Lava

LAVA Lava walked purposefully down a dark alleyway. She knew every black market of this dirty city, despite the reality that she had never needed one; her wealth was normally all she needed for her ploys. But this affair had to be secret and untraceable, so she would have to resort to the lower echelons to do it. She turned, pushed open an old wooden door that creaked under her touch, and walked into the darkness of the attic. Her eyes narrowed dark distaste as the sunken, rotten stink that she should be accustomed to by now reached her. This had to be worth it, or she would carve out this alchemist’s eyes and feed them to the crows. No, that’s too messy. I’d have one of my servants do it. “So?” she said with menace in her voice. “Do you have what I came for?” The alchemist turned on a dim lamp that smoldered softly in the dark. It shone upon his scarred, masked face in a pale luminescence. “I do,” he replied coldly. How amusing – a drudge talking to me as if I’m the filth. “Do you have the reward we discussed?” In response, she slammed the small sack of coins she had with her onto the old wooden table. “Good. I have taken care of the other matters.” You’d better have, she hissed in her head. Her eyes dark with menace, she walked forward. The alchemist’s cool stare turned into wariness, then terror, as she reached out and snapped his neck with a jerk of her claw. Lava turned around and slithered from the attic; it had been a necessary murder, if she wanted the path of the poison to be untraceable. She had been born in a reputable and wealthy home and had never had to do dirty work herself. Now, however, she saw she would have to take extreme measures if she wanted this filthy Blaze Vein city in her clutches. If Lava wanted to do this, she would have to kill Zeimo and Meiri, the weak and soft-hearted rulers of the city. Lava’s couriers told her the skirmish that Lava had orchestrated went by swiftly. Zeimo and Meiri each had only been nicked by a small silver dagger. When the couriers had vanished back into the hallways of her elaborate home, Lava smiled and knew this would be the poison-dipped knife her hired assassin had wielded. In the midst of the battle with the bandits, her assassin would only be another nameless rogue with a blade: untraceable. She prayed that the poison would kill Zeimo and Meiri slowly for two reasons: she wanted to draw away suspicion of murder. A witch hunt would be perpetuated if the leaders of the city were to fall dead without warning. But even more so, she wanted her mortal enemies to die an agonizingly slow death.

One month went by, and with every dawn came the announcement that the mysterious plague that had befallen both the rulers had deteriorated. Lava hid her excitement under a mask of wallowing despair, for what if Zeimo had spies amidst her servants? But after dark, she met Amber beneath the spire of her almost palace-like home. He was her secret partner, brawny but not the brightest star in the galaxy. To him, she might be everything, but to Lava, he was only a tool to help her claim her throne. Still, they were partners and she had to feed him gold nuggets of truth sometimes to keep him loyal and trusting to her. She told him with thinly veiled excitement about Zeimos's condition. “It will be soon,” Lava murmured quietly; she didn’t want any spies to hear her. “Our chance is coming.”

But the chance slipped through her claws like water. A servant threw himself into her room the next day and breathlessly told her that Zeimo and Meiri had both died, within moments of one another. Energized, Lava sprang up to find Amber in the secret rendezvous they had discussed, only to find that he was not there. Where is that fool? Lava slithered back and forth restlessly in the shadow of the spire, aware of the time wasted here. Where was he? Hadn’t he heard the news? He had to come like she had told him to, if they wanted to quickly claim the throne. But he didn’t come. Minutes slipped into an hour, then two. A snarl hissed from deep in her chest. The fool wasn’t about to come. She would have to do it herself then - but as she turned to dive off the balcony, a servant appeared. “The throne has been taken. There are new leaders,” he rushed.

A scream of fury worked its way up to her throat and never escaped. Lava stared at him for one dangerous moment, then whirled and stormed down into her wine room.

Reposed in the firelight of the elaborate chandelier above with a glass of fine wine clutched so hard in her claw it may have shattered, Lava seethed. Her plan had been perfect. It would have been perfect now, except for the failure of that dimwitted coliseum champion. Now her work had been wasted, and she wanted to snap her foolish partner’s neck; he had been too slow, and his actions and lost her the throne she had wanted for years. But no matter, she told herself swiftly. She could plot and scheme in the darkness once more. She held no love for her partner, but he was a valuable pawn, with his notorious reputation. But once the city was hers, he would be…sacrificable.