

Elsewhere in the Mansion, a shadowed figure was lost in concentration. She carefully measured a deep red powder into a glass goblet, just as she did every night. She poured water over it and mixed it with a glass rod. She watched the powder dissolve and sloshed the mixture gently in the glass to ensure there was no residue at the bottom. Then she set the goblet on a tray. She moved with practiced ease, careful not to disturb anyone as she made her way through the halls. When she had reached her objective, the door opened soundlessly. She set the tray on the bed-table and gently pulled aside the heavy curtain surrounding the canopied bed to observe her sleeping charge and found…nothing.

Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly as she sought to comprehend the ramifications of the mussed coverlets, vacant of their usual occupant.

"He's gone…he's gone…he's gone!" The realization rocked her. Then she panicked. Stepping back from the bed, she stumbled, upsetting the tray. Glass shattered, metal rang against the cold marble tiles, and she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

The sound of hurried footsteps rang in the hall. The door banged open as four burly men stormed inside. She ran to the nearest one and buried her face into his chest, his velvet robe soaking up her silent tears "He's gone…gone… he's gone," she whispered till the words no longer had any meaning. She barely felt the awkward arm draped around her shaking shoulders.

Seconds later, the door opened again and the arms that had been attempting to provide mute comfort stiffened, becoming suddenly restrictive…dangerously so. "The heir is missing," one of the guards announced.

"How is that possible?" the newcomer growled angrily. His voice became demanding. "Irina?!" he snapped, and the woman's quiet sobs turned to open wailing. The strong arms released her, and in a barely controlled manor, she slumped to the ground, kneeling among the shards of broken glass, the robe pooling around her knees and soaking up what was left of the medicine she prepared so carefully—medicine that should have reinforced the dose she'd given him at bed-time, assuring her precious little brother stayed asleep—and safely out of trouble.

"Get her out of my sight," the angry voice commanded. "Then find him!"

"Yes, Master Winner," one of the guards replied curtly. Hands like iron closed on her shoulders, half-dragging her to her feet and practically propelling her toward the door. She missed the warm comfort of the chest and the arms that had sheltered her, albeit briefly and realized she didn't even know his name.