With that in mind, I come to a halt in front of a looming staircase, guilded and glittering.
A tall, thin man walks down the stairs slowly, with an air of importance about him. This stranger isn’t covered in jewelry and riches as I’d have imagined Lord Aeron to be. Instead, he wears a simple, hooded robe – plain brown. Whoever he is, this man clearly doesn’t feel he needs fancy clothing or gleaming riches to demonstrate his importance. The guards shift nervously on their feet as he approaches, proving his point.
“Viceroy,” says Captain Arnold with deep respect. I see the soldiers accompanying us quiver at the approach of this slender man.
The stranger comes to a halt before me – his balding head reflecting the light from the chandelier overhead, and his thin lips pursing as he inspects me.
“This is the survivor that you told us about?”
“Yes, Viceroy,” responds Captain Arnold.
It’s ironic. Arnold was so brave and bold in the battlefield – a powerful and respected leader of his troops.
Now, here in this manor house, he radiated none of that power or confidence. I realize he desperately wants to leave.
I can’t blame him. There’s some kind of darkness emanating from this man he calls the Viceroy. The tall, slender man looks through me; as if I don’t even exist as a human being. I feel he considers me nothing but another pawn on a chessboard so large that it spans entire galaxies.
“What is your name?”
The Viceroy’s eyes meet mine and I shiver. They’re cold – a frigid, light-blue that’s almost-grey. They stare at me with glacial intensity – never even blinking.
Despite myself, I look down -somehow unable to meet and hold his gaze.
“Tammy,” I mutter, and I’m ashamed at the quiver in my voice.
“How did you survive the attack?”
The captain clears his throat. “The lady is shaken by the events today, Lord Viceroy. Her perception of events are… warped. Perhaps it’s best you talk to her in private.”
The cold eyes of the Viceroy move slowly towards Captain Arnold. If he looked at me like I was merely a pawn, the slender stranger looks at the Captain as if he’s nothing but a bug – buzzing irritably around the room.
“I did not pose the question to you, Captain Arnold.”
I swallow, trying to focus my thoughts. I have the grim suspicion that my answer will determine my fate – right down to whether or not I leave this mansion alive.
But what does he want to hear? If I tell him the truth, I might be in trouble. I might be painted as a traitor to my own species. This Viceroy works for Lord Aeron, the highest voice for anti-Aurelian sentiment on the planet!
“I barely made it out alive, your Excellence,” I say, remembering the honorary title for a Viceroy of a noble house. “I… I was… I am very lucky.”
The Viceroy nods. I can tell he’s pleased at my answer, and instantly I realize he was testing me.
If I’d said a word in deference to the Aurelians, he’d have known instantly that I was useless to him – too stupid to predict what he wanted to hear.
Perhaps, in that circumstance, I’d have ended up dead – incinerated like my neighbors back in Barl, with all trace of me gone. I might be the only person other than the four orphans who witnessed the devastation on Barl. I’m certainly one of the only civilians to have seen what had happened to the city, and who was ultimately responsible.
I have a feeling the Viceroy would snap my neck in an instant if he viewed it as being politically beneficial – and therefore I had to tread extremely carefully.
It was ironic. I’d faced death a hundred times in the slums and poverty of Barl – yet I was somehow no safer here, even in the opulence of the gleaming Capital city.
The Viceroy turned and snapped: “Have the weapons inspected and sent to the Lord’s chambers to be viewed.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Then he looked back towards me:
“You, come with me.” He turns and walks away.
I follow him into a room with a medical examination table. “Strip,” he demands, looking at me with his cold, dead eyes.
I blink. Strip?
Once again, I remember how much danger I’m in. This is not the issue to make my stand against. However, there’s one important detail I need to take care of – so I ask:
“Could I… Could I have some privacy?”
The Viceroy looks at me without any indication that he heard or even understood my words. I swallow, nervousness creeping over me.
I don’t hesitate out of fear that he’s going to see my naked body – that much I could just deal with. In fact, by the cold, calculating way the Viceroy looks at me, I have the feeling he’d get no more excitement looking at my naked body than looking at a chair or table.
No, the cause of my anxiety is the small vial of Mercy I still have tucked away in my sock. If the Viceroy discovers that, he’ll know that I was scheming to potentially use it – that I didn’t come to this palace quite so innocently as my play-acting might make it appear.
One drop of Mercy can be used to mask the deepest pain, but it also destroys the mind – merely eating away at the pain receptors first. One drop will not have a lasting effect: The brain can recover. But two drops? The subject will be mentally slowed for the rest of their life. Three drops? The subject will not have a rest of his life. They’ll pass into oblivion in calmness and tranquility; their brain unraveling cell by cell.
That’s why this black liquid is only ever
