Calvin shoved out of the room as quickly as his cramped-up stomach would allow, hastily replacing the candlestick and pushing out of the curtain doorway and into the hall. The squirming and pinching of his stomach was making it nearly impossible to move, but he had to get out of there.

  “Calvin.” The deep voice echoed down the hall, and Calvin froze. “Where are you going?”

  He turned. Cambiador approached, shrouded in his dark cloak. The sleeves hung long, hiding his hands. The cloak trailed several yards behind him. His white eyes shone down out of his hood, taking in Calvin’s state.

  Calvin fell to his knees. “Looking for you, my lord.” He desperately hoped paying the leader respect would help calm the pains in his gut. “I— I’ve come for my next orders.”

  “Good. Your next target is Pintor of Rikchay.”

  “Of course, my lord. It will be done.”

  Cambiador moved toward his chamber, then stopped. “Calvin, you have always been a great asset to Tikray.”

  Calvin gripped his writhing stomach tighter. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “It would be a great disappointment to lose that asset. Don’t disappoint me.”

  “No, my lord. I won’t.”

  “Good. Go tell your crew of the mission. You leave tomorrow.” Cambiador passed through the curtain into his chamber. The trail of the cloak slid after him, slipping beneath the curtain. As Calvin watched it, he could have sworn that something slim was moving back and forth beneath the cloak.

  The tail end of the cloak disappeared behind the curtain, and the writhing in his stomach redoubled. He fell to the floor and curled up against the pain, barely stifling a groan.

  His breathing grew rapid and ragged, making it impossible to put the words of his mantra together. I… had… I had… no life… Even thinking the mantra proved difficult. But he had to overcome this. He tried harder, pouring all of his focus into stringing the words together in his mind. I had no life before Tikray. I had no life before Tikray. His breathing calmed, but the pain continued.

  “I had no life before Tikray,” he muttered. “I had no life before Tikray.” The pain lessened only a little bit. He decided that was enough to try to stand. With effort, he pushed himself to his feet. Then he fell against the wall. “I had no life before Tikray.” The writhing eased by another degree. It still hurt like the devil, but he’d proved to himself that he could push through it. Just need to get to my room. It’ll ease up soon.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Using the wall for support, he edged himself down the hallways until he reached his room. He pushed through the door, closed it, and sank to the floor.

  Memories of the faces on the shelves flashed before his eyes. Memories of their celebrations after completing a mission. Memories of Danti and Ruven singing a victory song together. Memories of Borris, Mike, and Harold splitting the spoils in a job they’d done before Tikray, one they’d done with Terry. His first crew. His brothers. They were all dead now. Calvin’s stomach pinched sharply in several places, and the memories passed. But the image of their heads on those shelves loomed large in his mind. Had Cambiador even tried to heal them?

  He cried out as the pain intensified. It had never been this bad before. The pinches were so sharp and frequent that it felt like his insides were on fire, and it was twisted up so tight it felt like his stomach was being strangled.

  His door opened. Two sets of feet entered: one quick, the other steady.

  “Sir, what happened? Are you ill?”

  “He’s relapsed,” Pelias said, disappointment dripping from his voice. “Calvin, you promised me this wouldn't happen again.”

  Calvin moaned. Pelias didn’t understand. He hadn’t seen. “They’re dead. He killed them. He—” He clenched his teeth against the pain as his stomach twisted into a smaller knot than he’d ever thought possible. It felt like the points of a hundred knives converging on the same spot. A spike like lightning ran up his spine and into his brain, making him momentarily forget everything except the agony.

  “Really, Calvin,” Pelias said, “I thought you had mastered yourself.”

  Calvin shook himself back to the present and grabbed Bob’s ankle. “I saw them. Marlon. Rupert. Fred. Damien. All dead.”

  Bob pulled away, and Calvin fell painfully back to the floor. “I think you need some rest, sir.”

  Calvin turned to Pelias. “Danti and Ruven, too. Tortured and killed.”

  Pelias took a sharp step backward and gripped his own stomach. For a moment, Calvin thought he might have convinced his friend of the horror he’d seen. But then Pelias straightened. If he’d entertained any doubts about Tikray, they hadn’t lasted longer than a couple seconds. He crouched down and gripped Calvin’s shoulders. “Calvin, I need you to focus. Are you certain they’re dead? Might you have been deceived?”

  “I saw their severed heads with my own eyes! They’re displayed in Cambiador’s chamber like trophies! He killed them all!”

  “Calm down. I need—”

  “Don’t tell me to be calm! My friends are dead!”

  “Think about this, Calvin. If there really is something to be angry or scared about—”

  “There’s no ‘if’ about it!”

  “ — then your attitude now would risk you joining them. Please, slow down, and let’s find a reasonable solution.”

  Calvin froze. Pelias was right. He didn’t know the details of his friends’ deaths, but whatever the cause, his freaking out about it was supremely counterproductive. If, as he suspected, Cambiador had murdered them, then Calvin’s behavior now would put a target on himself to be Cambiador’s next victim. But how am I supposed to not freak out about this?