“For a girl so young, she has proven exceptionally resilient,†Zazuka said as he peeled the blood-soaked gloves from his tiny hands, comparatively diminutive boots padding along the stone floor. “Malnourished, sleep-deprived, bled, and never a word uttered. Nary a scream, even. Unnatural, I say.†Slapping the sodden gloves upon the utility bench, he looked back to The Gentleman, who was plying through a small manuscript. “Tell me, Aetius,†he waited for the hyur’s attention before continuing, “While I do welcome the opportunity to claim pounds of flesh from that wretch of a girl, as she has cost the Monetarists no small sum with her unwillingness to do as commanded,†he nodded across the corridor, “Why do we keep her here? The others would offer comely reward to have her in hand once more, and so quiet, besides.â€
Aetius looked back to his text, peeling to the next page. “You mistake her silence for submission, Zazuka. She will never sing the lay written for her.â€
“Thus I revisit my question: Why keep her here? What is to be gained, her suffering aside?â€
Closing the book, Aetius looked hard upon the Lalafellin, fingers threading together before him as he leaned over the table. “What could possibly bear more meaning? Knowing my plight, do you earnestly believe I share even a tittle of your incessant gil-mongering?â€
The Lalafell bristled at the barb, though he knew better than to press the notion without his retinue nearby; though it was not a guarantee that even they could protect him, should he draw Aetius’ ire. The Monetarists kept and employed more than its share of dangerous persons, yet none of them frightened him so much as The Gentleman. For all of his outward flair, the hyur was uncompromising as he was calculating, brutal as he was courtly, merciless as he was calm. There was naught but murder and wrath within his eyes. Were it not for his loathing of the silver-haired girl and her own commensurate lethality and unpredictability, he might have pitied her as Aetius’ target.
“Worry not, Zazuka. She will be delivered into the greedy palms of your colleagues. It is by their knowledge of her and the company she keeps that my opportunity was granted. I will honor that debt, when I have what I desire.â€
“Why do you not attend to the matter yourself, if her suffering is tantamount to aught else?†Zazuka asked as he clambered upon the bench opposite Aetius.
Silence followed the question as the vengeful hyur considered the answer. Lowering his hands to rest upon the book before him, he looked beyond the Lalafell, staring into the nothingness of the corner.
“Have you ever witnessed a throat opened to the bone?â€
Zazuka remained silent, suddenly less comfortable.
“If the blade strikes the carotid artery," he lifted two fingers to tap his neck where the aforementioned artery was located, "It looses jets of blood for several seconds. If the victim is particularly healthy—and spurred by adrenaline—it is likely to be a messy affair.â€
Zazuka glanced about the room, his discomfort rapidly escalating.
Aetius’s eyes closed, his shoulders sinking. “My wife was very healthy, and had just witnessed the murder of her superior.†His nostrils flared with a draw for breath, his jaw tightening. “Each time I close my eyes, I see the blood streaming from her body. In her eyes, the horror… the repudiation of what had befallen her. A merely brilliant and curious mind, with scarce a trace of malice in her heart, slain simply to aid an assassin’s escape.†His eyes slowly opened, the frigid hardness of his stare turning back to the Lalafell, who now bore the likeness of a terrified infant.Â
“So you see, dear Zazuka, the moment I participate in Miss Varily’s torment is the moment she drowns in her own blood.â€
Aetius looked back to his text, peeling to the next page. “You mistake her silence for submission, Zazuka. She will never sing the lay written for her.â€
“Thus I revisit my question: Why keep her here? What is to be gained, her suffering aside?â€
Closing the book, Aetius looked hard upon the Lalafellin, fingers threading together before him as he leaned over the table. “What could possibly bear more meaning? Knowing my plight, do you earnestly believe I share even a tittle of your incessant gil-mongering?â€
The Lalafell bristled at the barb, though he knew better than to press the notion without his retinue nearby; though it was not a guarantee that even they could protect him, should he draw Aetius’ ire. The Monetarists kept and employed more than its share of dangerous persons, yet none of them frightened him so much as The Gentleman. For all of his outward flair, the hyur was uncompromising as he was calculating, brutal as he was courtly, merciless as he was calm. There was naught but murder and wrath within his eyes. Were it not for his loathing of the silver-haired girl and her own commensurate lethality and unpredictability, he might have pitied her as Aetius’ target.
“Worry not, Zazuka. She will be delivered into the greedy palms of your colleagues. It is by their knowledge of her and the company she keeps that my opportunity was granted. I will honor that debt, when I have what I desire.â€
“Why do you not attend to the matter yourself, if her suffering is tantamount to aught else?†Zazuka asked as he clambered upon the bench opposite Aetius.
Silence followed the question as the vengeful hyur considered the answer. Lowering his hands to rest upon the book before him, he looked beyond the Lalafell, staring into the nothingness of the corner.
“Have you ever witnessed a throat opened to the bone?â€
Zazuka remained silent, suddenly less comfortable.
“If the blade strikes the carotid artery," he lifted two fingers to tap his neck where the aforementioned artery was located, "It looses jets of blood for several seconds. If the victim is particularly healthy—and spurred by adrenaline—it is likely to be a messy affair.â€
Zazuka glanced about the room, his discomfort rapidly escalating.
Aetius’s eyes closed, his shoulders sinking. “My wife was very healthy, and had just witnessed the murder of her superior.†His nostrils flared with a draw for breath, his jaw tightening. “Each time I close my eyes, I see the blood streaming from her body. In her eyes, the horror… the repudiation of what had befallen her. A merely brilliant and curious mind, with scarce a trace of malice in her heart, slain simply to aid an assassin’s escape.†His eyes slowly opened, the frigid hardness of his stare turning back to the Lalafell, who now bore the likeness of a terrified infant.Â
“So you see, dear Zazuka, the moment I participate in Miss Varily’s torment is the moment she drowns in her own blood.â€
