“Filth.” Nicolette spit the word like poison. “What do you care what happens to me?”
“I don’t,” Donovan admitted. “I care about what happens to me. I just need to be sure my clients aren’t stupid. So go to Tellus, tell the news, and display some form of pity. Grief would be better. If someone questions you, start counting those pretty blonde hairs on your pretty little head to shield your mind, understand?”
Nicolette snorted. “No one will find out.”
“Aye,” Donovan agreed.
She turned then, and with a whirl of her dark green dress that matched her eyes so perfectly, she left. Donovan watched Nicolette open and shut the door behind her. He looked around and forced himself to read a few more lines about Seamus Swordswinger and his heroic battle with a sea-monster having seventeen eyes and two snouts. When the footpad was certain his employer was truly gone and he could not feel her mind’s presence any longer he began to think of their encounter. The Gaian diplomat had left without a farewell but that was typical in his line of work. What was strange was that she was so certain no one would find out.
Nicolette’s thoughts had betrayed nothing during their discussion. They had mainly focused on his eyes and she had been intent on seeing what else he was thinking. Either she did not find anything worth speaking of or she could simply not penetrate his mind’s depths. Probably the latter, Donovan thought. Yet, how could she be so positive no one would know? He did not trust her, and she undoubtedly did not trust him, so there could only be one certainty. It would be the only certainty he would have in the same position. Clever bitch, the footpad thought and laughed aloud.
He unsheathed his grey shortsword from its fleece lined scabbard and took a whetstone from his leather knapsack. Seating himself on the edge of the bed, Donovan began to sharpen the weapon. He used dusk’s wan light peering through the window to glide pink along the blade. Donovan breathed deep, focusing only on the exactness of his numbered strokes to settle him into meditation.
* *
Donovan felt the presence of a mind approaching the door and his blue eyes flung open. He glided his shortsword into his waiting hand and went to stand behind the door, searching the approaching mind’s desires. As it came closer he knew it was not the whore’s for these belonged to a man and they were filled with lust over a beautiful blonde woman. Donovan thought of the prostitute for a heartbeat and realized the man thought of his employer, Nicolette, as a “jade-eyed beauty.” The footpad smiled.
Donovan cleared his thoughts and searched for blackness in the dark room, focusing on the shadows so his mind could not be discovered. His assailant opened the door carefully and crept through, evidently intent on going to the bed. He had a dagger turned upside down in his hand but before he could stand over the mattress he was thrown by an invisible fiend into the wall. He dropped the dagger and scrambled in the shadows to find it.
“You took the wrong job, friend,” Donovan said as he emerged from the room’s corner. He was holding the dagger and a shortsword as well, but it was the former he used. The footpad shoved the blade deep into his would-be killer’s chest. He felt the man’s heart beat against the blade once, twice, and halt. The assassin looked into Donovan’s eyes with unspoken terror, and for a few seconds after his heart stopped he continued to blink before finally he grimaced and his bearded face froze in the contortion.
Damn fool, the footpad thought as he realized he would now have to stuff the dumb bastard’s body somewhere. Thank the gods the beggar had the sense to keep his mouth shut when the tables turned. Donovan shook his head in agitation and snuck a peak out the window to make sure no one else had to be silenced. He took note that the moon hung low in the sky and then turned back to haul the fresh corpse into the bathing room.
The inn’s bathing room had a latrine in it as well. Donovan dumped the clumsy assassin into the copper tub with a bang. He began to chop the body to pieces, dismembering the limbs and throwing each piece into the latrine. With every section of the man’s body gone a bit of relief filled the footpad’s empty stomach. A shredded body was likely to start smelling right away, but sitting in a well of filth it would be hard to differentiate from what normally smelled like death and what actually was.
After dropping the grimacing head of the would-be assassin into the latrine Donovan unlaced his trousers and urinated down the hole. He laughed as he relieved himself and then he heaved the copper tub upright so he could drain most of the blood into the pit too. The footpad went back to his rented bedchamber and lit a few candles in the room to have a look around. There was only a small puddle of blood in the corner easily cleaned by his enemy’s black shirt. The shirt did well to wipe away any traces of the slowly drying liquid from the tub also.
He tossed the bastard’s clothes down the latrine, as well as his own worn boots. If the dumb bastard was good for anything it was his sense in boots, Donovan noted as he laced up his new ones. There were only ten silvers in the man’s purse. That’s what my life’s worth to the bitch. He chortled. Why not just pay him a rock and a bag of dirt? Though, I suppose had he succeeded he would have inherited my newfound wealth too, Donovan consoled himself.
There was a note folded up in the purse as well. No name was written there but in neat cursive was an address to a manor in Tellus. They were simple enough instructions, with the main command being to deliver a message to a servant named Edward once the deed had been followed through.
The footpad moved to the pine desk in the room and took a piece of parchment from a drawer. He heated a vial of black ink over a candle until it melted and then sharpened a quill with the freshly cleaned dagger. To prevent staining his hands he mentally moved the quill to the heated ink and dipped its tip before moving it back to the parchment:
My Dear Nicolette,
I regret to never having spent more time with you, for your eyes still burn in my mind as two beacons of green passion. You will be happy to know the deed has been done. I wished to extend my gratitude for the extra gift I received on the villain’s person. Should you need my services again, Madam, you know where to look.
Sincerely,
Your Faithful Erebian Servant
Donovan chuckled as he finished addressing the letter, and then sensed another presence approaching and his gaze darted to the door. It opened quietly and a long pale leg showed in the candlelight. The girl giggled from behind the wood and Donovan moved from the desk to pull her over to the bed. Her mouth met his and he sucked on her lower lip for a heartbeat. She moaned and pushed him softly to lie on the mattress. Donovan grinned. Life was good, and it was only going to get better.
Roselyn
Startled, Roselyn sat up from her bed and craned her neck. There was a quarrel outside her chambers and she could hear it despite the closed wooden door that separated her bedroom from the sitting room beyond. The princess wiped the sleep from her eyes and hopped lightly from her bed. She quickly grabbed the crimson cloak that was slung over a chair in the corner and walked briskly towards the sound.
“Let me pass, you fool!”
Roselyn recognized Xander’s harsh voice on the other side of the door and flung it open to find him standing on the other side of her two guards. The firelight in the room reflected well with the fierce gleam in his amber eyes.
“Xander, what are you doing here?” she asked.
One of her guards, Peter, turned his head towards her. Xander took that opportunity to push his way into the room and Roselyn called to Peter and the other guard, Bernard, to let him through. Xander gave each of them a glare before the door was halfway closed behind him. Both royal guards would never knowingly allow another man into the princess’ chambers without their careful attention.
“I must speak with you, Highness,” Xander said. He was still out of breath from the altercation.
“Can it not wait until morning? I’ve been asleep and I am in no mood for company.”
Xander was about to protest when Bernard interjected. “You heard the p
rincess. Leave.”
“I must speak with you now, Highness,” Xander replied, ignoring Bernard completely.
Roselyn saw the severity in her former lover’s eyes. He was clearly in no mood for games and there were few reasons he would even be on Pontos to begin with. This had better be as important as he makes it seem. Roselyn allowed her eyes to relay her thoughts. She sighed, resigned to the fact that there was no convincing Xander to return at another time. With a quick word of gratitude to Bernard and Peter she made for the seats and motioned for Xander to join her.
Roselyn turned to Xander and waited for him to speak. For a long moment they just stared at one another and she could not place what looked so different about him. He was in better physical shape than he had been on Pontos, and he had already been fairly muscled before. He appeared to have lost weight, perhaps a little too much. The princess noticed that he almost looked drawn. The skin around his eyes was sullen suggesting he must not have slept in days, and his hair was tousled from lack of attendance. Her heart went out to him for but a moment, wondering what could have him in such disarray. The thought was squashed immediately as she imagined it might have to do with her. This revelation made her angry, and she realized that he might be there in some desperate attempt to win her love.
“What are you doing here, Xander?” she asked angrily.
“Roselyn.” He sighed. “You had better sit down. This is difficult to say…”
The fire was dying at their feet but their two shadows still danced idly on the wall behind them. She looked back at him and waited impatiently for him to seat himself. When he did not, she became overwhelmed by her annoyance in his overly-dramatic demeanor. “Xander, if you are going to visit my rooms at this time of night to profess your love for the hundredth time, I suggest you get it over with so I may return to my peaceful sleep.”
Xander laughed without humor. “Oh, my vain little princess, not every sorrow that might pierce my heart is because of you.”
His words stung her slightly, not because she was arrogant enough to believe that his world revolved around her but because she feared for what might bring him such sadness. “I apologize. Are you going to stand there like a statue all night or are you going to join me? You requested that I sit, so here I am.”
Xander slowly crossed the room, fighting for words. He settled on the chair opposite hers and used the arms to scoot it closer to where she sat. “I arrived in Pontos a few hours ago to speak with your father, and I wanted to see you before heading back to Triton tomorrow. I’m sorry that I woke you, but I feel that the closeness that we share permits me this task.”
“What is it?” Roselyn’s worry was beginning to show. She instinctually placed her hand on his knee, only a few inches from hers.
“Daemyn was visiting Triton for his monthly meeting, and afterwards we went to the tavern to drink.”
“Sounds like my brother,” Roselyn interrupted.
Xander smiled sadly. “Yes, it does. I have been taking lessons with a woman in Triton for reading and writing, and at dusk it was time for me to leave for my nightly session. I bid Daemyn farewell, and told my man Victor to make sure he made it to his rented room all right. The next morning, I was told that the prince was not responding to calls at his door.”
Roselyn was surprised when she felt a teardrop land on her hand that rested in her lap. She looked at it, not quite sure why she was crying. “Where was he?” she asked in a small voice.
“I went to his room at the inn. I kicked down the door, and I…” Xander was unable to finish. He had begun weeping as well, and his words caught in his throat.
Roselyn looked at him with tear-filled eyes. “Where was he?” she asked again, her voice barely audible this time.
“He was there, on the bed. I’m so sorry…” Xander was shedding tears in full now and suddenly moved to kneel before her, burying his face in her chest. She hugged him fiercely and for a moment neither of them moved more than their sobbing bodies allowed. She knew from his words and grief that her dear brother was dead… but she did not know how or why. Something inside of her was screaming that she did not want to know anything, and did not want it to be true. Nevertheless, she had to know.
“How?” she managed to croak after some time.
Xander lifted his head and his tear-strewn face was inches from hers. “It was his own pistol… his own hand.”
It took a full moment for Roselyn to grasp what he had said. She stared into his eyes, searching for the truth behind the lie he had just spoken. “He… but why would he do that?” she sobbed, suddenly angry. She pushed at his shoulders, needing to put a physical distance between herself and these lies that he spoke.
“I cannot tell you why. I have not the slightest clue what would make him take that measure. Victor said he was joyous as ever, and left him readying for bed in that same fashion. I cannot tell you why, Rose. I just cannot fathom it.”
Roselyn felt an overwhelming wave of sorrow wash over her like the coldest of wintry seas. She collapsed, Xander catching her to him before she hit the floor. Together they melted in a pool of grief. My Daemyn, my dear brother… Roselyn’s thoughts were a garbled mess of woe with Daemyn’s name repeating over and over again.
Hours later, she awoke to find that she was still entangled in Xander’s arms on the floor of her sitting room. She looked at his face, only to find that he was wide awake and staring back at her. His eyes were bloodshot from crying and lack of sleep, and in her tiredness she fleetingly wondered why. In an instant it all came back to her, and she was overcome with a new sense of loss. He held her tighter and she felt that if he had not done so, she may just fall apart.
“I’m glad you slept,” he said quietly. “Though it was painful to watch you cry yourself into slumber so raggedly.”
Roselyn sniffed and rubbed away the tears that were falling down her face. “I wish it wasn’t real…”
“So do I.”
Roselyn couldn’t allow herself to start thinking about her brother’s motives for suicide. Doing so would only slice open the fresh wound of loss. The how’s and why’s did not seem to matter as much now that she knew. The fact that he was gone was enough to devastate her, let alone come to terms with the fact that he did it to himself.
“Thank you for staying with me,” Roselyn said, looking away.
“I would do anything for you, especially with this horror on your shoulders. If you need anything, please, do not let our past keep you from seeking comfort in me. We go back a lot farther than just recent events.”
“Of course,” she answered. He is a good man.
“There is something else,” Xander began. “Thalassa needs a new heir.”
Roselyn’s heart dropped at his words. How could he possibly consider such things at this time? Why is that of so much importance?
“My apologies for mentioning it at this horrible moment, but you must be prepared for tomorrow.” The lump in Xander’s throat returned, and he was avoiding her gaze as he spoke. “The king has decided that it is unwise to leave Thalassa without an heir in place, should something happen to him. He has pushed forward your impending nuptials to tomorrow evening.”
“Tomorrow evening?” Roselyn echoed with wide eyes. She looked down at the gown she was wearing to bed as though that was to be her wedding dress. “So… Patrick will be the next ruler of Thalassa.”
Xander’s jaw clenched. “It seems that would be the case. He is already your betrothed.”
“I see.”
“I should probably leave,” Xander said, moving to get up from their spot on the floor. “Are you going to be all right?”
“No,” she replied. “Are you?”
“No.”
Roselyn reached for his hand from her seated position. “Will you be there tomorrow, at the wedding?”
“No,” Xander said again, curtly this time. His mouth twisted in immediate regret. “My vessel leaves in the morning for Triton. I have some things I wish to take care of with
in the next few days.”
“All right,” Roselyn replied softly.
“Farewell, Highness. I am truly sorry for your loss, and you may look to me whenever you have a need. Best wishes on your marriage.”
Xander left her sitting on the floor and walked quickly to the door. She stared after him in a daze, the events of the evening seeming unfathomable. She refused to allow herself to think about the reason for Xander’s visit. Slowly and unsteadily she rose and walked to her bedchamber. Numbly closing the door behind her she plopped onto her bed and the tears put her back to sleep.
*
Roselyn stared at her reflection in her beaten silver mirror. She looked gorgeous with her golden locks put up and her gown of white and gold complimented her circlet nicely. Her rouged cheeks washed out her pale pink lips so she began pinching them hard between her fingers. Satisfied with the small amounts of red that began to show forth with her efforts, she smiled hollowly.
Here I am. Everything I wanted. An immediate marriage to disguise an unfortunate pregnancy… it was all Daemyn’s idea, and now due to his death it’s all falling into place… My world seems turned about all the same. Would that my brother were here.
“Princess?” a voice sounded from behind her.
“Yes?”
“It is time, Highness,” Namaily, a maidservant, announced.
Roselyn got up from her seat at the vanity and wordlessly followed the maidservant out of the room. In her sitting room, three ladies-in-waiting were lined up holding a long veil at the ready. She moved passed them and stopped, standing silently as they fastened the veil to her circlet and bundled it for easy carrying down the spiral staircase. The maidservants finished, and Namaily led the princess and the other ladies out the door and carefully down the stairs.
When they reached the stairs’ bottom, two guards making their rounds paused to bow as she passed. Roselyn nodded her head without a smile and turned her gaze back to the long hallway before her. She focused all of her energy on avoiding the direction of the stairwell that led to Daemyn’s rooms, knowing she would not be able to recover if she started imagining his presence there. Or lack thereof.
Severance (The Sovereign Book 1) Page 13
