Chapter 43: The Banquet
The main dining room of the Valois Mansion that night resembled a courtroom more than a place for a banquet. The crystal chandelier was dimmed, leaving a subdued light that reflected off the precisely arranged silverware.
At the head of the long table, Xavier sat in a formal black suit. His face was impassive, but his eyes constantly watched the double doors across the room. To his right, Agatha sat upright. She wore a black velvet gown with a high neckline chosen by Melynda—a clever choice to cover the bandages on her back and shoulders, while simultaneously exuding an aura of dark majesty.
Melynda sat opposite Agatha, her folding fan shut tight on the table, a sign she was in combat readiness mode. Meanwhile, Frans, who usually joked around, now stood tall in the corner of the room. His hands were folded behind his back, close to the pistol hidden beneath his jacket. No smiles, no jokes.
Clang... Clang...
The grandfather clock struck exactly seven in the evening.
The double doors opened.
Dion entered first, then bowed respectfully. "Grand Master Cardios Volskey."
The sound of wheels rolling slowly on the marble floor broke the silence. Cardios entered in his wheelchair, pushed by Marco. Behind him, only two elite guards were permitted to enter.
Xavier did not stand. He remained seated, staring at his exalted guest with an equal gaze.
"Welcome to Paris, Don Cardios," Xavier greeted flatly. "I hope your journey was pleasant."
Cardios raised a hand, signaling Marco to stop his wheelchair at the opposite end of the table. The old Judge's eyes swept the room, then stopped on Xavier.
"An interesting journey," Cardios's voice sounded hoarse and heavy, like grinding stones. "Especially your package delivery. That little dog sang quite melodiously before he... ran out of breath."
Agatha felt Xavier's hand under the table squeeze hers gently, giving strength.
"I am glad to hear it," Xavier replied calmly. "Did his singing give you a clue about your unfilial son's location?"
"We will discuss business later," Cardios cut in.
Slowly, Cardios's eagle eyes shifted. His gaze locked straight onto the woman beside Xavier.
Agatha returned the gaze without blinking. Her heart beat fast, not out of fear, but because the old man's aura of intimidation was so strong. She felt like she was being stripped bare by a demanding stare.
"So this is..." Cardios murmured softly, his eyes examining Agatha's facial structure. "...the woman who made my son burn half the city of Paris."
"My name is Agatha," Agatha said coldly. Her chin lifted, challenging. "And your son burned the city not because of me. But because he was afraid of me."
A thin smile, barely visible, appeared at the corner of Cardios's lips.
"Very bold," Cardios commented. "Rarely does anyone dare to look into my eyes for more than three seconds. Especially a young woman."
"I have seen things more terrifying than an old man's eyes," Agatha retorted sharply.
"Agatha," Melynda admonished softly, but her tone did not truly forbid it.
Cardios chuckled softly. "Let her be, Mrs. Valois. I like her courage. Food tastes bland without a little spice."
Dion began serving the appetizers. The atmosphere was terrifyingly silent, only the clinking of spoons and forks could be heard. Frans did not move from his position, his eyes constantly watching Marco's movements.
"I heard you were badly injured," Cardios said suddenly, cutting his steak with slow movements. "But you sit here as if nothing happened."
"Just a small scratch," Agatha lied, even though her back throbbed from sitting too upright.
"A small scratch caused by a C4 bomb?" Cardios put down his knife. "Luigi is indeed stupid, but he never fails to kill his targets. Except you."
Cardios leaned his body slightly forward.
"Tell me, Agatha... Who are you really? Where do you come from before Valois picked you up?"
The question was a trap. Agatha sensed it.
"That is not important," Xavier answered quickly, protecting his wife. "She is my wife. That is the only identity you need to know."
"I asked her, Mr. Valois," Cardios looked at Xavier sharply, then returned to Agatha. "Answer me, Child. Who are your parents?"
Agatha put down her napkin. She looked straight into Cardios's hazel eyes—eyes that strangely, had the exact same color pattern as her own.
"I do not have parents," Agatha answered honestly but coldly. "I am an orphan. Raised in an orphanage, then picked up by human traffickers. Are you satisfied with this answer?"
Cardios fell silent. His face showed no emotion, but his finger tapped on the armrest of the wheelchair.
"Which orphanage?"
"Zurich. Saint Rionsa."
Tap.
Cardios's finger tapping stopped abruptly. Marco behind him tensed slightly.
"Saint Rionsa..." Cardios repeated slowly, as if tasting the word on his tongue. "The place that burned down twenty-three years ago."
"Correct," Agatha narrowed her eyes. "You know that place?"
Cardios did not answer. He picked up his wine glass again, swirling it slowly.
"I heard... you have a favorite weapon," Cardios baited again.
Agatha's body tensed. Her right hand reflexively moved slightly toward her thigh, where she hid her rose dagger behind the slit of her dress.
"Every assassin has a favorite weapon, Mr. Volskey."
"May I see it?"
The silence at the dining table turned into a deadly tension.
Frans shifted his feet, ready to pull the trigger. Xavier placed his hands on the table, his gaze darkening warily.
"This is dinner, Don Cardios," Xavier's voice was low and dangerous. "Not a weapons exhibition."
"I am just curious," Cardios smiled thinly, but his eyes did not leave Agatha. "I am an antique collector. And rumors say your wife's dagger... is very unique. are you afraid to show it to me, Agatha?"
Agatha felt challenged. She knew Xavier forbade her, but her pride did not allow her to look afraid. Agatha stood up slowly. She reached into the slit of her dress.
Xavier was about to stop Agatha's hand, but Agatha brushed him off gently.
"It is okay, Xav."
Agatha took out the dagger. The silver blade glinted under the dim light. The carving of thorny roses on the hilt looked alive. Agatha placed the dagger on the table, then pushed it slowly toward Cardios.
"Look," Agatha said coldly. "But be careful. That thing likes to bite strangers."
Marco took the dagger with gloved hands, then handed it to Cardios with caution as if the object were a sacred relic.
The room was silent. Xavier observed every inch of his interlocutor's movements. He saw something odd.
Cardios's old hand, which had been firmly in control of negotiations, now looked slightly trembling as his fingers touched the cold hilt of the dagger. The old man's thumb rubbed the carving of rose thorns wrapped around the hilt repeatedly, a movement too deep for a collector—as if he had rediscovered his own possession.
Cardios's hazel eyes narrowed. There was a flash of recognition there, the look of someone who had just found a missing piece from the past. His breath hitched for a split second before he looked up at Agatha.
His gaze changed. No longer the gaze of a predator assessing prey, but a shaken gaze trying hard to be hidden behind the cold mask of a Don. His eyes moved wildly from Agatha's face to the dagger, then back to Agatha's face again. Searching for similarities.
Cardios handed the dagger back to Marco with stiff movements, as if the object burned his skin.
"A beautiful item," Cardios said. His voice sounded more hoarse than before, there was a subtle tremor he failed to suppress. "Very... sharp."
The old man cleared his throat, breaking eye contact with Agatha and turning to Xavier. His attitude suddenly became hurried.
"You are right, Xavier. The package you sent was very useful. Petrov already told me where Luigi is hiding."
Xavier raised an eyebrow, catching the drastic change in speaking rhythm. Why did he suddenly tell him so easily?
"Oh?" Xavier baited.
"He is in Sicily," Cardios said quickly, too quickly. "In the old family fortress."
Xavier's eyes narrowed. He knew Cardios was throwing bait. It could not be that easy.
"So, Mr. Valois," Cardios signaled Marco to turn his wheelchair. "Our business is done. I will clean up my own trash in Sicily. You... take good care of your wife in Paris."
The old man seemed to want to get out of that room immediately. As if the air around Agatha was choking him. But before reaching the door, his wheelchair stopped. He turned once more, looking at Agatha with a gaze that was hard to interpret—a mixture of longing and unfamiliar pain.
"Agatha," he called.
"Yes?" Agatha answered, her forehead furrowing in confusion.
"The color of your eyes..." Cardios stared intently at the woman's irises. "Reminds me of someone I respect very much. Do not let anyone extinguish the fire in those eyes."
Without waiting for an answer, Cardios exited the dining room. The double doors closed, leaving a silence full of question marks.
"Strange old man," Agatha muttered, sheathing her dagger back.
Xavier did not answer. His eyes were still glued to the closed door. His brain worked fast, piecing together the puzzle of what had just happened. The trembling of Cardios's hand. His gaze on the dagger. And that hurried lie.
"He lied," Xavier said coldly to Frans.
"About Luigi?" asked Frans.
"About everything," Xavier turned to look at his wife, then down to the dagger at Agatha's waist. "Luigi is not in Sicily. He just wants us to stay away while he investigates something."
"What do you mean?" asked Agatha.
Xavier walked closer, touching Agatha's chin gently so his wife looked up.
"The way he held your dagger earlier, Darling... that was not the way a collector looks at an antique," Xavier whispered seriously. "That gaze was too deep... as if he had rediscovered his own possession."
Agatha was stunned.
"He knows that dagger, Agatha," Xavier asserted. "And I think... he just found out something related to that dagger."