Anticipation surged through Sillik as he ascended the ladder and entered the candle-lit chamber. Rain was tapping insistently upon the windows, yet he ignored it, caring only for the woman perched on the stool in the corner, her delicate hands curling around a tear-shaped container. She did not acknowledge his presence, instead her mist-coloured eyes remained fixed on the liquid inside the container that swirled in a thousand shades of red.
He spoke soothingly to the woman, "Sweet sister, are you not filled with joy that you have managed to obtain what we have sought for so long a time?"
She rearranged her features into an expression of vague concern and answered, "There is a pressing worry in my mind that contaminates all else: what if my lord husband suspects?"
In answer, he took the container from her and relished the feel of the coolness against the stifling heat of his flesh. Vermilla pulled back her hair in a futile attempt to defy the humidity, but a flush was creeping defiantly across her face. She watched him open the container, releasing the thick scent into the air. It reminded her of the smell of earth, of leaves and the salt of the sea. It reminded her of home. He emptied the liquid into the bottle of wine on the wooden table in the centre of the room and the smell was gone, replaced with the familiar musk of the ancient furniture and dust.
"I made it myself," she announced. "It contains the blood of a traitor, the blood of a hero and fertile soil of the Grenlavch. It will bring death instantly."
"And quietly, I hope," said Sillik, "for we want a quiet death."
*
Tarvta Palace, home to King Vlamir of Nove, crouched on a large slope of land like a predator, perusing its vast prey, the great city of Nikolen. Smoke curled from one of its many chimneys before evaporating into the star-speckled sky as Sillik emerged into the courtyard. His heart seemed submerged in ice, swallowed by the murky fear that was growing inside of him. Servants were oblivious to his presence, speculating idly in hushed voices whilst they swept the floors and carried large baskets of food to the kitchens.
He entered the desolate corridor. Finally, he was awarded with solitude. He was alone, and content to be alone, for his pulsing mind refused company. His surroundings were blurred and white-hot, like a painful memory. The only palpable object was the bottle of wine in his clasp, and it had obtained a talismanic quality. It carried the weight of not only his and his sister's lives, but those of the entire kingdom. His breath was thick, caught in the web of his apprehension whilst he approached the chamber.
No men guarded the ominous, varnished door and Sillik did not bother to knock. Vermilla, clothed in a mauve silken gown, looked as if she could obliterate at any moment. Her skin was adorned with glittering sweat, her breathing pace fluctuating.
"I come bearing a gift," Sillik declared, brandishing the bottle of wine. His senses seemed alight, blazing, whilst he watched King Vlamir rise from his seat. The ominous man travelled with surprising swiftness and took the bottle from Sillik's clasp. Vermilla inhaled sharply, her skin appearing waxen in the light of the hearth. 'He knows,' she inwardly told Vronsky. 'He knows and he will ask me to drink it.' The message arrived in his mind with such clarity he was forced to stifle a gasp.
'He does not know,' he replied silently to her. 'Stay calm, sister, do not break.' He glimpsed her face, and her eyes darted towards him in what she hoped he would perceive as a knowing glance.
But Vermilla's fears were confirmed when Vlamir said softly, with the merest flicker of a smile, "Why not try some first, my darling wife?"
The air was thick, so thick Vronsky wanted to slice through it. 'Do not drink it,' he sent to Vermilla.
"It is not to my taste, fine sir," she said and 'We cannot fool him' inwardly to her brother. Rain was lashing against the windows and outside the twinkling lights of the city below were blurred. Their task had to be completed before dawn and in their desperation their discretion slipped.
"Take a sip," Vronsky said, and his words were harsh and fast. "It is the finest of Venikan crimsons."
Vlamir was bemused. "Why are you so earnest, brother? I shall indeed try some." Relief fell upon Vermilla and Vronsky and they regarded the king silently whilst he poured the viscous liquid into a glittering goblet.
He pressed the goblet against his lips and the two siblings witnessed the stream of red enter his mouth. Finally, the kingdom was free. Finally, everything was liberated from the corruption of Vlamir's reign. The valiant king's body fell to the floor, causing an immense crash that reverberated throughout the room, and they approached him cautiously.
"We have done it," Vermilla told her brother. "We are free." She knelt before her dead husband, running a hand through his beard and then tracing the lines on his weathered skin.
"I will tell the rest of them," Vronsky declared, turning to leave. She smiled, removing the king's necklace and tying it around her own elegant neck. In the dim light of the room, she leaned against Vlamir's vast chest, encountering the stillness of his structure. She savoured his vulnerability, how still he was. This ended abruptly as she was furiously torn from her contentedness.
He was moving, she realised in horror. His arms raised rapidly, shot upwards like arrows, and his thick fingers enclosed around her neck. The last thing she was the cerulean blue of his eyes as she sent her final frenzied message to her brother, 'We failed. He is coming'.
