by Claire Frank
Rhis sighed and curled her fingers together. “Can I be honest with you?”
Chara’s eyes widened slightly, and she leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “Of course.”
“I’m a grown woman, and it all sounds so foolish,” Rhis said with a shake of her head. “My family are merchants and, in our travels, I met someone. He was a soldier in the Emperor’s army. He had to go on one last campaign before he could return home. We made plans to meet in Sunhold, but my family’s business kept me away. I’m sure he waited for me in Sunhold as long as he could, but by the time I arrived, he was gone. My hope is that he returned home. I know he grew up in a village somewhere east of here. I’m on my way to see if I can find him.”
Chara gazed at her with rapt attention as she spoke. “Oh, you sweet thing. Are you sure he survived?”
Rhis cast her eyes down at the ground. “I don’t know. He may have died in battle. But he swore to me he would take me home and marry me on the hilltop, beneath the olive tree where his father married his mother.” Looking up, she reached out and clutched Chara’s hands. “I simply have to know for sure. If he is gone, my heart will be burned with him. But I couldn’t live with myself if I thought he could still be alive, thinking I had abandoned him.”
“You must have come such a long way already,” Chara said.
“I have,” Rhis said. “But I would cross the entire Empire for my love.”
Chara reached out and clasped Rhis’s arm. Rhis forced herself to relax so she wouldn’t stiffen at the woman’s touch. “Of course you would. Well, we won’t trouble you while you rest here a while. Do you have a place to stay? Because I can make extra room”
“That’s so kind of you,” Rhis said. “I’m fine with a room at the tavern up the way. As I said, I’ll be on my way soon. I just need a bit of a rest before I move on.”
Chara pressed her lips together and for an agonizing moment, Rhis was afraid she would try to embrace her. “You take all the time you need,” Chara said finally. “Don’t let the rest of the town make you feel unwelcome. I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re nothing to worry over.”
Rhis gave her a smile as Chara patted her on the arm and walked away.
***
Rhis sat at a small table in the tavern, picking at her morning meal, trying to breathe away her frustration. After watching and listening for several days, she hadn’t found anyone by the name of Asher. The women had softened to her as the story she’d told Chara spread, and the treats she carried in her pouch made her popular with the children. She’d chatted with several of the women, and spent her evenings observing as the men came in from the fields, most stopping at the tavern for a drink after their day’s labor. Already she knew the names of most of the townspeople, and, thanks to Chara, quite a bit of their personal histories. She’d even wandered through the cemetery outside of town, gazing at the grave markers for the name she sought, all to no avail. Her suspicion that Cormant’s information was lacking grew as the days passed. A person with the name on the slip of paper didn’t seem to exist.
Sitting back in her chair, she pushed her plate away. It was possible her mark lived somewhere outside the town, perhaps on a farm that was far enough away he didn’t visit the hamlet often. She sighed. There was no reasonable way to check every farmhouse. She’d be better off finding a way to mention the name to Chara to see if she knew who he was, risking suspicion once her mark was dead. It wasn’t ideal, but the identity she’d crafted for herself might be enough to offset the townspeople’s suspicions. They’d seen her face, but they didn’t know her name, nor where she truly came from. Staying too long in Harmoth wasn’t a good option either, as the longer she stayed, the more her story would begin to unravel. She needed to find him soon.
The tavern keeper nodded to her as she left. Chara was probably at home cooking. She could usually be found cooking something, or standing in doorways chatting with the other women of the village. Rhis decided she wasn’t ready for a lengthy conversation with the gossipy woman, so she strolled through the central plaza and followed a small side road toward the river. The heat of the day hadn’t yet risen and, although the sky above was clear, a cool wind blew through her hair and clouds loomed in the distance. She guessed it would be raining before nightfall. Although there was nothing pleasant about traveling in the rain, it would work in her favor, erasing her tracks if she had to make a quick escape.
A miller’s wheel dipped into the river, turning in a lazy circle as the current flowed past. Rhis noticed a boy standing on the bank, holding a fishing line in the water. She paused, ducking behind a tree to stay out of sight. He was dressed in a simple homespun tunic, his feet bare, and his dark hair was cut short. Rhis guessed he was twelve or thirteen. She didn’t recall seeing him in the village with the other boys; perhaps he lived on one of the farms outside Harmoth.
He crouched on the edge of the bank and pulled in his line. From a pouch at his waist, he produced some sort of bait, and jammed it on the hook before he stood and tossed his line back into the river. Rhis hesitated, trying to decide whether she should continue on or head back to the village.
The boy turned toward Rhis as if he’d heard a noise. He had sharp cheekbones, but it was his eyes that caught her attention. They were bright silver, an unusual color she’d only seen once before, near her homeland of Thaya, across the sea. But that man had been an Imaran, a race of people who lived to the southeast of her birthplace. The Thayans revered Imarans, almost as if they were some sort of mythic beings. As far as Rhis knew, they weren’t particularly mystical, just traders who lived in the Deep Forest outside the kingdom of Halthas. They all had the telltale silver eyes, much like this boy. Could he be Imaran? She couldn’t recall ever seeing an Imaran in Attalon. What would he be doing so far from Imara?
Curiosity got the better of her and she stepped out from behind the tree. He looked up as she approached, but seemed relaxed, showing no indication that he was alarmed to see her there.
“Have you caught anything yet?” she asked, walking toward him.
“No,” he said, with a shake of his head. “Fish aren’t biting.”
She took a few steps closer. It was no trick of the light. His eyes were definitely silver. “Do you live nearby?”
He gestured behind him. “Over there.”
“Where are your parents?” she asked.
“We have a farm,” he said with a shrug.
Rhis crossed her arms and watched as he pulled his line back in and replaced the bait again. He certainly wasn’t offering much in the way of conversation, but he might know something about her mark.
“Your father is busy working, then?” she asked.
He nodded. Rhis opened her mouth to try another question, but a woman’s voice floated through the air. Rhis couldn’t quite make out what she said, but the boy sighed and tugged on his line. “That’s my mom. I have to go.”
While he finished drawing his empty line out of the water, the woman called again.
“Asher!”
Rhis froze, her eyes darting to the field behind them. A woman in a homespun dress with an apron tied around her waist approached. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat bun with a few wisps hanging around her face. Her eyes moved to Rhis, and her brow furrowed.
“Asher, what are you doing out here?” she said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I’m just fishing,” the boy said.
“You need to come home now.” She cast another glance at Rhis. “Who are you?”
“Hava,” Rhis said, stumbling over the word and almost forgetting to use her assumed name. “I’m staying in Harmoth.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, and her gaze lingered on Rhis for a moment, before she reached out to guide the boy by the shoulders. “Come now, Asher. Let’s go home.”
They walked away, leaving Rhis standing with her mouth half open. Asher was a child?
Her stomach turned and she swallowed hard. She didn’t keep track of her co
ntracts, erasing their names and faces from her mind as soon as the jobs were complete. But she knew she’d never been hired to kill a child. She watched as the woman put an arm around the boy’s shoulder and led him across the field.
He couldn’t be the mark. Why would the Emperor pay three hundred thousand Imperials to kill a peasant child in a town that wasn’t even on all the maps? Rhis blew out a breath in frustration. She never asked why. Her job had nothing to do with the client’s reasons. They paid her a fee, and she took care of their problem. Asking questions made a simple task more complicated.
But this didn’t make sense. This child couldn’t be the mark, and if she killed the wrong target, the entire trip would be for nothing. They wouldn’t pay her if the contract hadn’t been fulfilled.
She waited until the boy and his mother had almost disappeared from sight, then followed, trailing them at a distance. The woman walked with her arm around the boy’s shoulders, talking to him as his feet shuffled through the grass. They picked up a faint trail that led over a hill, past a field full of grapevines spread out over wooden stakes. At the bottom of the hill was a small farmhouse. Chickens scratched in the dirt near a garden filled with neat rows of cultivated plants, and a barn stood to the side. A brown cow grazed in the field, lifting its head as the woman and child approached the house.
Rhis crouched in the tall grass to the side of the path and crept closer, keeping low. There wasn’t much in the way of cover, but she had to get near. It was likely the boy was named for his father, and the man of the house would be the objective. She needed to be able to hear them to find out.
The boy went into the house, but the woman stood outside the door, looking around. Rhis darted ahead, trying to close more distance without drawing any attention. The woman’s voice called out again, but Rhis couldn’t quite make out what she said. Straining to hear, Rhis stopped and held her breath, willing the woman to speak again.
“Demmen,” the woman said, pitching her voice to be heard. “Demmen!”
A man emerged from the barn, dressed in a tunic and brown pants. His skin was dark from the sun, and he gave her a wide smile as he walked through the garden toward the house. He stopped in front of the woman and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.
“Where were you?” Demmen asked.
“Asher wandered off again,” she said, with a shake of her head.
“He’s a boy. That’s what boys do.” He put an arm around her shoulders and led her inside.
The rest of their conversation disappeared into the farm house. Rhis’s heart beat wildly in her chest. She’d found no sign of anyone else named Asher in the vicinity. The child must be her mark.
Rhis shook her head and retreated back up the hill. It was just a job. The mark’s age wasn’t a factor. Rhis had never failed to complete a contract; child or no, she wasn’t about to start now.
SIX: CONTRACT
Clouds obscured the stars as Rhis made her way back toward the farmhouse. Dressed in black, with her cowl drawn up and her face covered, she blended into the darkness. Moisture hung heavy in the air, and a few drops of rain fell as she crept through the tall grass behind the farm.
After following her mark, she’d returned to Harmoth and packed her things, readying to leave. It would arouse less suspicion if her departure appeared planned, rather than an unexpected disappearance, and she had no intention of staying once her contract was complete. She’d said her goodbyes to the townspeople and endured a tearful embrace from Chara before taking the main road out of town. Once she was out of sight, she’d turned toward the river and followed a narrow path that took her close to her mark’s home, and waited in the trees until long after darkness had fallen.
The farm was silent, the only sounds the occasional chirp of a cricket and the wind rustling through the grapevines. Despite the dark, Rhis kept low as she inched closer to the house. It had a window on one side, an open square that was just large enough for her to fit through, covered by an oiled cloth. She stuck her head in and glanced around, making sure all was quiet before hoisting herself in through the opening.
Landing on silent feet, she waited, crouching below the window. The main room was small, furnished with a simple wooden table and two benches, and a black stove for heat and cooking. In the dimness, she could just make out hooks and pegs lining the walls, filled with pots and a few utensils. A thick curtain at the back of the house seemed to separate a sleeping area, and a ladder led to a loft. Rhis crept across the room and peeked through the curtain. A man and woman slept beneath a handmade quilt, the man letting out a soft snore as Rhis backed away. The mark must be in the loft.
The ladder was built at a slight angle and secured to the wall on one side. Rhis climbed the wood slats, using care as she placed each foot, in case the ladder was prone to squeaking. The loft above had scarcely enough room for a child to sit up without hitting his head on the roof, so she crawled onto the boards that made up the floor. Her mark was a few feet away, a shapeless lump beneath a quilt.
Rhis paused and pulled out a small, flat pouch with a yellow stripe. Opening the flap, she drew out a single needle. A small vial was tucked into the pouch, secured with a sewn-in strap, and she uncorked the vial and dipped the needle into the thick liquid. It was painstaking work in the darkness, but she needed to ensure her mark was dispatched quickly. He was smaller than an adult; one prick of the needle would be all it would take. She’d have to cover his mouth and hold him down while the poison worked its way through his body. This particular concoction could cause some thrashing as the mark died. But it would be over in seconds, and when the parents discovered him in the morning, they would likely assume a sudden illness had taken him.
Her heart beat fast as she crawled along the floor, the needle pinched between her thumb and forefinger. The mark made a muffled sound, and shifted; she could just see his head poking out of the quilt, his back turned to her. He stayed still, showing no signs of waking, so she crept closer, working her way across the loft in the dark.
Drawing near, she could hear his soft breathing. Rhis crouched beside his sleeping form and drew back the quilt just enough to expose his face. He didn’t move as she eased her hand close, the sharp end of the needle inches from his skin. The poison beaded on the point and she froze, her hand hovering in the air.
Her chest tightened as she looked down at his face. Dark lashes brushed the top of his cheek and a lock of hair lay across his forehead. He really was nothing but a child, innocent and unspoiled. The world had yet to drag him through its mud, soil him with its hardships. He roused something deep inside Rhis that she had thought long since dead. Was there room for compassion in a killer’s heart?
Her hand shook. This face would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. She never remembered her targets, but this was one she would never forget.
She snatched her hand back, swallowing hard. Damn Cormant and his contract. She wasn’t going to let this child’s face be burned into her memory. Cormant could send someone else to this backwater, if killing a farmer’s child was so important.
Rhis backed away, still clutching the needle, and descended partway down the ladder. She took a quick look at the drip of poison on the needle before licking it, tasting the bitterness on her tongue. Building an immunity to common poisons was an exercise in self-preservation she’d engaged in for many years. This would make her nauseated for a few hours, but her stomach already churned with resentment. After quickly replacing the needle in its pouch, she climbed down, padded across the room, and slipped out the window into the darkness outside.
Gritting her teeth, she stole through the field and into the trees to find her horse. She was giving up a tremendous amount of money by leaving the boy alive, but the image of his childish face still danced through her mind, like the afterimage of the sun. It had been many years since she’d considered the deeper implications of her trade, and she’d never thought twice about completing a contract. Others in her business had cont
racts they wouldn’t take, or lines they wouldn’t cross.
Thinking about the sleeping boy, she realized this was her line. She couldn’t kill a child.
SEVEN: ASSASSIN
Rhis sat hunched over her drink in a dingy tavern in Tindale. She’d arrived in the town midmorning, after several days of rainy travel from Harmoth. It was as if the weather mocked her, pelting her with water to make sure she hated the journey all the more. After the uncomfortable trip, she’d been happy to find a room she could rent for the night, but the innkeeper had asked more questions than she wanted to answer. Rather than spend her evening meal deflecting uncomfortable queries, she’d wandered into the seedier part of town to find the sort of place where people ignored each other, even if it meant watered-down wine and terrible food.
A serving woman came near and Rhis raised a hand to get her attention. “Something stronger,” Rhis said, pointing at her cup.
The woman nodded, wiping her hands on her apron. A few moments later, she returned with a dark jug. The woman lifted her eyebrows, nodding at the cup, so Rhis tossed back the last of the weak wine and put the cup back on the table.
“This should do you right,” the woman said, pouring the amber liquid.
Rhis smelled the drink and, when the scent burned her nostrils, immediately wished she hadn’t. She wrinkled her nose and took a swig. It tasted awful, but it warmed her belly and sent a pleasant relaxation through her limbs.
Regret hung over her like a fog. The trip had been more than a waste. She’d be out the expenses and wouldn’t be able to collect on the contract, but worse was the hit to her reputation. Cormant would think twice before offering her another lucrative job, and her place in the hierarchy would fall a few notches. Throwing her head back, she downed the last of her drink.
Why had she let the mark get to her? It shouldn’t have mattered if he was a child, an old man, or anything in between. Everyone died someday. That boy would be no different. Would the world change if he died at her hand? The sun would still rise the next day, and Rhis would have fewer problems to deal with. The strange burst of conscience had taken her unawares. She hadn’t even balked at her first contract, yet somehow this child had made her risk her entire career?
