“I see,” I say, “Um… I’m not certain what to say. But suppose I am this person you seem to think I am, I don’t see why you would say that. After all, I am favoured by the Empress. Why would you not assume that I have turned over in earnest?”

  He chuckles. “There’s no way you would convert, at least not so quickly. You’re too much like me. Which is how I know there was no way you would admit you’re still working for us unless you know I haven’t turned, and the only way to convince you of that is to drop all pretence. To open myself up and not bother with the guessing game.”

  “Uh huh.” I grin nervously. “But um… I fail to see how you have done that exactly. Just proclaiming yourself still loyal doesn’t make you so.”

  He shrugs. “What would be the point of lying? I know who you are. If I weren’t still loyal, I would report you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare accuse me while I have the favour of the Empress.” I counter. “It would discredit you.”

  “True, but then again, why would I expose myself to the risk that you might have turned if I wasn’t still loyal? After all, you have a witness. You could go to the empress who holds you in such evident favour and say her new count has gone mad, especially if you are indeed not the person I think as you claim. Why would I approach you at all? Wouldn’t I be better served by running?”

  “I’d find you,” I state, levelling my gaze to express my utter certainty of the fact.

  He chuckles with an ironic smile. “Well, I’m certain that other person would at least. But this has grown rather tiring. Forcing a confession and assuring my safety is not why I’m here.”

  “Then why are you?” Allan asks with a completely genial smile that reveals no tension.

  “Heh, well,” he stares into his glass with a grin like a cat about to pounce, and takes his first drink in a greedy gulp, “I suppose you could say that I have recently gained everything I have ever wanted… on a personal level, of course, and am left with little to do besides cement my gains until it’s time for the new rebellion. So, naturally, I look to grant boons and repay debts to those who have aided me. I owe your ‘cousin’ one such debt and am here to repay it.”

  Allan exchanges a glance with me, making a subtle expression to indicate ‘he seems sincere’, which confirms my own assessment.

  I smile politely at Lindrid. “Ah, Count Fluemhal, while I’m certain that this benefactor of yours would be delighted to hear that you feel as such, even if I were this person, I do not have any pressing need worthy of a boon from someone of your eminent standing.” I catch a subtle glance from Allan expressing approval of the approach.

  “Hmm, no matter. The boon does not expire. Should you change your mind, I will be in the capital for another month. After that, you may send word to my castle.” There’s a flash of pleasure in his eyes as he says the words ‘my castle’. No doubt he delights in finding opportunity in mentioning it. “But I’m afraid I’ve run out of time and must be leaving. Lord Linhal, I must compliment you on this brandywine. Is it from your holdings in the west?”

  “No, I trade it from a county in the north.” There’s just the faintest glimmer of surprise in his eyes at the mention of holdings I did not know he had. “I’ll have a servant give the details if you wish.”

  “I’d be delighted. Well,” he takes another long drink from the glass and sets it down, “this has been rather pleasant. Please, both of you, feel free to come visit me in my place in town whenever, seeking boons or not. Lord Linhal, Monhal.”

  “…Wait.” I call after him, causing him to pause with his hand on the door. “What do you want?”

  “Ah, I told you…”

  “No, I mean, not with me, but in general. You’re… a strange breed,” like me, “a loyal opportunist. You won’t betray the cause and will do what you can to advance it, but you’re always on the lookout to advance yourself too. So, I don’t believe that you have no ambition left, even after gaining so much. So, what is it? Your dream that seems as impossible to your current standing as your current standing seemed when you first dreamt it?”

  “Heh…Hahaha… You do amuse me…” his hand goes to his forehead and swipes back, mussing his neatly trimmed hair. “Well, let us just say that when Caethlon does rebel again, and breaks our yoke, that it will need a new monarch, will it not? Why not me? Or, if not, at least I might become someone more than just another count in an empire full of them…

  “You know, in working for the cause, I’ve always made sure to hold to two principles: Do not betray the cause and do not betray myself. Of course, one wonders what one will do if those were somehow put into opposition with each other. But, then again, such circumstances in which you truly cannot find a way to keep both are exceedingly rare. But, suppose such a circumstance would befall you that you had to choose. Which do you think you’ll pick?”

  I just stare silently at him until he walks through the door, chuckling to himself.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  After we’re sure he’s gone, Allan and I look at each other and sigh, smiling with nervous relief. I lean against the wall while he walks over to where the count placed the glass of brandywine.

  “I don’t know if that’s a relief or a complication,” he says, picking up the half-full glass and peering into the liquid backlit by the window. “Pity he didn’t finish it. It’s a good brandy…” Without warning, he spins around and throws the glass at me.

  It’s not nearly as fast as he could throw it, expertly controlled and rotating to keep the liquid from spilling. I snatch it out of the air, stepping back to gain room and reversing the glass’s orientation while keeping the rotation as I slow it to a stop without letting a drop escape.

  I stare at the glass, baffled at the sudden action and look up to see him glaring at me, with stern, icy eyes.

  “You’re quicker than when you left; how?”

  I try to shrug it off. “I would have caught it before.”

  He shakes his head, no more than an inch, as he keeps his eyes on me. “You would have caught it, but you would have spilled some. Not much, a few drops, but it would have been some.”

  I stare at him, staring at me. I can’t lie, not when he’s this focused. “…What gave me away?”

  He doesn’t move at all. “Little things. You noticed a few things you wouldn’t have before, some tells I let show. You’re a little bit faster getting up, meaning you’re stronger despite whatever wound you have. You reacted to a few sounds that you shouldn’t have, and you did so quicker. So, what are you trying to hide?”

  “Sigh… I um… someone knew about me somehow, so I had to offer them.”

  “I doubt that. You may have had to kill them, but you wanted to offer them.” His voice is extremely measured. There’s fury, or… something else in his eyes. He’s never been like this before with me. So serious.

  I shrug off his chastisement. “Well, as it turned out, I needed to offer them in order to kill them. They had this absurd regeneration spell. Nothing I hit them with worked, but the sacrifice ritual targets the soul. Turns out they were a god’s favoured, Mynharra, presumably, so the boon was a lot more than I expected.”

  “Wait.” He holds up his hand and closes his eyes, taking deep breaths as if trying to control himself. But of course, that can’t be what he’s doing, as that should be trivially easy for him. “You’re saying that this increase isn’t from an active boon but the residual from one? From a single sacrifice?”

  “Ah, well, mostly. There were a few others I took to extend it. I… well, I made a lot of progress with my spells while under it. In fact, I learned quite a few.”

  “…And you think that’s worth this?”

  I shrug. “Well, I was going to kill them anyways. Might as well…”

  He slams his fist into the table, denting it and causing the glass bottle and cups on it to clink against each other. “You know it’s not the same! Killing might have to be done, but giving them to Anar, to consign them to torment…”

  I snap. “They’re my enemies; why would I grant them mercy when they could empower me to better continue the fight?” Why is he like this? He’s supposed to be my handler, my partner in fulfilling the mission. Yet he’s always so strangely hesitant about random things that could aid me. Perhaps he’s just worried about the added danger? “You don’t need to worry about me getting caught. I have a combination of spells to quickly convert the bodies into inorganic powder, and I’m careful to select places where people won’t wander.”

  “…I’m certain you’re very capable of avoiding the personal consequences.” His face is a stony mask, moving only what’s required to whisper the words and no more, stressing each syllable.

  I throw my hands to the side in a bewildered expression. “Then what’s the problem? I can’t show my best spells to people because they’d implicate me, and even if I could show them, I’d still be behind some of my peers. I need an edge just to seem adequate, and it needs to be sharp if I’m to have any hope of succeeding in my mission.”

  “You worry too much. Even a middling academy graduate can reach important posts.”

  “And you don’t worry enough!” I snap back, raising my voice. “How do you not understand that I’m still at war! There is nothing that I won’t do to win.” I inhale sharply through my teeth and turn around to not face him, my hand raking through my hair as if I’m trying to force the frustration out but fail. “You’re my handler! You’re supposed to be helping win, not holding me back!... It was so much simpler before, when I had a better leader. Gebal understood the need to use every tool against the enemy. He would find me sacrifices, not chide me for them.”

  This breaks his mask, his face twitches in anger, and he struggles to control his voice. “Yeah, well, maybe if Gebal didn’t drag an eleven-year-old into war, then you wouldn’t be so fucked up! That you’d know that there are some things that aren’t worth victory.”

  My face twists in rage. I nearly throw the glass back at him, but stop myself, knowing that he’d just catch it, so I toss it sideways and shatter it against his bookcase instead, then point angrily with the now empty hand. “You don’t get to criticize him! While you were getting rich off our struggle to fund your orgies, he fought for his homeland! While you sat content, congratulating yourself for acting in accord with your high minded intellectual aesthetics, he was making the decisions needed to keep us alive. So don’t tell me that his means weren’t justified by the end.”

  He sneers at this. “I wouldn’t care if he single handedly threw out the entire Arkothan occupation. Because when he met you, when you had just left the cult and you had a chance of becoming a sane, normal kid, he decided to exploit you instead, and ensure you’ll never be fully right again. That’s the only end I care about.”

  “I… You mean…?” I stammer, “You mean you don’t care about the cause?”

  He closes his eyes and exhales, forcing tension from his body, then looks at me with a pained sincerity. “No, not anymore. Not since I met you.”

  I feel like the floor has opened up beneath me. I turn and silently go through the doors, slamming them shut behind me. Allan calls out, but his voice is cut off by the silencer, and I only make out my name… No, not my name. His. The dead one’s.

  I’m alone. I thought I had a partner in all this, but I don’t. I’m the only one who cares anymore. The only one still fighting… No, Lindrid cares… some. I can turn to him, but for how long? He’ll be leaving soon, then even his self-centred help won’t be available. But even if he was staying, could I trust him to be my handler? I thought I could trust Allan, but if he doesn’t even care about the mission… how can I trust anyone…?

  Hehe… same as ever. They don’t need to care about the cause, so long as they work for it. In fact, it’s better that way. They can’t betray what they were never a part of.

  It’s time to visit my clients. Greg won’t let me down.