"Here you go, sir," Jack intoned with a courteous smile as he presented the glass to the noble.
That civility, however, was only skin-deep. His attention was fixed elsewhere, specifically on Declan across the hall. He tracked his movements carefully, his eyes shifting only when necessary, alert for any sign that he might separate or relocate.
The noble took note. Jack's gaze wandered past him, never lingering, and the thought rankled. For a brief instant, irritation stirred: was the attendant so distracted through ignorance of rank? Or, worse, was it a matter of deliberate disregard?
The answer, as it proved, was both.
In Jack's estimation, the nobles assembled about him were little more than patrons connected to his sister's literary endeavors. Their titles carried scant significance in his mind. The sole exceptions were the unfamiliar faces, those who had ventured from distant lands beyond the borders of the realm.
"Pray, would you be so kind as to provide another cup of wine?" the noble inquired, his laugh hollow, his gaze lingering upon Jack with an uncomfortably prolonged scrutiny.
"Hm?" Jack replied, casting a glance at the crystal cup in the gentleman's hand. "Yet there appears still wine within it." His eyes lifted to meet the noble's once more. "If I may be so bold, have you even partaken of it?"
"Oh, this?" the noble said lightly, raising the cup though as if only now noticing it. "The fact is, the vessel is already empty."
Jack's brow furrowed.
From his vantage, the goblet glimmered with deep crimson wine, catching the light as though brimming. He parted his lips to question the assertion, but the noble anticipated him, moving first.
Without the slightest warning, the gentleman tilted the cup forward.
Chilled wine cascaded across Jack's visage, soaking his hair and collar, droplets splattering upon the polished floor. A few nearby guests drew in startled breaths; others turned abruptly, drawn by the sudden disturbance.
The noble adjusted himself with composure.
"Now," he said softly, amusement lacing each word, "do you find it credible when I averred the cup to be empty?"
Jack remained motionless for a moment, wine trickling from his bangs and darkening the collar of his coat. Yet the polite curve of his lips never wavered, and his blue eyes caught the light through the crimson sheen upon his skin.
"I see," he said at last, offering a small, almost careless shrug.
Then his tone shifted to something firmer.
"But next time," he continued, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon the noble, "I should advise that you select a more suitable place, and a more fitting moment, should you intend to attempt such a stratagem again."
"Huh?" The noble exhaled, confusion flickering across his countenance, his smile faltering as he regarded Jack's serene composure.
"…Wh—what do you mean?" stammered the noble, his confidence wavering as Jack's warning took firm hold.
A small crowd had begun to gather, drawn by the sudden disturbance. To their astonishment, they beheld Jack standing serenely, a courteous smile upon his lips, though his coat and hair were thoroughly soaked in wine.
"What is the meaning of this?" A calm, authoritative voice pierced through the murmurs.
The lady of the Vikii family stepped forward, a crystal cup held delicately in her hand, her expression polite yet incisive.
Both Jack and the noble turned to regard her.
"Nothing," they replied simultaneously.
Jack's response flowed smoothly and even. The noble, however, faltered, his answer arriving half a heartbeat later.
The lady, however, let her gaze flit between Jack, drenched as though some unfortunate fate had befallen him, and the noble, who still clutched his cup as if it were irrefutable proof of some misdeed. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
It was plain enough: she was far from foolish, and she placed no credence in either of their explanations.
Jack cast a discreet glance toward the spot where Declan and Nowa had stood but moments before, only to see them already ascending toward the upper floors of the mansion.
Oh, no…I must've stood here too long that I didn't even notice them leaving.
He paused for a heartbeat, surveying the nobles about him while his mind raced for a means of exit that would not draw undue attention. To leave abruptly would appear suspicious; to remain idle would squander precious time.
Then his eyes caught on the crystal vessels in the hands of nearby guests, most now emptied of their contents, their attention wandering as they awaited an attendant, or so he presumed.
Very well, he thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips. I may simply collect the empty cups, and no one shall find cause for suspicion.
"If you will kindly excuse me," Jack said smoothly, lifting the cup from the noble's hand before the man could protest. With equal ease, he began gathering the other emptied cups scattered nearby.
Jack turned and threaded his way through the assembly, following the direction in which the detectives had vanished, still thoroughly drenched.
"Pray—where do you imagine yourself going?" demanded the Vikii lady, her tone sharp as she moved to pursue him.
The surrounding nobles and guests instinctively parted, their murmured conversations falling silent as they observed the pursuit of the wine-soaked attendant toward the grand staircase. Curious eyes tracked the pair, confusion rippling quietly through the hall.
***
Hours later.
The noble who had so thoughtlessly doused Jack with wine slipped quietly from the mansion, his former airs of arrogance supplanted by a tight, uneasy expression.
Shortly thereafter, he found himself seated within his carriage, preparing to depart Sir Bernard's estate. Lingering at the gathering had left his limbs wearied and his patience far thinner than he cared to admit. Concluding that nothing further could be gained by remaining, he gave the order to drive on, reclining against the cushioned seat with thoughts of home and the solace of a well-earned repast or perhaps a restorative spell occupying his mind.
Seconds later, a shadow flitted across the carriage's path before everything went completely silent.
Tap... Tap... Tap... Tap... Tap...
The sound repeated itself against the windowpane.
Six seconds passed before the noble stirred. Outside the carriage, a figure stood, fingers drumming lightly upon the glass. In the dim glow of the streetlamp, pale blue eyes glimmered faintly against the surface. Yet his irritation, a petty vexation at the interruption, blurred the finer details he might have observed: the dark stains marring the stranger's hands, and the suffocating quiet that hung about the figure like a shroud.
"What is the meaning of this?!" he demanded, flinging open the carriage door only to find a young lass standing before him, her countenance grave and unflinching.
No mere seriousness resided in that expression; it bore the weight of one resolved to settle a matter, whatever it might be.
"Pray… who might you be?" the noble asked, realization dawning that the figure before him was, indeed, but a girl.
She merely shrugged. The faint lamplight caught her features, revealing the well-known writer of Fenn, bereft of her spectacles. In other words, Nyx. Yet, at that very moment, such a revelation mattered little.
"I am a nobody… at least, in your estimation," she said quietly. Then she paused. "Introductions, however, are of no consequence at present."
Her gaze did not waver.
"I witnessed what you did to my brother," she continued, her voice level and devoid of heat. "And for that, you shall pay, with your life."
The man stared at her, utterly perplexed. Her words struck him as disjointed, almost absurd, refusing to settle into any coherent meaning.
"…What nonsense is this?" he demanded, irritation edging his voice as unease crept in. "Explain yourself."
"Nothing," she replied simply, inclining her head slowly to the left, her long hair slipping after the motion like a dark curtain falling into place.
"Wait… are you not the young lady who stood beside Lady Vikii at the gathering?"
"Which one?" Nyx replied, her tone unaltered. "…Ah. You mean Selena."
She let out a soft chortle.
"Be that as it may,"
She reached up, drawing her hand through the fall of her hair, and from within it produced a long, slender instrument of cold metal.
It was no common needle.
The shaft was narrow and unyielding, forged as a single piece, its length nearer to a surgeon's probe than any tailor's tool. The metal gleamed faintly beneath the lamplight, smooth and polished, tapering to a mercilessly fine point, so sharp it seemed less forged than frozen, as a sliver of winter hardened into steel.
She held it lightly, as one might hold a sword.
"Anyway," she said, as though resuming an idle conversation.
Before the man could so much as draw breath, Nyx moved with startling swiftness. The slender, glinting needle drove into his chest, piercing the fabric of his coat and sinking cruelly into flesh. A dark bloom of blood began to seep along the wound, slow but unmistakable.
A heartbeat later, comprehension struck him with chilling clarity: the girl had struck him.
"Hm?" he groaned, eyes widening as they fell upon the needle still embedded, disbelief and mounting panic lacing every syllable.
"That is one…" Nyx murmured, the gravity in her expression slowly giving way to a faint, almost amused curve of the lips.
Before the man could summon breath enough to cry out, she moved again. The needle was drawn cleanly from his chest, and in the same fluid motion, her hand slipped to her thigh.
A revolver appeared. She pressed the cold mouth of the barrel firmly against his lips, a silent decree that any sound he dared utter would be his last.
Blood continued to seep from the wound in his chest. As for the needle, she had already driven it into his thigh.
"That is two…" she said softly.
Tears ran down his face. He could feel his muscles tear apart in places where the needle struck.
Nyx pulled another weapon from her left thigh. A cooking knife that looked fairly new.
She had a lot of tools on her, hidden from the naked eye, but deadly when it came to dealing with people like the noble.
She slowly tore off all the man's right-hand fingers, letting them fall to the ground before pulling the revolver away and continuing to pierce his chest with the long needle, vigorously, while laughing her heart out.
"Three..., four..., five..., six..., seven..., eight..." Before she reached nine, the man collapsed with a heavy thud, lifeless.
"I had imagined you would endure longer than this…" she said softly, her tone laced with mild reproach. "…Yet I suppose all your boasts were naught but empty words."
She paused, eyes lowering to the wound that had rent his chest.
"..."
Nyx's gaze drifted to another figure, once the noble's driver. Now, both men lay still. From the state of the driver's body, it appeared he had met his end swiftly, far more expeditiously than the noble, whose suffering had been drawn out.
She regarded them with the same psychonic grin before she was interrupted by a maid who witnessed the whole thing.
A maid, pale and trembling, had witnessed the entire thing. She staggered backward, nearly collapsing to the ground, her eyes wide with terror as Nyx's gaze shifted to meet her.
"…P-please, help me," the maid whispered, her voice trembling as she retreated step by faltering step, never once taking her eyes from Nyx.
"Oh, my apologies that you were made to witness such a thing," Nyx replied softly. "Yet I cannot simply allow you to depart. You would only be driven to cry out, just as you are now."
Her smile softened further, almost tender, as though she meant to soothe rather than threaten.
She raised the revolver, adjusting its angle to a certain degree, the barrel settling upon the maid.
Bang!
The report rang out.
The maid collapsed to the ground with a dull, lifeless thud. A moment later, a dark stain began to spread beneath her still form, seeping slowly across the stones like an inescapable tide.