Thanks to everyone who is reading, and your kind words. And to Brelaina, my awesome beta! Enjoy!
LCailan
CHAPTER EIGHT
As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven, it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape.
John Lancaster Spalding
The hot afternoon of Antonio's first official assassination waned brilliantly into a hazy early evening as Zevran made his way along the dusty road leading up to the Alfieri estate. He was awed just as he always had been at its majestic stature rising up in front of perfectly blue skies. The estate was a huge one - much bigger than some of the palazzos in the city where the nobles and royalty resided.
Though Antiva's line of kings had not been broken in centuries, the real owners of the city, the real decision makers, were those like Renaldo Alfieri. Men who were powerful merchants or powerful murderers. Just as everything else - Antiva hid its truth behind the glittering facade of only those things she would allow the eye to see. The truth was much more sinister. Merchants battling with merchants. Assassinations abounding - the poverty and the prostitution. All stark realities that were sometimes hard to hide.
The iron gates were open as Zevran reached the crest of the large hillside and turned to catch his breath for a moment. He looked down on Antiva City as the sun set on her, resplendent in the cloudless sky.
I am his only son. This stands to be my own one day.
What other aspirations did he have, after all? He was a Crow – and he would be loyal for life. If there had been a choice, any other choice he would have-
Her face swam across his consciousness and with it the pain of rejection. She had rejected him. Of course, he would never be...what she wanted him to be. Because he was a murderer. Because the life he had accepted was far removed from that of what she would accept. Because his truths were darker and more complex. Because he took coin for a life.
And of course, because the Crows had killed her mother.
He made his way through the gates, working with great concentration to keep from thinking of Lucia, of seeing her face when she had realized who he was and what he had come to Ferelden to do. He could see tear-filled eyes now, and her mouth turned down in a frown of disbelief and shock. He could hear her words-
No.
He refused to think of it, as his thoughts were tumultuous and murky, and instead took in the courtyard with its splendid fountain spouting water, and the lush landscaping that his father up kept with meticulousness. The stone estate rose up on three sides of this courtyard, and the fountain stood at the center.
Beyond it, Zevran spied Renaldo. He bowed low, his robes sweeping the dusty pathway. Seeing Renaldo reminded Zevran once more of the growing concern he felt at why he was still alive, why he had been allowed to accompany Antonio on his assignment. The concern had been mild at first, but now it was nagging at him more and more. The two men exchanged a look when Zevran rose up from his bow.
"Take this," said Renaldo in a calm voice devoid of emotion of his true intentions.
It put Zevran on edge, but he took hold of the golden dagger which his Master held out willingly. He almost expected Renaldo to retreat, or to use the dagger to end all of Zevran's suspicions. But he did not, and the younger Crow took hold of the weapon, feeling its glorious weight within the circle of his fingers. It was a beautiful dagger with a jeweled handle and a sharp blade. Renaldo moved forward, back straight, head held high.
"Follow me," he added almost as an afterthought, for Zevran knew that this man did not make requests, instead, opting for demands which were always met.
He followed his Master around the east side of the estate. Here stood the training ground for the Crows. In the distance, targets lined the property, some studded with dagger holes, and some so worn with use they no longer resembled anything but a tangle of cloth and rough material hung on a stick.
"See that?" he questioned, raising his hand slightly to one of the targets which stood furthest away, near a grove of trees.
Zevran nodded.
"Yes, my Lord," he acknowledged, his senses heightened as he clutched the dagger.
"Do it," he stated with a slight nod.
Zevran did as was asked - sending the dagger sailing beautifully through the hot air towards the target and sinking the blade halfway through it with a hard thudding sound. Then there was silence. Then Zevran turned towards his father.
For a moment Renaldo felt haunted, for Zevran's eyes were too much like his own.
Over the years he had trained many young men and even some women in the art of assassination. He knew that with all things, harvest would come, and the grim reaper was not any different than any other harvester. The money was there, in this business, even if it came at high risk and sometimes death. Death was not something strange to Renaldo, after all. So long as it was not his own death, he paid it little heed. As with all business, there were casualties, and he had never been lax in eliminating those whom he did not feel were of utmost competence.
Zevran Arainai, however, had not been one of those men. He was a splendid specimen, quick and lithe, and willing. Oh, he had been willing! The art of the kill demanded skill and discretion, but it was also desire which drove the assassin. The young man possessed cunning and wiles, he was smart and quick thinking, and possessed finesse both with the blade and with poisons. Here stood a man who had assassinated three men in one day across the span of the whole of Antiva City - and none had been the wiser! Not only that, the man was beautiful - this was not truly a biased assessment, for he would be able to charm the very birds from their perches had he the desire. He was known to do whatever it took to get the job done - seducing both men and women so deftly that they hardly knew what had happened until it was too late.
He was amoral, and showed no true remorse or guilt -making him the perfect machine. He did what was asked without looking back and without truly contemplating the consequences. Renaldo admired this about Zevran, and had always held this man in higher esteem than many of his others. Perhaps it had been so because the boy was his own – for in him he saw his own eyes, the same mannerisms, often times even a smirk or a frown echoed with a strange familiarity to Renaldo. And he was proud – as proud as a man in his position was allowed, for a Master never played favorites.
"I feel as if I have failed, my Zevran," he murmured then.
"Failed?" questioned the blond Crow. "I do not understand."
"Have I failed?" repeated Renaldo. "You are still quick with the blade, yes? What happened when you went to Ferelden? Would I have sent Taliesen or even Antonio, I fear that the job would have been completed. But you! I never expected you to fail!"
Zevran nodded.
"Ah, so now we face this," he replied without emotion. "I have wondered why I am still alive, my Lord. I did fail you," he acknowledged.
There was a tense silence between them as the day began her farewell, the sun disappearing over the distant hillsides, bathing the sky in a beauteous purple color. The night creatures began their musical prelude singing the distance softly. Renaldo was not looking at Zevran, instead having taken his dagger back and examining it closely.
"The only question is why you failed."
"No. The question is why you allowed me to live."
The Master let out a throaty chuckle.
"You would turn this around on me, yes?"
"It is you who possesses the power to eliminate me."
"Indeed," replied Renaldo, and he finally looked up, his eyes boring into Zevran's. "You are my son, and I hold you in great esteem. I have believed you to be incredible at any task set before you, and never have you failed. You are of my blood and always you are my pride."
He eyed his son carefully.
Zevran stared in shock, for those words were the last he had expected from a man who had never treated him with more caring, concern, and esteem than he had shown any other.
"What happened in Ferelden?"
The question that lay between them now was one Zevran was afraid to answer, for the consequences would be dire. Perhaps Renaldo would grow angry and change his mind, taking his life right then and there. Or perhaps, he would go to Ferelden and finish the job Zevran had started. He refused to allow one of his own to take her life. Not Lucia - not a woman as splendid and full of life like she was. It seemed a shame to snuff out such vivacity - a woman so...strong, so understanding...so stubborn and willful. His feelings, the weakness which she had found inadvertently complicated matters.
"Is she that strong, Zevran?" Renaldo questioned, eyes sharply studying his face.
Zevran felt too scrutinized but he loathed showing it. Instead he lifted his head up.
"She is formidable, my Father."
"But not unkillable?"
"I do not know."
"So it is something else that cripples you, yes?"
The tension was palpable now - one could have sliced through it with a knife. But in those moments of silence something between the two men changed – something in the air, in the mood, something secret that fell over them like the coming nightfall.
Renaldo spoke softly, in tones of rich silk, his eyes knowing.
"You will go again. With Taliesen," he informed Zevran, watching him still.
The younger assassin looked up, startled.
He is my Father…and more than that he has always been the only Master I have served. I owe him all so how can I deny him this request? Perhaps I did not choose this life, but I have accepted it and to cross him now –
But then, the truth was that no one crossed Renaldo Alfieri. He managed words though they sounded suddenly squeaky.
"To Ferelden?"
"Imagine the glory, my son," Renaldo murmured taking a step forward. "In mere weeks she will be the Queen. And you! The one to assassinate her!"
Zevran hid the impossibility of this act. He could not take her life – not Lucia – ever. But if he denied his father then he would not live to know what happened to her.
"I...she is…"
Helplessly Zevran looked up in the weak hope that his Father would relent. Instead, he saw in his face tightening, darkening and his eyes flashed.
"You have your Mother's nature," he said, putting a heavy hand on Zevran's shoulder. "She allows emotions to weaken her. I understand what you seem to be telling me, my son. That you have fallen in love, yes?"
Zevran could only stare, too shaken to reply. Renaldo's face remained infuriatingly unreadable.
"Do not let whatever it is you feel blind you to a woman's faults. How is this one any different than the line of lovers that has come before her?"
His face twisted now, a mask of hatred.
"I gave my life and vows of loyalty to a woman who threw them in the sewer with the most disgusting rubbish for a man not even half of what I am! I understand feelings for I let them control me and I was unable to see her for what she was. Alas, I loved her from the beginning and until the moment she died. It was my undoing. Never let a woman control you, son."
He whirled on Zevran.
"Guilt is a wasted emotion for it benefits no one – never feel guilt for your actions. I cannot accept mediocrity in my assassins any more than I can accept your softened heart towards a woman. Let alone one with the Cousland name!"
Though he tried to hide it, Zevran was keenly aware of the cold bitterness that had crept into Renaldo's voice and darkened it. He swallowed.
"What do you know of the Couslands?"
He had not meant the question harshly, but because of the corner he had been pushed into it came out thus. He saw his father's eyes flicker and for a moment he felt he had crossed an imaginary line that no one had ever dared to. He waited for an inevitable outburst which never came.
Instead, Renaldo remained eerily calm.
"I know enough. Do not dare question me and my reasoning. Bryce Cousland is a disgusting waste of life that plays the part of humble nobility during the day while he fills his nights by bedding women who do not belong to him!"
Zevran worked to keep his face nonchalant, but the words and the vehemence behind them startled the elf for never in any of her tales had Lucia spoken poorly of her father. Not that he had expected her to, per say, but even a child who idolized a parent would have to admit when they did something wrong, yes?
"And when his wife came to me, begging me to forgive him for his heinous acts as if I should have…I…."
He stopped, considering his son for a moment.
"Eleanor Cousland saw no wrong in her husband and like a stupid cow she begged on his behalf. Begged for leniency and understanding and begged for mercy. There is no mercy like poison. I should have used a knife and still I am sorry I did not – for she deserved it. She died in her sleep."
Zevran stared at his father unable to reply.
"You were the one who-"
"Ah? So the bitch told you of her poor mother?" he replied snidely.
Zevran remained silent, knowing that more talk would lead to only greater friction.
Not that he had the words to express what he was feeling in that moment. His own father? Why did he feel betrayed when he had never known Eleanor Cousland and hardly knew her daughter?
I love her. Maker help me, but I love her.
Zevran knew his hesitancy was angering Renaldo, but it could not be helped.
"Love is disgusting, unnecessary and interfering, son. You must wield the control at all times."
Zevran heard but it was already too late – for Lucia owned him whether he had wanted it or not.
"What did Eleanor Cousland do to you?"
The question slipped from him unbidden and the only response he received was a cruel laughter.
"When have you ever questioned me before? Ah, love makes one bold! Indeed that is not important. The important thing is that you will go again, Zevran."
The man turned and the look he gave his son was so intense Zevran thought he might break into cold sweat. Then, he reached out with a weathered palm.
"My son," he said, his tone tender. "How proud you make me. Never forget where you came from."
The words were gentle, they mocked Renaldo's true nature and yet…something about them made Zevran hesitate. Perhaps his father was right. After all, Lucia had done nothing but cause him pain and here was a man who had raised him and taught him everything he knew. To Renaldo he owed everything, to his father-
"I will go."
The words were strangled but they were rewarded with a smile. The older man patted Zevran's cheek with gusto.
"You are a fine man. Just remember. No guilt, no conscience. You will master this as well as you have mastered everything else, you will see."
Zevran was gladder now for his training than he had ever been in his life – for he was able to wear a cloak of indifference the entire time his Father was speaking.
Will I? Will this mastery regain me my heart, Father?
The night had fallen, her dark velvet falling around them.
The sound of a carriage drawing up to the front of Alfieri's estate could be heard against the cobbled walk.
"Ah, Taliesen arrives," said Renaldo in friendly tones, as if there had not just been a life changing moment for Zevran. As if there had not just been a decision made to take the life of the woman he loved. The young assassin kept his head down, strands of blond hair falling into his face. His heart hammered wildly within his chest and he feared his father would discover his complete devastation. The sounds around him – night creatures singing, Renaldo greeting Taliesen jovially, the reply, the sound of hoof beats against the cement, talking, everything…melted into one rushing sound, ringing in Zevran's ears.
He could not breathe.
He took hold of his blade which lay in his pocket, warm and solid against his muscled thigh and then he stopped thinking and began to act. For an assassin never thought twice, he never felt, he simply acted. His body tensed, and before he knew he was really doing it, he sunk the blade into his Master's back, smoothly and without a tremble. Zevran was breathing heavily, staring down at the fallen man who had uttered no sound but a strangled gurgle. Blood seeped along the stones, and then into the earth nearby.
"Zevran," gasped Taliesen, his dark eyes widening with shock. The blond Crow stared down at the ground, dagger limp in his fingers, still covered with Renaldo's blood. Taliesen pulled him away from the fallen Master, staring at him with increasing horror now.
"Zevran!" he repeated, this time more loudly, yanking his old friend forward. "What…what is this?"
Nothing. Now the night was fully upon them, lending her blessed shadows. It would buy them a little more time, just a few extra moments, for if someone came out to the courtyard now, it would be over for Zevran.
"Come," he muttered roughly, pulling him forward, shoving him up and into the carriage. "We must go."
There was no explaining it, no hesitating now. The horses whinnied in a weak way just as the reins were pulled tight, and the night air flooded the small carriage as it floated quickly away, down the hill, away from the estate from the fallen, bleeding man. Soon they were wrapped in the darkness, the ocean far in the distance, and Antiva City glittering below them, coming closer, even closer now. In the dimness of the space between them, Taliesen could see the other man swaying with the motion of the quickly moving carriage, his face white and sallow whenever he could glimpse him in the moonlight. But there was no emotion there, nothing. No hatred, and no sadness, no remorse – it was quite frightening.
The carriage driver stopped near the canal, and Taliesen offered payment, rushing Zevran down the three small steps onto the thoroughfare. Though not quite late, that evening there were less people about. It was much easier to maneuver through the crowds, and less of a chance of getting caught, of someone else realizing what had happened.
The dark haired assassin wondered how much time they really DID have. He wondered what had happened, what had possessed the always level headed Zevran Arainai to strike out at the most powerful man in Antiva City.
Maker.
The ocean was upon them now, and there were boats docked along the large seaside bay, some fishing boats and other merchant vessels, and some boats exclusively for travel. He offered a heavily bearded man his last sovereign to sail up the northern coastline although he did not know their destination, and within the hour two cloaked men stood on the deck, the ocean breezes ruffling their hair.
Over the sound of the waves splashing against the boat, Taliesen finally broke their long silence.
"Why?" he called out, standing ramrod straight, eyes out towards the blackness ahead of them. Zevran did not reply, the wind blowing his hair around his face. The air smelled heavy, salty. For awhile, there was nothing but the crashing of water around them. When he spoke, it was barely audible above the sound of the water.
"He gave me no choice."
The words were strange, cold. Taliesen considered them for a moment, but did not ask questions, knowing that Zevran would not elaborate.
"Where to, my friend?"
This time, the blond Crow looked at him.
"You must not be associated with this," he said, and his golden brown eyes flashed for a moment with sadness and regret. "You should not suffer as I will."
"Zevran, I…it is a lonely life that you and I lead," he began and although he could feel Zevran's eyes on him, he remained forward. "It is rare to know that you have a friend. You are my friend," he finished.
It seemed enough in that moment, two men – two friends – on the run from the life that one had so easily forsaken. Taliesen still did not know why, but he knew that with time, Zevran would tell him, if they managed to remain alive.
"We must part," stated Zevran after a long pause filled with the song of the sea. "But when I feel it is safe, I will send for you."
"It will never be safe," replied Taliesen in a tone that was wracked with uncertainty.
"Perhaps you are right at that. But we must hope," he said and turned to his friend. "It is not safe for us to be together. I do not know if Renaldo still lives. But surely if he does, they will come after me and you. You must go."