“About a year and a half ago, there was a buzz over someone butchering two tax collectors from the Kin domain. Was that your doing as well?”
“You got me. I wasn’t wild about how they left innocent citizens to die over an official notice. Some glorified piece of paper,” Akim replied nonchalantly. “But I realized after the fact that I’ve got to punish the source of the evil, not just the grunts.”
The young man sitting before Akim looked him straight in the eye. He was clearly more skilled than he appeared. He moved without making a sound and wielded his weapon without even stirring up a breeze. If Akim didn’t end the chitchat there and kill the man soon, his own life could be in jeopardy. His best move was to continue feigning a deadlock while waiting for the right moment to thrust his blade into the prince’s throat.
Just as Akim discreetly put more force into his grip, Genyou asked him an unexpected question: “About that notice you mentioned. How many claws did the dragon on its seal have?”
“Come again?”
Genyou sounded almost like he was asking just for the sake of it. Apparently concluding there was no further point in threatening Akim, he removed his blade from his assailant’s neck and stuck it back into his book. A faint smile played at his well-proportioned lips.
“The emperor could have refugees and criminals executed whenever he sees fit. Why would he bother with a roundabout method like thinning out the population? It’s the lords of the clans who prefer to adopt cleansing policies. But loath to incur their subjects’ resentment, a handful of them lie and claim it to be the emperor’s own orders. Any true imperial edict will have the five-clawed golden seal, but the masses don’t have any way of knowing that.”
Akim’s eyes went wide in spite of himself. The mud-caked official notice from that fateful day was folded up and tucked away near his chest. He had spent so many nights staring at it that he had long since memorized its contents and even the design on its seal. If he remembered correctly, the notice was indeed stamped with the mark of a dragon—but that dragon only had four claws.
With a bare hand and the utmost indifference, Genyou grabbed the dagger Akim had pressed to his neck and pushed it aside. “The Kin lords have been the negligent sort for generations. Furthermore, fastidious elitists that they are, they feel compelled to eliminate the weak rather than extend an offer of help. Yet they insist on borrowing the emperor’s authority to do so, which causes no end of headaches for us.”
When Genyou saw that the assassin had gone silent, he more or less inferred what was going through the man’s head. He raised one eyebrow in an imitation of the look Akim had given him earlier.
“It would seem you wasted two years of your life prioritizing the wrong revenge.”
Bam!
A savage glint overtook Akim’s eyes at the snide remark, and he wordlessly slammed his dagger against the ground. With the considerable muscle he had put into the throw, it wedged itself unbelievably deep into the solid flooring.
Heedless of the mild surprise in Genyou’s expression, Akim closed his eyes to calm his anger and exhaled a long breath. By the time he opened them, his usual bored look was back on his face. “Much obliged,” he grumbled as he made to leave the bedroom empty-handed.
The emperor was already dead, and the true source of the evil had been the Kin lord assuming his name. Akim felt unbearably frustrated to have wasted so much time, but all the more reason to move on to plan B as soon as possible.
At that moment, however, Genyou called out to him from behind. “A word of advice.”
When Akim turned around, he found the prince staring at him, chin resting languidly in his hand atop the armrest.
“Your target—that former Kin lord—transferred leadership to his son about six months ago and set out to wander the land. I imagine it will be difficult to track him down. He’s also getting up there in age, so it’s entirely possible you might run out of time to take your revenge.”
A groan escaped Akim’s mouth before he could stop it. “You sure do have a knack for grating on people’s nerves.” He was keenly feeling a missed opportunity.
“On that note, I have a proposal for you.” Genyou tossed his book onto the bed and rose from his chair for the first time thus far. “Would you care to become one of my personal spies?”
“Come again?”
Akim couldn’t count how many times he had repeated that same question over the past hour. It went to show how wild the things this man said and did were.
Genyou leisurely circled the bed and made his way over to Akim, who eyed him with suspicion. “It won’t be long before I become emperor, and all manner of information falls into the emperor’s lap. That includes the whereabouts of retired lords, of course. What’s more, becoming my spy will allow you to kill noblemen without consequences.”
For that matter, it didn’t have to stop at the Kin lord. Included among Genyou’s political opponents were a good number of other noblemen who had promoted cleansing policies.
“As long as you remain under my protection, you can kill all your most hated nobles to your heart’s content. Doesn’t that sound like quite a good time?”
He was more or less offering Akim everything he needed right then.
“I’m not buying it. What reason could you have to hire an idiot who wasted two years of his life?” Akim asked, wary that the deal was too good to be true.
Genyou’s lips curved into the slightest of smiles. “You say that as if two years is long, but I commend your ability to infiltrate the emperor’s bedchamber within such a short time frame. You’re light on your feet, and you appear to be a relatively quick thinker.” More softly, he added, “And I am looking to acquire a pawn of my very own, one who isn’t under the thumb of one of the five clans. It’s a necessary step in my own revenge.”
His own revenge. Those few words moved Akim more than anything else the man had said thus far. Revenge was a nonsensical, emotional impulse, more fervent than self-interest, more vicious than ambition.
“You’ve also got someone you want to kill?”
The question left Akim’s mouth before he could stop it. And the answer came just as quickly.
“Yes,” Genyou said in a dark voice, the smile running away from his face. “I can’t count the number of times I have ripped them to shreds in my imagination.”
The young man’s black eyes weren’t focused on Akim; they simply glared into nothingness. Even so, the tinge of concentrated resentment there was enough to send a chill down the other man’s spine.
Akim instinctively understood this man was the same breed as him. In that moment, he felt a strange swell of emotion that he hadn’t felt in the past two years—no, that he might never even have felt when living a peaceful life with his adoptive family.
To use a term Fatma would prefer, it was probably something close to “trust.” In reality, however, it was a much more twisted, dark, and unscrupulous sentiment.
Whatever the case, Akim stopped walking out the door and took a step back toward the bed.