Once upon a deception

When darkness kissed light

THREE WEEKS AGO

Gareth returned to his house a wounded lion. As he waited for the Grand duke to return his daughter, he proceeded to write a confessional in his journal; a book that held all the sins of the grandmaster and the church of Corbeau. They contained a memoir of things he could never speak about and the misdeeds his heavy heart could not carry.

“The great one pens his sins like a common woman. I must say, I am disappointed.” A voice whispered, making Gareth freeze mid-writing.

The intruder in question strode past Gareth’s back and walked up to him. He was clothed in all black and had a hood covering his face. Gareth’s gaze diverted to the many blades he had strapped on to him. No doubt, he was an assassin, and if Gareth threw a wild guess. He was probably sent by Malachi Barre.

“Malachi sent you to kill me I am guessing,” Gareth said, closing his journal shut. “I knew the bastard could play dirty but this beats me.”

“I am not here to kill you, sire. I am just here to deliver some news.” The assassin revealed, propping a seat close to the grandmaster and sitting quite comfortably,

“Malachi sent an assassin to deliver news? Your line of work does not exactly scream messenger of the living. Not that I care what goes on in that twisted maniac’s skull but what I do want to know is where my daughter is? I did as your master demanded and he is yet to keep his side of the bargain.”

“I killed her.” The assassin relayed. Gareth could tell he was smiling as he uttered such repulsing words. Not that Gareth was not expecting it but he had been so desperate that he had believed the lies of Malachi. His daughter had probably been dead from the start. His throat chaffed and a cry threatened to come pouring. Luckily, Gareth got hold of his fragile state and played it off with everything he got. Now that the only thing he had loved was taken away from him, Gareth swore to destroy Malachi.

“Well messenger, Do tell your master I am going to give him hell and he will not survive it.”

“You should be thinking about the good he has done you. The church would have flipped once they discovered you had a weakness that could have been exploited by the enemy. He took away that flaw and you threaten to expose him and the church’s dealings. Does that not go against the oath you made?”

“If you are going to be mentioning my oaths, you should know that it disallows you from killing me irrespective of the fact that you are paid killer.” Gareth retorted in response.

“That is true,” The assassin mused. “which is why it would be a shame if your weekly concoctions don’t make it tonight.”

Gareth got the message. The antidote should have arrived already. If it had not, it meant whoever was bringing it had either been murdered or killed. Once the venom got hold of him and he did not survive, his death would be tagged a suicide so the church could keep their secrets. The retrogressive thought seemed to quicken the effects of the poison as he swayed away slightly collapsing into the arms of his killer. He tried to swat the man’s hold but he was too weak to even fight back. His breath became ragged as the poison continued to work faster to stop his beating heart while the assassin watched, waiting for the inevitable to come so he could deliver the good news to his employer. A weak smile made its way to Gareth’s lips as he swore to take away the peace and victory Malachi sought.

“Tell your master that the sins of the church…” Gareth silently whispered as the poison slowly grasped unto his heart and squeezed the life out. “…now resides with someone who holds no oath.”

Once those words were uttered, Gareth breathed his last, his chest laid still with no flickers of life but for the proud smile that he carried. It was a for sure sign that the man was dead.

***

Three weeks. Clarisse had been put through the rigor of manipulation and the many ways to kill a man for many weeks now. As sister Mathilde tightened the corset around her waist and fitted a beautiful red gown over her exhausted body to hide the cuts and burns she had needed to endure to become the doll monster they had prepped her to become, Clarisse was certain she was ready. The cuts were for every mistake she made. The time she questioned sister Mathilde for ordering her to kill a dog she had been entrusted by sir. Malachi to keep. It had taken a lot for her to slit the poor thing's throat. Only then did sister Mathilde reveal to her that she had been taking care of a dire wolf that would grow up to devour her. Every cut held a story. They reminded her she needed to trust the order of Corbeau and do as they requested because absurd as their request might be, there was always a good reason for their demands. Sister Mathilde proceeded to paint her lips bright red to hide their true pale nature. They were a reminder that she was forever on the grace of the church. Osumare venom was permanent and Clarisse had learned any living soul who swallowed that vile liquid had to take a potent antidote every week to ensure the venom did not become strong enough to kill them. It had been three weeks and Clarisse had learned the hard way that no herbs she found could counteract with the poison. Her life had become one with the venom that refused to leave her body. Sister Mathilde continued to rub the foundation on Clarisse’s face before she disappeared only to return with a sealed package.

“What is that?” Clarisse could not help but ask.

Mathilde led her to the circular table that now had more dents than it had in before. Her stomach twisted realizes what could have happened but she could not dwell on that as Mathilde propped her legs up and tore the package open. A pair of perfect crimson shoes shone back.

“They are a gift from the Grand Duke.” Sister Mathilde supplied, pulling her stockings off and revealing the burns Mathilde had inflicted herself. It was Clarisse’s alibi. Her character was the bastard daughter of a minor noble from Trilaria. A town that has been devastated from the battle that engulfed Bridgeiron. Grand duke Malachi had pressured the king to take her in as she was the last surviving member of the house of Martel; another false tale. The king had been guilt-tripped into taking her into his custody. After all, his fathers had been the persons responsible for the destruction of those old leagues. It was perfect. No one would ask questions and no one would be able to check, not when her indenture markings had been burned off. Sister Mathilde rubbed heavy foundation on all three spots they had scalded on the girl to throw suspicion off. She continued to rub it on, not minding that it made Clarisse whimper. Sister Mathilde did not stop until the foundation was perfectly blended. Then, she pulled Clarisse’s stockings back on and slipped on the perfect red shoes.

Clarisse looked at herself in the hand mirror the sister had handed to her while she went to open the vault they were hiding in. The image that reflected looked like her. Yet, there was an aura that chastised Clarisse for even considering the version that looked back at her was her, to begin with. This charade, this mask she had on would be the undoing of everyone that ever made her like this. That blissful daydream came to mind for the sixth time in the span of the three weeks she had been here; The king dying by her dagger and her father begging for his life as she swiftly denied him his selfish request.

“The carriage is here child.” Sister Mathilde informed, snatching the mirror from Clarisse’s hand and haggling her towards the vault’s passage.

Clarisse’s eyes closed shut once the iridescent rays of light that filtered into the church hit her eyes. She had not been on the outside since she arrived. Everything felt so surreal that it hurt. Sister Mathilde continued shoving Clarisse forward, faster than the girl could walk. The robed nun was that eager to get rid of her. Sister Mathilde banged the church doors open, letting even more light hit Clarisse's eyes. Searing hot tears were beginning to make way towards the corner of Clarisse’s eyes but it was not an effect of the sun. Before she set her eyes on the carriage, Clarisse turned to Mathilde and hugged her.

“Thank you,” She cried. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

For the first time in perhaps forever, the woman did not shove her off. Neither did she call her a petite rat who lacked knowledge and courtesy to do anything right. Clarisse was happy to feel the woman hug her back and it broke the girl’s heart to let the woman go.

Mathilde smiled. A great deal for Clarisse. “It was good to know you, Lady Clarisse. And who knows? Perhaps we can meet again, sooner than later.”

Clarisse nodded, wiping off the tears that cruised to her cheeks before it ruined her makeup. She turned to face the carriage, her eyes glued to the insignia of the sun branded to the fine wood. As she walked into the wooden box, Clarisse knew the war had begun.

The game of deception was on.