The Wedding

Sy Xen cracked another lockpick, his frustration mounting like a silent storm. It was a challenge he hadn’t anticipated, even in his seasoned career of delivering death after death.

“Having trouble, Sy?” Sobraja asked, sighing. She extended a hand, helping. Sy Xen slapped it away.

“Sweat? Please, I'm merely warming up,” he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. His fingers danced in his pockets, searching for a new pick. Triumphantly extracting it, he added, “Silence, dear Sobraja Mavilus. Watch and learn.”

He moved the lockpick around, a smirk playing on his lips as, with a final click, the door swung open. He stood and strutted inside, retrieving a box he’d left at his feet with theatrical flair. After securing the door behind them, he met Sobraja’s gaze, noting the stone staircase ahead.

Sobraja knelt, pulling out their face wrappings and a small piece of parchment. She quickly tied up her hair and pulled off her dress, revealing black leather pants and a belt beneath.

“The groom should still be alone,” Sobraja said, checking her daggers. “His prep room is down the hallway at the top of the stairs. The only issue we have is that the hallway is broken into two parts. However, it should be empty this late in the morning.”

“I’ll handle the chapel,” he said. “Keep your eyes sharp and wait for my signal. Try not to miss me too much.”

“Just remember, Sy, we have a schedule,” Sobraja said, her eyes narrowed. “We have a bigger contract tonight to prepare for. I really don’t want to put it in jeopardy. You take the groom. I take the bride. That’s it.”

 

“I know, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes.

 

Sy Xen ascended the tight spiral staircase, his steps silent against the ancient stonework. The midday sun cast slivers of light through the narrow stained-glass windows, throwing vibrant patterns on the walls. At the stairwell’s end, he paused, his trained ears straining for any sound beyond the heavy door. With caution, he nudged it open, his keen eyes scanning the empty corridor before slipping through.

 With no one in sight, he motioned for Sobraja to join him. She immediately began walking down a perpendicular hallway toward the bride’s quarters. Sy Xen turned and made his way down the primary hallway. 

More light poured in, highlighting the reds and golds in the delicately placed runner. Larger stained-glass windows offered a kaleidoscope of color through depictions of Illumia and Kasvamaat, two Gods of the Order of the Ten, entwined in stages of divine marital rites. He scoffed silently; love was something for people with no survival instincts. The fewer strings, the better.

Reaching the hallway’s end, he unveiled a small wedding cake from the box he carried, donning an apron and baker’s cap with practiced ease. As he entered the chapel, a wave of lavender incense enveloped him, and the space was surprisingly crowded. He silently cursed Sobraja’s assurance of an empty chapel.

Most paid his entrance no mind, but a few men and women looked up at him as he walked in. He quickly improvised, confidently walking to a pew and sitting down, settling in next to an older woman in a starchy yellow dress. A large stone statue of Illumia sat at the front of the room, incense and candles lit at its base. The old woman, deep in prayer, opened her eyes and turned to Sy Xen. 

“Smells like humberry,” she whispered as her eyes locked onto the confectionery between them. “Why in Illumia’s name would you bring that here?” 

“It’s for a blessing, demanded by the couple,” Sy Xen said. “I’m but a humble apprentice, madam.”

 

The old woman stared intently at a few batter smudges on his apron and nodded. 

 

“Ah, Dendra’s doing, no doubt. Always chasing fairytales, that one. I asked her mother to reason with her, to rein her in a bit, but you know how the youth are these days. If it ain’t grand, it ain’t worth doing.” She shrugged. “I’ll make sure to eat this one for ya. I’m a humberry fiend anyway…can’t get enough of ‘em.”

 

“I must hurry; the reception awaits its sweetness,” he said, rising.

 

“That’s a quick blessing,” she said.

 

“We do what we can.”

 

The old woman smiled and lightly chuckled. 

 

“That we do,” she said. “May the Gods bless you, young man. Good luck with your apprenticeship.”

 

“Thank you,” Sy Xen said. “Enjoy the wedding.”

 

Collecting the prop cake, Sy Xen gave two bows—one to the old woman, one to Illumia—and exited through the far door. 

At the corridor's end, the passage veered right, the sound of boisterous laughter and clinking glasses echoing off the stone walls. Sy Xen, his senses heightened, pressed himself against the cold, rough texture of the interior wall, blending with the shadows. 

As he edged closer to the laughter’s source, Sy Xen peered around the corner. A group of men, clad in the finery of wedding guests, spilled from the room he was trying to reach, their movements loose with intoxication.

 

Among the group, one man stumbled, clearly more affected by the drink. 

 

Perfect.

 

Placing the cake strategically in the hallway's center, Sy Xen emitted a sharp whistle. The drunken man, curious, broke away from his departing companions and staggered toward the cake, his gaze fixated.

In a flash, Sy Xen struck, his movements a blur of efficiency. He cornered the man, his hand clamping over his mouth, muffling any cry as he drove him against the wall, rendering him unconscious with practiced ease. Dragging the limp body into a nearby room, he scanned the tight space — a lone desk and chair bathed in the sunlight streaming through a wide window.

With mechanical detachment, Sy Xen disrobed the man, stowing the garments neatly by the door. He then bound him to the chair with twine, gagging him with cloth. 

Emerging from the room, Sy Xen reclaimed the cake and approached the groom’s door. He knocked twice, the sound crisp in the hushed corridor. The door swung open to reveal a man with a wide smile.

 

“Yes?” he asked, “Can I help you?”

 

“Indeed, sir, you can,” Sy Xen replied, his voice honeyed and smooth. “The head baker sent me ahead with this special confection. Your bride wishes to surprise you with a preview of tonight’s dessert.” He gestured to the cake with a flourish. The groom's eyes sparkled with delight. 

“Oh, come in!” he exclaimed, buzzing with happiness. “Dendra’s always conjuring up delights. Fortunate man, am I not?” 

 

Sy Xen suppressed a scoff. 

 

“Fortune’s smile is broad, sir,” Sy Xen said. “Alas, I remain only a humble servant to love’s whims and not a recipient.” He deftly placed the cake on a table, slicing a small piece from it with a knife in his pocket. He procured a fork and left both it and the knife on the table.

“Everyone finds their match in time,” the groom said, smiling as he sat down in the chair. He picked up the fork and took a bite.

“Indeed, sir. May time grant me such grace,” Sy Xen said, his hand inching toward a concealed blade at his waist, the metal cool and familiar against his skin.

As the groom savored the cake, murmuring praises, Sy Xen closed the distance. In a heartbeat, he clasped the groom’s head. The blade flashed once.

 

Blood sprayed across the cake. 

 

The groom fell over, hands clawing at the gaping wound, as the door burst open. 

 

“Oi, Rafe, you lagging again?” asked a groomsman, his words slurred.

 

Sy Xen concealed his face with the black varja and darted past the stunned groomsmen. He slid out the door and slammed it shut. He quickly shoved a hallway table in front of it, barring the men inside.

Returning to the room where he’d left the unconscious groomsman, he changed into the man’s clothes. Disguised, Sy Xen reemerged into the chapel’s deceptive peace. Again, only a few looked his way. However, when the old woman spotted him, she narrowed her gaze. After a moment, her eyes widened as her suspicion grew, and she called out after him. Luckily, no one reacted, and Sy Xen vanished through the far door and into the original hallway.

 

So much for unseen, unheard, but always felt - The Enforcer’s code.

 

In the shadowed hall, Sobraja stood rigid with tension. Her foot tapped a staccato rhythm on the stone floor, a clear signal of her impatience.

“Why the delay?” she hissed, her voice a taut wire. “And why do you look like a groomsman? Tell me you haven't spilled more blood than necessary.”

“Cool your nerves, Sobraja,” Sy Xen said with a dismissive flick of his hand. He brushed past her and descended the stairs they’d come from, his steps quickening. “Just a minor complication.” The thrill of the chase still coursed through his veins.

Before Sobraja could counter with her usual condescension, the door above them burst open, and the sound of steel armor bounced around the stairwell. 

“Halt!” a guard called. “In the name of the law, for the murders of Dendra Polstaff and Gerrad Sameel, you are to be apprehended!”

“Are you kidding me?” Sobraja yelled as they bounded down the stairs. “This was meant to be swift! Gods Sy, you put this whole contract in jeopardy.”

Sy Xen only smiled, the adrenaline of the hunt pulsing through him. She didn’t have to always worry so much. 

“Please, what’s a wedding without a little fun?” he quipped as they reached the bottom of the stairwell. Another win, another slap on the back from Maurten, the guild leader. “Time to get back and get paid.” 

 

Suddenly, the door before them swung open, revealing more men in steel.

 

He’d misread the number of guards. Not the exits. 

 

Before Sy Xen could react, one of the guards pushed through the doorway and delivered a crushing blow with his gauntleted fist, sending Sy Xen spiraling into darkness.