The Reformation

by Garggie Talukdar

  “You've been in the palace for the past month.” This time, the captor behind her who held the knife to her throat and her hands in an excruciatingly tight lock, pressed the cold blade into her skin, drawing painful pricks of blood.

  “It would truly be helpful if you were clearer with your questions. But if you meant to find out why I have been in the palace, I'm part of an internship that His Royal Highness began. Takes young reporters interested by the Razed and gives them access to the royal library. I was lucky enough to win the lottery.”

  “That's a pathetic story,” the woman sneered, and in that moment, Stel guessed that something was wrong with her left leg, judging by how much she was shifting her weight. And seeing by how her muscles were shifting underneath her black bodysuit, Stel also gathered that she probably was denying that pain. “Where is she?”

  “Who is this elusive she?” Stel asked, mind racing.

  “Arleyene Crawford.”

  They were Immortales then. “Arleyene? Who’s that? Look, I don’t know who you guys are, or what the hell you want, but all I have are a few reports of the Razed. Now if you could move that knife-”

  The person behind her dug the knife in a little further, and the woman in front of Stel held out a hand to stop them. She asked, danger glinting in her eyes, “Entertain me; what files?”

  “Simple reports on the Razed, current conditions-” she made a show of swallowing, keeping her eyes fixated on the knife. “-future plans. Could you please get that knife away from me?”

  “Where are these files?” the woman pushed on, ignoring Stel’s feeble attempts of escaping the blade against her throat, and Stel saw her chance.

  “Dresser next to the bed. Third drawer from the bottom. I’m just a reporter, please,” she pleaded, allowing her eyes to water slightly. “I will do anythi-”

  “Shut up,” the woman snarled before addressing her still silent accomplice. “Don’t let her go. I’m going to find these so-called files.”

  The woman turned, and Stel sprung into actions, bringing her foot up in a fluid motion to kick her aggressor’s shin, causing them to grunt out in surprised pain, and Stel moved to elbow her (Stel assumed they were female if the shockingly high noise of protest was anything to off by) in the solar plexus. And while Stel’s moves weren’t sophisticated by any means, they were accomplished with a sort of grace acquired through days of sweat and tear-filled training sessions, her muscles remembering the most vulnerable parts of the body to attack.

  She was just about to kick her captor’s knees out to grab the knife and put as much distance between herself and the Immortales as possible when she heard the familiar click of a gun, and she froze, cursing herself for not considering the possibility of other weapons on them while she was caught up in the adrenaline rush that came with physically taking back the control that she lost in the situation.

  “Good fight,” the woman said, and the accent slipped, making Stel’s muscles freeze for a different reason.

  Before she could confirm anything, however, the lights in the room flickered back on, and the door opened, revealing a handsome young man, sporting quite a few bruises, coloured yellow amidst their healing. Aside from the nicks and gashes, he had sharp features and gentle eyes, mouth curled in amusement. And even though he was dressed in no finery, Stel already knew that this was someone important; the air around him seemed to impose itself with a confidence that seemed easy but Stel knew to be crafted, only because she herself tried so hard to achieve the same thing.

  “You must be Stel Hathaway,” he started, his blue eyes glittering, and his accent spoke of high breeding and speech lessons. He put out a hand for her to shake, and her eyes darted to the ring glittering on his right hand’s ring finger. “The Strategists have told me a lot about you. I’m King Jaxcon, House of Gallagher.”

  There were about a million things that Stel could have done in that moment. The most plausible one was to curtsey before him, or maybe at least take the hand that was awkwardly (but sophisticatedly) hovering in the air, but instead she stood there, frozen in shock, managing to sputter a choked ‘what?’

  His hand dropped, as he seemed to realize that Stel was a bit too in shock to do much, and rested at the nape of his neck. “Not the most idealistic meeting, I must confess. We should probably talk thing over.”

  “That sounds great,” Stel said rather faintly, and she almost kicked herself. Great? Or all words she chose great? “So this attack-”

  “-was staged,” the woman that was wielding the knife finished for her from her position on the ground, before pulling off her mask to reveal the pained face of Celine Hollingsworth, and Stel felt a sharp twang of regret of how hard she elbowed her, which was pretty hard, judging by her wheezed breaths. “You did good. Too good. Seriously, Downcley? —the solar plexus?”

  The other attacker that didn’t have the misfortune of getting beat up by Stel Hathaway pulled off her mask, brown hair tumbling down as Fey looked down proudly at her fellow Strategist. “Of course, Hollingsworth. I teach my students well. By the way Stel, that was a fantastic job.”

  Stel just nodded, blinking a few times to see if that would help her gain her bearings. In the past 5 minutes, she was held hostage with a knife to her throat, found out the entire thing was staged, met the king, and got appraised for beating up Celine Hollingsworth.

  “Your story was pretty good,” Celine told her, accepting a hand from the king to help her to her feet. “The hits were definitely pretty good.”

  “And you’re actually insane to put yourself in this position. I know that the rest of the team knows, Celine, so you have no excuse to throw yourself in danger’s way when you’re recovering from Scorchen,” Jax shot back, and Stel noted the concern etched in his face. Since working with the Strategists, Stel had managed to make a few of her own conclusions about the king, but despite what anyone might have said about his kind character, Stel couldn’t accept it. She had, after all, grown up on the streets because of the system that he was running. She had seen grit and blood and suffering, and she had also seen the marble valour and clean wealth of the palace. Least to say, she decided to remain apprehensive about the king until she met him for herself.

  But here he was, more like a young man who cared beyond his years and less of a heartless politician corrupted with the power of the crown.

  “Like you’re one to talk, Killer King,” Celine shot back, and Jax had the decency to half berated, still shooting her a look. Stel was just curious and confused. “You just came back from a 3-week disappearance, tortured during which, and you have a world to run. I’m doing this because no one else could. Z has to cancel the call with the General and January is apparently the only one who knows how to operate the lights.”

  “Cancel the call with the General?” was the first coherent thing that flew out from Stel’s lips, the incredulousity of the tone standing out in the now silent room.

  Immediately, Stel watched as the king’s eyes hardened, and before while she might have thought of him as weak and too kind and naïve, she could see the ruthlessness in him that kept him alive for so long. And what was this torturing that Celine spoke about?

  “We have a bit to discuss. Meeting room in five,” he announced, bowing his head slightly. “Fey, Celine, Miss Hathaway.”

  It took several moments of silence after Jax left the room for Stel to gain bearing. “Did that just-?” she asked, trailing off in disbelief.

  Celine just hummed in response, crossing her arms over her chest. “Mhmm.” Then she turned to give Stel a quick grin. “It gets even crazier.,”

  Stel snorted under her breath. “Like that’s possible.”

  …

  It apparently was possible for it to get even crazier.

  “You did a good job at your story,” Jan told her as soon as she stepped into the room, and Stel froze, her body unsure of how to react to the rare praise of January Kurata-Tormont.

  “This is where you nod and carry on,” Fey whispere
d in her ear from behind, and Stel could hear the smirk in the older girls’ voice. “Just so you know.”

  Stel rolled her eyes in response, though she sat down in her seat with a smile cemented onto her face, waiting as the remaining Strategists filled up the seats, the head seat still left open. And as curious as Stel was to properly meet and know the king, she was more focused on what the hell was happening to their mission, because she knew as well as anyone else in this room that their mission was not sanctioned by the King of NNR.

  And now that said king was back, Stel had no idea what that meant for her.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t blame you for any of this Stel Hathaway,” a voice from the doorway called, and if it weren’t for days of training, she probably would have jumped out of her chair in surprise. “You’re thinking extremely loudly,” Jax explained, walking over to his seat.

  Stel felt her brows furrow, curious at how openly Jax read her. “What do you mean?” she decided on asking, a general question that was deep within the realm of neutrality.

  “I mean that you aren’t to take any of the fall for this unsanctioned mission. I know the Strategists well enough to recognise nefarious planners when I see them. And while you’re picking up Arleyene’s habits just fine, you haven’t let go of all of your nervous tics. Your leg was shaking when I came in, and I connected the dots to assume that you were worried about your fate following this meeting.”

  “Wow,” was all that Stel managed, immediately stopping her traitorous leg that indeed was tapping the ground relentlessly. “I thought that Fey was supposed to be the master body language reader.”

  “Who said she wasn’t?” Jax asked, a glint in his eye that Stel couldn’t quite place as he adjusted his seat. “But now onto more serious matters.”

  “Jax-” Celine started, but Jax arched an eyebrow, and she immediately stopped. Whatever amusement that was in his eyes before sudden evaporated, and the same look of steely ruthlessness that Stel had seen him wear earlier that day reappeared, his dark blue eyes darkening further, mouth stern and sharp features seemingly unyielding.

  “You were ready to send her off to Elix. On a mission without sanction. Not mentioning that you were risking the nation and a civilian.”

  “Before we get too into this, I need to know; what happened to the call?” Stel interceded.

  “Disconnected. I sent the usual emergency code to Kessia from Arleyene’s code,” Z explained from his position on the computer, not bothering to look up. “It should seem pretty inconspicuous since I mentioned that King Jaxcon suddenly reappeared.”

  “Great,” Jax said, folding his hands together and turning to look at the Strategists. “Now we can focus on what’s important. Are you taking the fall together, or are you going to tell me who’s responsible?”

  “Together,” Celine resolutely stated, at the same time Jan muttered, “Downcley.”

  The air in the room seemed to pause as everyone turned to look at Jan. “Are you kidding me?” Celine asked, and Jan raised an eyebrow.

  “You think that Jax doesn’t know whose idea this all was? I bet you he’s known since before we’ve even told you guys,” he dryly explained to Celine, not waiting for a retort as he turned to face Jax. “But that doesn’t change the fact that if you punish Downcley, you have to punish us as well, because we all played a part in it.”

  Fey narrowed her eyes in disbelief at him, moth ajar in wonder. “Wow-”

  “I swear to god, if any of you think that I’m doing this for you, I will happily change my mind and will enjoy my freedom, thank you,” January defended, and Stel knew that there was a mixture of both selfish and selfless causes that led to his decision. “I don’t like liars and I dislike liars that get away with lying, even more,” he plainly explained, offering nothing more as he sank into his chair.

  “Very honourable, Kurata-Tormont,” Jax deadpanned, his frustration becoming more evident by the minute. “Well, as glad as I am that you all have apparently re-forged stronger bonds in these past 3 weeks, what in the name of bloody hell, were you all thinking?”

  Fey opened her mouth to offer her defense, but Jax raised his hand, effectively silencing her. “I don’t want to hear it, actually. A war. That is what you were all inviting and are continuing to invite with this ludicrous plan. What the Strategists have been doing already has been enough of a threat, but this? This is preposterous.”

  “We can’t do nothing!” Fey yelled, slamming her hands on the table.

  Jax matched her fire with steel, unflinchingly rising to his full height as well. “No, you are wrong Downcley. We never can do anything!”

  His words weren’t as loud as Fey’s, though they resounded through the air, the sound waves pushing everyone back a bit as the room echoed back the startling truth to them. And with a few more seconds of heavy silence, Jax slumped back in his seat, his frustration intertangled with hopelessness.

  “That’s not true,” Fey stubbornly whispered, though Stel knew that that was a lie. Fey knew it as well as everyone else in the room did; they were powerless.

  “We’re just puppets,” Z morosely said, and Stel felt her chest clench as she heard the poignant tone of despair in his voice, how flat it was. “We’ve never had any power.”

  There was a bear of silence before Celine, this time, spoke up. “I know that it’s practically useless, but we’ve been down this road before. We just want to get out of this eternal limbo, and Arleyene’s betrayal and death was a window. The only way we can get out of this is by getting through that window which requires crazy timing and chance, and we probably won’t be able to make it. But isn’t war coming anyway? What’s the difference if it comes a little sooner? —we might even have a chance, if we take this gamble.”

  “War requires the end of life, Hollingsworth,” January reminded, and Celine’s dark eyes were hard as she looked up wearily.

  “Some sacrifices need to be made. Besides, wasn’t it you who said that compassion was my sin?” Stel had zero idea of what they were speaking of, though she could feel the tension in the air, not the usual combative energy that buzzed around the duo, but more of the heavy aura that tended to shroud over those with the knowledge beyond what their eyes were meant to see and the world on their shoulders.

  January just looked down for a brief second, his eyes flickering before they resumed their cold stare at the wall, his jaw ticking.

  “We can’t afford a war. We have to keep the peace,” Jax repeated, though Stel was beginning to think as it more of an assurance to the young king than anyone else.

  “Is it really peace though?” Stel piped up, and the king’s cerulean eyes flashed towards her. Before she could too acutely feel her self-consciousness, she carried on. “Just because we aren’t actively fighting doesn’t mean we’re at peace. And we really haven’t been at peace ever since Robn Syncter created that Elixir of Immortality.”

  “You aren’t your father, Jax.” Fey added, her voice wavering. “You know what price to pay for peace, and you know that Stel is right.”

  And in that moment, Stel considered how odd they all must look. Huddled around a table overcast with anguish. Palms closed in tight fists with heavy eyes and heavier hearts, locked away with secrets that they could never reveal, burdened with the decision that would become the destiny of a nation. This was how it was like to be calling the shots.

  “There’s a reason I created this group,” Jax croaked, his hands threaded through his hair as he leaned his elbows on the table, as if that could lessen the load he wore on his head. “I know that war has to be fought and yes, I know that we aren’t at peace. But there is a line, and the minute that I let this mission carry on, we cross it. And what happens when we cross that line?”

  “What happens if we don’t?” Stel quickly countered, finding herself surer of this mission by each second. It was true; this was a crucial mission that could veer off track any second, ensuring the death of her along with the nation. Earlier that day, she was doubting he
rself and was nervous about her ability playing Arleyene Crawford. But now, with the knowledge of how important this operation would be, Stel found herself growing surer of her abilities, because Stel Hathaway prospered under pressure. And sure, maybe one day she would break under the weight, but at the end of this mission was Fallon, and Stel never went home to her baby sister cracked.

  “What happens if we don’t take this chance?” Stel repeated, and Jax lifted his head from his hands, giving her an assessing, thoughtful look.

  “Suppose we cross this line. Would you be able to be my perfect Arleyene Crawford? Could you pull off the biggest espionage performance ever done?” he asked, blue eyes inquisitive.

  And in that moment, Stel knew that she would be able to, because she had to and she’d adapt before any environment could run her over. “With pleasure.”

  Jax licked his lips, looking deep in thought. From here on, Stel had no control of the decision. She did what she could, and maybe it wasn’t enough, but it was done, and right now Stel could only pray that it was enough to continue the mission. Because if the mission continued, then the medications for Fallon would continue.

  “This is highly unorthodox and risky and all-around spells disaster,” the king finally stated, and Stel had to fight back a highly inappropriately timed snort because that wasn’t even news.

  Z seemed to agree, because the morose mask he had been wearing, broke to unveil a small smile as he jested, “Right up your alley then, Your Majesty.”

  Stel wasn’t sure if it was just her mind playing tricks on her, but she could’ve sworn she saw a similar smile on Jax’s face.

  “You’re in then?” Jan asked, his sudden voice causing Stel to whir around on him, and Agent Kurata-Tormont looked so sure, it made Stel wonder what January saw or heard to make him that confident.

  Then Stel turned her head to catch a glimpse of the king and yeah—he most definitely had a smirk on, albeit, a small one. His impossibly blue eyes glinted dangerously, the bruise on his face adding to his slightly feral look. “Need you even ask? I want you all to go to the training room, where I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”