Chapter 2
"Quatre, what are you doing in here?" It was morning, and three of his sisters had woken up to find him sitting on the floor in their room.
"Someone was outside the house last night... probably just some bum or something. Anyway, I came to your room because you don't have any windows."
"Why didn't you call the guard, Quatre?" the second sister asked.
"It was awfully late, and I didn't think it was too serious. I had a bad feeling that's all. I'm leaving now," he replied as he walked out their door and returned to his own room.
Now that the sun was shining, it almost tempted him to believe last night was just a product of his imagination, but he just couldn't shake off the eerie memory. Quatre was certain about what happened, he just couldn't understand why. Who had followed him in the street, and why hadn't they attacked him? And why on earth had they played music just outside his balcony door? To try and lure him out? The thoughts consumed him as he dressed himself for breakfast. It surprised him when a servant came and told Quatre that his father wished to speak with him immediately. He hurried to the hall, wondering what was so important it had to be said at 6:30 in the morning.
Quatre's father stood with another man in the otherwise empty room. On second glance, he realized the man was Lady Releena's brother, Milliardo Peacecraft. He instantly thought the meeting was due to the future engagement between him and Releena, until he noticed the distraught looks on both of their faces.
"Milliardo, it's nice to see you, of course," Quatre said in his most diplomatic voice, "but what has happened that you come so early?"
Milliardo glanced briefly at him before he stared at the floor again, and Quatre was shocked to see tears in his icy blue eyes.
"I regret to inform you, Lord Quatre, that my sister is dead." The words were obviously spoken with great difficulty.
Quatre was floored. The pretty brown-haired girl he had danced with only a few hours before was now dead. It seemed unreal.
"But," he said, "how did this happen? She was healthy enough."
Milliardo was too grieved to speak, so Quatre's father replied.
"Strangely, no one seems to know how this happened. They say she was just lying on her bed this morning, with no signs of any abuse. Her doors were even locked on the inside. The only cause of death the doctors can think of is suicide."
"My sister did not kill herself!" Milliardo cried, nearly choking himself.
"No," Quatre agreed. He had sensed her extreme happiness last night, and knew she could not have done this to herself. "She didn't have the mindset to do something like that."
"You've only met her a few times, Quatre," his father argued.
"No, father. I know Lady Releena's emotions, and she wouldn't have done this."
"Whatever you think. All we know is what I've said."
"Were there any wounds, or anything?"
Milliardo spoke up again. "She had two puncture wounds, on her neck. They were far too shallow to kill her, though, she could have gotten them anywhere."
"What about poison?"
"There were no traces of anything. She's unexplainable."
Quatre sighed. Though he had not loved Releena, he hadn't disliked her. She didn't deserve to die.
"I'm so sorry for what happened, Milliardo. I don't know what to do."
"Funeral services will be tomorrow. Until then, we are in mourning," his father said.
"But isn't someone going to try to find out what happened to her?"
"There is very little chance of finding anything. If it was an assassination, it was very well carried out, and finding the killer would be next to impossible."
"Very well, father. My apologies once again, Milliardo. If you will please excuse me."
His father nodded in consent, and Quatre walked out of the room as quickly as possible without being rude. He was still in shock from the news. What could have possibly happened, that a sweet, innocent girl like her would be killed?
He thought again about the events of the previous night. Could the person who stalked him have anything to do with Releena's death? Maybe they had tried to kill him, too, and just weren't successful. Quatre remembered the flute player under his balcony, and the fear he had felt when he'd stepped outside. It was quite possible that the musician had tried to lead him out, in order to murder him. Something still wasn't right, though... Quatre's head hurt from trying to analyze everything. He pushed the thoughts aside, and went to his room to change into black clothing, and prepare himself for the long day of prayer and mourning ahead of him.
********************************
By the end of the day, Quatre was exhausted. He had not slept the night before, and weariness was taking over. He walked slowly to his room, and was halfway down the corridor when his senses felt the presence of another person, close by. Quatre paid little attention, it could have been anyone, for the palace was always full of people. Soon, though, he realized the presence he felt was from his own room. At first he thought it was a servant, but then saw that his door was closed. No servant would ever close a door to a room they were working in. His father, perhaps? That couldn't be, either, for he had just left him minutes ago. Quatre stopped outside the door. What if it was an assassin, maybe the same person who had killed Releena? Quatre longed for his weapons, but they were inside the room. He usually carried two daggers, hidden of course, with him constantly, but he'd had to leave them today, for it was disgraceful to carry steel into a church. He stood breathing heavily for several moments, until his curiosity overcame the misgivings he had. Quietly, he opened the door and stepped inside.
No one was in sight. It didn't discourage him, though, for the feeling was stronger than ever, and Quatre knew someone was in there with him. His fears of an assassin grew stronger too, for no one honest would be hiding in his chamber. Something was strange, though. Quatre had the gift to feel people's emotions, and tell what they were thinking. As for the person in this room, whether they were male or female he could not tell, nor could he comprehend the emotions they felt. All he could feel was the presence of something that seemed neither fair nor foul, but somehow foreign. Chills coursed through his spine, but somehow, they were more with anticipation than fear. This was strangely exciting to him.
He looked around his large room for several minutes and saw nothing unusual. All the doors and windows were still locked, and the room was in impeccable order. Quatre cautiously searched the closets and bathroom, and was beginning to doubt himself when he heard a voice behind him.
"What are you looking for?"
He started in spite of himself and whirled around to meet the intruder, and was more than surprised to find a boy, not much older than himself, sitting cross-legged on his bed. One dark green eye looked amused from beneath a shock of brown hair. Quatre had never seen this boy in his life, that he knew of.
"Actually," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "I believe I was looking for you."
The boy smiled faintly and spread his hands open. "Well, you succeeded."
"Do I know you?" Quatre asked, frowning slightly.
"No, we have never met. However, unless I am mistaken, you are Quatre Winner, right?"
"Yes." He began walking slowly toward his dresser, for that was where he had left his knives. "Will you tell me why you came here?"
"Not for the reason you think. I'm not here to kill you, or even take you captive. I could quite easily, you know."
"Yes, certainly." His hand was inches away from the dresser. "Why should I trust you?"
"I never said you should. In fact, it would be wiser not to."
"I think I'll follow that. You failed to mention why you're here, though."
The boy paused for a moment. "I don't believe I'll answer that right away."
Quatre lost his control in that minute. Taking one of the knives, he skillfully threw it directly at the stranger.
His aim was flawless. The blade hit the young man's throat, slicing the windpipe and the spinal cord behind it. It should have killed him instantly. Instead, the first thing he noticed was the lack of blood. There wasn't a drop, though the knife was buried to the hilt. As he watched, the boy calmly pulled it out of his neck, and the wound instantly disappeared. Then, he smiled again, and Quatre knew.
"Quatre, what are you doing in here?" It was morning, and three of his sisters had woken up to find him sitting on the floor in their room.
"Someone was outside the house last night... probably just some bum or something. Anyway, I came to your room because you don't have any windows."
"Why didn't you call the guard, Quatre?" the second sister asked.
"It was awfully late, and I didn't think it was too serious. I had a bad feeling that's all. I'm leaving now," he replied as he walked out their door and returned to his own room.
Now that the sun was shining, it almost tempted him to believe last night was just a product of his imagination, but he just couldn't shake off the eerie memory. Quatre was certain about what happened, he just couldn't understand why. Who had followed him in the street, and why hadn't they attacked him? And why on earth had they played music just outside his balcony door? To try and lure him out? The thoughts consumed him as he dressed himself for breakfast. It surprised him when a servant came and told Quatre that his father wished to speak with him immediately. He hurried to the hall, wondering what was so important it had to be said at 6:30 in the morning.
Quatre's father stood with another man in the otherwise empty room. On second glance, he realized the man was Lady Releena's brother, Milliardo Peacecraft. He instantly thought the meeting was due to the future engagement between him and Releena, until he noticed the distraught looks on both of their faces.
"Milliardo, it's nice to see you, of course," Quatre said in his most diplomatic voice, "but what has happened that you come so early?"
Milliardo glanced briefly at him before he stared at the floor again, and Quatre was shocked to see tears in his icy blue eyes.
"I regret to inform you, Lord Quatre, that my sister is dead." The words were obviously spoken with great difficulty.
Quatre was floored. The pretty brown-haired girl he had danced with only a few hours before was now dead. It seemed unreal.
"But," he said, "how did this happen? She was healthy enough."
Milliardo was too grieved to speak, so Quatre's father replied.
"Strangely, no one seems to know how this happened. They say she was just lying on her bed this morning, with no signs of any abuse. Her doors were even locked on the inside. The only cause of death the doctors can think of is suicide."
"My sister did not kill herself!" Milliardo cried, nearly choking himself.
"No," Quatre agreed. He had sensed her extreme happiness last night, and knew she could not have done this to herself. "She didn't have the mindset to do something like that."
"You've only met her a few times, Quatre," his father argued.
"No, father. I know Lady Releena's emotions, and she wouldn't have done this."
"Whatever you think. All we know is what I've said."
"Were there any wounds, or anything?"
Milliardo spoke up again. "She had two puncture wounds, on her neck. They were far too shallow to kill her, though, she could have gotten them anywhere."
"What about poison?"
"There were no traces of anything. She's unexplainable."
Quatre sighed. Though he had not loved Releena, he hadn't disliked her. She didn't deserve to die.
"I'm so sorry for what happened, Milliardo. I don't know what to do."
"Funeral services will be tomorrow. Until then, we are in mourning," his father said.
"But isn't someone going to try to find out what happened to her?"
"There is very little chance of finding anything. If it was an assassination, it was very well carried out, and finding the killer would be next to impossible."
"Very well, father. My apologies once again, Milliardo. If you will please excuse me."
His father nodded in consent, and Quatre walked out of the room as quickly as possible without being rude. He was still in shock from the news. What could have possibly happened, that a sweet, innocent girl like her would be killed?
He thought again about the events of the previous night. Could the person who stalked him have anything to do with Releena's death? Maybe they had tried to kill him, too, and just weren't successful. Quatre remembered the flute player under his balcony, and the fear he had felt when he'd stepped outside. It was quite possible that the musician had tried to lead him out, in order to murder him. Something still wasn't right, though... Quatre's head hurt from trying to analyze everything. He pushed the thoughts aside, and went to his room to change into black clothing, and prepare himself for the long day of prayer and mourning ahead of him.
********************************
By the end of the day, Quatre was exhausted. He had not slept the night before, and weariness was taking over. He walked slowly to his room, and was halfway down the corridor when his senses felt the presence of another person, close by. Quatre paid little attention, it could have been anyone, for the palace was always full of people. Soon, though, he realized the presence he felt was from his own room. At first he thought it was a servant, but then saw that his door was closed. No servant would ever close a door to a room they were working in. His father, perhaps? That couldn't be, either, for he had just left him minutes ago. Quatre stopped outside the door. What if it was an assassin, maybe the same person who had killed Releena? Quatre longed for his weapons, but they were inside the room. He usually carried two daggers, hidden of course, with him constantly, but he'd had to leave them today, for it was disgraceful to carry steel into a church. He stood breathing heavily for several moments, until his curiosity overcame the misgivings he had. Quietly, he opened the door and stepped inside.
No one was in sight. It didn't discourage him, though, for the feeling was stronger than ever, and Quatre knew someone was in there with him. His fears of an assassin grew stronger too, for no one honest would be hiding in his chamber. Something was strange, though. Quatre had the gift to feel people's emotions, and tell what they were thinking. As for the person in this room, whether they were male or female he could not tell, nor could he comprehend the emotions they felt. All he could feel was the presence of something that seemed neither fair nor foul, but somehow foreign. Chills coursed through his spine, but somehow, they were more with anticipation than fear. This was strangely exciting to him.
He looked around his large room for several minutes and saw nothing unusual. All the doors and windows were still locked, and the room was in impeccable order. Quatre cautiously searched the closets and bathroom, and was beginning to doubt himself when he heard a voice behind him.
"What are you looking for?"
He started in spite of himself and whirled around to meet the intruder, and was more than surprised to find a boy, not much older than himself, sitting cross-legged on his bed. One dark green eye looked amused from beneath a shock of brown hair. Quatre had never seen this boy in his life, that he knew of.
"Actually," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "I believe I was looking for you."
The boy smiled faintly and spread his hands open. "Well, you succeeded."
"Do I know you?" Quatre asked, frowning slightly.
"No, we have never met. However, unless I am mistaken, you are Quatre Winner, right?"
"Yes." He began walking slowly toward his dresser, for that was where he had left his knives. "Will you tell me why you came here?"
"Not for the reason you think. I'm not here to kill you, or even take you captive. I could quite easily, you know."
"Yes, certainly." His hand was inches away from the dresser. "Why should I trust you?"
"I never said you should. In fact, it would be wiser not to."
"I think I'll follow that. You failed to mention why you're here, though."
The boy paused for a moment. "I don't believe I'll answer that right away."
Quatre lost his control in that minute. Taking one of the knives, he skillfully threw it directly at the stranger.
His aim was flawless. The blade hit the young man's throat, slicing the windpipe and the spinal cord behind it. It should have killed him instantly. Instead, the first thing he noticed was the lack of blood. There wasn't a drop, though the knife was buried to the hilt. As he watched, the boy calmly pulled it out of his neck, and the wound instantly disappeared. Then, he smiled again, and Quatre knew.