Myra shrugged, then began to step faster towards them. Her bare feet danced back and forth across the titles of the 'throne' room, the girl seeming uncertain where she should stand. Rosie extended a hand to her sister, trying to get her near. Nodding for a moment, Myra glared at the Bann who only welcomed Cailan with a "My Lord," then her eyes drifted across the mysterious woman to land upon the squire. It was only a moment, a near blink and you'd miss it, but her eyes opened wide along with her mouth at the boy's disheveled state.
"What?" Myra turned away from Gavin, clearly afraid to give the obvious away, "What do you need? What's going on?"
"Our dear squire Rutherford here," Rosie extended a hand to the boy who was focused on his boots at the attention. Myra pursed her lips at the honorific but didn't shout anything. Maybe she was too tired to be confrontational. "Got into a fistfight, I believe, with this woman out on the lawn."
"Why? Was she stealing a loaf of bread?" Myra chuckled to herself before hissing courtesy of Rosie pinching her in the side. "What was that for?"
"Tell me about her," Rosamund sighed, exhausted by whatever chip her sister decided to decorate her shoulder with this time.
Groaning, Myra scrubbed a hand across her eyes, "Fine."
The mystery woman found it all hilarious, her eyebrow cocked up. All the better to emphasize the scar running down it. She didn't have any more upon her face, but the crimson tattoos were eye catching. Circling her left eye and upon her chin, they looked like rivers of satin caressing the woman's face.
"She's been traveling for a while now," Myra began, wiggling a finger in her ear.
"What a quaint notion," the woman chuckled, unaware of what was going to happen. "Traveling to get to a place. I bet it'll be all the rage at the next salon."
Myra ignored the baiting, "At least a week on foot, probably more going by the mud dug up high against her calves. She tried to darn up that tear in that black leather vest, but ran out of thread midway. Someone with that little foresight left in a hurry, or has been on the road so long they don't have time to bother resupplying."
The woman blinked a moment, her eyes rising in surprise. "That...am I meant to be impressed?"
"She's from Rivain, obviously."
"Did the accent give it away?" the woman leaned closer to Myra who didn't bat an eye. No doubt she'd stared into far scarier characters at her mother's orders.
"No, your shoes."
"My...my shoes?" the woman glanced down at her feet as did everyone else watching the show.
Myra began to pace back and forth, "Actually, the laces. Rivani shoes use a particular underhanded style that no one else does. And, seeing as how the shoes there aren't really ones people clamber for unlike Orlesian or Antivan offerings, the only reason you'd own them is because you've either been living in Rivain for a long time, or are from there."
At that explanation Myra parted her hands and smirked. "Also the accent, because no fucking shit. Go with the most obvious."
"Well, that was..." the woman shifted in her shackles, seeming to have been knocked off her high horse, "interesting. Shall you tell me what I am doing here? Or perhaps my name? Can you deduce that from staring at my fingernails or clothing?"
Myra snorted, "I'm not the blighted Maker. Though for you to come this far south, clearly avoiding any large cities no doubt for fear of being found, I'd guess you're either on the run or are chasing someone."
"She's an assassin," Gavin's voice broke through the hushed crowd. As one, every eye turned to stare up at the tall boy whose cheek was already beginning to bruise up from their scuffle. He flinched at the attention and lifted out a dagger.
"These were on her," he said, depositing the first and then second into Rosamund's fingers.
She twisted the daggers around, enthralled by a wicked curve at the end that she'd never seen before. For a breath the mysterious woman shifted closer as if afraid the princess might prick her finger upon it and find herself poisoned. But Rosie was steady in her movements and kept her fingers safely upon the grip. "Were these what she cut you with?"
"What?" Myra interrupted, "You were cut?"
"It's not," Gavin began to her before scrunching up his face and focusing on the princess, "The ribbon around the grip. It's scarlet. Because that's what she is, a member of the Scarlet Ribbons."
The boy paused as if he expected a great gasp, but all the people from Ferelden blinked slowly and shook their heads. Scratching at his face in a nervous tic, he sighed, "They're like the Crows or House of Repose, but in Rivain. They leave scarlet ribbons around their victim's neck as a sort of calling card, I guess."
Rosamund glared right at the assassin's face, the woman's position crumbling below her as she gulped. "That, I hadn't meant with the card before. It was a joke. We don't always leave ribbons around the necks. Be downright foolish if you're trying to make an escape. Sometimes you can stuff it in a pocket or... I'm not helping my case, am I?"
"What do you think?" she folded her arms across her chest, wishing she was as tall as Myra or even Cailan. At such a waning stature, everyone acted as if they could walk all over her.
"That you deserve the truth," the woman said, "and some other thoughts that are best left unsaid." Her voice dipped down into a delectable snicker for the latter half, and Rosie's cheeks burned as bright as her namesake. Maker, she hated having such ice white skin. It gave everything away.
"Well, I suppose I should begin with my name. It's Anjali, by the by, if any of you were thinking of getting me a lovely cake or needed to jot it down on a tombstone."
"We do not afford assassins the luxury of such a memory," the Bann hissed.
Her eyes rolled and she snickered, "Same as everywhere else, I see. Judged for your job right out of the gate."
"You kill people for coin," Cailan snickered, "or is this some other kind of assassin I'm not aware of? Perhaps you only lightly maul others for coin."
Anjali shrugged, "If I didn't do it, someone else would. And poorly, I'd add. At least I make certain they die with a bit of dignity."
"And is that why you are here?" Rosie spoke up, her voice as thick as ice, "To kill me with dignity?"
Her lips lifted in a half smile as if she was impressed that the princess was smart enough to figure out assassin + royalty probably equals assassination. "Would you believe me if I said no?"
"Then you intend to kill me or my son?" the Bann gasped.
Anjali glanced behind Rosie, her eyes narrowing as if she hadn't spotted the man before at all, "Who are you?"
"Such insolence!" Micah stormed, stomping back and forth on his little throne. "Take her to the dungeon, we shall..."
"Milord," Rosamund interrupted his tiny tirade, "please. I want to hear her out."
"She is a murderer. A dangerous woman that..."
"So far has done nothing more than appear," Rosie answered before glancing over at the sorry state of the squire, "and attack one of our own."
"Yeah," Anjali winced, "sorry about that. I didn't know who he was and feared he might be working for the Ribbons."
Gavin snorted at that, "You think me an assassin?"
"You have the skin for it, and the skill. Though, not a good one mind. I did win."
"Says the woman in shackles and at knife point."
She didn't whimper, didn't glance around in surprise at the turn of events. This assassin seemed to view it all as inevitable as the tide. Guards catch assassins, assassins kill guards. One or the other had to occur, and this time she failed.
"Before we get to the headman's axe," Rosie stated to get everyone's attention. She waited until the assassin's eyes landed fully upon her. Forget the Bann, this wasn't his call. "I want to know why you are here and what your endgame was?"
"Oh, is this the point where I play the part of exposition for the audience?" Anjali gasped as if they were in a cheap production at the side of the road, "I was born upon a tall island volcano overlooking the sea when..."
Clearing her throat loudly,
Rosamund crossed her arms tighter. She glared murder at the woman toying with her. It should have scared the one whose life Rosie held in her grasp but as she honed in, Anjali winked then smiled.
"I'm not here on a job, not an assassin one. If you must know, since you haven't lobbed my head off, I'm looking for a friend."
"A friend?" Cailan sputtered, rolling his eyes. "Seems a tad dramatic to go sneaking around in the dark, assaulting people you don't know, when a simple message to pop on down to the pub would work."
"Well," Anjali rolled back and forth on her feet, "things have gotten a bit complicated and..." Shaking her head in seeming defeat, she caused the crimson scarf knotted around her hair to slip backwards. Dark curls clung tight to her forehead, slicked by the sweat and dirt from her fight.
"My friend's trying to kill you, I think. Not as part of a contract with the guild, but because some rather bad people told her to."
Cailan cracked up, "An assassin come to stop an assassin. This is madness. I vote hanging."
"How do we know anything you say isn't a lie?" Gavin sneered. He seemed rather animated about the issue, something in the woman's attack striking him as personal.
Turning back to him, Anjali smiled, "You don't. It's not as if I can prove a negative. I could just as easily claim I'm here to sell you lovely rugs and got terribly lost on the way to the market. Which seems more likely?"
Her words were light and airy, like bubbles in water, but they felt rehearsed. How many times had she used the same excuse to get herself closer to her targets? Was the plan to catch a guard unawares, lose to him, and then sneak in tighter to the quarry under the promise of protection? Rosie glanced over at her sister who'd remained surprisingly quiet.
Myra had the tip of her finger against her lips, which she kept tracing absently in thought. Feeling the eyes upon her, the detective in the family shrugged. She had no idea either.
"Why me?" Rosamund said, startling them all out of their stupor. Anjali blinked, her brown-green eyes honing in on the princess with the question. "Why kill me?"
"Actually, the order was more to off the leader of Ferelden, which seemed to hint at an older gent. No mention of a beautiful young woman or I'd have gotten here much sooner," she tried to switch on the charm but after growing up with Cailan it didn't wash at all.
"Okay," Anjali winced, accepting she needed to try a new tact, "my plan, if it could even be called that, was to sneak in here and get a lay of the land. See, assassins don't come alone."
"Well, you just damned yourself," Cailan sighed as if the obvious answer lay before them.
"Not me, I'm not here... Bishtu! You Fereldens and your... Ugh. My friend, she'll have spies hidden in your camp."
"That's highly unlikely, we only travel with..." Rosie shook her head, prepared to list every name of the people she selected for the caravan. Though a lot were at Karelle's and her father's request, people they trusted. Neither of them would have a reason to put her life in danger.
"Or in the estates servants, or just wandering around playing village idiot. They're here. And now they know I'm here. Because you don't march a person through the halls in the middle of the night at sword point without announcing to the entire town that something's up. Fuck," Anjali cursed, seeming to feel more pain from ruining her plan than facing execution.
"Let's say I do believe you," Rosamund began, then held her hand up to stop the dozen voices asking if she hit her head. "It's a simple what if problem," she said to the others, before honing in on Anjali, "What would be my gain in releasing you?"
"I could get to live?" she threw out as if it was the greatest concern weighing over Rosie's head. "Look, everything. This wasn't supposed to happen, none of it. My friend being here, throwing all of southern thedas into war. It's all..."
"War?" Cailan tipped his head, suddenly very interested in the proceedings. Somehow his sister's life on the line wasn't enough to get him to pay much attention. "Oh yes, of course. With Orlais bickering over the throne, again, to have Ferelden facing the death of a king, who else would we blame but Orlais?"
"The assassin is coming from Rivain," Gavin insisted, jabbing a thumb at the woman he captured.
Cailan sneered, waving a dismissive hand. "Simpletons. It's a false flag. Plant evidence, honestly, you need not do a thing. Even if they left that blighted ribbon, everyone would think Orlais. Boom, war. Who stands to gain from war? The foundries in Kirkwall are..."
"Cailan!" Rosie shouted at him before he rattled off a dozen numbers, "This isn't the time to talk about trading prices of iron." He grumped, but fell silent, no doubt planning to retaliate later. This was potentially Rosamund's life on the line. What should they do?
"Dad," Myra whispered. They could contact their father. He'd have a plan, no doubt. It wasn't the first time he'd have to face down assassins. "Is Dad safe?"
Oh. She hadn't considered...
"We keep going on as before," Rosamund said, a plan falling into her mind.
"While assassins flit about through our ranks? Great plan, sis."
"I will make private arrangements to warn father, but it's far more likely an assassin would come for the caravan than attempt to assault the palace. No doubt that was why she chose to attack here."
"My lady," the Bann shuffled forward, suddenly remembering he was supposed to be the adult here. "This seems an unwise risk, to leave yourself open to such an attack."
"We will have help," she let her eyes drift over to Anjali who blinked a moment and then pointed at herself. "That is what you were going to offer, isn't it? Why you didn't fear death? What better way to catch a fly than using another one?"
"I'd go toffee, sugar water to drown them, and -- when in doubt -- a hatchet," Cailan mused to himself before realizing all the women were glaring at him, "But that's just me."
"Your highness," Gavin broke in, "she's dangerous. I doubt she can be trusted."
"Then that is where we shall begin," Rosie tipped her head to the boy before honing on the assassin. "I will keep your weapons, all of them, and if you can prove yourself trustworthy they shall be returned to you."
Anjali's lips fell open, white teeth sparkling against the umber line before it turned a flushed pink. "That's it? You're not going to chain me to the kid here?" she jerked a thumb at Gavin who sneered. "Or lock me up in a room? Take a hand? Just 'teacher keeps your weapons until you can prove you're a big girl?'"
Rosie chuckled at that, "Oh no, far from it. If you make one move, one step that causes me to question your true loyalty, even if it's not against me or my house...I'll slit your throat myself."
The woman didn't shiver at her threat. Her teeth bit down into her lip and she smiled, "At least I'd get a nice view before my head rolled off my shoulders."
"My lady, I really must..." the Bann stormed as if he was going to ground Rosamund for her choices.
"All due respect, lord Micah, but this is not your decision. I have made mine and I expect it to be honored. Take her to the knights, have them draw up a detail. No doubt they will need to be briefed on all of the information our assassin will share for the next few hours. In the meantime, I believe it is in our best interests to return to bed."
"That, uh," Micah fumbled, uncertain what to do. Rosie's normally soft and womanly form was rock hard. She was so set in her choice, if anyone dared to go against it, she'd have them sent to the dungeon. "Okay, guards, do as your Princess commands. And double up patrols in case someone dangerous is out there."
Both of the guards who captured the wily assassin glanced down at her and sighed. They obviously disagreed, but no one was going to go against the Princess' orders. Together, both grabbed a hand around Anjali's black leather arms and began to drag her away. Before she vanished out the door, the woman winked once more at Rosie. A sensation bloomed in her stomach that she prayed wasn't regret.
Set in her choice, Rosamund turned to the Bann, "If there is no other business, I believe I shall retire properly." No one knew what to say, and watc
hed with distended jaws as their future queen crossed slowly to the stairs.
At the top, Rosie turned down to eye up her brother, "And Cailan?" He glanced at her, a finger rubbing up and down his chin. "Don't try to seduce the assassin."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Healing Touch
Myra rubbed the palm of her hand against her eyes, trying to make certain she wasn't still asleep. She'd conked out in the stupid library, trying to get all those conjugations of Tevene done and sent back before her mother came storming across Ferelden. Her greatest fear had been to die of humiliation while Reiss Sayer scolded Myra in the middle of a ring of soldiers for not doing her homework.
Now assassins were in play. That was a new one. Sort of.
Apparently that was how her parents met. Someone wanted to kill her dad, her mom stopped it. Something something, fell in love, boom a baby. They seemed to be part in partial with royal life, but against Rosie? Who would want to hurt her? She was the chirping baby bird all cozy in its nest outside your window. A mewling kitten curled up in a bag of yarn. Sometimes really annoying but not to the point of wanting her dead. Cailan, okay, she'd believe it if someone was after Cailan. More a case of love's scorn than anything political, but still...
Myra's eyes wandered away from whatever huge room Rosie slipped into to land upon Gavin. What was he doing here? He had his hand cradling his arm as if in pain and one side of his face looked like it got into a collision with a wagon. There was also a sneer seemingly permanently embedded onto his swollen lips courtesy of the living assassin being escorted out. Maker. She was never so grateful to not have her friends around to see that raw anger burning off of him. They'd probably all faint at his feet.
"Hey," she tried to sidle up near him, but kept a bit of distance out of fear he was still running on energy from the fight. His shoulders dipped down but he didn't turn to her. "You, uh, you have a long night?"
My Love Page 293
