Aharon straightened. “Yes?”
“She’s determined to leave with you, but you must understand why I can’t allow that.”
Falling silent, Aharon couldn’t claim surprise over either revelation. He was also torn over how to respond.
Still watching him, the prince appeared uncertain at his silence. “You’re taking on the identity of a known criminal, a man we know nothing about and who may have countless enemies,” he then continued. “Aya can’t be brought into such uncertainty, and deserves better.”
Aharon still didn’t reply.
“Furthermore,” Neco went on, “I need her. Once you’re gone, she’ll be the only one I can safely trust, to say nothing of the fact that she’ll make an invaluable advisor. I can’t let her leave, Aharon.”
Looking back, Aharon finally spoke. “You’re right, but also wrong. I agree she deserves better than whatever life I can presently give her, but she also deserves to make this decision herself. She’ll hate us both if we make it for her, and rightfully so.”
Neco sighed. “Then what would you suggest?”
He took a long moment to think. “Five years seems fair,” he then said. “In that time, I can resolve any troubles in Fajen’s past, and create an existence worthy of her, an existence where she’ll be safe and happy. Then, and presuming she’ll still have me, you’ll need to let her go.”
The prince gazed back wordlessly.
“Five years is plenty of time for you to settle in as king, establish your rule and locate someone worthy of taking her place as advisor,” Aharon went on. “And in such time, you’ll have found others whom you can trust.”
“Yes,” Neco protested, “but she’s my blood. The very last of it I have left.”
“You should’ve considered that before you had Padus killed,” Aharon told him. “Besides which, in five years’ time you’ll be married and secured with at least an heir or two of your own, so Aya won’t be the last of your blood. Not by then.”
Neco sighed once more, but followed this with a grudging nod. “All right,” he said. “I’ll agree to release her in five years, but not because your arguments swayed me. The truth is, I simply can’t imagine either of you being happy without the other.”
Aharon wished he felt as similarly confident. “She just waited two years for me. Expecting her to endure another five is probably ludicrous.”
“No. She’ll wait, and she’ll go to you.” Neco paused a moment. “But she won’t let you flee the city without her, so a deception will be in order.”
“I know,” Aharon said, rather wearily. Envisioning Aya’s rage upon discovering this, he thought waiting five years before having to face her might be to his benefit. And even then, he doubted he’d escape her wrath unscathed.
“I truly am sorry about all this,” Neco then said. “I can’t imagine how it feels to be facing such an unknown future.”
Truth be told, the prospect was rather daunting. Although, he thought there was a way he could make it a little less so.
“I need you to send my father back down here,” he told the prince, “and before he brings Fajen.”
“Why?”
“Because I have to learn everything I can about Fajen’s life prior to assuming it, which means I need to entice him to talk. I want to know if he has a family waiting for him somewhere, the names of any enemies he has, or if he’s sought by Justice in other parts of the world. But he won’t tell me these things if he realizes why he’s here, and what we aim to do.”
“I still don’t understand where your father comes in.”
“The moment Fajen sees me, and notes our similar look, he’ll at least suspect what we intend. I therefore need this truth…obscured.”
Neco frowned in understanding. “We could just put a hood on you.”
“That would hardly invite personal conversation. I figure a few bruises should do it, and can’t imagine my father refusing to deliver the necessary damage. He’s certainly had ample practice.”
The prince’s eyebrows flickered. “Very well, I’ll send him down.” He stopped a moment, then added, “I do wish you all the fortune your Patrons can spare you. This isn’t what you deserve.”
“I’ll manage, but there’s one more thing I would ask of you.”
“Yes?”
“Whatever you truly intend for Siris, I want you to spare him and keep him on as jester. By now, you’ve no cause to doubt his loyalty—or at least, his survival instincts.”
Neco grimaced. “Why?”
“Because he’s the reason I’m not going to be executed in two days’ time. Also, he’s devoted to Aya.”
“Fine,” Neco agreed. “I’ll leave him be.”
Aharon took in his expression before emitting a quiet laugh. “Don’t look so disappointed. At the end of it all, he’s no worse or better than the rest of us.”
“I suppose.” Neco glanced away a moment, then looked back. “This is the last time we’ll speak.”
Aharon nodded. This is why he took so long to come, he then realized. He knew it marked our final farewell.
Still holding the other man’s gaze, Aharon gave a small, sudden grin. “Who can know for certain? Perhaps out paths will cross again one day.”
Neco looked doubtful, but also amused. “Perhaps,” he said.
“Either way,” Aharon went on, before stepping back and dropping into an elegant bow, “I wish you a lengthy and prosperous reign, my king.”
Chapter 18
While Aharon could only make his best guess at the time, it seemed the middle of the night when Flynn Fajen was dragged into the dungeon, his wrists and ankles shackled. Escorting him was the captain, as well as a few knights who Aharon recognized as men of Neco’s private guard. It appeared they hadn’t wanted to take any chances of Fajen actually escaping, although come morning, this is what everyone in Malat would be led to believe.
Having been dozing, Aharon now pushed himself into a sitting position and watched the activity with a curious eye, his gaze lingering on the man whose identity he’d soon be appropriating. Fajen was presently cussing out those transporting him, and making their task as difficult as possible by refusing to walk on his own, forcing the knights to literally drag him along. Also, his face displayed a few fresh-looking bruises, and Aharon wondered if this was the result of his behavior, or perhaps a further attempt to deceive those who’d be observing the execution and knew precisely what the real Aharon Shai looked like. For while he and Fajen certainly shared a resemblance, Aharon now noted, they were by no means identical—even despite the similar pattern of bruises presently showing on both their faces.
In addition to Fajen’s slightly wider nose, he saw the man’s eyes were also more hooded than his own, and his chin less pointed. Their complexions and hairlines were similar enough to pass, and both kept their black hair cropped short, but Aharon thought the man stood at least an inch shorter than himself, possibly two, and as he’d already known, Fajen’s medallions were silver while his own were gold. Furthermore, Fajen had a prominent and nasty-looking scar running along the side of his neck, a notable white streak upon brown flesh and a fixture Aharon had no desire to replicate on himself. Those overseeing the execution—his father and Commander Nane, presumably—would have to somehow conceal this very notable identifier.
After removing his shackles, the knights threw Fajen into the cell next to Aharon’s. The captain then secured the door, sent his son the briefest of glances, and then turned to lead his men away, the sound of their steps echoing down the corridor.
In a further attempt to conceal their resemblance, Aharon kept himself in the shadows as he watched Fajen push himself to his feet and observe his new surroundings with a glare. Catching sight of him, the man then spoke.
“What are you staring at?” he snapped.
“You must be Fajen,” Aharon replied.
The man looked surprised. “You’ve heard of me?”
Aharon moved a hand to his Birth medallion, and le
aned forward slightly to bring its surface into the flickering torchlight. “All local Thieves have heard of you. You made some impressive heists before Justice nabbed you.”
Fajen moved to the bars connecting their cells and looked to the medallion before nodding. “I did,” he agreed. “And now they think to execute me, simply for being true to my nature.”
Eyeing him, Aharon noted that the man’s Secondary was inverted, like his own, while his eyes seemed a much lighter shade of blue. Furthermore, he thought Fajen looked older than he was, by perhaps two or three years.
“I think they mean to execute you for the murders you committed, not the thieving,” he then said.
Fajen scowled. “And what do you know of it?”
Aharon shrugged. “Nothing, really.”
“Then shut up.” Fajen turned and stepped away to inspect the lock securing his cell. After fiddling with it a moment, he swore, turned back, and then systematically began testing the strength of every cell bar, pulling on each as he rounded about the space.
Aharon watched the process in silence, until Fajen finally started back his way. “You think I didn’t try that?” he asked the man.
Fajen ignored him, and went on to complete his unsuccessful attempts before retreating to the straw that lined the far corner of his cell. Sinking down, he turned his back and was snoring in minutes.
Withholding a sigh of frustration, Aharon followed his lead, stretching out in his own cell and deciding he may as well get some sleep. Even so, and despite closing his eyes, he lay awake a long while, trying to discern how he might persuade Fajen to talk. Eventually sleep came, and he drifted off while hoping he’d find better luck in the morning; he had only one day to learn everything he could about the man’s life, for the following day was Fifteenth and would see Fajen executed in his place.
He awoke to the sounds of breakfast being delivered, the trays pushed through the bars by one of Neco’s knights. The man didn’t speak, and retreated immediately without acknowledging either him or Fajen. Rising to his feet, Aharon stretched in an attempt to overcome the stiffness in his limbs, then moved to collect his tray while being mindful to keep his face in the shadows as much as possible.
Settling down with his food a minute later, he glanced into the other cell to see Fajen casually munching on a wedge of cheese. Noting his look, the man then spoke.
“So, what atrocity did you commit to deserve the honor of my company?” he asked.
“I killed a knight,” Aharon told him, having already concocted his cover story. Since Fajen had now been incarcerated for several days, it was unlikely he even knew the king had been slain, thus leaving him with no reason to suspect Aharon’s true crime—or identity.
Fajen was now nodding. “I suppose that means you’ll be dying along with me. Here’s to the condemned,” he added, hoisting his flagon of water.
“You seem to be handling the situation quite well,” Aharon observed.
“Actually, I’m confused. Commander Nane’s been going on and on about how much he looks forward to killing me, when suddenly I’m removed from his custody and dragged to the palace dungeon in the dead of night. I don’t see the sense in it.”
“Given your reputation, they were probably worried you were going to escape. Unfortunately, this setting is much more secure.”
Fajen seemed to consider, then nodded. “I suppose that could explain it, although not why the royal guard acted as my escort. I thought they only involved themselves with royal matters.”
“They do, but since you’re on royal grounds, their presence isn’t a mystery,” Aharon told him, hoping to quash his curiosity. “You’ve only been in Malat a short time, yes?” he then asked.
“A few weeks,” Fajen nodded.
“Where do you call home?”
“Isa.”
Isa was Ceja’s home city of Destiny, and located far to the north. Bolstered by this information, Aharon continued in a casual tone. “What brought you here to the royal city?”
Fajen shrugged. “I’ve never left Ceja, and decided it was time for some adventure. I thought to take ship to Swythe Island, and was simply lining my pockets to fund the voyage.”
“Word is, you successfully robbed multiple money-houses before you were caught. You should’ve had plenty of money to afford the fare.”
Fajen issued an irritable nod. “I admit, I grew greedy. I should’ve left after the second burglary, but I had such an easy time of it that I couldn’t resist carrying on.”
“Robbing money-houses was easy?” Aharon repeated, somewhat wonderingly. Because Cejans loved their gold and generally took every precaution to protect it, this statement, if true, was rather impressive.
The other man now smirked at him. “Provided you’re not afraid of doing whatever is necessary,” he said.
“If I was, I wouldn’t be here,” Aharon reminded him.
But rather than view this as an invitation to reveal his pilfering designs, Fajen’s look shifted to one of unease as he tossed away his empty breakfast tray. “Have you any idea how they mean to execute us?” he asked. “In Isa, such things are usually carried out by beheading, but I’m curious to know if the same holds true here in the royal city.”
“Beheadings are common,” Aharon informed him, “but when the event is intended as a public spectacle, the king usually instructs his royal jester to enact the deed by way of his light-bringer abilities.”
Fajen grimaced. “Lightning? All things considered, I think I’d prefer the axe.”
Having witnessed the application of both methods, Aharon had to agree; he too would choose the axe. But since Neco would want Fajen’s corpse—or more specifically, his face—as unrecognizable as possible following the event, little question Siris’s Magic would be tasked for the duty.
“Speaking of beheading,” Aharon then went on, looking over again, “that’s an impressive scar. Might I ask how it was received?”
Fajen grinned, bringing a hand to his neck while emitting a brief laugh. “My wife,” he said by way of explanation.
Aharon’s eyebrows rose. “Your wife stabbed you in the neck?”
“She was an ornery cuss.”
“Was?”
“I suppose I should’ve said late wife.”
Aharon paused slightly. “How did she die?”
“How do you think? She tried to kill me.”
“I see.” He was beginning to form the opinion that this man would soon receive the Fate he deserved. Fellow thief or not, Fajen’s very nature seemed malicious, which made the circumstances much easier to accept. Still, it felt strange to be conversing with a man who’d be dying in his place the following day, as did trying to lure him into revealing all relevant details of his life.
“Any children?” Aharon now followed conversationally.
Fajen shot him a look that bordered on annoyance. “No. What’s with all the questions?”
“I’m just trying to distract myself. I’ve been imprisoned down here for days, and find it a relief having someone to talk to.”
Fajen seemed to accept this and nodded. “At least you know you’ll be dying in good company,” he said.
Aharon resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and decided flattery would probably prove his best strategy. “Considering your reputation,” he now said, “I’m inclined to think you’ve led a terribly exciting life, filled with thrilling heists and countless dangers.”
Fajen smiled and nodded. “More than you can imagine,” he agreed.
“Would you speak of these exploits?” Aharon asked. “It’ll help pass the time, and keep my mind from dwelling on our impending dooms.”
“Very well,” Fajen said, settling in.
A few hours and countless stories later, Aharon was convinced that Flynn Fajen wasn’t only an unsavory character, but also a whopping liar. Every tale he’d told had been more outlandish and unbelievable than the one before, and were even half of them true, this man would’ve been notorious throughout the entire conti
nent, if not the world. Which he most certainly wasn’t.
Unfortunately, and since everything he’d said was most definitely untrue, this meant Aharon hadn’t learned anything further of the man’s past. However, if Fajen’s life had actually been the slightest bit interesting, these lies wouldn’t have been necessary. This seemed to imply he’d led a more or less boring existence, particularly when coupled with the fact that he’d already admitted to never leaving Ceja, much less the continent. Because Aharon planned on fleeing the north and never returning, it therefore seemed he’d be free to begin his life anew without worry of Fajen’s past rearing its ugly head.
Upon drawing these conclusions, Aharon finally began shuffling back across his cell.
Deep in the telling of his latest fabrication, Fajen cut himself off and looked over. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t take anymore,” Aharon told him. “Your stories are the things of dreams and make believe. Did you actually expect me to swallow this rubbish?”
Fajen gave him a blank stare before his expression turned to one of anger. “You wanted to hear this!” he insisted.
“Yes, but had I known what I was truly inviting, I would’ve begged for a speedier execution,” Aharon replied. “The only thing I don’t understand is how you successfully robbed those money-houses, because you’re clearly too stupid to have done so on your own. I suspect you had inside help, probably from the men you’re now accused of killing.”
Fajen gaped at him a moment, then leapt to his feet and charged at the bars separating their cells. “Count yourself lucky I can’t reach you,” he hissed, clutching the iron in his fists.
Aharon didn’t respond, and simply turned his back on the man.
A short silenced followed, before Fajen began shouting further threats, and trying to entice him toward the bars. Aharon did his best to ignore him, and settled in to wait for his new life to begin.
Chapter 19
Crown of Thieves Page 15