Born Assassin Saga Box Set

by Jacqueline Pawl

  It’s a shock when she finally bursts into the open air near the wall surrounding Beggars’ End, gasping for breath after escaping the stifling blanket of the crowd. Her tunic is soaked through with sweat—both from exertion and nerves—and when a breeze twines around her body, she shivers despite the midday heat.

  The guards have managed to secure some space between the mob and a group of arguing nobles in front of the gate to Beggars’ End, and Mercy stands a few feet inside the clearing. One of the guards notices her and shouts to his commander, who appraises her with a frown. He lifts his shield, preparing to shove her back into the crowd. Before he does, Leon, who had been pacing the clearing, spots her and runs over.

  “Lady Marieve! What in the Creator’s name are you doing here? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a crisis?” He runs a shaky hand down his face, then blinks a few times before gripping her arms tightly.

  “Leon, what the hell is happening here?” As she speaks, a pebble pings off one of the guards’ helmets. To their left, two soldiers shove back a crazed-looking young man who had tried to charge the gate.

  Leon’s arm drops to his side. “Well, uh, we have our first confirmed death by Fieldings’ Plague. Apparently, someone wandered into the market this morning and started ranting about the Creator. He worked himself up so much his heart gave out. Terrified a whole bunch of people. Somehow word has gotten out it originated in Beggars’ End, and now they want to purge the district.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “They’ve given it a damned good try so far. But we only have so many soldiers on retainer. Most are on patrol in other parts of the city or stationed in the tents with the infected. If we don’t come up with a plan soon, they’re going to decide to stop playing nice.”

  “You call this ‘playing nice’?”

  “They’re panicking.” Leon shrugs. He’s trying to remain calm, but the constant tapping of his fingers against his thigh betrays his nerves. “They haven’t set any fires yet, and no one’s been drawn and quartered, so overall, we’re doing pretty well.”

  Mercy searches his face but cannot tell whether he is joking. She glances at the nobles behind him, who seem to be oblivious to the mob as they argue amongst themselves. “Either way, please tell me you have a plan . . . or some semblance of a plan, at least.”

  His smiles falters, then returns full force. He places a hand on her lower back and steers her toward the nobles. “You haven’t met these guys yet, have you? Allow me to introduce Porter Anders, Edwin Fioni, and Tanner Morris. And you, ah, know Cassius Baccha.”

  “Nice to meet you all.” Mercy nods, then spins around, lifting onto her tiptoes until her face is inches from Leon’s. “Now that we’ve exchanged pleasantries, please tell me how you plan to get out of this mess.”

  “I told you this would happen!” Cassius shouts. He grips the sides of his head with trembling hands, his knuckles white. “Who told you to reinforce the walls, to set double the guards, to treat this situation with the utmost security? But no—no one wants to listen to an old man’s paranoia!”

  “They were dreams, Baccha! How did you expect us to take them at anything more than face value?” Edwin snaps. “Pouting isn’t going to achieve anything now—we’re still stuck here until we figure out what to do!”

  “Taking your head out of your ass is a good start, Fioni—”

  “Gentlemen!” Porter steps between them, placing a hand on each man’s chest. “Arguing hasn’t gotten us anywhere and it’s not going to change anything. Calm down. Let’s examine our options.”

  “Don’t take too long, Porter,” Tanner says nervously. “This crowd is becoming rowdier by the minute.”

  Porter pushes Cassius and Edwin apart, then wipes his forehead with a handkerchief and straightens his jacket. “You’re right. We can’t keep them waiting any longer. Leon, how many soldiers are at our disposal?”

  “Twenty-nine, plus Commander Willis.”

  “Commander, could the soldiers press outward in one wave, push the people out of the clearing and into the side streets?” Porter calls. “If we split up the main horde, they’ll become more complacent, easier to manage.”

  “It’s possible, sir, but as angry as they are, they may mistake it for an attack and respond violently. They’re not armed, but they still outnumber us more than I care to think about.”

  “Wonderful,” Porter says, rubbing his temples.

  “We can’t just stand around and wait!”

  “Until now, that’s exactly what we’ve been doing.”

  “There’s another option,” Edwin begins quietly. “We could—Baccha, don’t bite my head off for saying this—but we could give them what they want.”

  “Let them in? Are you insane, or just stupid?” Cassius cries.

  “Who lives here, Cassius? Truly? Slaves, bastards, orphans, beggars—what good are they to us? Hm? We have an obligation to the masses—to these people!” He waves a hand to the crowd. Their voices are raucous, echoing off the surrounding buildings.

  “You know there are more poor in this city than anyone else, Edwin. You really want to cater to the masses, protect them!”

  “We don’t have to let them all in—just a few.”

  “No way.” Leon shakes his head. “You open that gate, you won’t be able to close it again. They’ll swarm the second you open the lock.”

  “We aren’t really entertaining this idea, are we?” Cassius asks. “It’ll be a slaughter!”

  “No, we’re not,” Porter says, shooting a stern look to Edwin. “You don’t have to like them, but I won’t stand idly by while you allow a genocide. We serve the people of this city—that means the people on this side of the wall and that side.” He fixes Edwin with a glare. “And you will remember who has the higher rank here, Fioni.”

  This sets off their arguing all over again. Edwin says something rude to Tanner, who responds with an insult of his own. Porter looks ready to punch someone. Leon begins to pace again. “We’re going to die,” he murmurs. He repeats it twice before Mercy can’t stand it any longer.

  She crosses the clearing and taps on Commander Willis’s shoulder. “Prepare your men to push outward. We’re going to split the crowd,” she says. “They want a fight, we’ll fight for every inch.”

  Leon stops and stares at her. “Marieve, what are you doing?”

  “What does it look like? I’m making the decision.” She turns to Willis. “Tell your men not to hold back. Show the people you mean business, and they’ll take the hint soon enough.”

  “Marieve, stop. You don’t have the authority to make this decision.”

  “The people who do can’t stop bickering long enough to come up with a real plan. Commander, give the order.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady. I cannot take orders from foreign nobility. I must hear it from one of them.”

  “This mob isn’t going to wait patiently while they deliberate. Sooner or later, they’re going to come for us. Give the order, Commander.” When he does not immediately shout to his men, Mercy turns to Leon. “Give the order. He’ll listen to you. Trust me, it’s a good plan. At the very least, it’ll buy us time.”

  Leon wavers, glancing from Mercy to the crowd. Just when she thinks he won’t listen, he presses his lips into a tight line and nods to the commander.

  Willis turns to his men and shouts to advance. The soldiers confirm his order, then move into one line on either side of the clearing, holding their shields in front of their chests. At the commander’s next order, they begin to press forward and outward, like a V, from the clearing. The crowd doesn’t fight back at first, their faces a mixture of surprise and anger, but then they start to push. A few of the people hanging out of the upstairs windows of the building shout obscenities and toss pieces of wood, broken bottles, and stones into the crowd, hitting both soldiers and civilians.

  The nobles have stopped arguing and stare at Mercy in silent horror.

  “What have you done?” Porter’s face is
a mask of shock. “I said we must protect everyone!”

  “They are!” Mercy shouts. “Someone had to decide what to do, so I did! They’ll only hurt people if they fight back. Look, it’s working.”

  All along the line, citizens attack the soldiers, but their pebbles and fists are not at all effective against the soldiers’ armor. They shout warnings and unsheathe their swords, and several women and men shriek and back away, pushed by the soldiers’ shields.

  “She’s right,” Leon says. “Look, they’re moving back.”

  Having realized the soldiers aren’t backing down, the people have begun shouting at each other and scrambling backward. Above, the people in the windows continue to taunt the soldiers, but they no longer throw anything. Already, the soldiers have gained three feet of ground.

  Suddenly, a speeding carriage bursts around the corner, escorted by several soldiers on horseback. One of them carries a flag depicting the royal family’s crest.

  People dive out of the way as the carriage careens into the edge of the crowd, the soldiers in front acting like a wedge to drive the bodies back. When the carriage stops in the middle of the street, the soldiers on horseback continue herding people out of the way until they reach Mercy and the nobles, clearing an aisle from the gate to the rest of the street.

  For a few seconds, it’s completely silent.

  Then the door to the carriage flies open and out steps Ghyslain, fury and betrayal blazing in his eyes. He is resplendent in his finest clothing: a dark purple silk shirt, fitted black pants and boots, and a lightweight cloak with a ruby clasp. At his hip is a sheathed sword, and his crown sits atop his immaculately combed hair.

  “You have disappointed me greatly,” he says to his citizens, then walks the length of the street, to where Mercy and the others stand. He turns to the commander, frowning. “I came as soon as I could. I prayed I would arrive before someone did anything rash, and it appears I was right on time. Has anyone been seriously injured?”

  “No, Your Majesty. A few minor cuts and bruises, but little open fighting. Hardly any damage had been sustained to the gate when we arrived. It will hold, should anything like this happen again.”

  “It won’t. Not while I hold the throne. Now arrest the ringleaders of this attack.”

  “I—Begging your pardon, Your Grace?”

  “Do I have to say it twice? Is it not obvious? I assume you can identify the leaders of this attack on our people. Have your men arrest them and transport them to the castle immediately.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. My apologies.” The commander shouts the order to his men, pointing out a handful of people. Half of the soldiers break from the line and pull citizens from the crowd. Faced with Ghyslain’s wrath, several have begun to cry. One woman faints. The guard nearest to her scoops her into his arms and follows the line of soldiers moving toward the castle, hauling the offenders alongside them.

  “Porter and Tanner, accompany them,” Ghyslain says, and the two men nod and hurry after the soldiers. Mercy watches them walk away, and she notices when they pass the carriage Tamriel stands beside it, resting a hand on the neck of one of the horses. When he catches Mercy watching him, he holds her gaze, his mouth pressing into a tight line before he glances away.

  Ghyslain turns to address the remaining citizens, who watch him with wide, fearful eyes. “I’m terribly ashamed of you,” he says. “The people on the other side of this wall are no different than you. Do you truly think because they have less money than you their lives are worth less than yours? Do you think they deserve the hate they receive every day simply because they were born into a different life?” He pauses, turning in a circle to meet the eyes of the thousands of people gathered around him. “Allow me to speak plainly: every citizen of this city is under my protection for as long as I am king, and I take the matter of your safety very seriously. Anyone who compromises that safety will be swiftly and severely punished.” He raises his brows. “I expect you all to be in front of the castle gates in one hour, and you shall see how sincere I am.”

  He waits one long moment, almost like he expects someone to challenge him. When no one does, he smiles, then starts toward the carriage, his cloak billowing behind him. As his father nears, Tamriel straightens and bows stiffly while the slave who had ridden with them opens the carriage door and waits for the king to enter. The carriage dips slightly with his weight as he settles onto the bench. Tamriel follows him, but a snicker in the crowd halts him midstep.

  “Defender of the damned and the destitute,” someone says, just loudly enough to ensure Tamriel hears him. “The elven whore turned the king soft.”

  “He’s brought his bastard prince along with him, like some sort of trophy,” another jeers.

  Tamriel’s foot hovers an inch above the carriage’s step. The backs of his ears and his neck flush red, and his hand shakes with anger as he closes it around the grip of his sword. Then, sensing her watching him, Tamriel glances at Mercy and his scowl softens. He uncurls his fingers from his sword, straightens his jacket, and climbs into the carriage without a word.

  36

  After the royal carriage rounds the corner, the rest of the crowd disperses quickly. Mercy, Leon, and the other nobles linger by the gate for another half hour, until the street has emptied of everything save its usual traffic, carriages which—their way no longer blocked—pass without slowing, as if nothing had happened. It’s eerie how quickly the people fall back into their usual routines, promptly forgetting that they had threatened the lives of thousands of their fellow citizens less than an hour ago. Ghyslain had done well diverting their anger and fear, but Mercy knows they will not remain complacent long. Perhaps the punishment Ghyslain has planned will be enough to frighten them until Alyss and the other healers develop a treatment for Fieldings’ Plague.

  “Commander Willis, remain here with your men. Send a few soldiers to check on the guards at the other gates, as well,” Leon says.

  “Yes, my lord,” Willis says. He nods to Mercy, Leon, Cassius, and Edwin in turn, then returns to his men, half of whom lean against the wall separating the two districts, wiping sweat from their brows.

  “Lady Marieve,” Leon says, “His Highness will expect to see you at the castle, I presume. Would you be so kind as to walk with me?”

  “Of course,” Mercy says, and when he offers her his arm, she slips her hand into the crook of his elbow. For a block and a half, neither of them says much, each consumed by their own thoughts.

  Mercy sighs and stares up at the clear blue sky, letting Leon guide her. “How can you stand living in this city? So many people, everyone always wanting something different. It’s exhausting.”

  “It is, but I grew up here. I guess I’m used to it.”

  “There aren’t as many people where I come from. At Castle Rising, I mean. Everything’s spread out. How can you stand it?” she repeats.

  He’s quiet for a long time. “The first time I met Elise,” he finally says, “I was eight years old. By the Creator, I loved her the moment I laid eyes on her.” Mercy doesn’t look at him, but she can hear the smile in his voice. “She’s a year younger than I and she was this short, skinny thing, but I’d have sworn she was royalty, the way she carried herself. There was always this—this mischievous spark in her eyes, like she knew something no one else did, and she had a way of speaking that made me want to stop and listen.

  “Most of all, she loved being right. They day I met her, my father had dragged my sister and me to what had felt like a dozen useless meetings, and we were bored out of our wits. While our father was occupied, we snuck out of the study and downstairs to the gardens, where Maisie bet me her dinner I wouldn’t jump into the half-frozen lake. Naturally, I had to prove her wrong—”

  “—naturally—”

  “—and I nearly froze to death. Meanwhile, Elise had been watching from the upstairs window and took it upon herself to discipline us ‘heathens,’” he says, grinning. “Half the castle heard her scolding, and you can be
t our father beat us into shape that night. I think she only did it to impress her father and the other nobles, though, because the next time our father trusted us enough to bring us to the castle, she had managed to convince the prince, his cousin, and some of the other advisors’ children to jump into the lake as well. We stood atop the tallest rock and amused ourselves for hours, jumping and splashing and playfighting.” He smiles at the memory, but it quickly fades. “Later that night, I begged my father to arrange our betrothal, and he did.”

  “Doesn’t that make you happy? Do you not love her anymore?”

  “I do. By the Creator, I can hardly stand it when I’m with her, but I think she loves someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “Forget it, it’s foolish.”

  “More foolish than jumping into a frozen lake?”

  “I think she’s in love with the prince,” he blurts, then blushes. “It’s ridiculous. She’s not of high enough rank to marry him. But . . . I mean, all her spare time is spent in the castle, even when she’s not working. When we were younger, she and the prince and his cousin . . . they were practically inseparable.

  “I’m paranoid, right? She agreed to our betrothal. She likes to tease me and torture me, sometimes, but she knows how I feel about her. Plus, my family are Nadra. It’s more than a step up from Serenna.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “But I don’t want her to choose me because she’s settling. I don’t want to be a consolation prize.”

  “If that’s how she sees you, you’re the one settling. You don’t deserve someone who doesn’t love you back.” Just call me Matchmaker, Mercy thinks with a wry twist of her lips.

  “I know she cares for me,” he says, “I’m just afraid she still sees me as that stupid eight-year-old from so long ago.” He clears his throat. “But that’s enough of my whining. I appreciate you listening, Marieve. It’s good advice, it’s just . . . I don’t know if I’m ready to accept it yet. But, ah, speaking of the castle—” He trails off as they round the corner and the walls surrounding the castle come into view. A significantly smaller crowd stands in front of the gate, where a large wooden stake sticks out of the ground in the center of the intersection.