15. Chapter 15
Remus
I feel like shit.
Laying one harmful finger on Ines made me hate myself more than I already do.
For fifteen years, I've been faithful to fulfill my oath, even when it costs me pieces of my soul. Torturing Ines last night ripped another part of my humanity to shreds.
I despise myself.
I despise bloodying my hands.
But I know it's better this way.
Cas needs to be of honorable repute if he is to reclaim his familial throne and unite our fragmented city and peoples. But hell, it hurts to be the one with a sinful soul and blackened heart. To have everyone I know look at me as callous and cruel with no regard for other's feelings.
The truth they don't know is every night before I rest my head atop my pillow, I pray to whatever Saints might be listening to forgive me. To forgive me for all the wrong I've inflicted in order for good to have a clear pathway to defeating evil.
Would my parents be proud of the man I have become? I don't want to answer that question. I'm afraid the answer will be no.
They were honorable, faithful, and kind. Despite their path being a rocky one, they never wavered in their devotion to one another and their quest for peace. Everyone knew exactly what they stood for and where their line was drawn in the politics of Orlencia.
I traipse around this city as two different men; neither which truly reflect who I really am. It's lonely being seen as the villain.
But for some reason, when Ines came into the picture, I felt for the first time in years, I wasn't actually alone.
I could feel her pain, sense her anger, and I've had to fight the urge to let my walls crumble at her feet and tell her I understand.
I know pain, I know suffering, I know what it feels like to be misunderstood.
But I can't.
I can't allow her, or anyone else, to see who I truly am.
Love is a weakness, and she would be my undoing. For years, I've supplanted my feelings, my hopes, my fears, and ultimately my dreams all for the sake of furthering our cause, honoring our true king, and avenging the loved ones wrongfully stolen from us.
The Venturans inhabited an island nearly one hundred miles from the shores of Orlencia.
The Venturans and Orlencians had trade agreements in place and were never at odds politically, but apart from business, our kind didn't mix with theirs.
It wasn't until the dormant volcano, Mount Caius, erupted, that our people had little choice but to look elsewhere for a fresh start.
When flying debris damaged or sunk most of our ships, my parents, Generals Vitalis and Boudica Kane, led our people across the sea via way of the sky.
Whether from exhaustion, old age or under-developed wings, some did not make the long flight to Orlencia and one-by-one fell into the water, never to be seen again.
But the ones who survived asked King Armando for aid and the Orlencian ruler answered with kindness and compassion.
My parents weren't fools, they were aware many members of the king's council weren't keen on us integrating into their society but when Dona Otero threw her political weight in favor of the king's agenda, the other Dons backed down.
The Wings offering to defend and protect Orlencia also helped sway some of the undecided members.
Five years after the Venturans were welcomed to Orlencia, I was amongst the first generation born here.
Equally Venturan and Orlencian – nothing the world had ever seen before.
Walking through the streets, or flying above, the Orlencian citizens would study our black-feathered wings in awe, and I remember believing I was special.
My parents would quickly remind me being both Venturan and Orlencian meant more than being special; it meant I had a responsibility to keep our two peoples united.
As a young child, I had no idea what that meant. But now, at twenty-five, I fully understand the weight my parents shouldered.
I remember the night everything changed.
Parts of the city were on fire; people were angry, and the palace was under siege. The Soberano had secretly incited a riot and dispatched his right hand, Severo Murrieta, to drag every Venturan they could find from their beds and put them to the sword; my parents being among the fallen.
I recall the panic inside the palace. The king and queen were already dead – assassinated in their bed which instigated the civil unrest.
My father fought the perpetrators while my mother woke me and my cousin, Cassius, dragging us from our rooms and ushering us to a secret small opening in a wall in King Armando's office.
She pushed us both inside and told us to follow the pathway until we found Pillar Ollivander.
She would ensure we would be kept hidden.
I sometimes think back on that night and wonder if my mother knew this would happen one day. She was extremely calm and had a plan already set in place should we boys need to be protected if something were to happen to her.
"He is our only hope."
That was the last time I saw her face. As much as I wanted to stay and fight alongside her and my father, I was ten, and there was nothing for me to do except obey her last command to protect Cas.
Dona Otero helped me create Rafael Canoso financially and left me to forge a path into the Soberano's trust and ultimately his high council.
The atrocities I've committed to have a seat at his cursed table, to feast with my enemies and break bread with the men responsible for my parents' executions, has slowly but thoroughly hardened me.
I have a job to do. I will not allow one woman to distract me when I'm so close to having sweet revenge.
"Don Rafael, how is the planning coming along?"
The Soberano's throaty voice cleaves through my thoughts and brings me back to the present moment: sitting in our weekly council meeting.
Suddenly twelve sets of eyes swivel toward me.
The Dons representing all the districts in Orlencia are present and though I have the coveted position of being seated on the Soberano's left, it places me directly across the table from Severo Murrieta who is currently watching me like a predator hunting prey.
Little does he know, he's but a serpent I plan on crushing beneath my boot.
I grin, donning the charming persona Don Rafael is known for – the persona that lulled the Soberano into a false sense of admiration, granting me access into the belly of the beast – and say, "Soberano, you will be most pleased with what I have planned.
All the people in Orlencia will gather to praise your mighty reign. "
The Soberano claps like an excited toddler, clinking together the finely crafted and expensive rings that are a bit too small for his chubby fingers. "Excellent! This is a big year to celebrate. Fifteen years of peace in Orlencia."
"Fifteen years since you supplanted those winged demons!" Don Felipe pounds his fist on the table, riling the other Dons into grunted agreement.
Severo, however, remains uncharacteristically quiet.
Although the Soberano led the charge against the Venturans, it is a well-known fact that Severo Murrieta was the bloody hand that did the deed.
He, possibly more than the Soberano himself, hated my people and he was all too eager to see their heads severed.
"Don Severo," the Soberano casts a concerned glance to his right. "Is something troubling you during this time of celebration?"
"Forgive me, Soberano," Severo's forked tongue hisses. "Keeping Orlencia safe and free from criminals seeping in from the Brogratto has me distracted."
The Soberano rolls his eyes and huffs like an overgrown child, used to Severo's consistent lamentation of crime in the city. "Just throw them all into the prison until after my fifteen-year jubilee. I won't have those little miscreants ruining my celebration."
"Of course, Soberano." Severo readily agrees, though I see the wheels of his mind churning. "I will see to it no one dare interrupt your revelry."
"Good." The Soberano smacks his hand against the long table and stands, signifying the end of the meeting. "We shall convene here next week."
Every member rises and bows their heads in respect as the Soberano struts out of the room, his long flowing red cape strewn over his shoulder a constant reminder of the blood that stained the city streets years ago.
Their restless ghosts haunt me, their unending screams claw inside my mind, and every week when we meet in this stifling room, it takes every bit of resolve I have not to plunge my dagger in his chest. If I truly wanted to, I could easily massacre everyone here, but then I would only be solidifying the lies the Soberano spread against the Venturans.
He said we were blood-thirsty, we wanted to overthrow the Orlencian government, and we sought to claim the crown for ourselves.
What the people did not realize – and still don't entirely understand – was the Soberano was speaking of himself.
If I murder everyone here – assassinate the Soberano – I will prove him right.
No, this will have to be done the right way.
Whispers already circulate of the Soberano's cruel policies, his increasingly burdensome taxes, and how they were safer and more prosperous when King Armando ruled with the Venturan Wings by his side.
Slowly but surely, we will sow seeds of discord against the true villains and soon, when the time is right, we will strike.
Then everyone will know the truth and all those who were responsible for the slaughter of my people will be brought to justice.