AUDEAMUS
Chapter 31
She darted to the front, a smaller patio with polished terracotta tiles and a small round well in white. The walls encircling the patio were painted in the same white with hot pink bougainvillea flowers resting across the top and spilling down over the side.
There, panting on the middle of the polished floor, stood Collins, the tip of his sword pressing into Edward's chest. Edward's saber was on the floor behind him, he had been disarmed.
She saw the murderous intent in Collins' eyes, a look of hatred, of darkness. He was about to lunge the hard and cold steel into her lover's heart. Bella Swan acted on reflex, darting forward as Emmett McCarty urged her to remain by his side.
"No!" she screamed as she placed herself right next to Cullen. "No!" Her hands gripped the sword and held it at bay, the steel cutting into the palms of her hands as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She only gripped it harder, ignoring the blood that dripped on the tiles.
Edward and Emmett stared in stunned silence.
Collins' eyes watered. "Let go of the sword, Miss Swan," he murmured softly to her. She forcibly shook her head, a determined look spreading on her features as she frowned.
Emmett felt the heavy weight of his pistols in his hands and aimed at Collins. "You remove the sword, Collins. I warn you, I am an excellent shot!"
Collins gripped the sword harder, the tip still resting against Cullen's chest. However, young Miss Swan would not remove her hands.
"Things could have been different," Collins whispered, his eyes cast to the ground.
"They are what they are, James," she responded. Her heart pounded madly in her chest as her mouth dried up. The world stopped for a brief second. "There is nothing you can do to change that."
He looked directly at her and revealed the pain within him. It broke her heart in two for she had never seen his eyes so full of sorrow. Collins blamed himself for many things, but most of all he blamed himself for losing her.
"Killing this man changes nothing," she continued, knowing the delicate situation they found themselves in. Around them chaos still reigned, shots and screams mixed together, soon inseparable from each other. "Please, James. Please remove the sword," she pleaded in a broken voice.
Emmett gripped the pistol harder, ready to fire should Collins suddenly change his mind. Collins' hand started shaking. He looked at Cullen, at the man he had grown to hate. He never realized when that had happened, but he loathed the man in black to such an extent that it physically hurt to pull back. He hated that she had been stolen from him, the woman he loved, the woman who wouldn't love him.
The pleading eyes of Bella Swan—a moment of weakness—was all it took. Cullen stared back with a set of burning green eyes as his gloved hand slowly came to pull Bella further into his arms. The moment Collins had removed the sword an inch, Cullen jumped back with Bella in tow. They were finally out of harm's way as Emmett rushed up.
"Go, I'll meet you at the stables," McCarty urged them both, staring at the disgraced major.
Edward took Bella's wounded hand in his, droplets of her blood falling to the ground. Collins stared after them as they ran, disappearing from his sight. His eyes then fell on the blood, slowly filling with unshed tears once more.
Emmett tried to think clearly after the display he had just witnessed. Bella Swan knew Cullen well. Too well.
"Go on," Collins murmured, staring down the barrel.
He'd rather die in the fight than live with the consequences; the drowning darkness eating away at him, piece by piece, the jealousy, the anger, the desperation, and fear.
Emmett's lips pressed harshly together, his finger resting on the trigger. "I did not come here to take lives, only to save them."
With that, he darted past the major, in the direction of the stables.
Collins stared after Emmett McCarty and then dropped to his knees. He was a prideful man. He had held his head high as the honorable major with Bella Swan on his arm. Now she had chosen Cullen over him. Despite the feelings he held for her, Collins could not push away the anger he felt toward the man in the mask. He knew he was jealous; he knew his mind was a mess. But that did not stop him from letting the hatred seep through him.
The way the man in the mask had held her, so carefully, so tenderly. The major recognized it.
He had gained something; knowledge.
The way Bella had acted around Cullen and Masen; he knew she had been lying to him about Cullen for some time. Slowly, after a moment of clarity, when his mind was no longer clouded, Collins saw what he should have been seeing for quite some time.
The pieces fit.
Edward Masen and Cullen were one person.
He realized that both men who he detested were the same, and it made his anger for Edward grow, for he had stolen what was his. Collins let out a scream of anguish and anger for having let him get away. He blindly searched for his sword and then let his eyes wander to the horizon.
He knew what he had to do.
She thought her legs would give out on her. Bella saw him stumble as he dragged her forward. "Edward, we need to stop before you fall into a heap!" she called out to him, ignoring the burning pain in her palms. But he kept dragging her with a sense of urgency and a will of iron.
They pushed onward, toward the stables. He jumped to the side, dragging her with him as a shot ricocheted between the whitewashed adobe walls of Wilson's estate. The perfumed summer air was tainted with the scent of fear and blood. Edward pressed against the wall, listening intently. He turned to her, looking at her for a while. His gloved hand caressed her face. "I will get us out of here, my love."
Then, without hesitating, he charged past the wall and she could hear the scuffle. She heard the punches and grunts as he battled with whoever had tried to shoot at them. Bella pressed her fists to her chest, breathing deeply, trying to steady herself as he cleared the way for them.
She felt useless. Completely useless.
She almost cried from frustration, but then her brow creased. This was what Ridge must have felt, this sense of hopelessness. She could not simply give up now. Bella Swan pinched her eyes shut as the fistfight continued. She unpeeled herself from the wall, envigored by the frisky breeze of a summer's eve.
Edward knew he was losing; he knew he needed to recover. The wound in his side hurt the more he fought. He fought by instinct, knowing the two lancers would surely overpower him in a moment. Another punch landed, aimed at his face while the other directed a jab at his central point, his core.
He growled as he refocused, letting his ire course through him. This was not the time to fight sensibly, not now. He let his emotions rush through him as he gained strength. Time slowed down as he directed his left fist to one man's jaw, sending him flying back. Edward ducked in time to avoid another jab and sent his bodyweight into the other lancer, pushing him to the floor, redirecting yet another fist to his face, effectively knocking him out cold.
He breathed heavily, trying to steady himself, biting through the pain aching in his body. There would be time to rest when all of this was over. He spat to the side, some blood mingling with his spittle. Edward looked around, fervently looking to see where Bella was.
Suddenly, around the corner, came Carlisle Masen with drawn sword. The outlaw came to stand quickly as Carlisle's mouth dropped a little at the scene. He'd been drawn to the shot, thinking Emmett had fired one of his pistols. He was about to speak with Cullen when the other reacted by rushing toward him. Out of instinct, and for fear of the massive black shadow nearing him, Lord Masen confusedly rose his sword and settled into a fighting stance. But Cullen darted past him, his left hand forcing the blade out of Carlisle's hand in time to embed it into the lancer who had been close enough to send the baron to an early grave with his musket.
Carlisle turned around in shock, seeing the lancer fall to the ground, with the saber in his chest, dead before hitting the tiled stone. Both men's eyes crossed for a brief moment, silent gratitude exchanged between them.
"Where are McCarty and Miss Swan?" Carlisle Masen asked.
The moment he had spoken the words, the clatter of horse hooves sounded beyond the wall. "Cullen!" they heard a female voice shout.
Edward and Carlisle headed for Bella's voice, through a small wooden door in the adobe wall. There, next to that door, she seated a great black stallion, Edward's horse. She held the reins to another horse, Wilson's pride and joy, the white warmblood he had so proudly displayed at his first ball. Next to that horse sat Emmett, with a drawn pistol, seating a calico steed.
"Come on!" the Swan girl urged both men.
Edward's lips curled into a proud smile as he rushed up to her and seated his stallion behind her. Carlisle took the warmblood and they all set their mounts into a frenzied gallop, heading for their sanctuary, which was Hayes.
Bella felt her fiancé's left arm snake around her waist as he pressed her further against his form. Every motion of the horse sent her body flying into his, and despite their situation, she blushed, biting her teeth hard together as she saw the lights of the town.
The horses continued to head for it in a frenzied gallop. "McCarty!" Cullen suddenly shouted.
"Aye?" Emmett responded.
"Ride to St. Nicholas and bring the friars with you. I have a feeling this conflict is far from over!" He looked over at Emmett and saw the stiff nod as he and the calico steed suddenly broke away from the group. The rest of them continued toward Hayes, riding past frightened citizens on their own horses or in their carriages, crowding to get in. Edward saw the chaos and wondered if Forster would get to Hayes before the night was over.
They eventually made it in through the walls and Cullen turned the horse to face Lord Masen. "I need you to place Miss Swan in a secure location."
"But I—" Bella began, quickly silencing herself when she realized he was right, she would be of little help now in the chaos. She was certain that when things had calmed down, she could once more be of assistance. "Your townhouse is the closest, Lord Masen, yet I need to know my parents are safe!" she urged.
"I will take you to your house, madam," Carlisle nodded as Edward extended an arm to help her off the horse.
He turned to face them both.
"Where will you go?" Bella asked.
"To the place where all Cadherrans gather," Cullen blinked, setting the stallion in motion and quickly disappearing as some baffled spectators saw him leave.
Bella stared after him with her heart expanding out of pride in her chest. She turned around and saw Carlisle Masen stare her down. "You are quite familiar with this man."
Bella Swan tilted her head. "My name Isabella Swan, Lord Masen. He goes by Cullen, what did you expect?" she smirked as he helped her into the saddle of the warmblood. She heard him sigh as he urged the horse into a canter.
Lucy helped Ted and Joe remove the tables as more and more people streamed into her establishment. Ever since Jacob Black had come with Jonah, Athar, Newton, and Wilson in tow, many of the townspeople looked to the inn to find some sort of guidance. But it was all a downright mess. Fear was apparent everywhere they turned. People were still trying to force their way past the massive queue of carriages waiting their turn to pass through the four gates of the wall.
"This shitty town!" Lucy exclaimed as more and more people entered.
"What now? Is Forster dead? Will more lancers come?" many asked. Wilson was on the receiving end of hateful looks. "Why not kill 'im!" many shouted.
"This man," Athar began in as loud a voice as he could. "Will stand trial in Safeira, so that his crimes may be shown to the rest of the kingdom—"
"Nonsense, the blackguard deserves no such treatment!" someone screamed from the growing crowd. People of all social classes intermingled, trying to find information in the tavern.
"He deserves death for what he has done to us!"
Athar knew that his control was quickly waning from his fingers. If they did not calm the men in that room, they would soon have a raging mob to add to their problems.
"No one is getting killed, ya twats!" a rough female voice shouted. Little Lucy wafted her dirty washing rag about herself. "If ya be in my tavern, ya will behave like common folk," she spat. "With some fuckin' dignity!"
Athar grew red at the final statement. Others did as well for Lucy rarely swore. But when she did, even sailors would blush.
"Mr. Black," she turned to Billy. "Ya have the word." She figured he could calm the citizens of Hayes. He had a way with words, that much she knew.
"Lucy Berg is right," Billy nodded. "Do not give way to anarchy, to—"
"He killed Lucas and Maria, he killed Captain Clarke, he even killed Lord Newton!" many shouted in unison.
"Aye, he did. And let it then be known to the rest of Angloa what happens to corrupt mayors who steal and kill the people," Billy counterargued. "He will be sent to Safeira, he will stand trial, he will lose."
A chuckle broke through; eerie, frightening, hollow. They all turned to stare at Mayor Wilson who looked at them with despise and disgust in his eyes.
"Kill me now, and when Forster comes with his mercenaries you will all be burned to the ground!" he spat. It evoked frightened whispers. "Yes, mercenaries. Did you really think we didn't have a contingency plan? A literal army is coming to wipe you from the surface of the earth," the mayor said smugly.
Many grew alarmed at such words. "Army? What bloody army?"
"The Royal Guard was supposed to protect us, but they have turned their back on us!" an older woman exclaimed as the tears started falling.
The whispering rose until people started screaming from fear.
"Someone gag the weasel before I cut out his tongue myself," a dark voice growled suddenly from the top of the stairs.
They turned to see Cullen stand there; battered, but alive. There was some blood in the corner of his mouth, and he gripped a sword while he had tucked away a knife next to a pistol in his sash. His presence dimmed the light in the room and settled the wagging tongues immediately.
"Now!" he ordered forcefully with a low and dangerous growl. The usually amused countenance had been replaced by a tough and serious exterior that no one wished to anger.
Without hesitating, Lucy happily stuffed the dirty rag in Wilson's mouth despite his protests, securing it in place with another rag tied around his head. Cullen slowly walked down the stairs as people silently moved out of his way, entirely awestruck.
"And cast him into one of your upstairs rooms, Lucy. Have two guards in there with him, I suggest Joe and Ted, and two posted outside. We will talk to him when the time is due. We have more pressing matters to attend to."
Cullen's decisiveness in the face of chaos calmed the people in the tavern. They started following his instructions as he came up to Lucy, slowly resting against the bar, fighting hard not to show any signs of weakness. Edward squared his jaw, his side burned, the wound must have opened up again. If he kept getting hit in the side, he feared it would never completely heal. He caught the attention of the entirety of the tavern while Wilson was taken away in protests.
Jacob walked up to him. Had they had time, Jacob would have gone against his better knowledge and embraced the man he'd thought dead. Yet, the joy showed in his eyes, although it was deeply intermingled with the worry for the more pressing matters at hand.
"What now, Cullen? We lost most of our men in Wilson's estate, we cannot count on the Royal Guard. Forster must be riding to get those mercenaries that Wilson was speaking of."
Cullen saw all eyes rest on him, expectant faces not knowing what to do. "We, here in this tavern, are not the entirety of Hayes," the dark voice said. "There are more people to this town than just us." Many nodded in unison at his statements. "I want you all to go to each house and ask for every able-bodied man to join me in the old square in thirty minutes under the tree where Simmons plays chess. You will not take no for an answer. Explain the situation to them and they will come." He turned to some men in the corner. "You lot will ride to the four main gates and see to it that they are locked and secured, make sure every little entry into Hayes is shut. We have a wall, let us use it. Find people to post by the gates, should some straying villager come for shelter."
Without a word, they set to work. Edward leaned against the counter once more, biting his teeth together and squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. A loud slam sounded next to him as Lucy wiped a glass. Cullen looked to the side and saw a bottle of whiskey; a finer vintage. "It's on the house." The large lady leaned forward as her face contorted into a frown. "But don't get used to it!" she chuckled.
Edward reached for the bottle, removed the cork with his teeth and took a large sip. The strong alcohol would help with the pain. But he would not take more, for he needed his head clear for the night, which would no doubt be long.
Athar came up to him. "What of Wilson?" he asked. "I need to speak to him."
The dark and ominous eyes regarded Athar. "Wilson has something up his sleeve, and I am not speaking only of Forster and his supposed mercenary army."
Athar's eyes fleeted away; the stoic arrogant countenance of the proud middle-aged man dropping for a moment.
"And you know something," Cullen pointed at him. "You were not simply sent here to investigate the rumors surrounding the deaths, murders, and tax-fraud," the man in black continued as he unpeeled himself from the counter, taking another sip and harshly setting the bottle down with a loud thud. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You were sent here by someone to cover something up." The masked man tilted his head to the side. "Wilson is blackmailing someone powerful, is that it? And you were sent here to cover it up—"
"Not so loud," Athar hissed, dragging Cullen to the side. It would be hard to speak with him away from prying eyes. Half of the inn—those who had yet to leave—still stared at him with awe and a sense of hope. "Not here," Athar urged. He nodded to one of the vacant rooms upstairs. Both men slowly climbed the stairs. Cullen shut and bolted the door after himself as he turned to the impeccable Willard Athar.
"I am listening." He neared him, standing tall and threatening. "I want the truth, Athar, the full truth."
"Even I do not know it," Athar exclaimed as he wafted frantically with his hands, an irritated gesture which gave away what he truly felt.
"Well, who sent you?" Cullen asked, tilting his head to the side. "Was it really your older brother? Was it really because of Lucas' letter?"
Athar's shoulders tensed visibly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He paced back and forth in the room. "Trusting a man in a mask!" he muttered to himself. "…madness…"
"Willard!" Cullen urged. "In little more than twenty minutes, I am supposed to reassure every citizen here of how to deal with an army of an unknown quantity. I am supposed to organize our defenses, make sure no one dies tonight. I need all the information I can get. You do not get to keep secrets, not anymore—"
"Says the man in a bloody mask," Athar exclaimed. "I mean, in-in what world would I ever reveal anything to a…a man practically considered an outlaw by the authorities?"
"Maybe in a world where corrupt mayors and officers did not abuse their power and murder to remain in control?" Cullen muttered sardonically. "You do not get to comment on my mask, you know very well why I hide my face—"
"There is no reason to anymore, Wilson is revealed for what he is—"
"What if there are more?"
Despite the serious and alarming situation, Athar laughed. He burst out into a faint chuckle at first, which only grew sadder by the minute. "What? You take on the rest of "them"? The corrupt power in Wessport, Safeira?"
"If I have to," Cullen deadpanned.
Athar turned to him, grimacing. "If I am to tell you why I was sent here, I need to trust you, Cullen. Fully."
Edward eyed him. He knew officials, magistrates. This was a politician and he had never trusted in politicians. But he so needed the information. With a frustrated sigh, he did the only thing he could, bargained with the only thing he had: his identity. Maybe he would regret it later. Edward hoped he had not judged this man wrongly. What they said about the Athars, after all, was that the family held onto their honor and their word like no one else.
"I hope it is worth it," he growled as he reached behind his neck to untie the laces holding his mask together.
Athar stared in disbelief as the man before him unmasked with hefty movements. He removed the hood covering his head and face, sliding it over until it rested in his hand.
The older man took a few steps back, shaking his head in astonished confusion.
"E-Edward bloody Masen?" Athar said in baffled disbelief, not expecting to quite be so overcome by the revelation. He had expected a bourgeoise or a farmer's son who'd become inspired by the revolution in France. But never a baron's son like Edward.
Edward spread his hands, irritated. They did not have much time. "I stand before you unmasked and bared in good faith, Athar. Now, you will tell me who sent you here."
"I have more questions—"
"If we survive the night, I shall answer them all," Edward promised.
Despite their situation, the corner of Athar's lip tugged. "You'll not go die on me now, will you?"
Masen's head tilted again to the side, relaxing as he noted Athar had grown humorous. "Now? Never, it's getting too interesting." A twinkle emerged in his emerald eyes. "Who sent you."
Athar took a deep breath, knowing he was going against high orders by telling this. But he had made a promise to himself. This man, despite the face now revealed to him, was practically the embodiment of General Cullen. And, Athar argued, had not his family flourished by working together with Cullen in the distant past? Indeed, his ancestor, Thomas Athar, had once joined forces with General Cullen in Raven's Grove. Thus, this was no different.
"My older brother and…His Majesty sent me. It was a direct order, but I was told to keep it a secret."
"The king?" Edward grew shocked. "Did they tell you why?"
Athar shook his head, walking to the bed positioned at the far end of the room. "Only that Wilson has uncovered some sort of state secret that His Majesty fears could bring down our government and his family were it to be leaked. When my brother received the letter from Lucas Ridge, he did not pay attention at first, he has a lot on his plate as it is in the capital. But when he discovered the man Mr. Ridge spoke of to be Lionel Wilson, he saw it as an opportunity to take him down, His Majesty did as well."
"So, Wilson is blackmailing him," Edward murmured.
"My brother told me Wilson had some sort of letter in his safekeeping relating to this secret."
"Surely some scandal with some mistress?"
"I…believe it is far more notorious than that. I…have never seen my brother so alarmed, or the king so nervous before. Whatever this is, sir, it is far beyond what you or I could comprehend. I was to find this letter, some way or another. I had hoped to get it tonight, after taking Wilson into custody. But after the fiasco at his estate, it was not to be. I do not know if he keeps it there—if Forster is privy to this information as well—"
"Wilson must have been blackmailing His Majesty for some time, then," Edward supposed. What had Wilson's demands been? What had he asked of the king?
He started putting on the mask again, tightening the laces and tying them at the base of his neck.
"Where are you going?" Athar asked, getting up from the bed.
"To the source. Only Wilson knows where this letter is."
Edward started heading for the door, but Athar rushed before him to it, consequently blocking it for him. Alarmed eyes in gray-green widened, some strands of his graying hair slipping out of the otherwise neat knot. "Not even I was made aware of the contents of that letter, Edward. And I am the Grand Duke of Cantabria's brother for God's sake!" he exclaimed. "I cannot allow you to further inquire about this."
The man in the mask gently removed the hand which blocked his access to the door. "You have no choice. Your brother and His Majesty sent you and I will help you. We find this letter and we find out who else knows."
"And then?"
"Was Wilson ever getting a trial in Safeira?" Edward asked seriously.
"I cannot say."
"Then you are more naïve than I gave you credit for. If he is the sole holder of this information, your brother and the king will dispose of him, either by locking him up or worse, considering the value of this information."
"That is why neither you nor I can know!"
"I just revealed my deepest darkest secret to you, Athar. You do with that information as you please." Edward turned the handle. "But you know I am the only chance you've got at retrieving that letter. And if I am to do that, I must first know its contents." He stepped out of the room, Athar followed him, silently cursing to himself.
"We need to interrogate the prisoner," Cullen demanded in a booming voice, once more attracting attention from those few left in the tavern. In fifteen minutes, he was supposed to be in the old square, figuring out how to defend against Forster and his mercenaries.
"O-of course, s-sir," one of the guards, no older than sixteen, stuttered. They opened the door and allowed both men entry.
"I ask that you leave, gentlemen," Cullen growled to Ted and Joe who without hesitating left the room quickly.
Wilson sat on the bed, his cravat untied, his frock cast to the side and the buttons of his waistcoat undone. He had unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up and removed his wig, revealing the shaved head underneath.
"They respect you, Cullen," Wilson muttered, amused by the display he'd just witnessed. "I give you that, at least. You inspire the same awe the original did. But you are not him."
Edward dragged a chair by the desk next to the door, slowly letting it scrape across the floor until coming up to Wilson. He turned it and straddled it, resting his arms across the back, leaning forward in a casual manner.
"Athar, lock the door."
"I see you have the same mannerisms of a commoner, like Forster. Will you beat me? Do you find enjoyment in such activities?" Wilson asked, yet he still did not seem bothered. "Aye but your friend Athar will not let you kill me." Wilson leaned in with a gleeful expression in his eyes. "I now understand why he was sent."
Cullen leaned forward with a sadistic smile curling on his lips. It was enough to make Wilson's skin crawl. "No, Athar will not let me kill you. But who says you need all your limbs? I hear you enjoy food—enjoy talking—Wilson. I do not think you'd find much enjoyment in food were I to cut out that pesky tongue of yours."
The comment made Wilson pale instantly.
"Better." Cullen settled back with a satisfied smirk. He gestured toward the man behind him. "I hear you've been rather busy, even since before arriving here in Hayes. Especially in relation to His Majesty."
"That supposed trial in Safeira will never take place, you know it Athar," Wilson said, stretching his neck to lock eyes with the older man. "Your brother and the king know it as well... if His Majesty knows what is good for him."
"This secret I've heard of," Athar asked. "Who else knows?"
"Has brother dearest told you? Or simply sent you to clean up the mess he couldn't?" Wilson smirked.
Edward produced the small knife tucked away in his sash. "Careful with that tongue, Lionel," he warned.
"Where is the letter?"
"Where I want it to be, safe."
"Who else knows?" Athar growled, sprinting to Wilson and grabbing him by the collar.
"Enough people. If I die, they will reveal everything." Wilson's chins bobbled as he spoke.
Athar found his breath foul and cast him aside. "You lie!" he snapped.
"Can you prove that?" Wilson asked.
No, neither of them could, which bore down heavily on them both.
"What is in that letter, Wilson?" Edward demanded, but now out of pure curiosity.
Wilson smirked at him. "Oh, something you could never have imagined in your wildest dreams." He settled further on the bed. Beyond the tavern, they could hear people walking toward the square, gathering to wait for Cullen. "It tells of a tale of this country, reveals the secret of something that we as Angloans have ingrained into our national identity. Aye, it is a confession, made by a man on his deathbed, too burdened to keep it to himself anymore."
Wilson delighted that he had captivated their interest.
"I will indulge you, not because you threaten me, but because I want you to know. And maybe, when I have finished, you will understand what lies the Fell dynasty has been telling us for the better part of three centuries," Wilson spat.
"Three centuries?" Athar asked with a frown.
Cullen let his eyes trace back to Athar for a split second, just as confused. They tensed in anticipation, not knowing if the information they were about to hear was even truthful. Yet, in a sense, it almost felt sacrilegious to sit there and let Wilson reveal such a well-guarded secret.
"The letter reveals the truth concerning the relationship between three people. They were Edward Cullen, the General of the Northern Armies and defender of Angloa. Well, you know the story. Isabella Swan, the daughter to the then believed traitorous Count of Cadherra, promised away to Cullen in matrimony against her will. And, finally, William Fell, the prince who was lost, yet miraculously returned in the hour of need." A peace settled in the room as Wilson's features darkened, his mind transported somewhere else. A clock ticked by in the corner, the wind rattled the windows, and downstairs, footsteps could be heard by those few left in the tavern.
An eerie tranquility extended; almost a sorrowful one.
"The confession was written by King William Fell laying on his deathbed, mere days before passing. He dictated it to his oldest child at the time. And it reveals the true nature of his absence and his return to Angloa."
"Everyone knows this story, Wilson," Edward said. "Every man, woman, and child from east to west and north to south on this island."
"Aye…the story of Lady Isabella and Edward Cullen fascinated me as a child." Truth, honesty, and sadness shone through the dark interior of his soul.
Wilson shivered. "I found it a tragic affair," he sighed. "They always spoke of the intense love between those two, how destiny brought them together, despite all odds. They spoke of General Cullen's fierce loyalty to Lady Swan, and her deep affection for him, despite his appearance, despite the frightening mask. I thought General Cullen's death at the battle for Adelton Hall in 1521 was a gross injustice. It wasn't fair. Stories concerning love should end happily, is that not what they tell all children? That everything has a happy ending?" Wilson asked them.
Edward couldn't help but agree internally. The story was indeed tragic, but a beloved one. It was an important part of their history and identity; the story of Edward Cullen, the tragic war hero of Angloa and his love, Isabella Swan. The triumphant return of a long-lost crown prince, William Fell, of his rise to power, his defeat over his traitorous sister. The man in the mask—the ghost which Edward Masen had chosen to embody, the whisper of the past that carried with it—leaned forward.
"We cannot change the past, Wilson, however tragic we find it. Cullen died that day, three hundred years ago, in the arms of the woman he loved."
"It is a lie," Wilson leaned forward to say, shaking his head. "There was a truth that was never revealed, kept secret. William Fell and those in his immediate circle thought it would be received wrongly by his lords and twisted by his enemies."
"What lie could be so grave that His Majesty wishes to have it remain hidden?" asked Athar. "Did the king have intimate relations with Swan while she was still engaged to the general?"
The pudgy man shook his shoulders. "Why do you think the general wore a mask?" Wilson asked them.
"Because he had horrible scars, thought to have received them when he lived in the East, before coming to Angloa," Athar answered matter-of-factly. "He acknowledged so himself."
"False," Wilson said. He looked at Edward. "Why do you wear a mask, Cullen?"
Edward's mouth started drying up as he slowly connected the dots. "To…hide my identity," he whispered. The eyes slowly widened behind the mask as a light turned on. He leaned back, slowly shaking his head. "What you imply…it cannot be…"
Wilson frowned, suddenly come down once more in melancholia, staring at the ground. "I did not believe it either. Years of retelling the story of that man, of Edward Cullen, has rendered him a myth. I could never believe him to be anything else but the legend I loved as a child." Wilson laughed dryly as his small eyes narrowed while looking at them. "Edward Cullen and the king, William Fell, were one and the same," he spat.
Athar slowly sunk down on the floor, his face white as a ghost's. Edward's pulse hammered loudly in his head at such a revelation. "Why would he hide such a thing?" he asked himself.
Wilson flayed with his arms. "Because the man's goal was always the throne. The bastard played the long game, smart enough to realize he'd be recognized so he returned as a soldier in a mask and made a bloody name for himself. And what a name: Edward Cullen, the bloody Lion of the North. What a shitshow when he himself realized that Cullen, despite being considered of low birth, was admired by the people, even some lords." Wilson leaned forward even more. "So, he had one of his most trusted men put on the mask and get killed during the final charge against Adelton Hall. William took the throne and the woman, he won everything."
"That cannot be," Athar mumbled.
"The people of Angloa have been told a lie, a lie that Cullen was one of them, one of the people. The peasants think they can use him as an inspiration." He turned to look at Edward. "You chant Audeamus with the rest of them, yet your supposed symbol is not a man of the people, he used the people to get a claim on this country. It was a man of blue blood that ultimately took down the usurping queen, who schemed like the rest of them; he was never above them. Edward Cullen— William Fell—was the most horrible player of all in that war."
Silence. Long, drawn-out. Suffocating. It extended as Athar and Edward understood that Wilson was telling them the truth—a truth the mayor himself seemed to believe.
Yet, despite such a revelation, the man in the mask squared his jaw. His fiery emerald greens drilled holes into Wilson.
"I don't care." The sentence was simple, yet it weighed in such a way that it took Wilson off guard, if only for a moment.
Edward removed himself from the chair, placing it to the side. "I only care about what he did with the mask and then without it, which was good. Edward Cullen took down a tyrant and William Fell brought Angloa into a golden age. No matter how you twist these words, the people will not believe you," he growled, looming over the fat mayor, gripping the back of his chair and his face a mere inch from Wilson's. "For that is what you are best at, Wilson, twisting words."
"The king is not as naïve as you." Wilson's lips spread into a faint grin, thinking he had unnerved the masked man.
"You think too little of the people if you think they will riot over this."
"Oh, but they will, and His Majesty knows it." Wilson leered even more. "And he wishes to avoid angering the people…too much. He knows what is good for him, he knows that what happened in France could happen here." Edward wondered how far the blackmail had gone, how much Wilson had forced the stressed monarch to do.
The masked man pushed away from the chair, looming over the mayor. He walked to Athar and helped him off the floor. "When Forster falls, you fall with him, Wilson. I will find that letter, with or without you," Edward promised, opening the door.
"I will be free before the end of the week!" Wilson spat. "And see the monarchy crumble before the end of the next one. His Majesty went too far wi—" Edward slammed the door shut, watching the guards.
"Go in there, gag him. Not a sound from that man until I return, is that clear? He speaks with no one, and no one speaks with him," he told them.
"Aye, sir!" the guards stammered, Joe and Ted quickly rushing in.
Edward turned to Athar. "We go to the square and speak of this after," he said stiffly to Athar, still processing the words. They rushed down the stairs, already late.
"I think I will go mad," Athar muttered under his breath.
Lucy frantically wiped the counter of her bar. "Took ya bloody long enough!" she screamed their way. "I've got people askin' fer the past five minutes were ya were!"
"I hope you told them to—"
"Sent them back, the lot of 'em," she blinked.
"Bless you, Lucy," Edward smirked.
She threw down the rag and placed a shawl across her shoulders, leaving the bar to one of her barmaids.
"I ain't missin' this now fer the world!" she sighed as they stepped out into the fresh night. "Oh, I be feelin' young again!"
Edward mounted his stallion and rode on ahead to the square, knowing everyone in Hayes would be waiting for him there.
A/N: Hi again! Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. As I have to work overtime at my job right now, I do not have the same amount of time to edit the chapters as I did before. Therefore it will be difficult to upload twice or thrice a week although I will try my best!
I hope you all are (still) having a good summer (I'm afraid it is coming to an early end over here in Sweden, at least in my opinion).