Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  She shook her head. “No. He couldn’t have known there even was a ring! He ordered me to have one forged, remember?”

  “Yes. It doesn’t make sense.” He sighed and lifted his hand to stare at the band of gold and obsidian. “I just wanted to protect her.”

  So that’s it! Guilt… Mya knew about that, too.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Lad, but blaming yourself for Wiggen’s death isn’t going to help.”

  His glare stopped her pacing. “How can I not blame myself? The only thing that makes sense is that Kiesha killed Wiggen because she wore the ring. I put the ring on her finger. I told her it would keep her safe.”

  “And it did!” She met his ire, forcing her voice to calm. “She saved Lissa with it! If she hadn’t been wearing the ring, she would have been killed by Horice.”

  “If she hadn’t been wearing the ring, she wouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

  “Okay. Maybe, but you can’t keep blaming yourself. It’ll kill you, Lad!”

  “You’re wrong. I can blame myself, and I do.” He looked out the window. “I killed her.”

  “Fine. Blame yourself!” He snapped around, eyes hard, but Mya refused to relent, determined that he would listen to the truth, even if it meant her death. “But if you think killing Kiesha, or whoever was running her, is going to make you feel better about Wiggen, you’re being stupid.”

  “I don’t care about feeling better, Mya!” Two steps brought him to her, his luminous eyes blazing. “I’m going to find out who did this, and I’m going to kill them!”

  Mya bit back her terror and held her ground, determined to help him despite himself. “For five years you told me you weren’t a killer, and now all you want to do is murder someone. You told me you were more than just an assassin.”

  “I was more!” Lad trembled, seething with rage. “I was a father and a husband, but all that’s gone!”

  “Gone?” She clenched her jaw against a sharp retort. “You still have a family, Lad. You still have Lissa! If you kill for vengeance, could you ever face her again? Could you face Forbish and the rest of them? If you become a murderer, you’ll be alone forever.” Like me…

  “I should be alone!” The pain in Lad’s voice cut her like a razor. “I put my whole family in danger just by being what I am, Mya. They’re better off without me.”

  She knew it was true, but coming from him it sounded wrong.

  “No, they’re not, and you’re not better off without them.” Mya knew what it was to be alone. She couldn’t let him do that to himself. “You told me they make you stronger, make you human. Now, for fear of putting them in danger, you want to become nothing but a murderer?”

  “I can’t be guildmaster and have a family, Mya. It’s not safe for them!”

  “Then I’ll take it.” Mya bit her tongue in surprise. Where in the Nine Hells did that come from? Where, she didn’t know, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

  “What?”

  “I’ll take the ring.” She might not be able to help him the way she wanted to, but she could help him in this. “We’ll tell the Grandmaster that you put the ring on by mistake.”

  “But…” Lad stared at her, speechless for a moment. He looked down at the ring on his finger, then back to her. “But you didn’t want it.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I’m an assassin, Lad. That’s all I’ll ever be. You’re…more than that.”

  His countenance softened, and Mya felt as if those luminous eyes stared into her soul. “Why would you do that?”

  Love is a weakness…

  “Because I was wrong to be afraid of it.” She brushed her hair back behind her ear. “If the Grandmaster doesn’t kill me outright for burning his letter, I’ll tell him I’ll take his offer. He wanted me to be Twailin guildmaster in the first place. We can convince him you’re not very good at it, that you’re better as my personal bodyguard.” Her mind spun ahead, warming to the possibilities. This just might work. “If he agrees, I’ll help you find whoever is behind Wiggen’s death, and we’ll see an end to it. After that, you can be a father again. You can leave; take your family and go. You never signed a blood contract, so the guild can’t track you down. You’re the only assassin in the guild who can escape. Nobody will dare touch you as long as I’m Twailin’s guildmaster.” She would be a slave forever, but that would change nothing, and maybe, just maybe, she could give Lad his life back. He could be a father again.

  Lad stared at her so long that Mya fidgeted under his scrutiny.

  “And if he refuses?”

  Mya shrugged. “Then we’re back where we started. We won’t know unless we try.”

  “What if he’s behind Wiggen’s murder?”

  Panic screamed through Mya’s mind. He’s going to get you killed!

  She forced the fear down. She was ready to die for him a moment ago. Nothing had changed, but she might be able to convince him to exercise some restraint. “Then bide your time. Kowtow and kiss his feet, if that’s what he wants, but don’t do anything stupid. Neither of us can touch him. If we find out he’s responsible, then we back out and make a plan. Maybe you can have someone cut the ring off and go back.”

  “I could have someone cut it off now.”

  “No.” Mya shook her head, her mind in full assassin mode now, thinking of the potential problems, all the pitfalls that could get them killed. “He’ll never see you if you’re not wearing the ring. Besides, you said yourself that it’s a long shot that he had anything to do with this. We’ll meet with him, get the facts, and plan from there. Kiesha’s the key. If we don’t learn anything in Tsing about Patino or the Grandmaster, we’ll find Kiesha on our own, and discover the truth.”

  He stared at her, his face unreadable. “You’re…brilliant, Mya. I didn’t think…” He shook his head. “I didn’t think I could ever escape.”

  The flicker of hope in Lad’s eyes sent a surge of warmth through Mya that she’d never experienced before. I did that. I gave him that. “Now, how do we get you to sleep? Have you tried meditating?”

  “Yes. It doesn’t work. I can’t concentrate.”

  “Well, you could try alcohol, but you don’t want a hangover tomorrow.”

  “Alcohol makes it worse.” He shrugged and turned back to the window. “And it gives me nightmares.”

  Mya knew about nightmares, too. She still had them.

  “Okay, then.” The obvious solution flashed into her mind, but she knew that if she suggested sex, the fragile trust she’d forged would be shattered. “How about exercise? I know sitting in a carriage all day has my muscles in knots. Have you been doing your dance? Your perfect fighting style?” She knew he hadn’t since they left Twailin.

  “No. Not for…some time. I can’t focus.”

  “You need to. Come on.” She pushed a chair out of the way, and kicked Lad’s blanket and pillow into the corner. “I’ll help. We can do it together.”

  “There’s not enough space in here.”

  She grinned and nodded to the window. “I’m sure we can find someplace secluded outside.”

  “But…” Doubt flashed across his eyes, reluctance.

  “You have to want to do this, Lad.” She saw his resistance stiffen. Wrong approach. “Do you want to sleep or not?”

  “Yes, but…” He took another deep breath and closed his eyes. “Forcing myself…to get over this…seems…wrong.”

  Guilt… She knew that poison, and how to draw it out.

  “Getting a decent night’s sleep doesn’t mean forgetting about Wiggen.” His eyes flicked open, filled with pain, but less anger. That’s it! Now she knew the lever she could use to get him past this guilt. “Would she want you to drive yourself crazy like this?”

  “No.”

  “Then let’s go out and get some exercise.”

  He hesitated as if he might pose yet another excuse, then relented. “All right.” He retrieved a dark shirt from his trunk and slipped it on while she opened the win
dow.

  Mya slipped out of her pajamas. Her wrappings were comfortable, and she didn’t want to give Lad time to change his mind by changing into her work clothes. A quick glance out the window confirmed that no one was about. “Ready?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then follow me.”

  Mya took two steps back, then a running dive through the window. Cool night air and starlight engulfed her. She flipped as she fell the three stories, landing in the courtyard silently and all but invisible. Lad landed like a feather beside her, taking the shock of the drop on the balls of his feet.

  “This way.” She took off at a dead run, sparing only a quick glance back. He was there, right on her heels, his footfalls no louder than her pounding heart.

  They dashed through the courtyard gate, across the road, over a low stone wall, and up the sloping hill of a fallow field beyond. At the crest of the rise she stopped, and he beside her. The short run had neither of them breathing hard, but her muscles were loose and warm. They stood on a low knoll, a quarter mile from anything or anyone, alone under the starlit sky.

  “Secluded enough?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s begin.” Side by side, they both clenched fist to palm in front of their chests, and bowed.

  They commenced in perfect unison.

  Step, sweep, spin, punch…

  Two shadows in the darkness, invisible save to one another.

  Block, step, turn, strike…

  Mya felt Lad moving with her as she increased the cadence, perfect in their synchronicity.

  Lunge, step, kick, spin…

  Faster, yet still their motions were as one, a single deadly creature spinning through the night.

  Mya’s heart pounded, not with exertion, but elation. She recalled the battle in the courtyard near Fiveway Fountain, their deadly dance together through the blood and rain, the flashing blades and gore. Now, as then, they were bound by a synergy that transcended anything physical, much less carnal.

  This… Mya increased the pace to a blinding cadence, her feet churning the loamy soil as she spun. This is all I’ll ever have with him. It’s enough…

  The sequence ended with them poised in the final bow. A light sweat dampened Mya’s brow, but she was hardly tired.

  “Again!” She slipped into the opening stance.

  “Yes.” He followed, every move as fluid as water on glass.

  They began again, two killers seeking solace in physical perfection, fighting their inner demons the only way they could, if only for the hope of a dreamless night’s sleep.

  If only…

  Chapter XVII

  Lad bolted up off the floor, kicking away his tangled blanket to land on the balls of his feet, poised to kill.

  Another knock sounded at the door, and a maid called out, “Sir. Ma’am. Breakfast.”

  “We’ll be down shortly.” Mya smiled at him from the bed. “You slept.”

  “Yes, I…I did sleep.” Still groggy, Lad rubbed his face.

  Gods, how I slept… And for the first time in weeks, his dreams had been silent. They’d returned to their room very late, exhausted and drenched in sweat. While Mya padded out to the bathing room, Lad had quickly washed with a damp cloth, and lay down in his makeshift bed. He hadn’t even heard her return.

  “I’m glad.” Mya’s gaze flicked down from his eyes, then back up. Only when he followed that gaze did he remember that he’d doffed his sweat-damp silks before bathing the night before. He stood before her mother naked and, while his mind wasn’t quite awake yet, the rest of his body certainly was.

  He snatched up the blanket and wrapped it around his waist. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’ve seen you naked before. It doesn’t bother me.” Mya brushed her hair back as she looked away.

  Not like this you haven’t. Wiggen had taught Lad modesty, informing him laughingly that he couldn’t go taking his clothes off in front of just anyone…only her. His chest tightened with the remembrance, and he turned his back as Mya got out of bed. He heard her doff her pajamas, then the slither of her wrappings as she pulled them off the clothes tree where she’d hung them to dry overnight.

  As he reached for his trousers, motion drew his eye to the mirror beside the dresser, and he stopped short. Mya stood with one foot on the dressing chair, her back toward him as she wound her wrappings around her leg. A lattice of tattoos covered her like black lace, shimmering on her smooth skin, rippling as she moved, dark and liquid.

  Lad looked away, angry at the instinctive tug of lust. He knew his reaction was natural, purely physical and impossible to suppress, but that didn’t stop the guilt. It made him feel unfaithful to the only woman he had ever loved. Grabbing his trousers, Lad pulled them on and struggled to button them.

  Despite the embarrassment, he felt remarkably better, able to think clearly for the first time in days. Exercise and sleep… They’d repeated the dance a dozen times, improvising as they progressed, modifying the sequence to complement one another. It had felt good to move, to concentrate, to immerse himself in the sequence, to stretch both body and mind.

  “Thank you for coaxing me into exercising. I feel much better.”

  The sound of Mya’s wrapping halted for a moment. “I’m glad I could help,” she said hesitantly, then resumed.

  Lad stole another glance as he donned his shirt. Covered from the waist down, she continued wrapping with quick, deft motions, the magically enhanced material writhing to cover every bit of tattooed skin as she wound it around and around.

  So wrapped in secrecy…

  Mya glanced over her shoulder, caught his gaze in the mirror, and stopped again, the bundle of black cloth poised at her waist.

  Lad looked away first, snatching up his waistcoat and pulling it on. They finished dressing in silence, the only words a muttered curse from Mya as she cinched the laces of her corset. The silk and metal contraption creaked, squeezing her figure into an hourglass shape. Wiggen had never worn a corset. Such affectations seemed as silly as the cravat he was struggling to tie, and the hard-soled shoes that tortured his feet.

  Lad packed their few items in their trunks as Mya pulled her voluminous dress over her head. Finally, he was free to turn around.

  “There!” She finished tightening the laces and smoothed the skirt. “Presentable once again.”

  Lad shrugged into his jacket and tugged it straight. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

  “A little.” Her eyes roved over him from head to toe. “Your tie’s crooked. Here, let me fix it.”

  As she stepped close and reached up to adjust the bothersome thing, Lad suppressed the urge to step back. Mya’s proximity had always set him on edge, and her touch made him grit his teeth. But not last night, he realized. They’d spent half the night working themselves to exhaustion, always close, often touching, and he’d felt no reticence. So why now? He held still while she adjusted the cloth and pin, tugged the lapels of his jacket, and patted the wrinkles out. Her hands lingered for a scant moment longer than necessary before she stepped back.

  “There. Perfect.” She bit her lip.

  Another tell. Lad wondered at her nervous mannerism. Since her outburst last night, Mya had not shown her usual fear of him. But these tells… She was clearly hiding something. His thoughts turned to her offer to take the guildmaster position. Was she sincere? Mya never did anything that didn’t further her own ends, and when he’d asked her why, she’d brushed her hair back, yet another sign of evasion. What’s her motive? Did she have some scheme brewing? Would she denounce him as a usurper to gain the Grandmaster’s favor? He didn’t like to think it, but she’d betrayed him in the past. Then, last night, she’d helped him. Why?

  “Let’s go.” Lad flipped the trunk lid closed. When he turned around, she was already fidgeting at the door, her nails ticking together as she flicked her finger and thumb, yet another tell. What’s bothering her? “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She opened the door and hurried
through. “Just hungry. I can smell the bacon from here, can’t you?”

  “Yes.” Lad followed, his mind awhirl. Was she regretting her offer to help him, or was there something else she was keeping from him? He would find out sooner or later. At least now he could think straight.

  Nice place, Norwood thought as he looked out the window at Baron Patino’s estate. Pea gravel crunched under his boots as he stepped down from the carriage. Brutus growled at the workers bustling about the outbuildings; there were too many people about for the dog’s liking. For now, Norwood was fine with the crowd. An assassin wasn’t likely to strike with a dozen folks looking on. He patted the dog’s head.

  Norwood looked around, scrutinizing the estate. The gravel drive circled a granite sculpture of the Patino coat of arms taller than the captain. The house itself, a pillared edifice in the plantation style, stood two stories high, with arched walkways and white-stone balustrades on the second-floor balconies. Beside the drive and beyond the house, stables, barns, sheds and workers’ quarters were set amidst vegetable gardens and corrals, everything spotlessly clean.

  “Have them stable the carriage. I’ll be a while.”

  “Yes, sir.” The driver and single guardsman lounged back in their seats, blissfully ignorant of the danger their captain might be walking into. Tamir was the only one Norwood had told, and he was nowhere in sight. Playing this so close to the vest was dangerous, but his plan would only work if the assassin thought Norwood was here without protection.

  A burly man with sleeves rolled up over well-muscled forearms approached, two bright-eyed sheepdogs following at his heels. Brutus growled at the long-haired animals, and they cowered behind their master.

  “Easy, boy.”

  “And can I be helpin’ you, sir?” The man’s voice had a thick back-country brogue.

  “Yes. I’m Captain Norwood of the Royal Guard. I’m here to see Mistress Jieco.”

  “Mistress said someone would be comin’ by, Captain.” The man looked him up and down. “I’m Sinthas, the foreman. The mistress should be—”

  “Right here.” The estate manager stepped out the front door onto the porch. She was dressed in trousers and boots, a riding crop in her hand, her hair bound in a tight braid, and a broad-brimmed hat flopping against her back from a strap around her neck. Her sharp eyes said plainly that she wasn’t happy with this. She hadn’t been happy last night either, when he told her his plan, but in the interest of capturing Baron Patino’s killer, she’d agreed to help. “I hope this doesn’t take long. I’ve work to do.”