The Priest's Assassin

by V. C. Willis

  I can’t. Her scent doesn’t arouse me to feed like… Splashing my face, I confessed, “I’ve never travelled this far south before. Only my companions have. I see you are all well-acquainted with Knight Valiente.”

  “Y-yes. He’s a regular, but the only one who gave a rat’s ass when some of the girls were murdered in the alley here.” She brushed the boots free of their grime, but grabbing the shirt, she hesitated. “I don’t think we can save this, love. I’ll get you a fresh one. Would you like some new leather pants as well? We provide such wares for guests who stop here first after a hard day on the battlefield.”

  “Please.” I was unknotting my braid. “If you could, I would like a hooded coat as well.”

  “Understandable. Hood, you say?” She sloshed a bucket of water and soap over the manica, brushing it before another slosh let the dirt break free. “In that case, short or long coat?”

  I pondered a moment before answering, “Long. With lots of pockets if possible.”

  “Aye.” She slung the manica on a chair, and at last, I found myself alone.

  I realized there was a shelf of items above my head. Standing, I clamored through the vials in search of anything to use to numb my sense of smell. Most of this is oils for… I smirked to myself. Of course it is. I’m taking a bath in a brothel. Popping open the bottles of unlabeled scents, I was relieved when it began to flush out the smell of the brothel. Generously, I poured rosewater oil heavily into the hot water and grabbed a cloth hanging on the edge. Scrubbing furiously, I found a nugget of leftover lavender soap and worked every part of me over until all that remained was the one wound that just refused to close in my gut.

  I suppose I look more alive and don’t smell like the dead. Searching, I aimed to clean the wound fast and be ready to dress on the woman’s return. I can’t stay here long. John needs me. My eyes caught a rusted mirror leaning on the shelf, small but sufficient. I propped it on the tub edge beside the lantern, leaning into its reflection for a better angle of the wound in my stomach. It was nearly closed now, the cleaning aiding in the healing that had slowed in battle. Need to remember bruises lighten with the help of hot water and herbs. Turning and pulling my hair to slap it across my chest, I could see how the entrance wound still bled. Crimson mixed with water fell in slow streams as it ran over my hip and ass to disappear in the steaming water at my thighs. Something black seemed to be embedded in the open red and white of the flesh, keeping it from healing. A chunk of metal?

  “I didn’t expect so many scars considering…” The woman had entered, clothes in arms as she drew near, but I moved out of her outstretched hand. “Let’s have a look. That mirror is shit; I can’t even do my hair in it. Let me do what I do for all the other warriors here. You ain’t the first to come in here still bleeding, sweetie.” Her smile eased as she set the items down and reached for a box on the shelf. “See, we keep needle, thread, and salve on the shelf for this very reason.”

  “I…” I eyed her, my head swimming with exhaustion, and I caved. “I think there’s something in the wound.” Leaning on the shelf, I felt my muscles twitch and draw tight at her touch. “I can manage the pain,” I offered, fearing my reaction would be misread. Heh, only John has touched me … and before him that was… Why in this moment does it become clear that my past is painted across me, and John’s never asked me once of it? Yet, here in this brothel…

  “With these scars, I can see you’re no stranger to that much in life. Are some of these bitemarks?”

  I bit my lips as fingers dug into exposed flesh, dodging the question.

  “It’s a chunk of metal. Give me a minute.”

  The retreat of her prodding was short-lived as the familiar sensation of a blade cutting into my flesh pushed into the wound. My hand acted on its own accord. Her wrist gripped tight in my fingers. Adrenaline spiked once more as fight or flight itched to be chosen, whispering, Fight. She froze, glaring up at me. When did I become an animal? The fear on her face melted to an empty smile, one clearly done in practice for moments like this and elsewhere in the brothel.

  “S-sorry,” I muttered and let go, alarmed by my actions and looking away in shame. “I thought … I’m still on the battlefield it seems.”

  Her voice was soft as she agreed, “I wasn’t thinking either. Considering the scars, where you are … I didn’t think deeply on it, your majesty. Almost done, but you’re a fast healer despite the damage and blood loss. I’ve got to cut it free…”

  Wait, your majesty… Stabbing, sharp pain disrupted my panicked thoughts. The twisting and slicing made the wound open wider, letting me know how difficult the fragments were for even her tiny fingers. I heard three pieces clack against the wooden floor before she huffed. She rinsed the knife and her fingers in the tub water before grabbing a cloth. I winced in silence as she flushed out the wound, her heart racing in my ears. I’m so stupid. I just rode into Captiva City with my braid to the wind. So much for discreetly entering the city.

  “The braid gave me away, didn’t it?” I don’t know why, but I want to hear it.

  “It’s hard not to notice a braid as long as yours or Valiente’s.” She reached past me, retrieving the lantern. “At first, I thought you were a guardian of the royal family like him,” she confessed, checking the fresh scar on my shoulder. “But seeing that you were a bloodeater was a tad unusual.” I shuddered as her had glided down my back as if searching for further signs of injuries. “Those top two knots so high on the crown of your skull had me miscounting until you dunked yourself into the water.”

  “So, there’s a chance the guards didn’t notice in the torchlight.” Some relief came to me as her fingers pressed around the opening she had tended.

  “Maybe. Is it true that you’re the missing first blood prince, Ashton?” Leaning down, she seemed to be inspecting the wound closer now as she drew near.

  “Yes. What of it?” After meeting the Cardinal, I feel guilty for bearing my brother’s name, but he didn’t discourage the idea either. Perhaps he’s curious to see how this plays out.

  “It seems you ruffle a lot of feathers in high up places,” she mused before scoffing. “I don’t think I got it all out, but it seems to be wanting to close now. Are you sure you don’t need to feed to regain your health or speed this up, Prince Ashton?”

  “No.” Her hands glided back up across my shoulder blades and pressed on one. “Leave me. I should be fine.”

  “It’s broken here, but the bruising looks to be displaced with the way the arm sits lower,” she announced. “I thought it was bruised, but if you don’t let me push it in place, it’ll heal where that arm can’t lift up properly.” Her fingers traced rings from my shoulder, across the broken bone, and stopped by my spine. “These are General Kayman’s chain marks, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah, I blocked but didn’t account for it to whip around and slap me.” Staring at the vials, I searched my thoughts before braving to ask, “Can you fix it? It seems Scarlett women have many talents that I didn’t know about.”

  “Honey, this is a brothel.” She laughed, pulling on my torso to make me stand straight, then held my shoulder as she lifted my arm slowly. “Wanda throws her shoulder out every time the bishop comes in for his session. Granted, we are held in high standing, on par with high class and shop owners because we offer a variety of services when it comes to those needing utmost discretion. If you’re ever in need, find a Scarlett House.”

  “Which bishop?” I demanded, wincing as the arm gave resistance and wouldn’t lift any further.

  “Marquis.” Without warning, she shoved and jerked in such a hard jolt a loud pop hit my ears; pain and relief made me feel breathless. “There we go! Monica would be proud to hear I manage to do it on the first go!”

  “There’s some soreness, but thank you.” I froze, pumping my fist and dared to roll the shoulder. “I thought priests and bishops and all clergymen are sworn to celi
bacy?” Thoughts of John’s face in the throes of passion flashed in my head, and I pressed, “And isn’t it a death sentence for breaking one’s celibacy?”

  “Aye,” she nodded. “They come through that back door like you did and down the hall more times than the soldiers if you ask me. Pay with deep pockets, they do. By the way, the name’s Elaine.”

  “Thank you, Elaine.” I grabbed up a vial of saddlewood and cinnamon perfume and a large canteen of oil. “Forgive me, I’m going to take these.”

  “Got someone you’re aiming to impress tonight, I see. Now turn around, let me have a lookatcha.” Elaine laughed, tugging me against my will to face her. “Boy, you’re built strong and long, and I mean in all the right places.” My face grew red as her eyes gobbled up my world before she was back to inspecting the other side of the wound. “Ah! Another piece. Hold still.”

  “Shit.” The knife was back in her hand, cutting into the freshly healed bits until a metal chunk flicked out. “I’ll have to avoid being shot in the future.”

  “Those are nasty things from the Old Continent. Been seeing more and more of ’em as of late.” She scrubbed the wound and checked it twice before rinsing her fingers once again. “What’s this one from?” She poked her fingers into the scar left behind by the Fanged Lady. I huffed.

  “Ah, that’s where my lover stabbed me to kill my ex.” I smirked as her eyes shot up to meet my gaze. “It was a complicated situation.”

  “You still with them?” she marveled.

  “Can’t leave him if I wanted to.” I shrugged.

  Snorting, she patted my bare chest and walked away from me. “Well, I’ll leave you to dress yourself. Don’t judge me on the rush wash job on the armor. It’ll take days of proper cleaning and scrubbing to get that out.”

  “It will do just fine, Elaine.” As I stepped out of the tub, she began to fan herself. “You okay?”

  “I shouldn’t be lusting after a Blood Prince but…” She bit her lips, her eyes lingering between my thighs before she threw up her arms and faced the door. “You ever want a woman, come find me! It’ll be my pleasure!”

  The door slammed, and I sighed. I really should stop thinking about John and the perfume bottles in situations like this. But at least I feel a little less like a monster…

  Chapter 26

  Canals, Catacombs, & Castles

  Basque snorted all around me, knocking the hood from my head as if displeased with my new look and smell. After a few chastising whispers from me, he took the sugar cubes and fell back to his normal apathetic state. The brothel girls had offered more than clothes and bath, handing us parcels of food and refilled our canteens. Captiva City was very much alive despite the half-moon being high overhead. Valiente twisted through the tight corridors of the back alleys until they grew so narrow, I fretted over Basque not fitting. The smell of salt in the air made my blood rush. The Bay of Red Waves! How I’ve always wanted to see such a sight!

  We pulled out into the open, the shadowed figures of ships at the docks with glowing spots of torches and braziers. Despite the time of night, sailors and dockworkers were busy loading and unloading vessels farther down. Basque followed Colonel until we chased the canal to a stable. There a member of the Guild bowed and took in the horses. Glancing into the stables, I was relieved to see Elegance, Jasmine, and Biscuit all neighing to greet their travelling companions.

  “They made it this far, then,” I whispered to the assassin.

  “Safe and sound, though you took far longer than we anticipated. If they aren’t at the entrance, we’ve made plans accordingly.” The soft-spoken assassin bowed, “My name is Bourbon. Please follow me.”

  Without warning, he walked to the canal’s edge and jumped. Valiente and I looked to one another, skeptical of the path our guide had chosen. I ventured to the edge, seeing the narrow walkway at water level, and motioned to Valiente. He gave a surly expression, joining my side to peek down.

  “After you,” I offered.

  “You do know I have broken ribs, right?” he countered.

  Nodding, I gave him a hard pat on the back, and he grunted in pain. “I’ve had that before becoming a bloodeater. The sooner we go, the sooner we can both rest.”

  Grunting, he eased down on his knees, groaning. “Give me a hand, would ya?”

  Laughing, I used my good arm and helped ease him down until I eventually had to let go, so he could land at a shorter drop. Taking a glance all around, I saw the stables here were void of anyone unlike the singing that could be heard farther down on the docks or back where the front of the Scarlett House sat. Stepping off the ledge, I landed without an issue as Valiente coughed, wheezing and stumbling forward.

  Bourbon waved, and we followed slowly toward the never-ending sea. The closer we came to the bay, the louder the water slapped against the walls or waved over our feet. Here the pleasant saltwater twisted to the pungent smell of old bait and cast out filth, human and animal alike. I drew my arm over my face, missing the mask already as the wall began to curve. We went from nudged between narrow walls of a canal to a path against the open bay, and a torch glowed up ahead. Drawing closer, I saw a huge gate-filled archway blocked our path. Bourbon dug into a satchel and produced a ring of keys. After a few tries, he found one that allowed the gate to creak open. Standing off to the side, he let Valiente enter, and as I followed, he grabbed my arm.

  “Ashton.” He shoved the heavy ring of keys into my hand. “I was told to gift these to you.”

  “Keys to the canal?” I lifted a brow, unsure what I was being offered.

  “Yes, but…” He glanced at Valiente who had stumbled out of earshot. “These are keys to Grandmere. We assassins have made copies of keys for centuries, and this ring holds all known locks, new and old. Please keep this with you at all times.”

  “Interesting.” I pondered if this explained how Madame Plasket seemed to get around faster than I could run on foot and smirked. “Thank you.”

  “Now, let’s see if they waited.” Bourbon patted my shoulder, and I winced.

  Grabbing the torch, Bourbon continued to lead us deep into the underbelly of Captiva City. Water dripped all around, the stones slippery, and the entire place reeked of shit and rot. A glow appeared after another disorientating turn in the bleak darkness past identical chambers and pathways. The torchlight seemed to be throwing my ability to see in the dark, my pupils competing on how to adjust. I could have navigated the maze far better. Another aspect I haven’t discovered, I imagine. Voices whispered and bounced through the tunnels. Bourbon stopped, whistling softly before approaching.

  John rushed into the opening, and my heart leapt. Pushing past Bourbon, we rushed one another. The heat of his body against my own and his scent brought a calm over me I had been craving. Breaking our embrace, John kissed me, and the hunger demanded more. Thirsty. I backed him against the wet damp walls, pulling the collar open to reveal the bitemarks from before. So hungry… Not satisfied with the trickling teases from suckling his tongue, I sank my fangs into him. I need him. I want him. I was vaguely aware of a grunt of discomfort, his fists balling their grip on my back and pulling me close. He at last croaked something, but…

  Still so thirsty. Another muffled croak and I pinned him. More…

  I bit down harder, and he grunted in discomfort once more.

  I need more. I want all of it.

  “Dante!” his voice echoed off the walls, ringing in my ears.

  Retreating against the far wall, I covered my blood-soaked chin with my arm, panting. Bewildered, I watched as John sank to the ground, his expression hidden from me as Bourbon and Valiente rushed to help him. Red Wine appeared, a dagger at my throat.

  What have I done?

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she growled.

  I tried to move so I could see John, but her dagger bit into my flesh and I froze.

  His he
art … but I…

  “Answer me!” she roared.

  “I was so…” Dread rattled through me, my soul breaking. “…thirsty.”

  Red Wine blinked, backstepping to let me sink down holding my head. She turned, rage riding on her voice. “Valiente, what the hell happened out there?”

  “We survived,” he uttered before coughing and wheezing, holding his side. “Dammit. I can’t breathe with these ribs.”

  “The priest has passed out; the wound seems to have stopped bleeding, but we can’t move from here for a while,” Bourbon announced.

  I was breaking.

  Bloodeater.

  Monster.

  Red Wine landed a punch square on my cheek, jolting my head and breaking my stare from John’s pale face and red painted neck. “Pull it together and tell me what happened.”

  The throbbing in my cheek brought me back, and I locked eyes with Red Wine. “I was… shot.”

  “Okay, but that doesn’t explain losing it to feeding,” she retorted, standing to kick me in the bad shoulder, and I grunted.

  Shoving her foot off, I slowly gathered my wits. “I was shot three times, once through the gut, clipping the shoulder, and in the face. I took hits with the chain, broke my shoulder blade, and dislocated my shoulder completely at one point. Then I took a beating with spiked knuckles… I lost a lot of blood.”

  Red Wine covered her face a moment. “This was why I needed you to dodge.”

  “I did. I tried…” I watched helplessly as Valiente and Bourbon pulled John off the ground and stumbled to the dry room up ahead. “I lost myself… All I could think…”

  “I can only imagine.” She offered a hand to help me to my feet, and I stared at it. “Look, we stayed here in fear you were in bad shape. You looked fine, but considering…”

  I looked up at her, and the trepidation on my face made her flinch, her mask hiding her expression. “I’m a fucking monster,” I declared. “I’m going to be the one to kill him despite trying to save him at every turn.”