A War of Silver and Gold

by Minerva J. Kaelin

  She thrived in the smell of blood and the gore of war. She enjoyed it. She was as much a monster as he was.

  She walked towards the writhing elf on the ground; she pulled her dagger with expertise from her belt and straightened her spine. Even though she knew what she did was wrong, her soul couldn’t be helped. She doubted she even had a soul, to begin with. She knew that once she did, maybe until the age of eight, but after that chaos and havoc erupted in her life and everything was white and black blood and screams.

  She dragged the elf up on his knees by his hairs and snarled at his face. She held his head back and pushed her dagger up his neck. The cold metal forced a wince out of him, and the slightly stinging pain at the little pressure she placed on his tender neck made him sweat, and his heart beat faster.

  “Should I make him suffer less, my King?”

  The King shook his head, evidently pleased with the way she controlled the Royal Council. He had told her once; she should rule them with an iron fist and never give in to the desires of the weak minded Lords.

  “No, my daughter let the guards take him. And since there is no male heir to his bloodline, you shall receive his land and free reign over his vaults.”

  “My Lord-”

  Abertron tried, but the King cut his speech, his words sharp as he screamed through the chamber.

  “You’ll respect my decisions!” The King almost rose from his seat as he spat angrily. “Now, you will thank my Heir, for she respects the law unlike you!”

  The elf raised his head and in a hatred, she had never had the chance to witness, he spoke to her, his eyes glassy from anger. “Thank you, my Lady.”

  She flinched mentally; it was the first time a victim had thanked her for signing his death warrant. The glance of his eyes made her shiver, not physically because she had no chance to feel ashamed for what she had done. But it shook her deep inside her soul. It made her cringe and made her want to curl in a corner of the darkened room and cry.

  She merely nodded and let go of his hair. She returned to her seat without furthering her views on the subject. She raised her head and looked at the King as he had ordered for the elf on the ground to be taken away by the guards. Once they had him out of the chamber; the door was again sealed and nothing came in afterwards.

  “War is here and we must answer against the assaults of our enemy.”

  “My King, it is not my part, but you must know that nothing will come out of this,” Thearton said as he shook his head and looked on the floor.

  “We will prepare ourselves.” The King insisted.

  “We will kill ourselves.” Thearton’s advisor replied from the back of the room, beyond the circle of the twelve thrones.

  “Will you follow me to war?” The King asked, standing from his throne, his voice turned too loud even for Cassia to listen. His dark clothes made him look all the more sinister. “Answer me! Will you follow me?”

  The silence in the room unnerved her. She knew what she had to do.

  I knew.

  She stood from her throne. “With my life or death, my Liege I will.”

  He nodded and nodded again when many more Lords stood from their thrones. She knew she had to betray him; she knew that this was a possibility. Betraying the King wasn’t something she was doing in cold blood. It was a necessity for her to survive and for her people to unite.

  She rose from her seat as she plotted against the King. Brick by brick, word by word, scheme by scheme she plotted. She pulled closer to him and bowed her head, placing her hand over her heart. “Am I permitted to leave as soon as I can and hit their borders first?”

  The King nodded, triumph written all over his features. “You have my blessings, daughter.”

  She left the council room as quick as she could. Her legs led her to her chamber as she passed elves that greeted her with warmth and hope. She knew she had driven them to their deaths, but it was a war casualty.

  She closed the door of her chamber with a thud and hurled over the toilet. She pulled away, sitting on the tiled floor as she shivered and shuddered. She wanted to die, she wanted to pay for her sins and never see daylight. She had led an elf to his grave without caring about his family, his daughters, his wife, his mistress. She didn’t. She didn’t even twitch when the King gave her the lands and the vaults of that elf.

  She cleared her mouth as she stood on wobbly legs and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She had that pathetic makeup on, the one she loathed every time she wore. It was the worst thing of her life so far and guilt ate and grasped on her soul and she could do nothing, but plot everything with care.

  She found herself lying on the floor again, losing consciousness, but she knew that Ael had pulled her from the bathroom. He balanced her on his arms, unbuckled her belt and let her sit on the bed as he pulled her belt and swords from her. He pressed her onto the mattress and pulled her boots off her feet. He covered her with the coverlets and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  What had I done to deserve such a friend to take care of me?

  Maybe through all these bad things she had committed in her life there had been one good thing, her gods and the gods of the Adanei, found valuable enough to reward her with Ael. She had avenged him and that brought her a sense of solitude.

  She didn’t know, though what his reaction was going to be.

  She wanted to open her eyes and tell him to lie beside her, wrap his arms around her and let themselves drown in the moment of silence and bliss.

  I wanted...

  But there were too many things she wanted and couldn’t act properly to gain.

  She drifted to a deeper sleep then, but she could still feel Ael’s warm body sitting by her on the bed, holding her hand in his. She could stay there forever, relenting on the familiarity she felt. She knew that it was just something to trick herself into believing she could escape her future.

  18

  Astrid jumped from the dark bricks of the roof. She landed gracefully, with years of practice, onto the next roof, the bricks humming underneath her feet. The night was still young and the moon shone above like a smiling pearl, she raised her head and gazed, grinning at the Ivory gem. She nodded grimly and reached for her daggers at her sides. Another sick smile of satisfaction took over her face.

  The winds whistled in gratification as they passed through the slits of stones and marble and cement in the Citadel’s Wall. She lowered herself on the roof, belly down. She kept her hooded head low, the dark daggers shining underneath the faint moonlight.

  Oh, she would kill and she would enjoy every sick moment of it, if it meant killing the King’s guards, peeling their skin from bones with delicious spite.

  The City glowed underneath, the small, narrow paths and the falseness of it turned Astrid’s unyielding anger so deep and hot for the King. Her keen blue eyes gazed at the dark backstreet, the hairs on her arms standing on edge. Two elves, dressed in white and bearing the gold and black tree, the emblem of the King, passed down the cobblestones chatting and unaware of the feral, feline she-elf gazing down at them, hungering for their blood.

  Astrid kept her hands underneath her, the daggers a silent, efficient threat of death. The door of Madame de Beaulieu’s brothel hung open at the other end of the street. It was a good time for Astrid to strike; the Madame would not care much if Astrid killed those two impending customers.

  The feral cat-like she-elf smiled viciously. The guards went down the street with excruciating slow pace. She rolled her eyes and swore under her breath a vicious word that made the crow on her side choke on a twitter. Astrid turned her head and threw the bird a warning glance before turning her attention back at the elves on the street.

  They were a casual, easy kill that would no; doubt anger the King, but Astrid couldn’t spare a rut for the King and his pathetic court. She would pay a pretty coin to whatever could bring her his golden head on a silver platter. And she had a lot of coins to spare. She was, after all, the Assassin of Donarow and she could find l
ittle need to care about the world and what would become of it after the King is dead.

  The crow beside her chirped silently and she threw it another of her infamous deadly glares. Astrid gazed down at the elves walking in ignorance of the Assassin above them. She shrugged at the crow and rose on her feet, but still keeping herself low. She took a glance towards the White Palace and swore to see it burned to ashes, crumbling to the ground like molten iron, smoothly and deadly.

  Astrid took a step forward, leaping from the roof, her legs tightly pressed against each other, her daggers elegantly pressed in her palms; the hood on her head thankfully remained unfaltering against the cold air.

  She landed with impossible, experienced grace on the stones. The heels of her boots digging on the ground, her infernal smile plastered so beautifully on her face. The elves faltered and turned to look at her, their pitiful hands reaching for their swords.

  She rolled her eyes underneath the hood of her cloak. Those amateurs she had for breakfast. She was the most well-paid Assassin in the Southern Lands. Astrid had little care for petulant elves from the King’s guard.

  They drew their swords, their eyes widening.

  Astrid strolled towards them, her daggers a flash of silver and light as they were brought down against the longswords of the guards. Iron clattered against expensive silver. She had bought those for a few hundred golden coins, they were warded with blood-magic, tied to her.

  She slid towards the dark haired elf, her right hand swinging with ferocity, plugging towards the unshielded side of the guard, piercing flesh with unmatched velocity. The elf cried, but before any more blood could be splattered onto the cobblestones, Astrid took a lucky blow with her other dagger onto the shrieking elf’s scalp.

  The dead creature tumbled to the ground and Astrid donned it a sinister smirk.

  She kicked her left foot, bending her spine backwards to avoid the vigorous lunge of the other blond elf. She huffed, bored at the easiness of killing those guards. It was overly easy, gut them, slice them, impale them. Too easy.

  Or maybe Astrid was so skilled on killing them.

  The guard made the mistake of underestimating her. She pulled her right hand up, lunged downwards onto the ground, one dagger dodging to the side the elf’s wrist and the other piercing the creature’s stomach, she flicked her hand.

  Astrid pulled away, silently humming a melody she had once heard in the city’s theatre. She rolled her eyes at the oozing blood from the elf’s side.

  The creature staggered backwards but did not fall limping on the ground as Astrid had anticipated. She took in an agitated breath.

  Her eyes flickered towards the wall on the side. She smiled, the vile, white canines flashing with pride towards the elf.

  She stood, sprinting towards the wall, her heart silently pounding in rhythm. The one dagger gritted with the wall as she used it as leverage to hoist herself up, her feet echoing a few times against the bricks before she flared herself at the wide-eyed elf, dagger shining with blood as she fell onto him.

  The whooshing sound of silver piercing through flesh and organs reverberated through her mind. The elf fell to the ground, limp and dead for good.

  Astrid huffed, pulled the daggers from the elf’s flesh and cleaned the blood on his clothes. She had made a mess again, but nothing Madame de Beaulieu couldn’t cover with her cunning logic.

  “Show off.”

  Speak of the devil.

  Astrid rolled her eyes and grinned in annoyance. She stood, sheathing the dagger safely on her sides. “Well, well, well,” Astrid smirked. “Look who’s here,” Astrid sucked on her left canine. “The bitch.”

  “The Rebel rutting Queen.”

  Astrid rolled her eyes again; she took a step closer to the woman, her heels tapping loudly against the stones. The Madame’s raven black hair flashed under the blinding light from inside her brothel. The expensive velvety green dress glided against the stones as she took a step towards Astrid her big brown eyes shining with greed.

  Astrid would have no small talk with the Madame; she wrinkled her nose and said, “Where is Arslan? He was supposed to meet me here.”

  The Madame smiled and crossed her arms over her enormous chest. “He is enjoying himself with one of my girls. After all, we live to serve.”

  “I won’t have my soldiers rutting with your whores, Whore.”

  “Oh, Astrid, where is the fun in that?” Madame took approached the bloody elves on the stones. “And look at the mess you made. What am I going to say to the Captain?”

  “Am I supposed to believe your girls don’t have him leg-locked around his neck in there, Gwynn?” Astrid tapped foot insistently and walked towards the brothel. “Where is Arslan?”

  Gwynn turned and walked back the whorehouse with the Assassin. “Ah! Well, he is unmated and can take care of my girls,” Gwynn said, closing the door as they walked in. “And money is money, you aren’t pretty much in the position to confront me. Last time I checked, Astrid, you killed for money.”

  “Touché.”

  Gwynn marched towards the left row of tables.

  Astrid cringed; this place reeked of coupling and Flamebolts. She grasped her daggers and followed the Madame. It was pathetic enough to even agree to meet in such a filthy environment. But a rebellion can’t just gather in the centre of the Citadel to discuss how to dethrone the King.

  She took her chances carefully, she wasn’t some unknowing elfling. Astrid had her fair share of knowledge of the King’s dungeons and she didn’t want to revisit.

  The Madame went into her office, keeping the door open for the master assassin to walk in. The wooden floor humming underneath her boots. Gwynn closed the door shut with a thud, trying her best to intimidate Astrid.

  The Assassin walked to Madame’s desk, her fingers trailing onto the wood before she launched herself onto Madame’s chair, hands folding behind her head, legs propped onto the mahogany desk and a virile smile toying around Astrid’s mouth.

  “Can I know where my soldier is?”

  The Madame quirked a dark eyebrow and said, “Rutting with one of my girls.”

  Astrid clicked her tongue. “Pathetic those males,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Victims of their desires.”

  “Ah, well, I don’t care as long as money fills my vault abundant as water.”

  The door flared opened.

  Astrid’s blue eyes turned red as she smirked at the sweating elf that entered and closed the door behind him slowly, trying to gain himself time to flee from Astrid’s daggers. “Look who’s decided to join us?”

  “I am sorry, Astrid. I-”

  “Shut your rutting mouth, Arslan.” Astrid’s one leg fell to the ground. “Should I feel honoured to be graced –finally- with your presence?”

  The Madame sat on one of the two chairs before the desk, her spine straight, ignorance and boredom flashing over her features.

  Arslan walked closer and bowed his head. “You can’t blame Nature, can you, Astrid?”

  Astrid’s eyes narrowed onto the elf. She grabbed one of her daggers and planted it firmly onto the desk. She said, sharply, “Right, now we can blame Nature for anything. We can blame Nature the Heir prepares to hit the Adanei, we can blame Nature for the three men the King ordered dead, we can blame Nature for being such a rutting harlot and messing with my life.”

  Madame shrugged at Arslan and fell back to her chair. “She is right, you know. You might be next in the King’s list, Arslan. Weren’t you the one the Captain tried to shoot the other day?”

  Astrid huffed. “Of course, I’m right. I’m always right.”

  “Humility won’t hurt, Astrid.”

  Astrid shrugged, her head falling back to the chair. “Humility is my middle name, dear.”

  “The Heir, I think-”

  “Arslan,” Astrid’s head shoot up, glaring at the man with surprise. “You can think?” She sighed. “Oh, Nature! Is this why smokes come out of your ears?”

  Madame chuckle
d. Arslan shook his head and took his place on the other chair across Gwynn as he said, “The Adanei have called for a meeting with Cassia.”

  Astrid groaned. “I rutting know this, you bastard.”

  “She’s accepted.”

  The Assassin’s eyes trained onto the male. “Well, that’s new.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  Astrid narrowed her eyes. “Look here, you red-haired-green-eyed bastard. I am Astrid the Bloodlust, do I look like I am apologising for anything, least of all to you?”

  Madame rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Why don’t you two stop and we can talk about this?”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  Astrid shook her head and stood from the chair, taking a surveying glance around the room; she approached the opened window and took a sided gaze in the city before her. Silence. There was so much silence in the city that night. Her stomach twisted. That bastard of a King was brewing something dark, really nasty and dark and Astrid didn’t like it. Not a whit.

  She turned around and glanced at the two conspirators before her. “What do you suggest we do?”

  Madame shook her head. “What has the Lord said about it?”

  Astrid shook her head. “I am still awaiting word from him.”

  “We must act quickly,” Arslan said.

  Astrid huffed and grunted loudly, a smirk taking over her face. “As quickly as you do, Arlsy?” The elf blanched.

  Madame rolled her eyes at the innuendo. “Will you two ever stop?”

  Astrid crossed her arms over her chest. “When he turns to be responsible and devoted to our cause, maybe I will.”

  “Devoted?” Arslan stood from his chair. “Last time I checked, I was being pursuit throughout the Citadel by the guards because of our cause. That nasty curse they put on me with their blasted magic had me out for a week.”

  “Pity,” Astrid pouted mockingly. “Pity, little Arsly was cursed.” She snarled then. “What the fuck do you want me to do about it? Rut the bloody brains of the King out of him?”

  “Look here you bitch-”

  Astrid’s crow flew into the room chirping loudly and angrily. The black bird flung itself onto the male, aiming for his eyes with calculated precision. Arslan screamed and batted the bird with his hands, as it chased him around the desk and decided it had had enough of elvish stupidity.