Kill him, make him pay.
The voice clouded my thoughts, taunted my fingers, and scorched my need for retribution. The cloak felt heavier and the voice grew in urgency.
Make him pay!
“Virago!”
Beyond us, I saw a figure staggering as though lost.
“Where are you? Virago!”
Sylvain!
“Call him,” Cale hissed. “Call the cripple, maybe he can do what you are too weak to do!”
“Virago!” Sylvain repeated, this time closer.
I saw him nearly avoid stepping into one of the moonlit pools.
“Sylvain,” I returned. “I am here, to your left, only you must follow my voice. I cannot come to you now.” I trained my eyes on Cale. I could see a second, thin ragged cut beaded with blood. He lived, I’d not cut deep enough.
“Why, Brother, why can you not come? We must leave.” He sounded fearful.
“Come, Sylvain, here,” I directed as he came upon the edge of the garden.
I reached a hand out to him, but did not dare turn my attention from Cale.
When his hands found mine, I felt him try to pull me away. I defied him and held my ground.
“Lord Briar has fallen ill, fainted dead away in the middle of the theatre.” His voice at first insistent, grew silent. His grip loosened.
I heard him sniffing the air, saw him strain to hear.
“The air smells of blood, and I can hear the breathing of a wounded man. What has happened?” he asked solemnly. “What have you done?”
I took his hands. “Nothing, come, let us go. The night is spoiled.”
“You’re a dead dog!” Cale, shrieked from behind us. “You are dead!”
Upon hearing Cale’s voice, Sylvain faltered.
When I tried to lead him away, I found he couldn’t be moved.
Sylvain yanked his hands from mine. “Wait.”
“Dead,” Cale repeated, as he attempted to stand.
Sylvain must have sensed Cale’s movement from behind. I saw this and reached for him. But it was too late.
“Sylvain!” I yelled, but it went unheard.
My brother spun on Cale and struck him with such force, the already wounded man shrieked with pain upon the impact of Sylvain’s fist. The blow was followed by the sickening, thick sound of his head hitting stone.
“You,” Sylvain snarled, “are the one who is dead. You, who have no soul. You have nothing!”
These were not words but a curse. I found myself shivering beside him.
“He is not dead,” Sylvain declared, “only unawake, and more importantly for us, unaware. Perhaps he will not be found until the morning.” He cocked his head towards the sound of the chaos from within the castle. “Shall we take our leave?”
We moved away from the scene and the noisy corridors of the castle. Instead we traversed the castles side gardens which eventually led us to the gates. As we walked, we remained silent. Several times I heard his breath catch as the sounds of castle guard’s armor clanked as they passed us from inside.
We waited until we passed the gates and our feet met the cobblestones of the street to take deep, relieved breaths.
“Tell me what happened to Briar,” I asked as we continued to make our way.
“He is ill with the sickness. Though I am no doctor, it is almost a certainty. The Privy Council is more than familiar with Therese’s offerings.”
“Duir,” I gasped, my words finding meaning in Sylvain’s hypothesis even before my mind caught up. “He is ill as well?”
“If he fucked a sick whore, I would certainly say he will follow Briar’s path,” Sylvain answered and placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.
“I should have warned him. I should have listened to you and told him!” Panic was falling upon me. “How has this all happened? How has the world become so dark?”
“Virago, darkness fades. You will see the light,” he answered comfortingly.
“I fear it will be some time before my dawn. We are in danger. If we weren’t before tonight, we surely are now.”
For a time, we were silent. I was beginning to weigh the seriousness of everything that happened when Sylvain interrupted my thoughts.
“What will you do with Seton’s cape?”
I hugged the torn, soiled garment tightly to my chest as we walked. “I will put it around his shoulders when I see him, and we shall wear them proudly as we leave this place.”
Sylvain said no more, and we hastened our pace.
When a guard on night watch passed, I yanked Sylvain into a shadowed alley behind the alehouse, and held a hand to his mouth.
“A guard,” I warned as I watched him approach. He did not linger, but walked by and we remained unnoticed. When he was gone, I lowered my hand.
“Surely, a guard on night watch cannot know what has taken place on the castle grounds,” Sylvain surmised.
“Do you wish to answer questions now?” I asked. Though I knew it was unlikely the guard would know us as criminals, we would be questioned about being about the streets, and, if the guard chose, he could hold us until we gave a suitable answer. It was an unpleasant prospect.
“It’s the alehouse,” Sylvain blurted after taking several appreciative sniffs of the air.
I could now smell the sour, bitter tang of the brew. It was the same establishment Seton and I patronized the day he wooed the court. The memory sprung painfully to mind. “I have lost my love. It is indeed a dark and bloody night.”
“You are not to blame, Virago,” Sylvain stated.
“Who is to blame?” I asked this hoping for an answer to make everything clear.
“Therese knew of the illness. She bears it inside her, and brought it to the palace as if she bore a gift.”
“Ahh, Therese,” I sighed sadly as we crept from the alley and hurriedly made our way to our home. “I have not even begun to understand the twisted path she walks.”
“Everything comes as it should,” Sylvain replied.
When we neared our home, I stopped at the gate.
“Why would she do it?”
“Perhaps a whore gets tired of being a whore. No matter how she longed to be seen as a theatre
