Chapter 23
He removed the ankle-high leather boots, still caked with dust and mud from the narrow alleys of the old city, with a slow pull, then placed them beside the door so he could clean them a few minutes later.
And when he finally stood naked amid the rising steam, when warm water began to pour over his tense body, Arya closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift to what they would face in a few minutes at the palace of Emperor Alexios I Komnenos, to the five-headed creature that might be hiding somewhere in this city, to the murder that had suddenly dragged them into a Byzantine political vortex more intricate than any labyrinth he had ever crossed.
The morning wind of Constantinople swept across the palace courtyard when Nirma and Arya finally stepped out of the audience chamber, carrying with them the lingering scent of incense and beeswax candles clinging to their cloaks, an aroma of power that did not fade easily even after being washed a thousand times.
The carved teakwood doors guarded by two giant-built soldiers closed behind them with a heavy echo that resonated through the stone corridor, and for a moment Nirma halted her steps, drawing a long breath, feeling the cold morning air fill her lungs with a freshness that had felt so foreign during the meeting.
Beside her, Arya was also silent, saying nothing, only his eyes moving swiftly to observe the surroundings, counting the number of guards on duty, estimating the distance to the main gate, mapping every corner that could serve as a hiding place if something unexpected were to occur.
Yet nothing happened, nothing moved suspiciously, no whispers behind stone curtains, only soldiers standing upright at their posts with stone-like faces betraying no emotion.
Nirma nodded in relief, a small nod visible only to Arya because he had known her far too long, a nod born of deep relief she did not wish to display too openly.
Throughout the meeting with Emperor Alexios I Komnenos, from the moment they were invited inside until they requested permission to depart, the Emperor had not shown the frightening side she had read about in historical records she once studied in the twenty-first century.
There was no hawk-like glare ready to strike, no trapping questions, no threatening undertone hidden beneath polite words.
What existed instead was the hospitality of a ruler who had sat upon the throne for so long that he no longer needed to prove his authority through harsh displays, a faint smile that appeared occasionally when Nirma answered carefully, a relaxed shake of the head when Arya apologized for their boldness in appearing without prior notice.
"You are investigators recommended by those I trust," the Emperor said at the end of the meeting, his voice deep yet not intimidating, like a father speaking to his children before sleep.
"And this Constantinople needs people like you, people who are not afraid of darkness, who dare to uncover what has long been concealed by those who were meant to protect this city."
The relief did not stem solely from the Emperor's gracious demeanor, but also from what he granted at the meeting's conclusion, a permission Nirma had never imagined would be given so easily.
The right to interrogate anyone connected to this murder case, the right to enter places usually closed to foreigners, the right to question without fear that such inquiries would be considered insults to the intricate hierarchy of this Byzantine City.
And most astonishing of all, what caused her instinctive vigilance—honed through decades of traversing time's corridors—to ease slightly, was when the Emperor mentioned a name in a tone flat yet laden with meaning.
"Even if the suspect is the Prefect of the Byzantine City himself, Manuel Botaneiates," the Emperor said while looking at Nirma with eyes that suddenly seemed deeper, "you have the right to interrogate him, to summon him into the chamber of inquiry, to ask whatever must be asked. No one is above the law in this city while this case remains unresolved, no one is immune, not even those seated in high chairs they have long considered untouchable."
Nirma heard those words, stored them in her heart, and for the first time since arriving in Constantinople minutes earlier, she felt a glimmer of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, they could complete this mission without having to flee from imperial soldiers.
Now, in the palace courtyard illuminated by torches burning brightly along both sides of the path, two fully uniformed soldiers approached and saluted.
They were guards specifically assigned to escort Nirma and Arya to the investigation site, to the place where the victim's body had been found floating near the docks hours before sunrise.
One of the soldiers, older and bearing a sword scar across his left temple, spoke in a respectful yet firm voice.
"We will escort you to the destination, Sir and Madam.
From there, you are free to begin your investigation, and we will withdraw once you commence your work."
Nirma nodded, glanced briefly at Arya, and without a word the two of them followed the soldiers' steps, leaving the palace courtyard behind, leaving the torchlight that was beginning to dim, walking toward the darkness of a city that still held a thousand secrets in every corner.
Two black horses with gleaming muscles pulled the enclosed carriage at a steady but unhurried pace, as though the luxurious vehicle fully understood that its passengers were individuals entrusted directly by the Emperor.
The carved wooden walls lined inside with purple silk muffled nearly all outside noise, leaving only the faint jingle of harnesses and the rhythmic clatter of hooves against damp stone, sounds that were almost like background music in the cool morning of Constantinople.
Nirma leaned back against the soft velvet seat, her eyes closed not from fatigue but from absorbing every vibration she felt from the carriage, every slight sway indicating a turn or uneven road.
Across from her, Arya sat more upright, his body leaning slightly forward, a posture that revealed that even within this elite and secure vehicle, his vigilance did not diminish in the slightest.
For a while, they remained silent, allowing the quiet to speak, allowing their heartbeats to return to normal after the tense meeting with the supreme ruler of the Byzantine Empire.
In Nirmala's hand, a document was held tightly, its parchment folds still new, its ink releasing the distinct scent found only in imperial administrative offices.
The document had been given by the guards escorting them long before the enclosed carriage began to move, handed respectfully by the older soldier as preliminary information before they reached the murder site.
"This is all we have, Madam," the soldier had said at the time, his voice lowered even though there had been no one nearby who required secrecy.
To be continued…