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> “What is it squire?” You risk compounding the breach of protocol further by acknowledging your man over the Palace officials immediately. But you trust he has a damn good reason for it. Or he simply tripped and made a damn fool of himself, either is entirely possible. [Idealist]
You hiss under your breath as your part approaches the crowd massed around the palanquin. You thought you had trained your squire in his court etiquette better than to interrupt an important first introduction with the great and powerful.
<span class="mu-i">“What is it, squire?”</span> This had better be Pit-damn good.
<span class="mu-i">“Sire. To our right.”</span> You follow Mikail’s gaze to the last of the large marble steps, those not designed for human feet.
Now that you are level with it, you can see another half-dozen slaves scattered across its surface. They are busy on their knees, scrubbing hard at the pristine white marble. Your first inclination is to cuff the back of your squire’s head for drawing your attention to such a menial sight in this critical moment, that is until you see the vestiges of the brown stains that is the source of the slaves labour. Blood, difficult to blot out after having had some time to dry in the sun.
Given the dispersed location of the cleaners, the original scene must have seen quite a lot more of it. The blood of several people, not just one. Carnage, not murder. The drag marks lead to the far right side of the great staircase, a sheer drop plummeting down hundreds of feet below. If there were any wounded left after the bloodletting, it’s likely they did not live for much longer in the aftermath.
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