The Bird and The Dragon
The Political Murder: Part 3

Kvenrei woke up in the common dormitory where Patrik’s men slept like the merchant’s retinue they were pretending to be. Patrik had commanded him to report upon returning, but Kvenrei had skipped this part. His instinctive idea had been to forget his brother’s orders altogether, but meeting Jenet had made him reconsider his urge to spend the night in the city.

He didn’t want to lead the memory to Indira. The best alternative had been to sneak indoors and let the strategej deal with the possible consequences. Luckily the night had passed with no unscheduled visitors and when Kvenrei woke everything was peaceful.

One of the ainadu was waiting for Kvenrei when he left the room. The man had broad shoulders and carried himself with the natural grace telling of long service in Anhava’s troops. The man greeted Kvenrei with a relaxed wave of his hand.

“Good morning, Kvenrei.”

“Mister Lund here in Khem.”

“Strategej Patrik is waiting for you.”

“Tell him my greetings. I have some other business planned for today.” Kvenrei continued to the doors, but the man stood in his way.

“Stop right there. Your next stop will be with strategej Patrik. He was cordial enough to let you sleep.”

Kvenrei was still shaken from yesterday. The previous murder had been years ago, and he had believed he had left those things behind. And there had been Jenet, tending his unknown business in the governmental palace, lurking among the ancient souvenirs as he belonged there. The encounter had awoken the memories Kvenrei wanted to keep suppressed.

Kvenrei surmised Patrik’s deed was done, and he had no intention to discuss the evening any further. He certainly was not going to report it. With no warning, Kvenrei hit the soldier, who was not expecting the attack.

The man tried to evade the incoming punch, but the wall was too close and Kvenrei was already upon him, unleashing his frustration, fear, and rage. Soon the soldier lay on the floor, protecting his head with his arms. Kvenrei stepped over him and headed out. He was quite sure no permanent damage was done and was not in the state of mind to care if he did. He walked towards the marketplace at a leisurely speed.

Patrik reached Kvenrei by a fountain. The strategej had run out without a coat or a hat, in his indoor shoes, the brown hair messed by his sprint. Kvenrei let him take a hold of his arm.

“What in the cursed void?” Patrik hissed, his usually expressionless face betraying anger.

“I might ask you the same question,” Kvenrei said and Patrik forced himself to calm down. Neither of the brothers considered a fight in the marketplace a good option. The strategej pointed to a coffee shop and the benches by the fountain. Kvenrei looked around; people were not paying attention to them. Patrik bought them coffee, served in glass mugs, sweetened, and spiced to the local style.

“How did you manage to pull that act?” the strategej asked when they were seated.

Kvenrei tasted his coffee. Patrik was always so responsible, correct, well-combed, shiny and good smelling that seeing him at least a bit untidy was almost worth everything. Kvenrei didn’t know if his brother was talking about the soldier or murder or Jenet and he searched desperately for a clue on the crowd.

Kvenrei noticed the people sporting white strips of cloth on their arms. Some even had white scarves. It was unusual, but also the quiet atmosphere of the usually lively marketplace was eerily disturbing. The commercial activities were as usual, but even the kids were solemn in their laughter and there was no music. Not even from the stall selling mechanical toys.

“What has happened?” Kvenrei asked feeling the panic rise. This looked like the eve of war.

“You didn’t kill minister Mendes. It was the prince.” Patrik whispered into his brother’s ear.

“Oh. Shit.” This was how regal sorrow was displayed. “I am not going to try again. A second aorta will raise questions.”

“I am not asking you to do it.”

The coffee was hot, and steam drew delicate curves before disappearing, but the situation didn’t disappear, no matter how much Kvenrei hoped. “Which prince it was?” he finally asked.

“Jesrade’s lover.”

Kvenrei set his cup on the bench very slowly. His hands were shaking. Patrik was very quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

“Did you plan this?” Kvenrei asked in a weak voice.

Patrik said nothing, only sat there watching the people over his coffee. He didn’t look like the formidable tool of the dragon, his eyes had a lost look, and together with the messy hair, they dropped a decade of age from his face.

“Talk to me. Was this your intention the whole time? You don’t want peace. You want unrest and turmoil, because...” Kvenrei’s mind was racing, and things were falling into place. “…because you want the South to be weak.”

“It is what the New Freedom needs. It is what the dragon wants,” Patrik’s voice was only a whisper.

“You are the most self-centered shithead I know. Jesrade will never forgive this.”

“She doesn’t need to know the truth.”

“We can’t tell her the truth. She would kill us.” Kvenrei adored his sister. The idea of having murdered her lover or at least someone who had played a key role in her plans felt unbearable.

Kvenrei watched the fountain; the droplets were like tears. He didn’t mind war, and wouldn’t cry over a minister or a prince, but Jesrade was precious to him. But an unrepairable crack had just opened between them.

“It was the room Mendes uses,” Kvenrei said aloud trying to make sense of what had happened.

“Namely, yes. But it is also the prince’s favorite when he sleeps in the government palace. You know, the trade minister is not needed in the discussions related to the army renovation.”

“You truly serve the good of the nation only... But there was a servant.” Kvenrei started, but there was no point in reporting the mess to Patrik. Probably Jenet was already included in the schemes. Maybe he had given the fake report on the clogged sewer. But why Jenet had been so surprised seeing him? Kvenrei’s thoughts ran in circles, always returning to Jesrade.

“Did the servant see you?” Patrik interrupted.

“Nah, no. He was not relevant.”

”This was a necessary move. You will understand the picture when we return home.”

“I am not leaving to the north.”

“Yes, you are. I had your bag and the overalls taken to a suitable location to be found. Your notebook is also there, with a few additions. Someone will recognize your poetry. Khem will not leave a stone unturned until they have inspected the death and they will replace you. Khem needs an explanation and they will get one.”

Kvenrei stared Patrik coldly. Only the presence of the crowd prevented him from hitting his scheming brother.

“Behemoths will eat your bones and the winds will scatter your soul to the darkness.” Kvenrei used one of Bladewater’s many curses.

“You can thank me later for polishing your legend. They will replace out about the poet who killed the prince. They will learn where he came from and whom he associated with. You did solid work creating your background; so many people will be involved. The final truth will be delivered when they finally connect you to the Bird, Viper, and Haven. Your demonic alter ego explains this all nicely.”

Kvenrei felt empty; his life was falling into broken pieces like the drops in the fountain. He was sure Patrik would ensure the connection to the Bird would drag Haven into the political chaos he was skillfully cooking. The Bird, Haven’s favorite monster, had just killed Khem’s crown prince and Kvenrei knew he had to leave the country. “I must take Indira with me.”

“You can’t take her to Sandau. If she knows nothing, she will be safe. She will be considered just a victim to the handsome stranger’s desires.”

Kvenrei’s mouth was dry. His heart was heavy but Patrik was right. Indira had no idea what he had done because he had done nothing political during the months they had been together. She had family, and she was a local, both would shield her from the worst.

Kvenrei considered his options. Bladewater was safe within the Union, but Ohanu was vulnerable. One wrong question in the investigation would connect the Bird through Viper to Ohanu. Or the reasoning could go straight from Lund to Ohanu if someone followed the well-hidden financial transactions.

“I must warn a person,” Kvenrei said.

“Who and why? I can’t let you message freely.”

“At least you are honest about it. She is called Jadea and she is in Shibasa. A friend who couriers…it doesn’t matter. If they investigate Lund they’ll replace her and Jad falls into a trap when she visits the city next time.” Kvenrei was not lying, he just didn’t mention that Jadea would report to Miss Ohanu.

“Hey, Kvenrei…write the message and I’ll get it delivered. You may not believe it, but this mission was difficult for me too. I didn’t want to do this to Jessea.”

“Too late to cry now.”

“We just carry out the dragon’s will…” Patrik looked like he was about to say more but instead of talking he just stared at his empty mug, like considering his life. Kvenrei knew Patrik held Jesrade in high regard.

“How long did you plan this party trick of yours?” Kvenrei asked when the silence had carried on so long that his coffee had cooled.

“It was Anhava’s direct orders. The answer is two years, counting it all.”

“You just burned all the bridges behind me, you ash-crawling demon. What do you need me for? I am nothing for the north.”

“You are needed in the internal politics when the war starts,” Patrik said.

“I don’t do that.”

“Yesterday you said the same and still did. I want you there, Anhava is getting difficult.”

“It is no news. He has never been anything else.”

“He is unbalanced. You’ll see then.”

Kvenrei had to admit Patrik’s plans had defeated him. Running away would help nothing, his history in Khem and with Indira had come to an abrupt end. The south only offered Jesrade and the crumbling despair now related to the sister. He didn’t want to drag Bladewater or Ohanu into this mess.

The North had his father waiting, but Enidtha and the kids were also there. They were innocent and the man looked at his brother. Strategej had never in any way threatened Kvenrei’s family. It was a hard limit, an unspoken rule they had both respected. The half-brothers left the kids outside all the politics. Patrik had a package delivered to Enidtha each year for the New World celebrations. It had presents for Kvenrei’s kids and the always same card, ‘Happy celebrations from Uncle Patrik’.

“You won strategej. I’ll return to the north. I’ll sing your songs, but you ensure Jesrade doesn’t hear our part in this incident.”

“She wouldn’t even recognize the bald you. Grow your hair back and you’ll be safe.”

Kvenrei sighed. Patrik was right. He hadn’t seen Jesrade for years and the man hoped more years would pass before he had to meet her. A world war might be a sufficient incident to allow a fresh start.