Ashes of Dearen: Book 1

by Jayden Woods

  *

  Picard waited for Sean in the front tavern of Gorla’s Inn. He stretched back in his chair, watching the hues of the sunlight change outside the window as the sun set, and felt very pleased with himself. He remembered the way Richard had insulted him, but it only made his smile widen.

  People like Richard made fun of him for using safra all the time, but only because they didn’t understand. They avoided it because Vikand society rejected warriors who resorted to safra magic to give them courage in battle. After all, safra rendered warriors useless in combat, as Picard himself proved the first time he ever tried it. But Picard would never be a warrior now, so it didn’t matter, and he was glad. They could laugh all they wanted, because their laughter would never ring as truly as Picard’s. They did not know pure joy. They didn’t even know pure pain. They just wallowed somewhere in the middle, like the fools that they were.

  Picard sighed and ran his bare hand across the grains of the table. Richard understood less than anyone. He called Picard impotent. But the pleasure Richard felt right now while fucking that helpless young woman would be fleeting. In fact, if Picard knew his brother at all, Richard would be in a worse mood afterward than he was to begin with. Meanwhile, Picard’s safra would make him happy for … well. At least another hour or so. He didn’t eat much of it …

  His thoughts returned to the pleasurable fact of the moment, which was that everything had gone according to plan so far, and there was little reason to worry that the rest should not fall into place. It was a funny thing, what his brother had said to him. That fucking safra always makes you lose your nerve. And yet safra’s the reason you do everything in the first place, isn’t it? His comment carried some truth to it, as well as irony. Perhaps Richard was smarter than Picard gave him credit for.

  Picard was laughing softly to himself when Sean entered the room.

  Picard did not notice him right away. The assassin wore a thick cloak over his muscular frame and a hood long enough to shadow most of his face. Picard recognized him primarily by the grace of his movement, almost like one of those tigers known to roam in Dearen. Perhaps he moved more like a wolf, but Picard had never seen one of those. In any case, Sean’s blatant caution gave him away most of all. His head turned every which way, scrutinizing every corner of the tavern. His arms stayed folded under his cloak, no doubt clasping desperately to some sort of weapon.

  “Sean! Sean, my friend! Over here!” Picard yelled and waved at him, drawing the attention of almost everyone in the tavern.

  Sean froze in place, mortified. But after a moment, everyone turned back to their own drinks and meals. Sean walked reluctantly to the table, then stopped next to it, looming over the archon like a tower. “You brought my payment?”

  “Friva’s bosom! You’re an impatient one. Why don’t you sit down so we can talk for a moment? The money’s here and I plan to give it to you, don’t worry. Just sit down first.”

  Sean didn’t move.

  “Whoops, you’re not wearing your spiked suit under that cloak, are you? Can a person even sit in that wild outfit of yours? I’m curious now.”

  Sean grumbled under his breath and sat down.

  Picard smiled and waved to a wench with his gloved hand. He felt a flash of pain, somewhere far away. He smiled because he knew it could not reach him now. A buxom blond returned his glance, her eyebrows furrowing with worry. Perhaps she recognized him. Perhaps she’d heard the yells coming from the room he’d paid for. Oh well.

  “Yes, Archon? What can I do for you?” Her pink lips spread with a smile. If she worried about anything, she hid it well.

  “Vino, please, for myself and my friend,” Picard told her.

  “I don’t want any,” said Sean.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Picard told the wench. “I’ll pay for his.”

  “Yes, sir.” She put her fist to her chest in a gesture of respect, then hurried away. Picard watched her curiously. She had beautiful hips that swayed as she walked, and Picard did not mind watching them. But he felt no different about them than he felt about everything else. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

  “What?”

  “Are you attracted to her?”

  “What the hell does that have to do anything?”

  “Nothing, I suppose.” Picard sighed and folded his hands over the table. “I was just curious. If you’d like, I could buy her for you. You know. For the night?”

  A painful sensation sprang suddenly up Picard’s foot. His body jerked of his own accord, but it took his consciousness a moment to catch up. Sean’s boot was pressing down into Picard’s, almost hard enough to crush his toes. “I don’t have time for this,” snarled the Wolven. “If you wanted to talk to me about something, then talk. Then pay me so I can leave.”

  “Get. Off. My. Foot.”

  Something in Picard’s voice must have had the proper effect, for Sean released it.

  Picard resettled his body in his chair, then patted his golden hair self-consciously. “I thought I was being nice.”

  “Two vinos, for two fine gentlemen.” The wench set down their goblets. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thank you. You’re rather annoying, now. So run along.”

  She blinked her eyes in confusion, then hastily obeyed.

  The two men sat quietly a moment, neither one touching his drink.

  Picard finally reached out and grabbed his goblet. He didn’t always like drinking liquor. But sometimes, he’d noticed, it made the safra last longer. Sometimes it made the effects of safra a little more unpredictable. No matter. He was desperate, so he brought it to his lips and drank. When he finished, he set down the cup with a resolved smack.

  “Very well, Wolven. I have a proposal for you. I want to give you an unusual assignment. One that doesn’t involve killing.”

  “No,” said Sean.

  Picard’s head swam a little. No doubt the safra and alcohol were already interacting with one another. “For Friva’s sake,” he said, “would you please lower that hood? I can’t even see your face.”

  “You know why I can’t.”

  “Yes, I do, and that’s the problem. Those red eyes are quite a hassle, aren’t they? They limit you a great deal.”

  “Limit me?” Hood or no hood, Picard could sense Sean’s irritation. The Wolven did not like to think of himself as limited in any way at all, which is exactly what Picard had been counting on.

  “Yes.” Picard grinned. “Come now, let’s be honest with one another. You don’t always feel like killing. You proved that when you recently let an assignment of yours—a blind man, at that—walk free. But you have no choice about your lifestyle, do you? You are a Wolven, and you’re an assassin, and that is how everyone sees you. They know who you are as soon as they see your red eyes. But what if you tried doing something different? What if there was a way to hide your identity, while baring that handsome face of yours? Pretend you’re someone other than a Wolven?”

  Sean did not move. Then his hands clenched a little against the table. Finally, he said, “Impossible.”

  “That’s too bad. Then I suppose we should carry on with the rather boring business we already agreed upon.” Without any further ado, he threw a heavy wooden box upon the table. Sean’s untouched vino sloshed out of the goblet. The table legs creaked with the weight of it. “There you are. A million goldons, as promised.”

  Sean did not speak for a moment, only stared at the box. Picard still couldn’t see his face, but he had a very strong feeling the Wolven had not expected such a large payment.

  Picard smiled. “Your turn. As agreed.”

  Sean turned his head left and right. “Here?”

  “You really didn’t think I’d go anywhere alone with you, did you? Come now, I don’t trust you one bit. Now please assure me I haven’t brought this money in vain.”

  “I swear.” Sean’s voice ripped with obvious strain from his throat. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. “Wi
th Belazar as my witness, I will kill Prince Kyne, and Belazar will feast upon his blood.”

  Picard sat up a little straighter. The hairs on his arms and legs stood on end. His skin tingled. His heart beat a little faster. What was this strange feeling?

  Sean took a dagger from his tunic and nicked his thumb upon its tip. He kissed the ruby red drop as it swelled from his skin. “Kyne Violeni, krenzi u morde ah Belazar.”

  Picard watched in awe as Sean’s entire body grew stiff. His head tilted up and he drew a long, strained, breath. His hood fell back and his red eyes seemed to glow through the shadows.

  Then he slumped forward, exhaling with a grunt.

  A long silence followed the oath. Picard looked around and suspected that everyone else in the tavern felt the same strange feeling he did. Now Picard understood why Sean had been so reluctant to take the oath in the first place. It felt as if, for a moment, Belazar entered the room and peered through those red eyes of his. After all, legend claimed this was exactly what happened whenever a Wolven swore the oath. Doing so would help him borrow some of Belazar’s power, making him almost invincible. But if he did not deliver the blood he promised … Picard shivered at the thought.

  And the shiver felt very, very good.

  Sean grabbed the box and stood to go.

  Picard reached out and wrapped his hand around Sean’s. Sean turned on him angrily, the edge of his face cutting the light momentarily.

  “You’ve done as promised. But there is much more money where that came from. And if you have any interest in my proposition—any at all—then you will take just a moment of your time to meet someone. Someone very special.”

  “Who?”

  “Why, she’s another Wolven. Like you.” Picard smiled.