Blood on Marble

Mercenary and noble moved carefully, weaving through the ballroom until they reached the far end of the grand staircase. Two guards stood at its base, scanning the room. Fiora and River didn’t hesitate—hesitation drew suspicion.

Fiora straightened, her face calm and cold—the mask of nobility she’d worn since birth. River, by contrast, simply looked bored.

One of the guards straightened, about to speak—until Fiora turned, raising a brow like she’d just been insulted. Her eyes, haughty and cold, scanned him head to toe with silent judgment. The guard faltered. He’d seen that look before—from highbloods who could ruin a man’s post with a single word.

He stepped aside wordlessly and the other followed suit.

It had worked.

“Didn’t know you could look like that.” River whispered to her as they walked.

“I didn’t know either…” Fiora exhaled, already worn out, “Yet all I’ve ever done in these balls was mingle and observe.”

Nobles always hid behind pretty lies and cunning deception. But their true intentions always showed, in one’s eyes.

Once upstairs, the music and laughter from below muffled, leaving only the hushed murmurs of private dealings. Fiora and River moved toward the end of the corridor. When they turned the bend, there it was. A room with double ornate doors only half closed.

The nobles they had followed gathered around a table, speaking in low clipped tones. The informant from earlier was there too, Fiora observed. She leaned in, close enough to hear.

“What have you gathered, Tomasz?” a noble asked from one of the armchairs.

“The trials are too slow, are they not?” The informant spoke, “My lord has found a way to be rid of them.”

The room grew tense.

“It’s foolish to leave it to the gods. There are other ways to claim an Oath, gentlemen.”

“Then speak.” Another noble demanded, his tone heavy.

“A blade is far swifter than any trial. Kill someone who has acquired two thirds of an oath, and his progress is yours. If you already have one third, then you acquire a full mark.”

Fiora’s breath hitched.

They weren’t just discussing alternatives for the trials. They were discussing mass murder.

"And what happens if you eliminate a full oath bearer?"

"Then you take his place in Eterna."

The room went cold once more.

“On what basis is that to be trusted?”

“In the name of my lord, Lothar Vitale. It has already been tested by one of his assassins.”

River’s jaw tightened when he heard the name.

This was dangerous knowledge. If people had already begun killing for Oaths, then whatever order was left in Castovia was beginning to crumble.

A sudden voice cut through the air.

“You there!”

Fiora and River turned, their stomachs dropping. A guard had spotted them.

“What are you doing up here?” the man demanded, stepping closer.

Fiora immediately softened her expression, shifting into offended nobility. She let out a sharp, indignant breath, her hand flying to her chest.

“Gods, do you mind? A certain lord…” she eyed River, “led me here for some private entertainment!”

The guard hesitated.

River caught on instantly, rolling his eyes and draping an arm over her shoulder. “Yes, that a problem?”

The guard shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Nevertheless, you shouldn’t be up here.”

“And yet, here we are,” Fiora sighed dramatically. “You mean to say we have to leave?”

The man frowned, but after a moment, he simply grunted and gestured back toward the staircase. “You must go back to the ballroom.”

Fiora tossed her hair over her shoulder, huffing as she took River’s arm with extreme reluctance. “Ugh, come on darling, let’s go find our entertainment elsewhere.”

River said nothing—just squeezed her wrist slightly as they moved past the guard, an unspoken good work. When they finally were in the clear, and were preparing their early exit, a voice stopped them.

“Lady Di Lorenzo.”

A voice laced with amusement—and venom.

Fiora’s stomach twisted.

“I almost thought my eyes were deceiving me.”

A nobleman stepped forward. She knew him. Lord Callistol Vareni. He seemed to have been courting her for quite some time, something that her father approved of. Fiora didn’t.

He had always been insufferable, but now—now, there was something worse in his eyes.

“Well, well,” he murmured, his lips curling into a sneer. “I didn’t believe the rumors, but here you are. The fallen Di Lorenzo, joining us for one last dance."

Fiora kept her expression neutral. “Lord Vareni.”

“A shame, really,” he continued, taking a step closer. “You had such promise. But your family is gone, your name means nothing, and soon enough, so will your chances of survival.” His gaze flicked to River, dismissive. “So tell me, lady Di Lorenzo, how do you plan to spend your final months? Clinging to a nobody’s coattails?”

River tilted his head slightly, but Fiora could feel the shift in his posture—the way his shoulders went loose, like a wolf before it struck.

Vareni smiled. “I have a better proposal. I'll take your hand in marriage.”

Fiora blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Think about it,” Vareni mused. “A Di Lorenzo tied to House Vareni—your only chance at restoring some dignity before the world ends.” He grinned, sharp and cruel. “Of course, it won’t be I the one who benefits. But the idea would amuse me.”

Fiora inhaled slowly.

“Ah,” she murmured. “I see.”

Then she smiled. And it was cold.

“Lord Vareni,” she said, voice silken but sharp as glass, “if I ever wished to throw myself into utter misery, I would do it in a way that does not involve you.”

The amusement on his face vanished.

“You arrogant little—”

He lunged for her wrist.

River caught his arm mid-motion.

The ballroom went silent.

Vareni jerked his arm back, seething. “Who do you think you are?”

River let out a low, unimpressed exhale.

“Me?” He tilted his head, “Someone who’s buried better men for less.”

There was silence.

Vareni’s face darkened. He drew his rapier pointing straight at River’s chest.

River eyed the blade, unimpressed. A smirk split his face,

“That’s a bread knife, my lord. You mean to butter me?”

Vareni’s eye twitched in anger, “I mean to end you, impostor.”

And then the noble lunged. However the mercenary’s movements were faster.

River sidestepped smoothly, pulling the dagger free from the hidden belt beneath his coat. With one quick slash, Vareni’s sword flew off in the air, alongside his hand.

“AAAAAAAAHHH!” As Vareni screamed in agony the guards moved. Swords flashed beneath the chandeliers.

“Now those… are real blades.” River said backing away. The mercenary dodged another few strikes, sidestepping and ducking blows and fighting with only his small blade at his side. However he was surrounded and there was not much he could do to win the fight.

And then… Fiora saw the moment River miscalculated.

A blade sliced across his ribs.

His coat darkened with blood.

“River!”

He gritted his teeth, pivoting just in time to knock the guard away, but Fiora could see it—the wound was deep.

“We have him!” The guards ran at him seeing the chance to capitalize. However wounded as he was, the supposed criminal grabbed one of the guards' weapons from the ground and drove it through the closest one’s chest.

“Damn it!” The guards seemed to momentarily back away.

“We’re leaving.”

River gritted his teeth as he grabbed Fiora and stormed through the upper hall, guards hot on their heels.

Fiora didn’t argue. She followed his lead, ignoring the frantic gasps of nobles as they pushed through the mezzanine, knocking aside tables and chairs in their wake.

A guard lunged at them from the side–

River sidestepped smoothly, twisting at the last second before sinking his dagger into the man’s stomach. The guard stumbled, knocking over another as they fell in a heap down the stairs.

“There!” Fiora gasped, spotting a tall window at the end of the corridor. The cold night spilled through the glass, the rooftops of Montevio stretching beyond.

River didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a chair and— with one smooth motion— hurled it into the window.

Glass shattered outward, sparkling against the night.

But before they could jump—

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

Fiora’s eyes widened.

A crossbow bolt, aimed directly at River’s back.

Instinct took over.

She threw up a hand—a barrier, shimmering and thin—just in time to deflect the arrow midair.

The barrier shattered like glass, as Fiora staggered. The projectile spun wildly, embedding itself into a pillar behind them.

River blinked. “That was—”

“No time,” Fiora turned around, “Move.”

With that, they vaulted through the broken window.

For a moment, there was nothing but air—falling candlelight and cold wind rushing past them.

Then—impact.

They landed on slanted rooftop tiles, River rolling into the landing with practiced ease, despite the wound at his ribs. Fiora followed a heartbeat later, catching herself as she stumbled forward.

River winced, scanning rooftops. Narrow alleys, high walls—a perfect maze to vanish into.

“We need to make a break for it.”

“You’re injured!”

“And I’d rather be injured than dead. Come on.”

Guards scrambled below, shouting orders as more archers moved into position.

River set the pace—fast, unrelenting.

They vaulted over chimneys, slid across sloped tiles, jumped between rooftops with reckless precision.

Fiora tried to match him stride for stride, ripping her gown so it wouldn’t slow her down, yet her inexperience and her heart thundering in her chest made her feel like she’ll fall with every leap.

An arrow whistled past her ear, barely missing as she ducked low.

“Still with me, little noble?”

“Worry about yourself!”

When they reached the end of a particularly steep drop, Fiora hesitated—it was too far.

River didn’t.

He grabbed her hand, and without another word—jumped.

Fiora swallowed a gasp as they plummeted together, the city flashing beneath them.

They hit a shop tent hard, ripping through it but lessening their fall nonetheless. Fiora got up quickly dusting herself. But the mercenary didn’t.

“We need to—“

River tried to stand but the blood soaking his coat was too much. Fiora turned—just in time to see him collapse altogether.

Her heart stopped.

“River!”

She dropped beside him, hands hovering over his bloodied coat.

“There’s too much blood!” Her eyes widened in panic, her breaths growing shorter.

Fiora’s mind raced. The estate guards would swarm the district soon—they had nowhere to go.

“Pull yourself together.” River said, grabbing the ripped tent’s pole for support.

“You’re right…”

Before she hoisted him up, she hesitated.

River was always the one pulling her out of danger, always moving forward without missing a step. But now… he was barely holding on. His breath was shallow, his body too heavy against her arms.

Her throat tightened. She had lost enough people already.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

River let out a ragged chuckle. “Not… in the plan.”

She exhaled sharply, steadying herself.

“Good,” she said, firmer now. “Because you owe me for this.”

Then, with all the strength she could muster, she lifted him to his feet.

“Can you walk?”

“Does it look like it?” Even in the face of such danger his sarcasm was still present. That was a good sign, Fiora thought.

Yet her mind did not let her relax for a second. She had to be the one to save her companion now. Her mind raced with ideas, opportunities, but her brain swiftly settled on one.

There was only one person who could help them now.

Alvise.

“Hang tight, and don’t follow the light mercenary.”

“Don’t worry, it's pretty dark around these parts.”