The Quiet killer
711 Words
Chapter 2 — The Quiet Killer
The carriage stopped with a heavy hiss as the brass brakes locked.
I sat in the darkness for a moment before the lock clicked. When the door opened, the wet smell of fish and mud from the Lower Ward was gone. In its place came the scent of pine, cold stone, and expensive wax.
"Out," the Captain said.
I climbed out of the carriage. My legs were stiff from the ride, and the hemp rope still bound my wrists behind my back. The rough fibers had dried with my blood and rubbed against my skin every time I moved.
A wide courtyard stretched before me. White marble covered the ground, polished so clean that it reflected the gray sky like ice. High stone walls shut out the rest of the city. Beyond them stood the palace, built from dark granite with tall spires that watched over everything like a hunting bird.
The place was silent.
There were no shouting guards. No merchants calling to customers. No barking dogs.
The quiet made my chest tighten.
"Keep your eyes down," the guard behind me said as he shoved me toward a pair of tall iron doors.
They led me through narrow halls that twisted deep into the palace. Thick tapestries covered the walls and swallowed the sound of our footsteps until we barely made a noise.
At last, the Captain stopped outside a heavy oak door wrapped with black iron bands. He unlocked it and pushed it open.
"Get inside."
I stepped into the room.
A large bed with dark green curtains stood against one wall. A fire burned quietly in the black brick fireplace. In the middle of the room sat a low wooden table covered with silver platters.
The smell reached me before I could think.
Roasted chicken.
Fresh bread.
Sweet winter apples.
My stomach growled so loudly that I almost felt embarrassed. I had lived on thin turnip broth for the last two days.
The Captain stepped behind me and cut through the rope around my wrists with a small knife.
I let out a slow breath as feeling returned to my hands. They throbbed while I rubbed the raw skin around my wrists.
I looked from the table to the Captain.
"Is this my last meal?" I asked.
"Eat," he said.
His face did not change.
"Someone will come for you when the time comes."
The heavy door closed behind him with a deep thud.
A key turned in the lock.
I was alone.
I looked around the room.
The tall windows were covered with thick iron bars. There was no way out.
Then something moved beside the cold fireplace.
I turned at once, reaching for the knife that should have been tucked into my waistband.
My hand closed on nothing.
A man stepped out of the shadows.
He was tall and dressed in a black tunic beneath dark leather armor. A long sword hung at his side.
His eyes were pale amber, the color of dry grass in winter. His face showed nothing at all. He looked less like a man and more like a statue.
"Who are you?" I asked as I backed away until my legs hit the edge of the table.
He didn't answer.
He walked toward me without making a sound and stopped a few feet away.
"Sit," he said.
His voice was calm and cold.
"I asked who you are."
"It doesn't matter who I am. Sit and eat."
Hunger won.
I sat on the floor beside the table and picked up a roasted chicken leg with shaking hands.
He never looked away.
His eyes followed every bite.
They even watched my bruised fingers as I reached for the bread.
"You keep looking at me like you're measuring me for a coffin," I said between bites.
The corner of his mouth moved for a moment before his face became blank again.
"I am," he said quietly.
I stopped chewing.
The bread felt dry in my mouth.
"The three people who sat where you are sitting now all ate this same bread," he said as he leaned forward. "They all drank from that same cup."
He pointed at the silver goblet beside my plate.
"They're all dead now."
- Writer
