by Rose Reid
I slip the nightgown off my shoulders and dress in the riding clothes. The trousers are tighter than I’d expect them to be, since they are riding clothes. They are a size too small for me but thankfully the shirt fits me well. I suppose I could have had worse luck — the trousers could have been too short. I take my time when jerking my long, wavy hair into a tight tail at the back of my head so as to annoy Lyom further. When I exit the washroom, I find my dallying has produced the desired effect. Lyom stands with his arms crossed over his chest and a stern grimace on his face. He gives me a once over, as if appraising me critically. He seems to scowl when he notices my tight attire. I sashay past him and easily clap my hands to get his attention.
“Come along, then. Mustn’t keep you for too long.” I cluck, trying a new tactic — ceaseless annoyance.
Lyom escorts me out of my room and into the corridor that leads to the foyer. He says nothing as we approach the stairs but hesitates momentarily before walking down. I realize why the moment I step up and see Princess Haraya seated in the foyer’s sitting area, along with two other women. One of them has bright yellow hair, more brassy than mine, and the other has darker hair like Haraya. If my assessment is correct, Haraya is the only royal of the three; the other two are the daughters of governors or perhaps just citizens of Adandyrl, favored by the king because of his daughter’s friendship with them.
Haraya sits regally, her shoulders pulled back in the perfect manner of a princess, her dark hair delicately pulled into an elaborate twirl. Her jade green dress compliments her skin tone and eyes, I’m sure, but I cannot see them since she faces away from us.
I can tell the Swordmaster doesn’t want me to walk past these important ladies, especially when dressed in my garb. Haraya may know of me but her friends do not, and explaining to the young ladies that I am one of the king’s guests simply will not do while adorned in this homely getup.
“Try not to draw attention to yourself.” Lyom growls
I trail behind him down the stairs, doing my best to stay out of sight, but the minute Haraya hears our approach she turns to look over her shoulder. Upon seeing Lyom, her eyes light up and she stands, the other girls ceasing their giggling and doing as their princess does.
“Swordmaster,” Haraya says, an airy tone in her voice. I puzzle at her lightness. A beautiful smile graces her face and she curtsies. The two young ladies also curtsy.
Lyom tries to move away, attempting to block the girl’s view of me with his tall form. He inclines his head as he walks, trying to be respectful to the princess while also moving me out of the foyer as swiftly as possible.
“Your Highness,” he greets.
Over his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Haraya’s inquisitive stare, which quickly transforms into something like bitterness. Around her neck, I see the same stone I saw before and this close to her, I can tell the writing is not in our language. It’s foreign, one even I do not know.
“I was not aware we had enlisted women in my father’s services.” she comments.
Lyom slows to a stop and I see a muscle in his jaw pop. An unreadable emotion dances in his bottomless eyes. He turns around to face Haraya and I follow his move. “A recent acquisition, My Lady.” he says for the sake of formality.
Haraya’s two friends become more curious, the yellow-haired girl speaking up. “Does she speak?” she asks in a disdainful voice while the other girl snickers.
I gape at her for only a brief moment before I begin to respond as crudely as I can imagine but Lyom silences me before I have the chance.
“She does. But she is being punished for insubordinate behavior. Believe me,” Lyom offers them the faintest of smiles. “you wouldn’t want to hear what she has to say.”
Feeling that the Swordmaster has adequately summed up my response, I nod at the ladies, choosing to ignore his comment of my punishment.
Haraya frowns in disapproval. “Hmm,” she muses. “Her clothes are rather fitted. Is it not inappropriate for her to be wandering the Keep in them with so many prestigious men? Perhaps she should be in a dress, like the rest of us.”
Lyom inclines his head. “If that suits you, Your Highness, then we will have her properly dressed shortly.”
I cut a glare to Lyom. We shall certainly not. I only just got out of my cumbersome, frilly dress and am in no hurry to be confined by the weighty fabrics anytime soon. I have nothing against a good dress — I had many back at the Aerie — but the idea of wearing one here in the Keep isn’t a pleasant one.
“I apologize, ladies. Miss Darlington and I have much to accomplish today. If you will excuse us.” Lyom attempts to bow out but Haraya catches him.
“Swordmaster Livingstone,” Haraya starts.
Lyom faces her and a look passes between the two but before I can identify the meaning, Haraya shakes her head.
“It was nothing.” she says. Her gaze goes to me and her jade eyes narrow. “Enjoy yourself today, Miss Darlington.”
I have to gather my thoughts. Did Lyom just look at someone with something other than hatred? I did not realize that was possible.
I follow him out of the foyer and down another corridor. I open my mouth to ask him a question but he quietly shushes me, telling me not to say anything until we are out of earshot. After we have turned down another corridor and have made it far from the foyer, I give him a look filled with annoyance.
He scowls. “What is it?”
“My punishment?” I mimic his tone.
“I wasn’t about to let you speak illy of the High Princess Haraya and have your head prematurely separated from your shoulders.” he counters.
My nose scrunches up. “Prematurely? I would like to keep my head permanently attached to my shoulders.”
“Your fate is in your own hands.” Lyom tells me.
“That might be the most comforting thing you’ve ever said to me.” I say.
He says nothing else on our walk to one of the rooms Lyom did not bring me to on our tour yesterday. When we enter, the first thing I see is Moher, Carnahan, and Jamas. My gaze flits down to the sling Carnahan’s arm is held in and I smirk at my triumph. Moher looks a little worse for wear, as well, also a testament of my skills.
The room itself is made up of stone, the walls covered in maps with trade routes marked on them. In the center of the room is a long, large table made of mirrored glass, and on it are charcoal pencils, stacks of paper, and a board with small silver pieces on it, likely used for strategizing.
Moher and Carnahan glare at me as I enter with Lyom, who quickly calls the men’s attention. I am shooed into the corner of the room, which I immediately protest but my complaints get me nowhere. And for the most part, the four of them completely ignore my presence, even when I interject a comment of an idea. Glowering does me no good, either, as Lyom cares nothing about my personal cheerfulness.
“He’s trying to flee from the king,” Carnahan reminds the others in a gruff voice. “Maybe returning to Lydovier?”
“Perhaps,” Moher concedes. “We should start in Blancathey. That was likely the port in which he entered Evrallon. Perhaps someone there noted him. We could have the assassin check the warrant boxes —”
“Contract booths,” I supply.
Moher ignores me. “— to see if he has perhaps left a sign of his being there.”
I scoff. “Why would he do that? Who would he possibly want to draw in?”
I must be invisible because the men continue to talk.
“What say you, Swordmaster?” Carnahan asks Lyom, who has been completely silent, just observing their conversations.
“He is not attempting to draw attention to himself.” is all Lyom responds with from his distant stance.
“What about Torrona?” suggests Jamas. “Or Erod?”
Moher grunts. “What about it?”
“Those villages in particular are known for housing criminals and the like.” Jamas recalls. “Perhaps Dominik would have made a stop there or is even hiding there.”
> I shake my head in disbelief. “Why am I even here?” I ask myself, knowing full well Lyom and his men hear not a word from my mouth.
Carnahan nods in agreement. “Torrona is a possibility, as is Erod. We could notify Soldier’s Pond of our arrival and they would be able to shut down the traffic in and out of Torrona, at least. We have no outposts near Erod; we would be on our own there.”
“He isn’t in Erod.” I state.
To my surprise, Lyom glances up at me with a scowl on his face, which silences the other servicemen who had done nothing but squabble amongst themselves the entire time I have been with them.
“Or Torrona.” I continue. “Not unless he and Laderic were attempting to rendezvous with Cicero and Sebastien, which I highly doubt.”
“And why is that?” Carnahan questions, condescension dripping from his lips.
I turn my glare to him, tilting my head to the side as I examine him. He is a burly man, his mustache no longer caked with dirt and grime but his eyes are still the color of mud. That cannot be remedied.
“Dominik and Cicero never got along. While Dominik never showed aggression towards them, he certainly was not Cicero’s biggest fan. He would not be attempting to reconvene with either of them. He’ll take provisions with him and will leave for Adaai as quickly as he can. He’ll be in Helmfirth with Zenith Milbourn.” I tell them, turning to give a patronizing look to Lyom, who conveniently ignored me until this point. “But you couldn’t have known that.”
Lyom continues to glower at me from across the room while Jamas leans over the map in front of him, looking over it. “Who is she?” he asks in Lyom’s stead.
I take that as an invitation to join the group. Walking over, I shove Moher out of my way and look down over the map, standing beside Jamas, who gives me a wide berth.
“Zenith Milbourn is a woman Dominik befriended on one of our missions.” I explain.
Jamas frowns. “Is that typical of him? To befriend random citizens?”
“Not typical, but Zenith was a good contact to have.” I tell him. “She was associated with the Helmfirth record keeper in more ways than one. She was also among the several Helmfirth citizens that ran the trade route into Adaai, meeting in the Menca Denu Expanse —”
“We know where no man’s land is, girl.” hisses Moher.
Rolling my eyes, I return to my explanation. “I assume she still resides in Helmfirth.”
Lyom’s expression has not changed. “You’re certain Dominik will be there?”
“I can think of no better place for him to go.” I reply.
Lyom watches me for a long moment, trying to find a crack in my story. He straightens his posture. “If we get you to Helmfirth, you can find this Milbourn?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Fine.” Lyom says, turning to his men. “We leave tonight. If the assassin is correct, Dominik could already be across the Adaaian border and in territory in which we have no authority.”
Carnahan huffs. “Pack warmly; there is a storm blowing in from the north. It will catch us before sunrise, even if we left now.”
Jamas nods. “I will rally the men.”
“Only a few,” Lyom tells him. “We needn’t have a company escorting us to Helmfirth.”
“And if we must travel into Adaai?” Moher asks.
Lyom is already walking out of the room, dragging me with him. “Then we will improvise.”
The moment we step into the hallway, Lyom releases me but continues walking quickly. “I assume you can ride.”
“Don’t I need to pack my luggage?” I ask.
He frowns at me. “Will you or will you not require assistance with your horse?”
“I will not require assistance.” I concede.
“And shackles? Will you require those?”
I glare at him. “Absolutely not.”
Instead of being escorted outside and allowed to see sunlight for the first time in two days, as I expected I would be, Lyom returns me to my quarters, saying he has matters to attend to. Likely the spoiled King wanting to know what his Swordmaster has discovered. I pray he will not dally, otherwise we may as well prepare to ride straight into Adaai.
I use the hours I am left alone to consider how to separate Zenith Milbourn from Dominik. Killing Zenith will not be an option, no matter how much the Swordmaster wants Dominik. Not only would it delay Dominik’s death but I would lose a valuable contact in Helmfirth. I never cared too much for Zenith Milbourn but to Dominik’s credit she has proved to be a resourceful ally. Why she ever aligned herself with Dominik in the first place is beyond me. Then I remember his kiss and with sickening clarity know why. I fight the urge to retch.
Of course, I must keep in mind that after Dominik is dead and Zenith becomes aware of his assassination, she may want nothing to do with me. My keeping her out of the killing may be all for naught.
At midday, a meal is brought to me. I eat quickly and scour the room again for any sign of a weapon. Chances are I will not be granted any sort of sharp object until we arrive in Helmfirth, and perhaps not even then. Lyom enjoys making situations difficult. For all I know, he could leave me with no weapon and insist I do the deed alone.
That train of thought leads to yet another. If Dominik is in a public place, how do I remove him? King Dryden said he didn’t much care where Dominik is assassinated or who witnesses it, so long as the deed is done and the king doesn’t have to dip his hands in Dominik’s blood. But by killing him in plain sight, I risk a riot in Helmfirth. The citizens would be outraged and so would the servicemen stationed there. Unfortunately, the Swordmaster would be helpless to aid me if the servicemen there caught me since this is supposed to be a covert operation.
For the remainder of the evening, I alternate between pacing the floor and expending needed energy. I should rest before we leave but I don’t. I sit up against a wall and wait for the sun to set beneath the horizon and the darkness begin to set over Evrallon. I don’t bother to light a candle when the blackness from the windows seeps into my quarters, the only light coming in from beneath the door. The shadows color my room in darkness and give it an eerie feel but somehow I am comfortable in it. Quay’s doing, I suppose.
I remember once when I cried out in my sleep back at the Aerie. I was young, probably no more than four or five years old but I will allays remember the experience. Quay came into the room and took me from my bed, bringing me down the hall of the Aerie and into the barracks. I’d been confused, and when we stepped into the darkness, I’d begun to whimper. This only angered Quay further so he threw me into one of the cells and locked the door.
“I’ll come for you in the morning,” he’d growled. “or whenever you learn to love the darkness.”
Men Quay had captured for the king were in the cells beside me, trying to reach through the bars. I’d screamed for the first hour but my voice dried up as the night went on and I became accustomed to the complete blackness. By morning, I was no longer afraid of the reaching hands or broken teeth, and I no longer feared the darkness.
Twenty-two minutes pass before the door to my quarters opens and Lyom steps in. He is dressed in new attire, wearing a plain gray vest over a too-thin white shirt, tucked into trousers. Boots come up to his knees and a more practical sword is sheathed in the scabbard that hangs off his hips. In his hand is something familiar — knee-high, lace-up, leather boots. My leather boots.
Standing, I begin to approach the Swordmaster. “Thank Heavens,” I say, reaching to snatch the boots from Lyom. I grab them and quickly take my other shoes off, pulling my leather boots back on. The supple leather has molded itself to my feet over the years and they fit perfectly. These boots have taken me all around the world. I am not sentimental about much of anything but a good pair of boots are something to be proud of.
“We are wasting moonlight.” Lyom informs me, escorting me down the corridor and to the stairs of the Keep. In the foyer I see the king and his daughter waiting to see us out, along with Jamas, who I assu
me is coming with us.
Is this it? I wonder. Only Jamas, Lyom, and me? Doubtful. Moher and Carnahan seemed to imply that they were going as well, and the Swordmaster would not have mentioned that we had enough if we only had three.
In the king’s arms I see another gift he must have for me, apart from my boots. From the near imperceptible hesitation in Lyom’s footsteps, I assume he was unaware of the king’s second gift as well.
Draped over his arm is my blood red cloak, and yet it doesn’t look like my cloak. New designs have been sewn into the fabric, mimicking the throne the king sits upon. Lighter reds twist and swirl into the fabric and it looks longer than before. Is it even my cloak? I wouldn’t be surprised if the Swordmaster grabbed it from the tunnels before we departed.
At the bottom of the steps, King Dryden smiles at us and walks over, holding my cape out to me. “I believe this belongs to you.”
“Hmm,” I muse, taking the cloak. “I don’t recall having such intricate details on mine.”
Dryden smirks. “We have made a few alterations.”
I give him a suspicious look. “I had thought this was supposed to remain secretive.”
“My involvement is supposed to remain secretive,” the king warns, tone sharp. “Your involvement is to be obvious. Who else will be able to accomplish such a task?”
“You give Dominik too much credit. Your Swordmaster could kill him.” But I suppose the Swordmaster could kill anyone he wanted to. Though I have been with him only a couple of days, I have already determined that he is the kind of man that would sever someone’s head from their body and never flinch. He would watch as the head rolled and his eye would not even twitch.
I am an assassin and even I do not kill someone easily. Perhaps I block out the feelings during the assassination, but when I return to the Aerie or to the home I am staying in, I am forced to deal with the consequences of my actions.
