Celle

“My apologies,” Nevada said as we closed the door behind us, “for making you come to my room.”

“Not at all. Carr is still getting over his Void hangover, and it sounds like you wanted some privacy.”

“Privacy would be ideal.” Nevada took a seat on the couch and surprised me by gesturing at the seat beside hers, rather than the chair opposing her. I quickly accepted the invitation. “It is about my father’s murder.”

I had approached her about the topic a few days ago and told her of what I had learned—though I didn’t tell her about the book. Still, at the mention of the gentleman who mentioned “Four Crucifixions” she appeared willing to tell me more about that incident. Strange she’s not questioning how I know so much about a conversation I wasn’t part of…but I am not going to look a gift horse in the mouth here.

“The topic of crucifixions came up last time,” Nevada began, hesitantly. Then, suddenly, she shook her head. “I get ahead of myself. Celle, I am willing to tell you everything I know, do not misunderstand me. But I will need some reassurance from you before doing so.”

“What kind of reassurances would you need?”

“That you would be discreet.”

This could mean a lot of things, but I had to be careful about how to inquire about it lest I offend her. “I thought you would want the murderer’s identity to be spread far and wide. Don’t you want the Emperor’s murderer to be punished?”

“Of course I do. But more than that—I want stability for the Empire. If the murderer turns out to be Johan, then all is good. But otherwise…”

Now this is interesting. “You think the murderer could be someone else?”

“Okay, listen here,” Nevada said, leaning forward, “I am not a detective. I don’t understand the specifics of how my father was killed. But I can tell you about who had a reason to and how troublesome it would be if it turned out that they were the ones who did it.”

“Alright, go on. Who are you afraid is the killer?”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Nevada snapped back, sounding offended, “but Johan is the absolute best case scenario. We know he is behind it, but we don’t know if he’s the one who stained himself with royal blood. Charles—the ‘Old Gambler’ or the Devil depending on who is talking—being the killer would be complicated, simply because he’s not a well known figure. People wouldn’t really know who to blame. It would be…unfortunate. But it’s passable.”

“Let’s cut to the important part then,” I said. “It seems like there is one person you are specifically afraid is the killer, so why waste time going down the entire list of suspects? C’mon. Who is it?”

Nevada hesitated, but just for a moment. She had the expression of someone who had long decided on a course of action and yet was not entirely confident in it. Still, she nodded to herself and said, “Roger of Arcadia.”

“Johan’s right hand man?” He could be the killer and he had strong motive. According to Fedal’s short meeting with him, Roger was of the opinion that Johan’s psychotic killing still overall improved the quality of life in the Empire. He had issues with how the Empire was being led before, and he worked for Johan. It would make sense. “Why would him being the killer be the issue?”

“Because he knows everything about Johan’s plans,” Nevada said plainly, “and were he to be the culprit, he would have to be executed. You see the issue, yes?”

“I’m sorry, but no, I do not. Why does it matter that he knows of Johan’s plans?”

Nevada appeared surprised at my response. “Our goal is to kill Johan, is it not?”

Images of Carr, Valle, the Executioner and others flashed in my mind. That is pretty high up there as far as goals go. “What is your point?”

“Killing the man doesn’t mean everything he’s done suddenly gets undone. Usurper, false Emperor—whatever he might be, currently he holds the same power as an Emperor. He definitely has many ‘projects’ ongoing right now—be they installing his preferred commanders, raising taxes in certain territories, restructuring the army or investing in new weapons. Say we kill him and take over, what about after that? The Empire is going to be in chaos while we find out where our money was going and try to restructure everything. But if we had someone who knows how the Empire is being run right now to help us restructure after Johan is dead…”

“Are you—are you serious?” I hadn’t meant to sound so accusatory, but it was hard to sound like anything but. “You want to get Roger to switch sides after killing Johan?”

“It shouldn’t be too hard,” Nevada replied, waving the question off with her hands. “Everything he has done so far is for the sake of the Empire, yes? Having to take back the Empire after killing Johan would cost us a lot. And that is coin that could go toward improving people’s lives—he would help us. His reputation precedes him, and there is much history to suggest that.”

Nevada…I knew you saw the world differently from me, but goddamn you’re crazy. “Roger is Johan's associate. Even if he wasn't the one behind every order, he’s guilty of murdering hundreds.”

“Thousands,” Nevada corrected me, her voice softening. She leaned forward and took my hands in hers. Her palms were warm and smooth, and her eyes looked into mine with more intensity than any lover I've had in the past. "But will allowing even more people to die in the name of justice somehow honor the dead? Will they thank us, for allowing their brothers and sisters to perish so that we may punish the guilty ones? It is better to recruit him after we rid the world of Johan than to execute him."

"We have to draw a line somewhere," I stated flatly. "Or else we will not be much different from Johan."

Nevada shook her head slowly, as though she had expected nothing less from me. "No, we do not. Instead of talking of hypothetical moral precipices, I find it much more practical to take things day by day, one thing at a time. This is an exception to a special situation - it will not happen again in my reign."

I was starting to feel uncomfortable under her gaze. My chest felt tight, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at me. A friend? A detective? A pawn? Ah, Nevada...I don't know how the fuck Valle feels comfortable around you. I like you, but I feel like you're going to stab me with your eyes when you get this serious. "Seems convenient," I said dryly, "that you can justify all this based on a few hypotheticals."

"There is no point in worrying about the future if you cannot control the present. As for the rest…perhaps you should consider those hypotheticals yourself."

I raised an eyebrow at that, but I left it alone. There was little point to arguing with her on the subject anyway.

"So, let's say he is the killer," Nevada continued, "and the public demands his death. What then?"

An issue came to mind. "Nevada...is Valle going to be fine with this plan? To keep Roger alive?" Valle was one of the most infuriatingly 'righteous' men in the Empire - he would kill for honor and properness, but he would die for it as well. "With this?"

The Princess drew a deep breath, and I realized that she had been holding it in for a while. She let it out slowly and sighed heavily. "My beloved husband-to-be is a kind man and the strongest swordsman," she said quietly, "but it takes a different kind of strength to lead an empire. He will compromise."

The strongest swordsman? Bullshit. "He will?"

“He will! And so will I. Celle, give me some credit! You think I just expect the man to go along with my plans?" Nevada laughed. Franky, yes, that was the impression I was getting. "Roger will be pardoned, and he will work with us...until we have the bare minimum information from him about how to run the Empire. After that point, I will allow my beloved King to duel him to the death. It will be proper and honorable."

There was nothing honorable about this place. But most of all, there was another matter that had been bugging me. Something that I knew would be rude to even ask. "Nevada," I muttered, "would you be able to work with Roger, if he turns out to have been the killer? If he killed your own father?"

"Yes," she replied, a sort of matter-of-factness about her tone making me uneasy, "I wouldn't be happy about it, of course, but I would do it."

"That...I can't wrap my mind around that," I said. "How can you think of a plan that makes you so unhappy?"

"What is so puzzling about this?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "Do you only ever do things that make you happy?"

Her question was genuine, almost innocent, and this was the most unsettling conversation I'd had since arriving in the Empire. "Not always..." I began, but then stopped. I had no idea how to explain myself in the way that I wanted to.

"Then you must learn to accept things as they are," Nevada said, sipping at her wine glass. When had she set wine for us? It was too early for that! "Sometimes, you have to do things that are most unpleasant."

My next words were picked very carefully. "Even if it means working with your father's murderer?"

"Even then." She shrugged, and there was something off about the movement. It seemed like it had been planned, but it was still off enough to look unnatural. "Anyhow, it is not a guarantee he is the killer. It is possible Johan or one of the others did it - even Duartes is a suspect, forget not. Do I have your word regarding your discreteness?"

I had come to like her over the time we spent together, but her question made me come to a sudden realization: Nevada did not yet understand me as a person. Ah, sure, I was a gambler once - and a cheater at that. I would lie, cheat, steal and do whatever it took to get what I wanted, and it wasn't because I felt any moral compulsion towards my goals or anything of the sort. It just felt natural. But hiding the truth in a murder was the one thing I would never do. I am many things, and I do not deny a single one of them. I only remind myself of this:

Above everything else, I am a detective.

And I needed the information she was withholding from me. "You have my word, Nevada," I told her. Then, more formally, and with seriousness in my eyes, I said, "Your Highness. Please, tell me everything."

She nodded. That appeared enough to satisfy her, and she readied herself for the next part of the evening. "So, about my father...regarding the Four Crucifixions the gentleman mentioned?"

I leaned forward in interest, and Nevada continued. There was a sort of darkness about her now, as if speaking about an unpleasant aspect of her past, though it did not personally relate to her. She spoke in an almost dreamlike tone, and suddenly the haziness of the candlelight appeared to envelop the room, to give it a more macabre feeling. My heartbeat accelerated, and the stillness of sound made it feel as though the whole castle was holding its breath.

“Father was not always a candidate for inheriting the Imperial Throne," Nevada muttered, a sort of nostalgic smile about her. There was another emotion in that smile too, but I could not quite place it. A sort of amused pride, perhaps? "His family was not destitute, but the House of Wolf's holdings were held by his uncle and he had no desire to share his wealth with Father or anyone else. Distressed by the small allowance his uncle gave them, Father and his two siblings planned for a rebellion. One by one, they challenged their uncle to a duel, and one by one, they lost."

Nevada smiled amusedly at me. "You are probably wondering - if Father lost, how did he become Emperor? And here I must ask you if you have heard of Wolf's Den, the northern holding of the Emperor's own title. Surely, you have heard of the rumors?"

I had, but it was difficult to repeat them aloud without it appearing like an insult. People said in the Emperor's homeland, the House of Wolf used crucifixions as its preferred method of execution, and that once crucified bodies would be left hanging for a hundred years before they were allowed to be taken down. Whether by magic or some other circumstance related to the geography, bodies would not decompose fully for decades, remaining a stark reminder of what happens to those who did not follow the City Lord's laws. "I have heard of them, of course," I started carefully, "but surely those rumors - "

"Entirely true," Nevada cut in, "and Father's Uncle had all three of them crucified. They were left to die, with magic stakes driven through their hands that prevented their own usage of magic to escape, and with a slow, painful death as their only option. But destiny took a weird turn. The stake Father's cross was attached to broke off, as if the heavens themselves had deemed him worthy of surviving - and he survived. There, he challenged his uncle to a duel again, this time armed with a more powerful magical weapon, and bested him. Then, he crucified his uncle and took over as the City Lord. From there, you see where everything went, yes? With his newfound riches, he went to Arcadia, climbing the social ladder until he found enough support to become Emperor."

There was one matter above all others that concerned me, and it worried me to even voice it aloud. "Nevada, what of your Father's siblings?"

Here she paused, and she shook her head disapprovingly, her mind elsewhere. "My father," she started, "was not a good man. But he was a strong one. We did not get along excellently well and I doubt he had much love for me. But one night, after the meeting with that weird gentleman, he had quite a few sips of rum and started telling me things. He explained how he truly loved his siblings, but that he always had ambitions to be Emperor. Those ambitions were lofty assuming he inherited all of the House of Wolf's fortunes, but outright impossible if he had to split it among three. So, when he found himself free of the cross...well...he said he did not save them. It was not an immediate decision. He hesitated for hours, you understand, torn between his ambition and his love for his family. But then, he says he realized he waited too long and his sister had passed away. He could have saved her, but it was too late. Here he thought he had gone too far to stop, and turned to his still-alive brother. Then, he set the cross on fire to spare him the slow death, and marched on toward his ancestral castle atop the hill to challenge his uncle to another duel while his brother cried in pain."

"He survived, then?" I asked. "Is that who you think the masked gentleman was?"

"That was my thought. But then, I asked my father about that possibility, and I will never forget his eyes when he turned to me. I have never seen him so scared. Do you know what he said?"

"No," I whispered, shaking my head.

"He said, 'After killing my uncle, I saw my brother's burnt-up corpse on the cross myself. There is no question about it.'"