Chapter 13: - Mirror

  Exia came prepared for today’s lesson. After failing to strike Morozova—the bastard—he’d spent all of yesterday reading up on all the military books he could get his hands on from the library.

  There were many he didn’t get to read however, and that was because the bastard Navtej had taken them first—he was studying as well.

  Exia didn’t care, he was confident in his victory, and would waste no time in humiliating the boy who dared to try and outshine a King’s son.

  Volkov taught, taught, and taught, and only when he was done did he begin the quiz—a game he’d decided to start between them since the events of the previous day.

  The General’s first question came. “What is the true function of barbed wire in trench warfare?”

  “To stop the enemy’s advance,” Navtej said quickly.

  Exia grinned.

  “Wrong,” Volkov said.

  “To slow the enemy’s advance,” Exia answered, then, just to rub salt in the wound, added. “Barbed wire doesn’t stop enemies, it slows them, forgetting the difference could be fatal.”

  Volkov nodded. “Correct,” he said, and then he spoke again. “You hear distant artillery. You have no radio. What do you do first?”

  Exia’s answer came quick again. “Seek higher ground to observe the artillery’s origin. Once located, mark coordinates for future counter-battery fire. Prioritize gathering information over movement to ensure informed decision-making.”

  “Incorrect.” Volkov’s voice came quick, like a knife, stabbing through Exia’s confidence and leaving it bleeding where he sat. The man didn’t even spare so much of a glance on him after, eyes drifting to his son. “Navtej?”

  The boy replied with his answer, eyes burning with an uncertainty, but bleeding with thought. “Estimate range….watch the horizon….time the shells…then move. Always move.”

  “Correct,” Volkov nodded.

  Exia could only watch. Watch and fume, watch and feel his blood boil. No, he could do more—he could win, he was going to win. Navtej and him were tied now, and they still had up to eighteen questions left.

  Eighteen chances to win.

  Only a fool would lose that, and Exia was no fool.

  He braced himself, the questions came, and Exia caught them with a hunger. Mind running, racing, leaping and whirring to push itself with an efficiency and fluidity he knew very few adults could match.

  But Navtej did.

  Exia’s opponent did not make it easy for him, stealing a point for each one Exia gained. Navtej was slower—and try as he might, Exia could not mean that as a sleight against him—the Putesh was simply more careful with his thoughts than he was. Where Exia’s mind was lightning through the streets of cognition, leaping to conclusions at a blur, Navtej’s took a leisurely pace, considering all possibilities, all avenues, houses, and walkways before choosing an answer. Exia was quicker, but more likely to crash—ending up wrong, Navetj was slower, but safer—rarely wrong. This meant that while Exia answered questions quicker than his opponent did, everytime he failed, the bronze bastard earned himself a point.

  That was why now, that there was only one question left, the two were tied. Exia did well not to scream, roar, or throw a table at Volkov’s face as he informed him of this. Such misbehaviour would surely invite punishment from the General.

  Navtej looked wracked by nerves, even more so than usual. They locked eyes, Exia glared, and though the peasant flinched, he did not look away. ‘You want to win this, don’t you?’ It should have brought Exia some comfort to know that the boy who was making him sweat was at the very least putting the same amount of effort as he was, but all he could feel was rage at the uncertainty that gnawed within him

  I could actually lose this…He had to confront that. Not that he would let it happen, he would rather die than do that. But…but it was a possibility. A real one.

  “Final Question.” Volkov called out, words calm, demeanour neutral, completely at odds with the pair which he oversaw. “The terrain favors the enemy, but time favors you. What do you do?”

  Exia opened his mouth to speak, but it was Navtej’s answer which came quicker. “Fortify your position and wait for the enemy to move. Time is on your side—let them waste their advantage trying to cross their own terrain.”

  Navtej answered before him. That wasn’t even the first time that had happened today. It was Exia’s fault really, he was being far too careful, trying to take his time, far too fearful of being wrong. And that just might be what cost him the contest.

  “Wrong.” Volkov noted.

  Relief flooded through Exia’s soul, nearly bringing him to tears, tears of joy. He barely heard Volkov when he called his name.

  “Your Majesty, are you going to be providing an answer of your own?” Volkov prompted.

  “Ah.” he blinked. “Yes, uhm…” he thought, then thought longer, harder, perhaps harder than he ever had. He should have been impressed really, when he came upon his answer, awed by the fact that when he pushed himself—really, really pushed himself—he could think as well as this. Exia was only nervous. “When the terrain favours the enemy, but time favours you. You move. Terrain can kill you slowly. Time kills you fast if you hesitate.”

  “Correct.” The General nodded, and set his eyes on Navtej now. “Time favors you, yes—but only if you spend it. You think they’ll give up ground? That they’ll blunder into your crosshairs? No. You move fast, before their terrain becomes a fortress. Delay is death disguised as discipline,” Volkov said, then added. “King Exia Vanfoster wins.”

  The Putesh looked absolutely distraught as his father lectured him. Exia though the boy might drop dead of sorrow right then and there. He would have felt bad for him really, if he wasn’t such a whiny little shit.

  “Ha!” Exia cheered, slamming his hand down on the table and leaping to his feet. “You hear that, you stupid, stupid, fucking cunt? You lose, you fucking, lose, I win, I, me, King Exia Van-fucking-foster.”

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  “Sit down your majesty.” Volkov ordered, eyebrow raised in mild disapproval.

  Exia was on his seat instantly, fear striking into his chords. “Of course, General,” he replied, though still in high spirits.

  “Class dismissed,” Volkov declared next.

  Navtej was sobbing now, he was on his feet the moment Volkov gave the declaration, and scurried straight for the door. The boy opened it with shaky, fidgeting hands and disappeared hastily through.

  Exia left a few seconds after, with a spring to his step and the air tasting that much better against his tongue. Maybe…just maybe, there were still some things worth celebrating in his life.

  “You’re in a good mood,” An ape noted.

  “Oh, it’s just you, Captain,” Exia grinned. “You really shouldn’t just poke out of hallways like that, I nearly had my hunting rifle out.”

  “Yeah, yeah, and if your dad hadn’t poked inside your mum, I wouldn’t have to deal with a certain shit stain right in front of me.” Morozova bit back, scowling.

  Exia laughed.

  The Captain looked genuinely concerned at Exia’s reaction. “Have you been screwing around in my secret stash? ‘Cause that shite’s expensive, and if you smoked it, that’s coming out of your allowance lad—”

  “No, no, nothing like that, Captain,” Exia informed him, still grinning. “I just put someone in their place is all.”

  Morozova frowned softly. “Does this have anything to do with Volkov’s kid who I saw crying in a corner?”

  “Oh, he’s crying in a corner?!” Exia’s eyes widened with excitement. “Where?!”

  Morozova frowned harder. “What did you do?”

  Exia giddily told him the impossibly funny story. Morozova wasn’t smiling when he was done however, instead Exia saw him pull one of his ‘you’re a cunt’ faces.”You’re a cunt.” Morozova informed him.

  Exia rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Oh fuck off, the boy’s a prick. You saw him hit me.”

  “And I’m sure you’ve already made him pay for that,” Morozova’s eyes narrowed now, and for a moment the warrior in him peaked through. “And I’m sure it was in a way that if I ever found out how, I might kick your fucking arse for.”

  Exia swallowed, sweating out the fear, and speaking once he regained coherence. “W-well okay, but that doesn’t mean I have to be nice to him. I don’t like him, he’s whiny, wears stupid glasses, and—”

  “He’s a kid,” Morozova said, dropping the words with a thud.

  “So am I.” Exia shrugged.

  “He lost his father.”

  “So have I!” Exia snapped now, feeling his temper rise. “At least he still has one parent, I lost my mother too!”

  “Exactly, Exia.” Morozova replied, eyes steady with a mix of anger and frustration. “Lost a father, all alone in this empty manor, life turned upside down, and with Volkov controlling his life. Does that sound familiar?”

  Exia suddenly found that he wasn’t smiling anymore. His guts twisted one way and then the other, and the air tasted a sickly green.

  Morozova was all rage now, rage and disappointment. “You know, Exia, for such a smart kid, you’re a fucking idiot,” he said, and then he was gone, angry boots stomping down the hallway.

  Exia kept on walking. But his legs felt heavier now.

  ###

  “No, Exia, you were not a delightful child,” Navtej Volkov said, barely able to keep himself from breaking out in laughter as he did.

  “What do you mean?” the King asked, making a face like a kicked puppy. “I was nice! And cute! Nice and cute. That’s the ultimate combination for a young boy!” the King said, indignant.

  Nevtej looked close to tears with his laughter now. “You were…” he wheezed. “You were a devil in the body of a little boy.”

  “Okay Nav, you can call me many things, but I draw the line at ‘priest’.” The King folded his arms.

  The two continued to bicker amongst themselves, and Sasha tuned the conversation out to focus on the mission—it was nice at least, to have company while she babysat the King.

  The three of them were in the Volkhaem archives, on the highest floor, with a vantage point that allowed them to see much of the rest of the museum, and windows that allowed them to see anyone that may be approaching it.

  By her feet was a crate of explosives—The King was right about their plan to blow up the building. Then why’s no one here yet? It was nearly midnight, if the Zakadochnyy or his allies were going to arrive, it was going to be soon.

  “Nervous Captain?” the King asked, walking up to her and leaning on the railing.

  “Expectant,” Sasha corrected.

  “So, nervous then,” he decided.

  “She said, ‘expectant’, Exi. You damn pessimist,” Navtej chastised. Sasha turned to see him lazily sitting against a window.

  The King hummed, still grinning from ear to ear. “We’re almost done here you know, any minute now, some buffoons are going to appear and be in for the surprise of their lives. Then, with the threat gone, and the Governor singing our praises, we can all kiss Znaniye goodbye.”

  “That, we can.” Navtej nodded.

  The King laughed good naturedly. “The Captain and I are probably going to be assigned to some new adventure too. It’ll be horrific, terrifying, and quite, quite bloody, I imagine. You could come, it’ll be fun.”

  Navtej’s gaze fell heavily on Sasha, and the two shared a look. Sasha opened her mouth to say the obvious, but Navtej saved her that burden by doing it himself. “I’m sorry, Exia…I don’t think that would be possible.”

  There was a silence—louder than screams, louder than bombs, louder than the sound of Sasha’s own thoughts.

  The King killed it with a scoff. “Oh, I’m just joking around. Could you imagine that, Navtej Volkov riding around the country with us.” He said, voice incredulous. “Nevermind the train tracks, the Captain’s snoring is what’ll keep you up at night.”

  Navtej chuckled softly. There was silence, and the two shared a look of almost-sadness. It was broken not by words, but by chaos.

  An explosion rang out—like thunder, splitting through the air and making the ground beneath them tremble.

  Sasha waited for the museum to collapse, it never happened. She waited for it to fall, for it to tilt, it never did. Instead, outside of the window, she saw a small building on fire.

  Sasha moved for the window, and was only stopped by an outstretched hand—the hand of the King. “Might be a distraction, you two stay here,” he instructed, cold blue eyes burning into the distant inferno.

  “And what about you?” Sasha asked.

  But no answer came. The King slid on his gloves, leapt out the window, fell several stories down, and then he was off.

  Navtej stared down with the eyes of a man who very much wanted to go after him, but like her, he likely could not see a fault in his logic. Volkhaem archives was clearly the more important target, so that was where they would stay.

  ###

  A crowd had gathered around the burning building—all gazing up at it as if it might suddenly do something other than be on fire. It was a post office—something governmental, a symbol of the state—that was the kind of thing the Zakadochnyy would go after. That no one seemed to be hurt made it certainly fit his profile as well. After all, if you can help it, one does not hurt the people one intends to gain the support of.

  Knowing it was his doing however, didn’t make finding him any easier.

  Frankly put, the man could be anywhere in the city, or on his way out of his city.

  But that wasn’t true, because Exia knew where he was, he was here, watching him, waiting for the perfect time to strike. It was what he would do—if he was significantly dumber that was.et off a distraction, wait for the powerful Mage that has been rumoured to be protecting the Governor to show up, and kill him before he so much as knew you were there.

  Exia waited. He felt the popping of air. The pushing of wind. The racing of death. And then he dodged.

  The scythe of sharp wind whizzed by Exia’s head, grazing his ear, and spilling blood onto his fur coat. He turned, and found his latest victim high up on a roof, looking down upon him.

  The Zakadochnyy’s features were hidden behind a white mask, body wrapped in boiled leather, and hands in cloud-white gloves. The moon kissed his features with grace, as if presenting him to Exia as some sort of gift. ‘Here’s your new chew toy, do try not to break this one too quickly.’

  No promises.

  “Hi!” Exia waved. “I’m going to rip your entrails out,” he kindly informed the man.

  The Zakadochnyy said nothing.

  And Zcigmagus laughed.