A table with four legs – a rarity. Its hard wood hadn’t even given into the rot and decay that plagued the rest of the wooden artifacts in Iskawan. Even the glass windowpanes remained whole, none broken or cracked.
There were no adornments or curtains in the room, just a bed on the ground, a wardrobe on the far side of the room, and an assortment of things made of iron that hung along one wall. Rakesh spotted a pair of manacles, a long iron tongue, and the glint of a sword, and shuddered. The two of them descended slowly from the top floor, down a rickety set of stairs. No signs of life permeated the bottom floor. Once there, Rakesh breathed a sigh of relief. Escape from the bottom would be far easier.
The box had to be there.
Jiro drifted across the room, picking at this and that as he went. Rakesh moved off to the right, toward a wooden chest beneath the window. He lifted the lid carefully, testing the old hinges. They emitted a slight groan as he slipped his hand inside.
At first, he felt silk. His heart pounded. There was enough fabric in this chest alone to get him down the wall, for certain!
The temptation to pull the fabric free almost overcame him, but he stuffed it away. Losing focus would only jeopardize his greater mission.
Rakesh carefully moved his hand through the rest of the chest. He encountered hard, iron-like things. There were sharp, razor-like lances, and a metal ball with spikes sticking out of every available space. Weapons, for sure. Torture devices, no doubt.
Rakesh quickly retracted his hand and backed away.
Jiro appeared at his side, moving as quietly as a fairy-fire. His eyes glowed as he clasped Rakesh by the shoulder.
The wooden box, the object of their quest, rested in Jiro’s hands.
Rakesh sucked in a sharp breath. Emphatically nodding to indicate his recognition of the object, he reached out to touch it. His fingers rubbed along the edge of the rough wood.
Possibly, just possibly, it housed his destiny inside.
Jiro put a finger under the lid and pried it open.
The door to The Hangman’s house slammed open. Rakesh reared back, a scream in his throat. Jiro jumped, rattling the box.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by dim light from the fairy-fires buzzing outside, was The Hangman. His bald head, massive shoulders, and bulging arms seemed to enter Rakesh’s very soul.
“Miserable wretches,” The Hangman boomed. “You think you can pull off anything in Iskawan that I wouldn’t know about? You’re fools. Then again, all of you here are fools. You’re half-Vakum yourself, choosing to wander in this darkness.” He gave a bark of his laughter, his expression twisted in a snarl. “And now you’re going to regret trying to make a fool out of me.”
Rakesh felt his captivity all at once. One moment he was staring at The Hangman, the next he was face-to-face with three other men. They seized him and shoved him into the ground by several pairs of hands. He tried to stand and scramble away, but a sharp kick to the ribs sent him reeling. He collapsed just as a fist found his back, jarring the hope out of him. His entire body rattled with the blow.
Nausea welled up in his stomach, hot and fast. He seemed to become the pain. A blow to the jaw. A crack at his ribs.
“Stop.”
The Hangman’s rolling voice again filled the room. His aides ceased, leaving Rakesh in a heap on the floor.
Rakesh peered out through one swelling eye. He spied Jiro also on the ground, half-conscious and moaning. His lip was bleeding, spilling bright crimson droplets onto his chin.
“The Hangman is not a man you should cross,” The Hangman sang, stepping forward.
The glint of a metal weapon sparkled in the darkness. He tapped it against his open palm. Rakesh started at it, attempting to regain his scattered, pulsing thoughts.
A sword.
“I think, in order for you to anticipate what is coming for you, you should have a little . . . preview of what I will bring to those who cross me. My hope is always that you can teach the next generation of idiots what not to do, but no one in Iskawan ever really learns, do they?”
Jiro choked back a shriek when The Hangman leaned down to caress the side of his face with his fingertips.
“Simple, stupid idiots. The Hangman will teach you the ways of Iskawan. Too bad you won’t live through it to be a better citizen, eh? I think we’ll start with your ear.”
As fast as a flash of lightning, The Hangman turned, grabbed Rakesh’s ankle, and jerked him close. Rakesh bit back a scream. Spears of pain, hot as lances, bolted through his body as he slid across the floor, colliding with Jiro. Sweat broke out across Rakesh’s brow and trickled down the sides of his face. He prayed a silent, desperate prayer to the Triad.
The Hangman’s teeth gleamed bright right above him, his teeth sickly yellow in the dim fairy lights. He grabbed Rakesh’s hand, squeezing it until the joints popped.
“You don’t need that finger, do you?”
Rakesh met The Hangman’s steely, cold gaze. A thousand replies spun through his mind. Desperate thoughts.
He wasn’t fighting for his freedom for himself.
The Hangman grabbed him by the neck with one hand and hauled him to his feet.
“Let the fun begin.”
Ren
Ren woke up to a new day with a rock in her stomach. The city of An Wan sprawled like a skirt outside the palace, offering the scent of smoked fish and the occasional call of an early vendor. Ren was standing at her window, but saw none of what lay outside.
Prince Isao’s face kept running through her mind. His slightly flushed cheeks. Downcast eyes. She didn’t need him to say it.
He was as unhappy about this arranged marriage as she.
A sound in the hallway drew her away from her thoughts, but still she peered at the window, only able to see the melancholy reflection of her own eyes.
Would she ever be happy again?
Ren turned to leave her reflection, the long trails of her red silk dress stretching out behind her. Her hair, brushed by her servants until it shone, danced around her shoulders. Her maid had braided a few segments into petite plaits and draped them in an elegant pattern around the crown of her head. The heavy pull of a golden nine-tailed fox pin decorated her hair, scratching occasionally at her ear. The weight of it already threatened to give her a headache, but she had said nothing when her maid had pinned it into place and had left almost an hour ago, leaving her to her thoughts.
A knock at the door drew Ren from her downward spiral of thought. She startled, glancing up.
Her mother stepped into the room, as lovely as ever in an elegant wrap of blue silk with patterns of umber and crimson. Subtly etched in the designs was a depiction of the Nari nine-tailed fox.
“Ren? Come, darling. It’s time. You are a lovely bride.”
Her mother reached out, taking Ren’s icy fingers in hers, and gave them a gentle squeeze. Ren tried to smile.
"Thank you, Mother."
Together, they walked into the hallway, where Danjuro waited. His eyes darted over Ren, and he nodded in approval.
"Lovely."
Ren said nothing more as she and her parents glided down the hall in silence. Every step seemed to echo in Ren's ears, as if it took her one step away from the person she truly loved, and one closer to her fate. The maze of the imperial palace seemed to stretch into eternity as they navigated the hallways, but Danjuro guided them without fail.
They turned a corner, and Ren pulled in a breath.
The imperial chapel loomed ahead, packed with people sitting on benches on either side of a path outside. Amphorae filled the air, sprinkling colored bubbles above the flower-lined path leading to the altar. The air was thick with the perfume of fresh flower blossoms.
Ren’s parents stepped away from her, lingering at the back of the chapel as Ren continued on to the path. Her body seemed to move of its own accord.
Baran, the High Priest, stood at the top of the room near the altar, where the representative of the Triad always remained. Strands of soft, white hair ringed an almost bald head. He had solemn hazel eyes and a stern expression. Quiet murmurs whispered through the hushed crowd as Ren passed them on her way to the altar.
"Lovely."
"A beautiful bride."