Chapter 29
Remus
Just as I predicted, the city is buzzing over the news of Senor Montenegro's murder.
The warden was hauled to the Palace of Justice where he stood a hasty trial and pleaded with Don Severo to believe him.
He swore up until the moment they dragged him out of the courtroom there was a woman who was truly responsible for the elite's murder.
But with no evidence and the murder weapon resting in the warden's lap when the body was discovered, it was an open and shut case.
Now Don Severo will have his hands full in appointing a new warden of the prison since his was sentenced for execution.
I half expected the Soberano to call an emergency council meeting but the urgent summons I received this morning was handwritten by the usurper himself asking me to meet him at Iglesia de los Santos instead of the palace.
On edge would be a vast understatement to describe how I feel.
My stomach has been twisting and turning all morning, fearing this is a set up.
With a secret execution being held at the end of his jubilee and the entrance to the catacombs where the City of Dreams – and what remains of my people – dwells, all I can hope and pray for is the Soberano felt nostalgic and wanted to visit the church he once oversaw.
I'm not used to walking into Iglesia de los Santos in broad daylight.
It seems like an entirely different place when the light shines upon it.
The morning sun beams through the stained-glass windows turning the sanctuary into a kaleidoscope of vibrant color.
I stride forward, masking my trepidation with forced confidence, when I spot the Soberano sitting in a pew by himself.
As I near him, members of the Red Guard block my way insisting on patting me down to ensure I'm not carrying any weapons.
The Soberano huffs his displeasure and waves a hand to shoo the soldiers away. "That will not be necessary, Capitán."
"Soberano, we were explicitly instructed by Don Severo – "
"There is no need to pat Don Rafael down like he's some common filth from the Brogratto.
" The Soberano's sharp tone forces the Red Guard to stand down.
"He is a trusted friend and last I checked my word outweighs Don Severo's.
" The soldiers clear a path and the Soberano motions for me to sit beside him.
"Forgive their vigor, Don Rafael. Please, join me. "
I glide past the guards and take up residence in the pew oddly close to the altar.
Less than twenty feet in front of us is the tile that covers the staircase to the Purification Rooms. If one was to become curious, and brave the thousands of skulls lining the hall, one would find a hidden door leading to an underground river.
A lone boat sits tied to a simple post and if one paddled down the dark cave, they'd eventually run into the City of Dreams where the surviving Venturans live.
A city underground is not ideal for people meant to fly, but it's better than being hunted and killed for merely existing.
As long as I continue to do my job, and Olli continues to keep the doorway deeper beneath the church secret, then all will be well. I just need to breathe.
"Is everything alright, Soberano?" I inject a lightness in my voice, resuming Don Rafael's nonchalant charm. "Why the extra security?"
"After the vicious assassination of Senor Montenegro, Don Severo has deemed it necessary for the Red Guard to be more vigilant and at times intrusive in their watch over me.
Even in this sacred space." The last part of his statement is emphasized when he narrows his eyes at the Red Guard, and they retreat a few more steps to give us a shred of privacy.
"Does Don Severo believe your life is in danger?" I lace my question with concern, but I'm only after intel. I don't give two shits about the Soberano's safety.
He sighs heavily and wraps his ringed fingers on the bench in front of him, gripping the lip tightly.
"Don Severo is of the belief evil is lurking around every dimly lit corner.
In truth, it's his job to deal with the miscreants of our society at the Palace of Justice so I'm not surprised he failed to take Montenegro's death lightly. "
"A tragedy," I offer absent-mindedly which seems to amuse him.
"You think so?" he chuckles, twisting the tips of his salt and pepper moustache.
I'm genuinely taken aback by his reaction. "Do you not?"
"The man was unholy and vile," he says bluntly, rolling his shoulders back. He looks upward to the arched ceiling, as if he's peering through the roof to the heavens above. "I believe the Saints permitted his death."
I glance at the statues of the Twelve Saints scattered around the sanctuary and furrow my brow. "Forgive me, Soberano. Are you saying you believe the Saints murdered him?"
The Soberano's face turns a deep shade of red and his greying eyebrows fuse together into one long disapproving motion.
The flash of anger dulls when his sharp brown eyes dart to mine and his face softens, as if he's rethought chastisement in favor of making this a teaching moment.
"Don Rafael," he steadies his voice. "I know your question was not intended to come across as blasphemous, but I encourage you to refrain from speaking so candidly in the Saints' presence again. "
I lower my head in reverence, "Forgive me. I meant no offense."
He nods approvingly, accepting my hasty apology. "The Saints see the hearts of men, Don Rafael. I'm sure they know you did not maliciously blaspheme their holiness."
"Never."
"Good. Good." He pats my knee before refocusing on the altar in front of us.
"What I meant when I said I believe the Saints permitted Senor Montenegro's death is they did not protect him when the minion of wickedness lurked in the darkness.
Had Montenegro truly been living a life worthy of the Saints' protection, he would have been spared his gruesome end. "
"It's still a tragedy to lose one of our own." I'm not sure why I'm playing devil's advocate, I despised Montenegro as much as the next man, but I suppose Don Rafael would not want to appear delighted in a high-society death.
The Soberano doesn't hesitate. "Montenegro was of good stock and flaunted his wealth like a proud peacock, but he was certainly not one of us.
He was a gambler, a drunk, and a philanderer.
His wife is much better off by his passing.
In my opinion, the Saints have honored her.
She won't be forced to share a tainted wedding bed with a man who threw his vows before the Saints so haphazardly to the wind. "
He swiftly shifts and squares his shoulders to mine.
The medals pinned to his military uniform gleam in the sunbeams pouring in the windows.
All accolades he awarded himself, which bears no true merit.
He prides himself as a general – one who led men into battle – but all he's ever done is hidden behind soldiers armed with pistols and rapiers, ordering the unwarranted executions of innocents.
With a dramatic wave, he says, "This sanctuary brings me comfort.
I was the Minister of the Saints for a decade before I was invited to sit at the Traitor King's table.
" He practically spits out the last words and my blood boils at the disrespect shown to my uncle.
I still my face and keep my expression neutral as he continues, "I thought perhaps I could guide him to serve the Saints better, to learn to hear their voices, and heed their guidance.
I knew I had lost his ear the moment he and that wicked woman agreed to allow those winged abominations to integrate into our city. "
I grind my back teeth and barely manage to ask, "Wicked woman, Sir?"
His lip curls in disgust. "Ana Otero." I ball my fists and keep them pressed to my thighs.
"She too sat on the small council and gave the Traitor King questionable advice.
To allow those creatures the opportunity to corrupt our society, ushering their sinful ways of debauchery, was an offense against the Saints.
She and I have had our fair share of disagreements, but I never thought she would stoop so low as to encourage the Venturans to be welcomed to Orlencia like heroes instead of the deceitful mongrels they were. "
My brows pinch together, and I repress the urge to wrap my hands around his throat and choke the life out of him. He speaks with such hatred in a holy place. How have the Saints not struck him down? Perhaps they don't care.
My mother's lessons from my childhood echo in my mind reminding me the Saints use vessels to weed out the evil in the world.
If men and women like me quit fighting against tyranny and standing for what's right, then what's the point?
The Twelve Saints were men and women who stood for righteousness and at the end of the day, they all died for their causes.
I know there's a high likelihood I, too, will perish for my people, and I don't expect there to be statues erected of me to remind those who come after me of my deeds.
If someone does remember me, I hope they'd be reminded the blood staining my hands was to give them a chance to fly.
"But enough of that. I'm afraid being in this holy place brings back a lot of memories.
" His voice snaps me from my thoughts, and I feel the tears welling in my eyes stinging as I fight them off.
"Now, I called you here to inform you of a few changes to my jubilee celebration.
The first one is I will need a platform built in the plaza in front of the palace. "
"A platform?" For an execution is what he's failing to mention. "Might I ask what kind of platform you need built? Is it for a performance?"
He purses his lips, and a small, mischievous smile appears.
"Of sorts. I don't want to give too much away.
I want it to be a surprise." He rubs his hands together in villainous excitement, clearly vacillating how much information to slip my way, but then blurts in childlike wonder, "I suppose it won't spoil the entire surprise if I tell you there will be an execution to mark my triumph over the Venturans – a reminder for the younger generation of what I saved them from. "
I swallow hard, forcing a grin to match his exuberance. "Who will you be executing? I thought all the Venturans had died when you assumed the throne."
He scoffs. "I'm not foolish enough to believe none escaped me, Don Rafael.
But rest assured, if there are survivors, they will be crushed under my boot soon enough.
And as for who will be executed, that will have to remain a surprise, even for you, my friend.
Please do not take that as me not trusting you.
You know I have a flare for the dramatic. "
Bastard. Always with the theatrics. Hopefully Olli can find those blueprints to Severo's house, because we're running out of time to prevent another execution.
"I would never question you, Soberano," I tilt my head in feigned respect. "What you say is just and I'm sure I'll relish the surprise as the rest of Orlencia." Saints, I hate stroking his ego. One day soon, he'll be begging for my blade before I offer him that mercy.
He claps his hands together and the sound echos in the cathedral.
"Good! Good!" But his joy is short-lived when he remembers, "Oh yes," he grumbles.
"To the vexing part of our conversation.
Don Severo has requested to double security to ensure my safety during my jubilee and as reluctant as I am to have the Black and Red Guard so visible during a time of joy, I granted his petition.
You and I both know Severo becomes relentless when he wants something.
Better to succumb to his will now than have him pester me for weeks on end.
I hope this does not upend your vision."
"Of course not. The extra security will not be a problem." This is not ideal, but I can work with it. "Your safety is most important."
"I knew you would see reason. Such a logical head on those shoulders.
" A warmth floods his hard-lined face, and it knots my stomach.
"You know, as servants of the Saints, we are not permitted to marry or sire sons and daughters.
A blessing really. Women and children tend to make men weak.
Our resolve becomes clouded when we aren't focused on our goals.
But if I were to ever have had a son, I would hope he would be exactly like you. "
I'm taken aback by his sincere compliment and quite frankly sickened. The Soberano reaches for me and clamps a ringed hand down on my shoulder.
"I hope my kind words do not trouble you, Don Rafael."
I swallow hard and whisper, a raspiness in my tone, "You honor me, Soberano."
He smiles and kisses my cheeks one at a time before standing, flicking imaginary dust off his militaristic uniform, and readjusting the red cape draped over his left shoulder. "Good. I shall let you have your time to pray and confess. I will see you at our next meeting."
With a dramatic flip of his cloak, he parades up the main aisle of the church toward the exit.
I don't move a muscle until I hear the doors creak shut.
My shoulders hunch as I lean forward, rooting my elbows to my knees and taking several deep, steadying breaths.
I'm not sure if the sea of emotions I'm wading through are steeped in rage or sorrow.
Either way, I'm more determined to break into Severo's house and discover what he and the Soberano are planning.
After this conversation, I can safely rule myself out as the surprise guest for execution, but it doesn't ease my mind.
I have a nation depending on me for their salvation.
A thud of a body beside me draws a subtle side-eye.
Even with his hood covering most of his face, Olli's freckled hand lying in his lap is a dead giveaway of his identity.
He pulls a sealed envelope from his billowing sleeve and slides it across the pew.
In one fluid motion, I swipe it and shove it into my pocket without making direct eye contact.
"It's a copy," he whispers. "Burn it when you commit it to memory."
I nod my head in understanding before I stand and kneel in the aisle facing the altar. Pressing my palm over my heart, I take my leave. I have a heist to plan.