Royal Blue

Roy couldn’t stop staring at the green banners flapping atop the tower crenelations. Tossed by the angry winter wind, they seemed too bright, too festive against the white backdrop of the snow-covered roofs, trees, and roads; too crude for the first hesitant hours of the twilight that still rang with the mournful echo of the church bells. Dun-dong-din-dung, the bells had wept. The king is dead. Dong-dong-din-dunnn. The king was murdered.

And only an hour after, his brother had already replaced his banners with his own.

“Bastard,” Keldrin, the other guard stationed by the entrance to the castle, growled under his breath. “He could've at least pretended to be sad.”

“Be quiet,” Roy snapped. “Words like to ride the wind.”

Keldrin watched the green wrong banners writhe in the air and shrugged, “Ain’t like no one is thinking it.”

Roy certainly was. But heads that merely thought didn’t end up rotting in wicker baskets – those that spoke did. So, silent, Roy pulled his cloak tighter against the chill of the evening, turned his eyes as far away from the tower top as his post allowed, and waited. Captain Piers would put it all to rights. Captain Piers would know what to do. Any minute now, he would march out of the castle, calm, determined and steady, and order Roy to tear those banners down, arrest the murderer, and throw him in the dungeon. Any minute now.

But Roy turned out to be only quarter-right. The Captain of the Royal Guard did emerge from the castle gates mere moments later, but a brusque, absent-minded follow me was the only order he gave. Roy, confused by the fact that the Captain seemed to be heading away from the castle, rather than back in, took an embarrassingly long time to register the command and had to jog a few steps to catch up with the Captain’s long stride. Piers didn’t seem to notice. He walked fast and straight, lost to whatever dark thoughts were creasing his brow.

Were they going to Piers’s house? That was the only place of significance Roy knew in that part of the city. But why would the Captain of the Royal Guard be taking an evening off on a day he was needed the most? Once more Roy thought of the wicker baskets on the city square and decided to swallow the questions. Not his place to ask.

Fortunately, the Captain soon breached the silence himself. “How much do you know about the Burnt Lily?” Piers asked as the two of them left the Main Street and entered a less populated alley.

Roy shrugged, then remembered that the Captain couldn’t see him. “The assassins' guild? Not much, sir. I’ve heard rumors, legends and the like. Never believed any.”

“Not even the ones about their leader?”

“Forgive me, sir, but if all myths about Stern were true, he would be ruling the kingdom by now.”

The Captain huffed a strange mirthless laugh. “He would, wouldn’t he?”

Roy scowled, processing the questions. “Do you think the Burnt Lily was involved in the assassination of his majesty?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“I don’t think. I know.”

They rounded a corner – and Roy almost walked into Piers’s back as the Captain froze midstep, his shoulders tense and his eyes trained on the house at the end of the street. Roy had been right, it was Piers’s own house. Except… except where a doorknob should be, an elegant white flower was nestled in a small newly-made hole. Roy didn’t have to look to know the lily’s petals would be singed at the edges.

“I’ll go get reinforcements,” Roy said immediately, already turning sharply on his heels.

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“It’s an order.”

“Sir?”

Piers turned to study Roy, searching for something in his face. "Did the other guard, Keldrin, say anything about... the situation?"

Could the Captain have overheard Keldrin's rumblings? By the gods, he hoped not. Roy took a chance. "No, sir."

Piers watched him a little longer, then nodded to himself. “You are coming with me.” He moved towards the house, then paused once more. Grimaced. “Keep your mouth shut. Try not to look at him too closely. And, whatever you do, don’t even think of laying a finger on him. That’s a good way to lose a hand.”

Roy’s head was spinning. “I don’t understand.”

The Captain sighed. “Cormac Stern is sitting in my living room, nursing a glass of whisky I keep for him in the pantry, and listening to this conversation. He is already annoyed at my tardiness, which means, he has eaten most of my dinner — just because he knows I hate it, — gone through all my correspondence, and sifted through my papers. I would rather he didn’t have time to get to my valuables.”

Was that supposed to clarify the situation? “The Cormac Stern? But sir… What if he tries to kill us?”

The Captian glanced meaningfully at the green banners in the distance. “Come.”

Roy followed the Captain to the doors, through the foyer and up the set of stairs to an unlit room on the second floor. Another time, he would have marveled at the cunning floral carvings on the walls, the size of a white-marbled fireplace, the height of the coffered ceilings. But as he moved closer to the narrow frame of the living room entrance, he found his attention focused solely on the deceptively quiet shadows inside. He thought he saw… Yes. There – a tiny movement. A flicker. 

In a moment, a crisp flame of a candle flared to life in the center of the room, illuminating a black hood and a silhouette of a man seated by a small round table. The Captain nodded curtly in the direction of the hood, waved at Roy to stay by the door and crossed the space to sit in the other chair. Slowly, he surveyed the array of empty plates and stacks of rumpled paper that crowded the table. “My safe?”

“Already emptied. You were slow.”

“Give the watch back. You know it’s an heirloom.”

“Didn’t touch it.” 

“Thank you.”

The hooded man swirled the remnants of whisky in his glass, turned to Piers, then said, “So?”

The Captain picked up a bottle and poured himself a few inches of the golden liquid. “You had no right.”

“I had an obligation. You know I always complete the job I’m hired for.”

“Yes.” There was so much contempt in that one word, Roy barely recognized the Captain’s usually even voice. “Yes, I do.”

Stern sipped from his glass, waiting. Piers remained silent.

“If I am wrong—” Stern started to rise.

“You are not wrong,” Piers interrupted him sharply. “Just give me a damn minute! The man is supposedly under my protection!”

Stern shrugged and sat back down. "Still tripping over it, aren't you?"

"Over what?"

In the light of the single candle, Stern's teeth almost seemed to glow as he smiled. "Your sense of honor." The grin widened as the Captain turned away, and perhaps feeling his disapproval, Stern twisted to fix his shadowed gaze on Roy. “Roy Felton, isn’t it?”

Roy jumped. “You k-know me?”

“Leave the boy alone,” Piers growled. “He is here for the after.”

Stern ignored the comment. “I know everyone in uniform. Good choice, Piers. This one isn't bright, but he is good at holding his tongue.”

Roy glared but said nothing.

“See what I mean? A perfect errand boy.”

"I said leave him alone."

"I heard."

The two locked gazes over the table, and for a second, Roy was sure that a liquid more colorful than than whisky would be spilled in the room tonight, but while neither man backed away, neither did they move to pounce. Roy held his breath, fearing that a stray sound might tip the fragile equilibrium.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then Piers looked away.

Stern leaned back, crossed an ankle over his knee, took a drink, set down his glass. "That was two minutes.”

“At least, tell me why, Cormac,” the Captain demanded. “You were satisfied with the last king.”

“Three million in gold satisfy me more. His brother knows his way around a deal. But you are right, that’s where his good qualities end. He will ruin this kingdom and make bards write ballads about his heroism. I know you agree.”

Piers nodded slowly, reluctantly. “So.... can you...?”

That terrifying grin again. “Of course.”

"Without my help? I have guards stationed all over the castle now. I can't move them."

"When did that ever matter?"

The Captain shook his head, a picture of resignation, bitterness and and hatred. “Right. Don't touch any of them."

It was hard to tell because of the hood, but Roy was certain Stern was rolling his eyes. "As you wish."

"And don't pin it on any of them."

"I'll leave a lily."

"Good." The Captain blew out a breath. "How much?"

“A million.”

"Minus the cost of the dinner and the silver you stole. In addition to all else, you are driving me bankrupt."

Stern glanced around the lavish room. "You don't see to be suffering. So no. A million. And that precious watch of yours.”

“No.”

Stern laughed. “Worth a try. Fine, a million. but only because I think the old king’s son will actually be decent after you groom him.” He paused. "You will groom him?"

"Yes, yes. I'll make sure he knows which territories are under the Lily's thumb."

"And the taxes?"

"He will know which establishments are exempt."

"Wonderful. I can only remove so many of them before the stock runs out." He stood up abruptly and Roy’s hand immediately closed on the hilt of his sword. 

“Even less bright than I thought," Stern murmured without looking at Roy, then turned and walked up to him. "My dear boy, you will die before you draw it.”

Roy’s whole body went cold at the man's approach, but apparently he was only heading for the exit. Roy shuffled aside.

“Thanks for the whisky,” Stern said over his shoulder.

The Captain gritted his teeth. Nodded. The hood bobbed once and melted into the shadows. Somewhere below, the entry door opened and thumped shut.

There was a long moment of silence as Piers downed the rest of the bottle. 

“Roy, I need you to visit the treasurer for me. Today.”

But Roy only stared. “Did you just—”

“You want to think very carefully about how you intend to finish that sentence.”

Roy chewed on his lip, opened his mouth, closed it again.

“Yes, sir,” was all he said before descending the stairs and stepping out into the cold night air. The wind seemed calmer now, tamer. Warmer.

Perhaps it knew that the next morning it would once again get to play with the banners of the rightful royal blue.