#the mental gymnastics cadmus is performing to justify his actions - give this man a gold medal

[juliandev0rak]

Evil And A Heathen

Chapter Two of I’m Your Villain

Words: 2515

Warnings: blood, death, brief description of injuries 

In his dreams Cadmus is a hunter. 

He runs through the forest on bare feet. The pine needles and sharp thorns littered on the floor cut his feet until he bleeds, but he doesn’t stop. Nothing exists but him and his prey. He has no weapon in his hands and yet he chases to kill.

But no matter how fast he runs, his prey stays just out of sight, just out of reach. The light fades quickly until he’s running in the pitch black darkness of the trees. He blindly reaches his hands forward and brushes against something soft, he thinks it might be fur. But then he emerges into a moonlit clearing and blinks in the sudden light, it’s hair, not fur.

Somehow he’s on the ground now, a girl’s body slumped in his lap. All he can make out in the dim light is blonde hair, matted with blood. As he moves the hair out of the girl’s face he recoils. Blood oozes out of a deep gash on the girl's neck, bruises cover her face, and then her eyes open- ice blue and far too familiar. 

“Cadmus, why did you kill me?” His sister Daphne asks. 

Cadmus opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. He watches in horror as the limp body turns its eyes, her eyes, to look at him. She looks at him so pleadingly and he can’t bear to look at her but he can’t seem to close his eyes. He wants to scream that he didn’t do this, that he’d never hurt her, but he just stares as her mouth gapes open.

“Why didn’t you protect me?” She cries, her voice sounds as brittle as the winter-frozen trees around him. Something wet touches his cheek and Cadmus realizes it's snowing. He shivers in the cold as the body in his lap grows frozen to the touch, his sister's skin turning blue. 

“Don’t you love me Cadmus?” 

The snow has turned hot now, so hot it burns his skin. He smells the sharp scent of iron and looks down to see the snow has turned to blood. He leans forward to shield his sister’s body on instinct. As the blood pours down he realizes he can no longer feel the weight in his lap, the body is gone. 

A voice in his ear whispers, “This is your fault.”

When he whips his head around there is no one there. Cadmus is alone in the clearing, freezing and burning at the same time. He shuts his eyes and lets the blood fall on him, letting it burn him. He’s used to blood and fire after all. 

He hears a sudden squawk and looks up from the ground to see a large raven swooping towards him, wings blocking the moon. His hands move up to shield his face and he feels the sharp sting of claws digging into his skin. The raven caws again, the noise almost deafening this close to his ears, and the sound pulls him out of his dream. 

Cadmus wakes with a shudder, nearly falling out of bed as he tries to get his bearings. He often has bad dreams but this one had been so vivid. He can still feel the press of claws against his hands, and he can still smell the scent of blood. He sits on the side of the bed with his head in his hands, willing himself to forget what he’d just seen.

He comforts himself with the fact that he knows he would never hurt his sister, he’d die before he let anyone hurt her. Still, when he closes his eyes the image of Daphne’s bloodied, lifeless face stares back accusingly. Before he can delve too deeply into despair a raven caws outside the window and Cadmus startles, remembering the dream raven’s claws. 

He pulls his duvet around his shoulders to ward off the chill and trudges over to the window, looking out into the beginnings of dawn. It’s still mostly dark outside, the clock on the wall tells him it’s not yet six in the morning. He spots the raven sitting on a tree branch maybe thirty feet away, preening its feathers.

It feels like a bad omen and it brings to mind a nursery rhyme his governess had taught him as a child about counting ravens- one for sorrow, two for joy, and so on. Cadmus scowls, he can only see one raven.

“Nonsense,” He says aloud, turning away from the window and the raven. He’s never been superstitious, and he isn’t about to begin now. It’s just a bird, and his dream was just a dream. 

Cadmus gets dressed, pulling on his typical black training clothes and lacing his boots. He spends more time on his hair, using a bit of magic to make sure it lays exactly how he’d like it to. If anyone asked if his hair is enchanted he’d deny it, but it’s windy today and there’s no way he’s going outside without his hair properly styled. 

He has a bit of time before training so he heads down to the kitchens for breakfast. There are plenty of mice around the castle for Agatha to catch for her breakfast, so he holds the door open for her to slither out behind him. The halls are empty this early in the morning and his footsteps echo loudly off of the stone. He’s quite adept at silencing the sounds of his footsteps when need be, but he has no need to hide here. He is not without enemies in his home, but at least he knows who they are.

A quarter of an hour later he’s outside with a sword in his hand, fighting off the chill in the winter air and his swordmaster’s attacks.

“You’ve lost your touch, old man,” Cadmus grins as he spins out of the way of Master Xiphos’ sword. He counters but the attack is blocked by the edge of Xiphos’ sword just before contact. 

No matter, he retreats and watches for an opening. Xiphos advances towards him and Cadmus feints right, hoping to catch his swordmaster’s unprotected left side. But Xiphos sees through the obvious trick and Cadmus has to duck out of the way, retreating backwards until he’s effectively backed against the edge of the stables, cornered.

“Not so cocky now, are you?” Xiphos’ voice is gruff, his face set into a look of supreme determination. Cadmus had been scared of Xiphos as a child, intimidated by his harsh way of speaking and even harsher training sessions. As he’d grown the old man had become his mentor, and eventually, his friend. 

“Cocky? No, I’m merely confident in my abilities.” Cadmus moves forward, attempting to get past Xiphos. He rolls at the last second, narrowly sliding under the edge of Xiphos’ sword. Successfully out of the corner, he turns to attack and is met with the tip of his master’s sword at his chest.

“Not quite fast enough. You’ve improved, but pride will be your downfall, Cadmus.” Xiphos lowers his sword as he speaks, his solemn expression fading into what could barely be counted as a smile.

Content that his student has learned a lesson, he turns his back. Though the lesson is supposedly over, Cadmus takes the opening and lunges forward, cutting a strip of Xiphos’ shirt off and just barely grazing the skin of his arm.

Xiphos wheels around to look at him, his face stony and unreadable. 

“Never turn your back on an opponent. I believe you taught me that when I was six,” Cadmus grins, waving his sword around in a flourish. 

Xiphos stands silent for a moment, the air charged with tension as he stares at Cadmus. Then, the corners of the older man’s lips turn up and he laughs, a deep belly laugh that Cadmus hasn’t heard much before. Xiphos reaches his hand out to shake Cadmus’ and he can’t help but join in on the laughter. 

“I’ve taught you well.” Xiphos sheaths his sword and takes a seat on the stone wall bordering the training field, Cadmus joins him.

Now that he’s no longer moving and fighting the morning air feels frigidly cold, but he knows better than to complain about the weather. They sit in silence for a minute and Cadmus resists the urge to ask his swordmaster a million questions about his travels. He opts for just one instead, the most important one. 

“What can you tell me about my new assignment?” 

“Hmm, I can tell you that your father is a fool.” Xiphos turns to look at him and it’s impossible to tell if he’s joking. Cadmus raises an eyebrow and waits for him to continue.

“Greythal poses no real threat to Avronne at this time. The cities are at peace, this will only stir things up. He knows that, we all know that.” He waves his hands expressively as he talks. “But his mind has been made up.” 

“Merona are our allies, would it not be better to ensure our connection to them is strengthened rather than allowing them a chance to ally with Greythal? Surely an alliance between the two cities would pose a threat?” Cadmus frowns, he’s never heard Xiphos question the Comte like this.

“Perhaps.” 

“Well it’s enough of a threat that my father wants to prevent it, so I’ll do what I must.” Cadmus nods his head slightly, his tone resolute. He only ever does what he must, to survive, to ensure his sister’s safety, to ensure his family’s safety. There is nothing else he can do.

“The castle in Greythal hasn’t changed in two hundred years, I know it well so heed what I tell you.” Xiphos pauses to make sure Cadmus is listening. He turns back towards his swordmaster, inclining his head in respect to show that he’s paying attention.

“The princess’ rooms are in the east wing of the castle. Her window is the one with the blackthorn tree beneath it, the trunk has a distinctive twist in it. There are patrols every twenty minutes, typical rounds with two guards at a time.” Xiphos goes on to explain the rest of the castle layout, including a possible escape route through the cellars.

“If you’ve scoped the place out so much why didn’t you just do the job?” Cadmus complains. He likes to do his own reconnaissance, he feels safer that way. He needs to see things with his own eyes before he enters a situation. 

“Your father gave this job to you for a reason. What that reason is I do not know, but this is your assignment. You must finish it yourself.” Xiphos stands up and Cadmus takes it as a sign that the conversation is nearing its end. 

“What does the target look like?” 

“She’ll be wearing a crown and people will be wishing her a happy birthday. I should think you’ll be able to spot her.” 

Cadmus rolls his eyes, he’d be angry at the sarcasm from anyone else. “Fine. Anything else I need to know?” 

“It needs to be quick, with visitors from Merona there may well be extra guards. Get in and out as quickly as possible.” 

Cadmus laughs, “Don’t I always?” 

Cadmus is good at his job. He’d grown up with a sword in his hand and a dagger at his belt, knowing that someday he would have to use them. By the time he was Daphne’s age he’d already been on assignments by himself, he’d already killed. 

He remembers the first assignment he’d gone on. He’d been a gangly teenager still growing used to welding a sword and adjusting to his new found height which had seemingly sprung up over night. Back then he was still weak enough to feel afraid.

His father had told him it would be easy, “Just swing the sword and you’re done.”

But it had been so much more than that. Cadmus had crept into the target's house, a suspected smuggler, and had found the man asleep in his bed.

“Just swing the sword.”

So he had, but the man hadn’t died right away- no. It had taken more than one swing, and the dull thud of the blade against skin, the wide open eyes of the man who had no chance to fight back, had haunted Cadmus for weeks. 

He’d come back covered in the man's blood, willing himself not to cry or be sick. When he’d gone to report to his father he hadn’t been praised for his actions, he’d been scolded for getting blood on his clothing. Cadmus had learned quickly to be faster, to be neater, to wield himself like a weapon with deadly accuracy.

And he’d learned to rid himself of guilt over the years. He kills, yes, but it’s for a good cause. He can justify a little bad for the greater good. The people he kills are often murderers in their own right, corrupt politicians, thieves, spies, people who would turn around and kill him just as quickly if they had the chance. He’s sure this target is no different, some selfish princess who would have grown to become a selfish queen with no regard for her subjects. 

The Comte is cruel, Cadmus knows that first hand, but he cares for the city. He protects and provides for the people who live there. And Cadmus is the sword of the city, willing to do what must be done to protect everyone who calls Avronne home. They hate him for it. They whisper about him in the town and call him all sorts of names, they think he’s some sort of devil come to bring evil to the world. But Cadmus knows that secretly, the people are grateful. Avronne is safe, Avronne is prosperous, and it’s thanks to his family.  

Xiphos’ gruff voice pulls him back to the present, “Go finish your training, Alexander is waiting.” Xiphos points off to the distance where the castle guards are exercising.

Alexander waves at him and Cadmus nods in his general direction. He bids Xiphos goodbye and sets off across the field, this might be his last chance to see Alexander before he leaves. He schools his features into a mask of cool indifference, tilting his chin up in a way he’s been told is haughty.

Cadmus likes to pretend that he doesn’t care, he likes to pretend that he’s too good to be worried about the possibility of death. That confidence, or dissonance really, is what keeps him steady in situations where his life is on the line. He has to believe that he’s invincible, indestructible, immortal- and so far he is.

Even so, he makes sure to say goodbye before he leaves for a mission. He doesn’t actually say goodbye, more… hints at it by being slightly less of an asshole than usual, but Alexander knows. He has the courtesy to never comment on it, Cadmus couldn’t bear to have someone pity him. He doesn’t need anyone’s sympathy, or well wishes, or good luck.

He’s a Durand. He was made for this.