Chapter 14

  Shadow Mannequin

  Amarantha woke and opened her eyes slowly. She lay there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling before gradually sitting up in bed. Then she picked up the servant’s mask and put it on with practiced ease. Still dressed in her light sleeping clothes, she walked toward the bathing area.

  She stepped inside and began washing herself calmly. Water ran over her body as she washed her hair the way she did every morning in the palace. There was no hurry in her movements. Everything was part of the routine.

  When she finished, she dried herself and dressed right there. One by one, she put on each piece of the servant’s uniform with precision until she was fully ready. Then she stepped out into the hallway and walked calmly through the long palace corridors, her footsteps quiet and measured.

  At the same time, somewhere else, she was also walking. But not under the palace lights.

  There, she moved through the darkness.

  Inside the palace, Amarantha went about the corridors as if nothing were happening. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the walls near the inner gardens where flowers and carefully tended plants grew.

  But that image blended with another.

  In the lower district, the corridors were different—dark, filthy, and damp. Narrow streets pressed between tall buildings of stone and wood, barely lit by a few oil lanterns. While the Amarantha of the present continued her routine inside the palace, another figure walked through the city’s shadows.

  Back in the palace, Amarantha entered a service room. There she began gathering utensils: trays, spoons, plates, cups, and other items needed to attend the lords. Among them she picked up a knife and stared at it for a few seconds.

  The blade reflected the dim light of the room.

  Amarantha, Sapphire Division (22 years old)

  Then the scene shifted.

  Elsewhere, a man walked through a narrow corridor of the lower district. He glanced from side to side cautiously, trying to make sure no one was watching him. He saw nothing. He heard nothing.

  Suddenly, a hooded figure appeared behind him. A chain tightened around his neck. The girl held him firmly from behind and pulled backward. The man barely had time to react. He tried to grab the chain with his hands, but the pressure only increased.

  His legs began to fail.

  A few seconds later, his body collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

  As she calmly carried the tray through the palace corridors, the memory passed through her mind.

  Another man who had just finished some errands walked along the streets of the lower district. He moved without paying much attention to his surroundings when, out of nowhere and unnoticed by anyone, the hooded figure appeared behind him. She grabbed him from behind and slit his throat, dragging him into a narrow passage where she left him bleeding out in the darkness.

  Meanwhile, inside the palace, Amarantha reached the door of a hall where the lords were gathered, preparing for a feast. Voices, laughter, and the clinking of glasses could be heard from inside. With the tray in her hands, she opened the door and stepped in.

  In the memory, another door opened as well. The hooded figure pushed into a shop where several men were gathered around a table. Without hesitation, she raised her thorn bow—a compact weapon capable of firing small metal spikes at close range. The first dart lodged in one man’s neck, killing him instantly. Another tried to react and rush toward her, but before he could do anything, a second spike buried itself in his throat. The third tried to escape, running for the exit, but the hooded figure threw a knife that sank into his back and sent him crashing to the floor. She approached calmly, retrieved the knife, and with a single thrust to the neck finished him.

  After opening the door to the hall in the palace, Amarantha entered with the tray in her hands and walked toward the table where the lords were gathered. The table was covered with plates, goblets, and platters of food. Some drank wine as they spoke among themselves; others laughed while discussing business, travels, and matters of the kingdom. Some had already begun eating while servants continued bringing more dishes. Amarantha positioned herself among the other servants and began placing utensils and goblets on the table, moving discreetly among the lords while they continued their conversations without paying her any attention.

  In another corner of the lower district, a man approached a secluded spot between buildings where the lantern light barely reached. It was a small space between two stone structures, its walls damp and garbage piled along the edges. There, leaning against the wall, was a box. The man looked around to make sure no one was watching before bending down to open it.

  Inside was a man’s head.

  “Shit!” he exclaimed in shock.

  When he turned around, he saw the hooded figure wearing a black mask watching him from the shadows. Before he could react, she raised her thorn bow and fired. The dart struck his neck.

  The man collapsed to the ground without making a sound. The hooded figure approached his body and quickly searched his clothes until she found a leather bag he was carrying. She opened it and found several documents and manuscripts inside. She placed them back into the bag and began dragging the body toward the edge of the alley, pulling it away from the entrance.

  Meanwhile, as she continued serving wine alongside the other servants, the lords kept eating, drinking, and enjoying themselves at the table. Amid laughter and conversation, one of the men approached and lifted Amarantha’s skirt, causing several of them to burst into laughter.

  She did nothing.

  Her expression did not change. She did not react. She simply picked up a dirty dish from the table and continued her work.

  Elsewhere, the lord who had spoken about the investigators arrived at shop 6383. He knocked on the door, but noticed it was slightly open. He pushed it slowly and stepped inside with caution.

  “Tortis?” he called out as he moved carefully through the interior.

  He walked through the place until he reached the room where they usually gathered.

  There he found three men dead.

  “By all the gods!” he exclaimed.

  The shock was so great that he ran out of the place without even noticing a letter lying on the table. He rushed out of the shop and began running down the street.

  From a distance, the hooded figure watched him leave. She made sure he was truly gone.

  Then she went back inside the shop. When she reached the table, she saw that the letter she had left was still there beside the corpse. No one had taken it.

  Amarantha spoke quietly.

  “He must have been so frightened he didn’t even read the letter I left him. Well… I’ll leave it there in case someone else finds it.”

  After saying that, she left the place, leaving everything exactly as she had arranged it.

  Then she made her way back to the palace.

  Later she left the feast hall carrying the dirty dishes. She walked through the palace corridors with the same calm as always, among servants moving back and forth, glasses clinking in the distance, and the voices of lords still celebrating behind closed doors.

  Everything seemed normal.

  Her footsteps were those of just another servant within the palace, a silent presence no one looked at twice. She collected plates, arranged utensils, served wine. Invisible amid the opulence and noise of the powerful.

  But as she walked through the brightly lit corridors, she knew perfectly well who she truly was.

  During the day, she was only that—a cloth-maid servant, an obedient figure who moved between tables, listened to conversations, and endured the lords’ laughter without saying a word.

  At night, however, the streets changed.

  The shadows of Rousth opened to receive her.

  There were no goblets or banquets there—only damp alleyways, half-open doors, and men who would never see the dawn again. In that other world, she was not a servant.

  She was the assassin of the alleyways.

  A mannequin of the shadows.

  The First Rumors

  Several days had passed.

  In one of the palace dining halls, prepared for the meal of a noble family, a long table was covered with plates, goblets, and serving trays while the servants attended to the diners.

  Amarantha stood there alongside another servant, serving food as usual.

  “Easy, Alfonso,” the nobleman said to the child, trying to calm him down.

  As they spoke, Amarantha and the other servant continued moving around the table, placing utensils and serving dishes.

  Suddenly the boy began running across the hall and, without realizing it, collided with Amarantha, causing several plates and utensils to fall to the floor.

  “My apologies,” Amarantha said immediately.

  She knelt down and began gathering what had fallen.

  The nobleman watched the scene with a faint smile.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “These children running around… how I wish I still had that kind of energy.”

  Amarantha calmly continued picking everything up until she had gathered it all back onto the tray.

  Then she stood.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told the other servant.

  The woman gave a small nod and began cleaning the spot where the utensils had fallen.

  Amarantha collected the dirty dishes from the table and left the hall to bring them to the cleaning area.

  Later, Amarantha walked through the palace corridors carrying the dirty dishes on her tray. As she moved along, she passed another hall where several lords were gathered. Unlike the relaxed atmosphere found in other parts of the palace, the mood there seemed tense.

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  Amarantha entered the room under the excuse of collecting more utensils. Several servant girls stood there, lined up near the wall waiting for the lords’ instructions. Some of them glanced at Amarantha as she walked in.

  She approached calmly and said quietly,

  “I’m here to collect utensils for cleaning.”

  Without waiting for a response, she began removing plates and goblets from the table, moving naturally as she listened to the conversation.

  “We need to figure out what we can do. With the Crawlers eliminated, we’re adrift,” one of the men said.

  “Damn it…” another replied.

  “I invested a lot of money in that network, and now they’ve all been wiped out.”

  Another of the lords spoke with concern.

  “But who could have done it? I heard others have been eliminated as well.”

  Amarantha lingered a little longer than necessary as she cleared the utensils, moving the plates slowly so she could keep listening.

  When she finished collecting what was near her, she walked to another part of the room as if searching for more things to remove.

  One of the servants looked at her and said quietly,

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the rest later.”

  With no real choice, Amarantha simply nodded in acknowledgment and took a few more steps before leaving.

  She had heard enough to understand that the killings had worked.

  However, she hadn’t managed to hear the entire conversation.

  Finally, she left the hall and went to drop off the dirty utensils.

  Blood and Steel

  In the lands of Ridereith, within the territory of Steydprum, a troop of soldiers rested in an improvised camp.

  Around several campfires the men drank heavily—some already drunk, others simply sitting and preparing their gear for the next day’s departure. Their conversations were loud and disorderly: they talked about women, shady deals, the lords, and the brutal things they had seen or done in different places.

  The atmosphere was relaxed.

  No one seemed to expect trouble.

  One of the men stood up, swaying as he walked to relieve himself behind a nearby tree.

  He didn’t even finish the step.

  An arrow pierced his head.

  His body fell to the ground without a sound.

  At another fire, one of the soldiers stood laughing while telling a joke. The others watched him with amusement as the man, half-drunk, began mocking some of the lords.

  “And then Ganza kept saying everything was under control!” he laughed. “And Fusuro acting like he’s the smartest man alive!”

  The others burst into laughter.

  Suddenly the man froze.

  An arrow had sunk into his chest.

  “Damn…” he managed to say.

  He collapsed dead in front of them.

  The soldiers took a moment to understand what was happening.

  Then the shouting began.

  “Ambush!”

  “Grab your weapons!”

  One of the officers tried to impose order over the chaos.

  “Formation! Formation!”

  He never finished the command.

  An arrow pierced his neck and he fell to the ground.

  Suddenly flames began appearing in different parts of the camp. Several tents caught fire as more arrows rained down from the darkness.

  The army, far larger in number, was completely disoriented.

  Through the smoke and fire, arrows continued falling from multiple directions, striking men who ran without knowing where to go.

  Then they appeared.

  Reydem soldiers emerged from the darkness and began attacking directly. Some fought in close combat; others kept firing from a distance.

  A group of knights tried to break through to escape the camp, but the flames had already blocked several exits.

  Jars of oil were thrown onto the tents and supply wagons. Moments later, flaming arrows struck them, spreading the fire even further.

  The flames grew while screams and steel clashed in the middle of the night.

  The ambush had been total.

  By the time the night finally ended, the army that had occupied the camp had been almost completely wiped out.

  The next morning, the field still bore the marks of battle.

  Among the remains of burned tents, abandoned weapons, and scattered bodies, Zeldrin walked calmly, wiping the blood from his sword with a piece of cloth.

  Zeldrin, Commander of the Sapphire Division (60 years old)

  One of the Reydem soldiers approached and began walking beside him.

  “We’ve already reduced most of the soldiers,” he reported. “We also captured the squad’s lieutenant.”

  Zeldrin didn’t slow his pace.

  “Good,” he replied simply.

  He continued walking until he reached a tent they had set up in the captured camp.

  He pulled aside the entrance flap and stepped inside.

  Carlos and several Reydem men were waiting there. In the center, kneeling and chained, was the enemy lieutenant.

  One of the men pointed at the prisoner.

  “That’s him.”

  Zeldrin began walking toward him slowly.

  The lieutenant looked at him with contempt.

  “Even if you torture me, I won’t talk,” he said firmly. “I won’t tell you anything. I’m a knight and—”

  The sentence ended abruptly.

  Without stopping, Zeldrin slightly drew his sword and, in a single motion, drove it through the man’s back.

  The lieutenant collapsed dead instantly.

  Silence filled the tent.

  “Remove him from here and dump him somewhere.”

  “Yes, Commander,” two Reydem men replied.

  The soldiers grabbed the lieutenant’s body and dragged it outside the tent.

  Zeldrin remained silent as he once again wiped the blood from his sword.

  Carlos stepped forward a few paces.

  Carlos, Sapphire Division (42 years old)

  “Commander, the intelligence agents reported that Torken and Félix are already moving toward the lands of Rinnerhot. The destruction of the trade area that connected several partners in Refrhald has already been carried out. That should help divert attention.”

  Zeldrin spread a map across the table and studied it carefully.

  “That’s good news,” he said while analyzing the marked routes.

  Carlos stepped closer.

  “We’ve also received information from Amarantha.”

  He handed him several manuscripts bearing the Level II classification seal.

  Zeldrin took them and began reviewing them calmly.

  After reading them, he set the documents aside while looking back at the map.

  “We have nothing left to do in Drafta or Steydprum.”

  As he spoke, he began organizing several papers on the table, separating them into different piles.

  “With everything we’ve done, we’ve created the necessary noise. The troops and assassins in these regions will stay distracted while the other divisions move forward with their operations.”

  He continued arranging the papers.

  “After these attacks, it’s likely we’ll be hunted more aggressively. Houses Optlis, Meinstrull, Ruminot, Detreim, Ruffiroth… and even Houses Dumstrein and Tudeth will want our heads.”

  He lifted his gaze from the map.

  “So we must be more alert than ever.”

  He finished putting the documents away, but then picked up the last manuscripts sent by Amarantha.

  He studied them for a few seconds.

  “Amarantha has managed to filter information that has kept us one step ahead. Still, we must be careful.”

  He finally put the documents away.

  Then he stepped away from the table and, before leaving, said,

  “The last thing we want… is for them to discover they have a spy.”

  After leaving the tent, Carlos walked beside Zeldrin.

  “What are the next steps?” he asked as they moved through the camp.

  Zeldrin continued walking at an unhurried pace.

  “The plans may change depending on the information Amarantha and Victor send us,” he replied calmly. “But for now, we’ll regroup in Sidastra. We’ll recover our strength there and prepare for our next moves.”

  Carlos nodded.

  “Then I’ll give the orders to move toward Sidastra.”

  He paused for a moment and said respectfully,

  “With your permission, Commander.”

  Zeldrin did not respond immediately. He remained standing, observing the camp and the remnants of the battle that still surrounded them.

  At that moment, he noticed a trickle of blood running down his arm from a cut he had received during the fight.

  Without showing any reaction, he took the cloth he still carried and calmly wiped away the blood.

  Then he tossed the cloth to the ground.

  And continued walking toward another part of the camp as if nothing had happened.

  Elsewhere in the camp, Carlos walked among the men giving instructions. He spoke with several soldiers, pointed out positions, and answered questions while the troops began reorganizing after the battle.

  As he moved forward, he noticed a woman among the wounded in the distance.

  Carlos frowned.

  “Again…” he muttered, with a mixture of concern and annoyance.

  The woman was Carla.

  Carla, Sapphire Division (22 years old)

  She was kneeling beside several wounded soldiers, cleaning cuts and bandaging arms and shoulders while speaking to them to keep them calm.

  At that moment another Reydem man passed nearby. Carlos stopped him by touching his shoulder.

  “What is it, Carlos?” the man asked.

  Carlos looked again toward where Carla was before speaking.

  “Didn’t we send a group of our members ahead to Sidastra a few weeks ago?”

  “Yes, they left,” the man replied. “Is something wrong?”

  Carlos shook his head.

  “No… nothing’s wrong.”

  Even as he said it, he kept watching Carla.

  The man gave him a light pat on the shoulder and continued on his way.

  Carlos remained there for a few seconds, observing her. His expression showed a hint of irritation, but little by little it softened into resignation.

  Carla hadn’t left when she had the chance.

  She had chosen to stay.

  And now she was still there, on the front lines with the rest of them.

  The Black Swan

  Several days had passed.

  In one of the palace gardens, Amarantha had strayed slightly from her usual route to water a few flowers that had been neglected. She walked along the narrow stone paths that crossed the garden, surrounded by trimmed shrubs, small flower beds, and ornamental trees casting soft shadows across the paved walkway. Various plants grew along the path, adding color to the place, though several of them showed signs of dryness. Since she knew plants and their care well, she had noticed that this section had gone several days without being watered.

  She had wandered a bit farther than her duties normally required, but she knew that if anyone asked, she could always justify it as part of her work. For a cloth-maid servant, maintaining the condition of the gardens was also a valid task within the palace routine.

  She began watering slowly, tilting the watering can over the dry soil as the water trickled down among the stems and petals. She appreciated every minute of that quiet moment, because it was one of the few things that still allowed her to disconnect, even briefly, from the weight of everything else. Still, it was no longer the same as before; while the act remained a moment of calm, it also constantly reminded her of the choices she had made and the path she could no longer turn away from.

  Suddenly, in the stillness of the garden, Amarantha heard someone singing. The voice was accompanied by the sound of a stringed instrument whose melody resembled a rebec. As she continued walking along the stone path between shrubs and flowers, she followed the direction of the music until she finally saw the man who was singing.

  He was sitting on the grass of the garden, calmly playing the instrument while singing a soft song. Around him stretched a more open section of the garden: trimmed shrubs, flowers of many colors, and a small lagoon where several swans swam peacefully. Among them stood out a black swan beside a white one, with several small ones following them.

  When he noticed Amarantha’s footsteps on the stone path, the man continued singing without stopping. She stood a few meters away on the paved walkway, watering the flowers as if nothing unusual was happening. Even though the man had noticed her presence, he did not stop playing or singing.

  Amarantha continued her task in silence, tilting the watering can over the plants as the water fell onto the soil. When the man finished his song, his voice slowly faded along with the final echo of the melody, until the garden returned to stillness.

  After a few seconds, the man looked around and spoke aloud, as if commenting to the air.

  “There’s more breeze than usual today.”

  Amarantha kept watering the flowers without reacting. The man slowly stood and directed his gaze toward her.

  She continued acting normally, though when she noticed him stepping a little closer, she briefly raised her eyes to observe him before returning to her work.

  The man stopped near her and said with curiosity,

  “I’ve never seen a cloth-maid servant watering the flowers in this area.”

  Amarantha remained silent as she continued watering the plants.

  The man watched her for a moment and then asked,

  “May I ask you something?”

  Amarantha answered calmly.

  “Go ahead.”

  The man looked at her again while she continued watering the flowers.

  “What do you feel when you water the flowers?”

  Amarantha had not expected that question. Even so, she knew she had to respond normally so as not to draw attention. Besides, in her role as a cloth-maid servant, they were trained to answer in the simplest possible way.

  “I feel nothing,” she replied.

  The man gave a faint smile.

  “I see.”

  He knew perfectly well that she was a cloth-maid servant and that her answers would be mechanical.

  Still, he added calmly,

  “Even so… I enjoy watering them, even though there are gardeners who take care of it.”

  As he spoke, he stepped a little closer and positioned himself beside Amarantha.

  “There’s something about this place that invites you to pause for a moment. The silence, the movement of the water, the scent of the flowers… everything seems to remind you that time keeps moving, even when you try to ignore it.”

  He glanced briefly around the garden.

  “Watering the flowers gives me a certain sense of peace. It’s as if, for a moment, everything becomes simpler.”

  Amarantha said nothing. She simply kept listening while continuing to water the plants.

  After a few seconds, the man spoke again.

  “My name is Ed. And you?”

  “I’m L9.”

  The man nodded with a kind expression.

  “Nice to meet you, L9.”

  Amarantha lowered the watering can again and continued watering some nearby flowers and other plants grew.

  The man watched her for a moment before speaking again.

  “It’s not common to see a cloth-maid servant watering the plants and flowers. There are gardeners who take care of this place.”

  Amarantha kept watering without saying a word.

  “Why do you do it?” he asked.

  Amarantha finished watering that side of the path and lifted the watering can. She knew she had to give a logical answer to avoid drawing attention. And in part, it was true: she was quite far from the section where she would normally be assigned to water flowers.

  “These flowers have not been watered enough, Your Majesty.”

  She pointed to a few plants while speaking in the same neutral tone.

  “The soil appears dry. The sunflower petals are wilting, and the stems show signs of dehydration.”

  Then she indicated other nearby flowers.

  “Petunias begin to wrinkle their petals when they lack water. Their leaves also start to fall.”

  Amarantha tilted the watering can toward the soil again.

  “This path has not been watered for several days. I am simply ensuring that the conditions of the area remain correct, as part of my duties.”

  The answer caught the man’s attention. He looked at her with a calm expression, as if that simple explanation revealed more than it seemed. Then he turned his gaze toward the flowers surrounding them.

  “You’re right,” he said at last.

  He examined the condition of the plants more carefully.

  “The palace gardens are so vast that it’s easy to overlook these things unless someone stops to observe every detail.”

  Amarantha had already begun watering another part of the garden.

  The man continued speaking in a reflective tone.

  “I’ll speak with those in charge. We’ll increase the number of gardeners to make sure every corner of the garden is properly tended.”

  Amarantha did not respond. She simply continued watering the flowers in silence.

  Then the man said,

  “L9.”

  Amarantha stopped and slightly raised her gaze.

  “Yes?”

  The man lifted his hand and pointed toward the lagoon a few meters ahead.

  “Do you know those swans?”

  Amarantha looked toward the water.

  “No.”

  The man observed the lake as he spoke calmly.

  “They come from the other side of the narrow sea. They’re not common in these lands.”

  He pointed again toward the group swimming across the water’s reflection.

  “If you look closely, there’s one among them that is black. That one belongs to a different species.”

  Both of them watched the lagoon. Among the white swans swam one with dark plumage, accompanied by a white swan and several small ones moving behind them.

  The man continued in a measured tone.

  “The black swan is different from the others. Yet it managed to adapt to an environment where everyone around it is different.”

  He paused briefly before continuing.

  “It even found a companion among them.”

  Amarantha said nothing. She simply listened.

  The man looked at her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the lake.

  “Swans are monogamous. When they find a partner, they stay with them for the rest of their lives.”

  In the lagoon, the black swan and the white swan swam together while the small ones moved around them.

  The man continued.

  “When one of them dies, the other spends a long time alone. That’s how they mourn.”

  He watched the water for a few more seconds.

  “Most of them eventually find another partner.”

  Then he added in a quieter voice,

  “But some… simply remain alone for the rest of their lives.”

  Amarantha continued listening in silence, showing no reaction.

  The man remained there a few seconds longer, watching the lagoon and the swans gliding peacefully across the water.

  “Well, I came here to spend a few moments contemplating this place. To rest a little in nature, feel the breeze, see the flowers and the animals… Sometimes it helps to disconnect from other matters. It’s a small moment of calm.”

  Then he added,

  “Well, I should be going.”

  He turned toward her.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, L9.”

  Amarantha simply nodded in acknowledgment.

  And before leaving, he said,

  “By the way, Ed is just a nickname. My real name is Lederas… Lederas of House Pertrabish.”

  Lederas, Sovereign of House Pertrabish (40 years old)

  Amarantha looked at him for a moment. Realizing she was standing before one of the Grand Lords, she slightly lowered her head in a gesture of respect before continuing to water the flowers.

  Then he added,

  “We’ll meet again.”

  After saying that, he left the garden.

  Amarantha continued watering the flowers in silence.

  As she worked, the memory of the empty chair at the conglomerate table returned to her mind… and now the face of that man as well. At last, she knew the faces of all the Grand Lords.

  Yet he was different.

  There was no trace of the same malice in his expression—none of the cruelty, perversity, or class arrogance she had seen in the other lords. He lacked that familiar look of arrogant authority that defined so many of them.

  He seemed simply… solitary. In some way, dimmed.

  But then the words Victor had once told her echoed again in her mind.

  Lederas is neutral… but he is still one of the enemies who finance the external threats surrounding the palace. Among them, Reydem.

  Amarantha felt nothing toward him. Even if he seemed different, she knew that changed nothing.

  Whoever he was, he was still an enemy.

  And if the circumstances ever demanded it…

  he too would have to be eliminated.

  After finishing the watering, Amarantha began to leave the garden. But before going, she stopped for a moment.

  She stood there, looking at the lagoon.

  The black swan and the white swan swam together, moving one ahead and the other behind the small swans that followed them across the water.

  Amarantha watched them for a few seconds more.

  Then she walked away.