He returned to his chambers without incident, while a half-asleep Katarina in her nightclothes scanned the roof in confusion and, failing to find Saigo, went back to bed with a sour expression. "I definitely heard him, he was talking to someone up here, hmm... maybe I imagined it?"
…
The next day passed for Saigo in the familiar rhythm of a gilded cage: breakfast under Mona's watchful eye, a light morning workout in the basement.
Mona spent half the day looking at him with silent reproach – Saigo had a pretty good idea why; how dare he escape his room last night?
But that was already in the past. Just half an hour after breakfast, they were riding in a closed carriage across the capital's central square. Two mounted guard-dummies flanked them, silent and motionless.
Mona sat opposite, straight as an arrow. Saigo remained silent, observing the city through a narrow slit in the curtains.
"Sire?" Mona finally broke the silence.
"Don't call me that. I'm an assassin, not a nobleman."
"But..."
"No 'buts'."
"Very well," she inclined her head slightly. "And you... truly do not wish to become Emperor?" Her question hung in the air, frank and provocative.
"Sniffing around for your mistress?" The corner of Saigo's mouth twitched in a semblance of a smirk. "Excellent." "No, I don't."
"And why not?" Persistence was her profession, and Mona wasn't about to let the man off so easily.
"In that case, I have a logical question – why would I want to? Power? Wealth? I am content with my current life." He leaned slightly closer to her face and said with a slightly distorted, slightly mad smile, "A beloved job, outdoors... and profitable, too." His tone was even, businesslike, with just the smallest drop of irony.
Mona's eye twitched slightly. She knew he was a top-tier assassin from Cotto, and this knowledge made her skin crawl with every mention of his work.
But she pressed on: "And... to leave all that behind? Start a new life, with a clean slate? You have a new chance now..."
"That was my plan," Saigo lied brazenly, looking out the window. "The hit on Kalis was the last one. To hell with him..." He turned back to her, "By the way, where's that bastard's head?"
"Um..." Mona was slightly taken aback by the bluntness of the question. "As far as I know... in the Imperial Treasury."
"What's it doing there?" Saigo frowned.
"Well..." Mona scratched her temple. "It's... lying there. Next to... the eye you tore out of him."
"And what's it doing there?" Saigo insisted, genuine bewilderment in his voice. "I'd have thought such valuable alchemical and crafting materials should be put to use, not gathering dust in a storeroom."
"Her Majesty Katarina ordered these trophies to be preserved... as a memento of your feat," Mona explained, feeling herself blush.
Saigo covered his face with his hand, letting out a quiet groan. "Oh, these women..." His tone was a mix of annoyance and... incomprehension. Mona felt even more awkward. "In the Empress's place... I would have done the same," a treasonous thought flashed through her mind.
The rest of the journey passed in oppressive silence.
…
The prison building greeted them with the expected greyness, dampness, and the smell of mold, despair, and unwashed bodies – both of the inhabitants and the guards, who, by the scent, weren't far off from the former.
Saigo threw on a simple, dark cloak with a hood that concealed his hair and part of his face. Mona followed him, the guards shadowing them. They were met by a jailer – a man of unpleasant appearance in a greasy uniform that stank of sweat. Small, piggy eyes wandered over them with dull suspicion.
"You here for them? You even got an order?" His voice was hoarse, grating, like an unoiled door. Every word sounded vile, deliberately crude.
Saigo felt the familiar chill of rage run down his spine. In his mind, he already saw himself snatching the long knife from the nearest guard-dummy's sheath in a flash and plunging it into the jailer's neck, just below the Adam's apple.
He could do it bare-handed too – break his neck like a dry twig – but he didn't want to get dirty with this filth.
The jailer, as if sensing this icy, lethal intent on his skin, suddenly paled. A greasy drop of sweat rolled down his temple. Muttering something incoherent, he hurried forward, shuffling along as he led them through the gloomy, urine-stenched corridors to the desired cell.
First was Linsy. Saigo sighed as the key jangled in the creaky lock and he stepped inside the cell. He was met by: cramped space, dampness, and the stench of decaying straw.
"Who's there?" a hoarse, frightened voice came from the darkest corner, where a hunched figure sat on bare stone.
Saigo threw back his hood. The sunlight from the tiny, barred window fell on his white hair and illuminated his sharp features.
"Your 'brother', as you put it before," Saigo said evenly, his voice cutting the cell's silence like a blade.