Chapter 7: Silence Reclaimed
Night's silence reclaimed the imperial bedchamber, broken only by Arslan's ragged breathing and the slow drip of blood from the tip of his sword. John stood over the fallen assassin's body, his chest heaving beneath his robe. He could smell the sharp tang of sweat and iron – some of it his own, some of it hers – mingling with the oil of the guttering brass lamp on the nightstand.
The young woman lay crumpled on the marble tiles where she had fallen. Her black cloak splayed around her slight frame, dagger still clutched in a death grip. John nudged the blade away with his boot. The assassin's eyes, glassy and half-lidded, stared at nothing. With a grimace, John knelt and gently closed her eyelids. His heart was pounding, adrenaline still thrumming in his veins, but he forced himself to steady his hands.
He scanned the shadowed corners of the chamber. The only movement was the gauzy white curtain billowing gently at the open balcony doors, stirred by a mild night breeze. That was how she'd come in. John's eyes flicked there – the rope she'd used still hung, anchored to the balustrade. A gust brought the scent of jasmine from the palace gardens outside, incongruous against the bloodshed.
A soft groan from the antechamber broke the hush. John stepped over the assassin's body, sword ready. Near the doorway, one of his royal guards lay slumped against the wall, clutching his belly. Blood seeped between the soldier's fingers. The guard's eyes widened when he recognized the Emperor approaching.
"S-sire," the man gasped, voice strained.
John sheathed his sword and dropped to a knee beside the wounded guard. "Easy," he said quietly, slipping back into old habits with calm, authoritative ease. His voice was steady, even as his mind raced. Two other guards lay still on the floor nearby – their throats slit, blood pooling black in the low lamplight. They never even had a chance to cry out.
Rage and sorrow swirled in John's chest at the sight of his slain protectors. These men had sworn to defend Arslan Rûmî with their lives, and tonight they had. Because of me, he thought grimly. And I was nearly too late to save them.
He pressed a hand against the wounded guard's stomach wound. Warm blood coated his palm. The soldier sucked a sharp breath through his teeth. "Stay still. Help is coming," John assured him, meeting the man's terrified eyes. The Emperor's presence must have been a shock here on the floor beside him, but there was no time for ceremony.
John raised his head and shouted toward the corridor beyond the antechamber, keeping his voice low but firm. "Rashid! Guards!"
Almost immediately, shuffling footsteps and clinking mail answered from beyond the door. A second later, Rashid – the chief eunuch – appeared at the threshold with a pair of wide-eyed palace guards behind him. Rashid's normally composed face went pale at the carnage.
"By the Eternal Light…" he whispered, eyes darting from the corpse of the assassin to the dead guards, then to John crouched beside the wounded man.
"There was an assassin," John said, keeping his tone measured. "It's over." His left forearm throbbed where the woman's dagger had sliced him earlier, but he ignored it.
Rashid snapped out of his shock and rushed forward. He wore only a loose night-robe; clearly, he'd been roused from sleep by the commotion. "Summon the physician!" he hissed at one of the arriving guards. The man sprinted off down the hall.
John gently eased the wounded guard onto his back as Rashid knelt opposite him. The eunuch inspected the injury with swift, deft hands. The soldier was fading, his face waxen.
John pressed the man's hand. "Hold on," he said quietly. "What's your name?"
The guard blinked, focusing on John's face. "Karim, Your Majesty," he whispered.
"Karim." John mustered a small reassuring smile despite the dread coiling in his gut. "You fought bravely, Karim. Stay with us."
The guard named Karim managed a weak nod, though his breath was shallow and rapid.
Rashid looked up at John, his expression grave as he shook his head slightly. The wound was mortal – they both could see it. John's jaw clenched. Modern medicine was worlds away; here he had only rudimentary healing knowledge and perhaps magic – but John himself knew too little of R.E.E. yet to attempt anything, and Salim the court mage was not present.
Karim coughed wetly. John kept a hand on the man's shoulder. "Rest, soldier. Help is coming," John repeated, though the words felt hollow. The metallic smell of blood hung heavy.
The guard's lips twitched in what might have been a final attempt at a smile. "Glad…you're safe, sire," he breathed. Then his body relaxed all at once, and his eyes fixed open at the ceiling. The faintest sigh left his lips.
John bowed his head. He felt Rashid's hand on his arm – a light, consoling pressure. For a moment John closed his eyes and let grief wash over him. This man died protecting me – protecting an Emperor I'm only pretending to be.
He exhaled slowly and rose to his feet. "Have the physician tend to him anyway," he ordered softly. "And see to the…others." He glanced at the two slain guards. His throat tightened, but he forced it down. There would be time to mourn later.
Rashid rose as well, inclining his head. "At once, Your Majesty." He gestured for the remaining guard to carefully lift Karim's body. Another servant had appeared and quietly draped a sheet over the two dead guards nearby.
John stepped aside as they carried the bodies away. His left forearm left a smear of blood on his silk sleeve when it brushed his robe – his wound. In the fray he had scarcely registered the pain, but now each heartbeat pumped a reminder of the cut's sting.
He finally looked down at his arm. A long slash had opened the flesh just below the elbow on the outer side. It was oozing a line of crimson down to his wrist. With all the fallen around him, John felt almost guilty thinking of his own injury. He tore a strip from the hem of the dead assassin's cloak on the floor, pulling it taut with a swift yank, and wrapped it around his left forearm tightly to stanch the bleeding. The pain sharpened at the sudden pressure, but he welcomed it. Pain meant he was alive.
The assassin's body still lay on the marble where he had closed her eyes. John realized he was standing over her now, gaze fixed on the dark sigil tattooed on her inner forearm. In the flicker of lamplight, the design was clear: a slender crescent moon entwined with a curved dagger.
Daughters of Xesh, he thought. He'd heard Safid mention that name before, in his briefing on rebel threats. Some fanatical order sworn to the old regime… And now one had breached the palace and nearly ended him in his sleep.
Rashid followed his stare and sucked in a breath. "Moon and dagger," he muttered. "So it's true…"
John nodded grimly. "One of the Daughters of Xesh. She got in through the balcony." He nudged his chin toward the rope still hanging outside in the night air.
Rashid's eyes followed, and his expression tightened with anger and shame. "This should never have happened. The fault is mine, Your Majesty." The eunuch's voice quavered, and he lowered himself into a deep bow, forehead nearly to the blood-streaked floor. "I will accept any punishment–"
John reached down and grasped Rashid's shoulder, pulling him gently but firmly upright. "There's no time for that. I'm alive. That's what matters." He looked the older man in the eye. "I need you, Rashid. We have to figure out how she got past our security and if she had help."
Rashid swallowed and nodded fervently. "Of course, sire. At once. I will interrogate every guard on shift, every servant… She must have had inside assistance to get so far." His face was drawn with worry. "We did catch one of the stable-hands trying to slip away just moments ago. He had a grappling hook in his quarters. I've ordered him held for questioning."
John's mind flashed to the stable-hands who tended the horses – easily overlooked staff. An accomplice on the inside. He grimaced. "Good. Keep him alive. We'll see what he knows." John wasn't about to start a reign of terror by executing underlings without proof, but he would get answers.
Footsteps and the clank of armor signaled new arrivals. General Safid came striding in through the shattered door of the balcony, having climbed up the same route the assassin took. The scar-faced soldier's sword was drawn and his chestnut eyes blazed as he took in the scene. Two more of his soldiers climbed over the balustrade behind him, crossbows in hand.
"Majesty!" Safid's voice was rough with concern as he crossed the room quickly. His gaze swept John from head to toe, as if verifying he was unharmed. He did note the makeshift bandage on John's arm and his eyes narrowed.
John managed a tight smile. "I'm all right, Safid. The assassin's dealt with." He indicated the lifeless woman at his feet.
Safid nudged the corpse with his boot to ensure she was truly dead, then sheathed his blade. "We came as soon as we heard the commotion. Curse that I wasn't here sooner." His jaw muscles tensed beneath his gray-shot beard.
John shook his head. "No. What matters is no second attacker was lurking." He paused and surveyed the trashed bedchamber – a toppled side table, shredded bedcurtain from where a dagger slash missed him. A few of the delicate glow-stones that lit the corners had been knocked to the floor, one shattered and flickering with erratic light. "Secure the area. There might still be information to gather."
Safid motioned his men to search the balcony and perimeter. He glanced to Rashid. "What do we know so far?"
Rashid clasped his hands, regaining some of his poised calm. "The assassin was a woman – young. She killed two guards outside His Majesty's door and wounded a third, who…who did not survive his wounds." The eunuch's voice faltered momentarily. "We have captured a stable-hand who appears complicit in her entry."
Safid's lips pressed into a thin line. "Inside help, as suspected. We'll get the truth from him."
John stepped forward, his expression hard. "Quietly," he emphasized. "We'll handle this investigation quietly. I don't want panic in the palace or the city. Understood?"
Safid brought a fist to his chest in salute. "Understood, Emperor." His tone held a note of respect; John had proven himself calm under attack, and that was not lost on the seasoned general.
John looked between Safid and Rashid. They both waited for his command. A day ago – was it only yesterday? – he had been sitting on a throne fielding petty disputes, uncertain of his footing. But now, with blood on the floor and pain in his arm, he felt a grim clarity. Action was something he knew intimately.
"Rashid, have the bodies of our guards prepared with honor. Their families must be informed first thing in the morning – and they will be compensated generously for their sacrifice," John said.
Rashid bowed, eyes shining. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Safid," John continued, "double the guard on all key points. Quietly. The city gates, the barracks, here at the palace – we don't know if this was an isolated strike or the first of many. And I want that captured accomplice interrogated before dawn. Use a light touch at first; promise leniency for information. If that fails…" John allowed the alternative to hang unsaid. Safid was skilled in more coercive methods, John knew, but he preferred to try cunning before cruelty.
"As you command," Safid nodded.
John ran a hand through his hair. It was damp with sweat from the fight. "Also, have someone send word to Magister Salim to come at first light. I want him to see if there were any magical signatures left behind. And he should examine this mark." He gestured at the dead assassin's tattoo. "He might recognize specific enchantments or know more of this cult."
Safid glanced at the rune-like tattoo and frowned thoughtfully. "Daughters of Xesh… If they've infiltrated the capital, there may be more hiding in the shadows."
John's eyes drifted to the open balcony and the starry night beyond, just faintly lightening with the earliest hint of dawn. Somewhere out there, the ones who sent this girl were likely watching for a signal that the deed was done. They would not be getting one.
"They'll learn their mistake soon enough," John said quietly, steel in his voice. "In the meantime, we keep this contained. Tell as few people as necessary what really happened. The official story should be… an attempted burglary by an intruder, nothing more." The last thing he needed was half the court losing their wits over a rumor that the Emperor nearly fell to an assassin's blade.
Rashid cleared his throat gently. "Your Majesty, word may spread regardless. Some servants heard a fight. But we will control it as best we can."
John conceded with a nod. "Do what you can. Now," he sighed, the rush of battle finally ebbing in his blood, leaving fatigue in its wake, "I should get this wound properly cleaned and bandaged. Safid, have your men remove the assassin's body. See if she carried any documents, poisons, anything we can use."
Safid signaled to his soldiers. They moved to lift the slight corpse and wrap it in a carpet to conceal it. John turned away as they carried the dead woman out – it didn't sit right with him to just dump her in a rug, but expedience was king tonight.
He gingerly flexed his wounded arm, wincing as pain flared anew. Rashid was instantly at his side, ready to support him if needed. John appreciated the gesture but stood firm on his own. "I'll live," he said, offering a faint smirk. "It's just a scratch."
The chief eunuch's lips twitched in a weak attempt at a smile, though concern still etched his brow. "Shall I send for the physician to tend you, Majesty?"
"After he's done with more urgent matters," John replied, thinking of the guards who needed tending – though likely only corpses remained to tend. "For now, just help me wrap it tightly."
Rashid nodded. He fetched a clean linen strip from a cabinet – the eunuch was always prepared – and together they unwound John's makeshift bloody rag. The cut was indeed shallow but long. Rashid quickly cleaned it with watered wine and bound it snugly. John inhaled sharply at the sting, then muttered his thanks.
Dawn was creeping in pale and pink now, chasing away the night's stars. The muezzins in the city would soon call the first prayer, and the Palace of Light would stir with its usual morning routine. John realized he had not slept at all – and now would not get the chance.
He straightened his back. Though bone-tired, he felt a hard resolve crystalizing inside him. Last night, death had come for him in the form of a silent, determined girl. She'd nearly succeeded. If John hadn't been a light sleeper, if his Special Forces reflexes hadn't kicked in just in time… He pushed the thought away. Nearly wasn't enough. He was still here. And he would not wait like a sitting duck for the next attempt.
"Safid, Rashid," John addressed the two men, "you have your orders. By tonight I want a full report on how this breach happened and who was behind it. And discreetly increase the watch on the royal family's quarters as well."
He had no family of his own here – Arslan's parents were gone, no siblings mentioned, and no children – but protocol required safeguarding any nobles of the blood, and it would be a sign that he cared for more than just his own life.
The general and the eunuch bowed in unison. "It will be done," Safid said.
Rashid hesitated. "Perhaps, sire, you might try to rest an hour or two? You've had an ordeal…"
John gave a mirthless chuckle. "Rest? Not likely. There's too much to do. I'll be fine." He placed a hand on Rashid's shoulder kindly. "You've served me well under terrible circumstances. I know you'll make sure nothing like this happens again."
Rashid's eyes glistened. "I swear it, Emperor."
John stepped toward the balcony, where the first sun rays were touching the east. He felt the bandage on his left forearm, remembering how easily the assassin's blade had sliced past his guard. He'd won last night by a hair's breadth, in close quarters without guns, without backup. It had been a stark reminder: he was a stranger in this world, alive thanks to skills from another life and pure luck. That luck could run out.
Softly, almost to himself, John murmured, "No more close calls." He touched the lion-head pommel of the kilij at his hip – the sword he'd been given as Emperor. The runes along its scabbard glinted faintly in the new daylight. He thought of the humming power he had sensed in them once before. There were tools here he barely understood yet – magic, runes, energies swirling through this empire like unseen currents.
If he was to survive, if he was to truly become Arslan Rûmî in more than name, he would have to seize every advantage this world offered.
He would learn the ways of R.E.E., master the runes and the strange energies that powered glow-stones and climate charms and lethal traps alike. He would sharpen his mind and body both, become someone these fanatics would fear to cross.
John turned back to Safid and Rashid, who stood awaiting his leave to carry out his commands. "By tomorrow," he said quietly, "our enemies will know nothing of what transpired here – but we will know more of them. We'll root them out, one by one."
His hazel eyes, still John Sullivan's eyes behind Arslan's face, hardened with resolve. "They wanted to see the Emperor weak and afraid. Instead, we'll show them an Emperor strengthened – bonded with his men and armed with knowledge."
He inhaled the morning air deeply, catching a hint of smoke from last night's struggle and the fragrance of blooming gardens beyond. A new day was unfolding, bright and clear over the City of Light, and John intended to greet it not as prey, but as a predator on the hunt.
"Onwards," he said, voice low but firm. And as Safid and Rashid departed to do his bidding, John remained on the balcony a moment longer, the rising sun glowing on the horizon like a beacon. He flexed his bandaged arm gingerly and whispered a vow only he could hear: "I will not let this world take me. I'll carve my own destiny here – or die standing."