“And you let me bed him?” Loni asked, incredulous.
“I did more than that.” Ann resettled herself in her seat, as if preparing for a performance. “I marched Rane right into your father’s business offices and made him fully confess it in front of your da, and all his senior staff.” She laughed as if the memory amused her. “And not just the sex, mind you. But how you did it casually, knowing he and I were in love. And then put him out.”
“My silent gods,” fell from Loni’s lips.
“Delightful,” Ann squealed. “Yes, the impression we made was that you were a ceiling-looker. A real slut. And that you had no regard for friends or the sanctity of another couple’s love. Now that I think about it,” she said with sudden glee, “we helped them feel the Society of Ruin.” She paused a long moment. “And they hate you for it.”
“I’ll kill you,” said Loni, seething.
“There’s quite a welcome party awaiting you at home,” Ann remarked with glib self-satisfaction. “You should run along and see what’s left of your dowry and family promise.”
“I’ll kill you,” Loni repeated.
And that was my cue. I stood, startling the gaggle of girls. “Mind if I join?”
Ann didn’t look the least put out. I had to admire her self-assuredness. She simply didn’t believe someone would or could do anything to harm or upset her. That’s what would make this night so sweet.
“You wish to join?” said Ann. “You’ve a fine form, but you’re nigh onto thirty. I think you’re a bit old for fetching reputations to ruin.”
“Oh, I don’t need to join your society. I have a sisterhood of my own.” I took a seat among them, looking around. It was the first time they were seeing me, though I’d been in each of their company a good many times.
“Tell us, then,” Ann prodded. “Of this sisterhood.”
I turned back to the ruin leader. “We learn things,” I offered. “With long patience, and much listening, and by positioning ourselves in the right places. We learn things.”
“Rather obtuse,” Ann observed. “Care to be a little more specific.”
“Gladly,” said I. “Let’s take your Society of Ruin. You’re whole purpose is to destroy the reputations of young women.”
“Or men,” Ann quickly put in.
“Yes. And this is done for sport.” I smiled to myself, knowing what was to come. “The most artful of deeds makes the sinner look innocent in the affair.”
“Sinner?” Ann wrinkled up her nose. “I don’t use that word. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said. “Please keep that in mind.”
The other girls began to squirm, stealing glances at my knives. They needn’t have feared steel. In fact, they may have use of it momentarily.
I turned to Loni and began. “You. For you, I ensured Ann here knew your plans, so that she could turn it back on you the way she did. Her own informants would have missed it.” I looked at Melisa. “Your former suitor was not disinherited. That’s only what you were told to make your shame complete. No, he’s next in line to his father’s accounts. And has taken up with another young lady already. A Miss Ann Reyal.”
Melisa turned angry eyes on Ann. “What?”
“Your detachment needs work,” Ann said to Melisa with a lack of concern. She then pointed at me. “You’re good. I could use someone—“
“Katie,” I pushed on, staring into the bright eyes of the intelligent young musician, “You were expelled from the conservatory a few months after you started attending these little gatherings weren’t you? A bright future as a cellist. Took you away from your commitment to this group, didn’t it? I smiled at her sadly. “Until Ann met privately with the Maesteri. Told him you had stolen your two performance instruments. Such was your drive to sit first chair in the orchestra. And when they searched your room, what should they find but two stolen cellos. That announcement reached every music school across the Eastlands. You were expelled. Music thieves are hanged in some provinces. Your father’s money kept you out of prison. And here you’re especially safe, aren’t you? Not to mention that you have time to give Ann her audience.”
Katie’s jaw flexed as she clenched her teeth repeatedly, too angry to speak.
Mary came next. A contradiction of a girl. Devout for one part. Vindictive for another. I understood this one better than the others. “And you, Mary,” I said, seeing her screw herself up to hear what I had to say. “You were your father’s hope for succession as a blackcoat, weren’t you? Clergy. A high seat in the Church of Reconciliation.”
She shook her head at me. Not in denial, but as if she’d have me get on without the preamble.
“A little doubt can destroy so much, can’t it?” I asked with heavy sarcasm, and let the question linger a good long while. “And honesty. Honesty kills, too.”
“You told my mother of my struggle with faith, with the abandoning gods.” There was something deeply cold in her tone.
“Not directly,” I explained. “I heard some of your private prayers, where you wrestled with the big questions. Some of those you wrote down. That’s the Reconciliationist way—with those who are devote, anyway—document, commit to diary. And I made sure Ann got a gander at your writings. Her information gatherers would have missed these, given your careful concealment of them in the canon library.”
“You’re a bitch,” Mary spat.
I’d been called much worse. And I knew the blame would shift quickly to the real source.
“And you,” Mary said, pointing at Ann. “I was removed from the rolls of Reconciliation. Denounced.”
“Oh, shut your hypocritical lips,” said Ann with a flip of her wrist. “You come here with ruin deeds to be a part of our group, but show up to the cathedral with visions of wearing the high vestments. I did you a favor. Pick a path already.”
Mary got to her feet, her fingers balling into fists.
It was working. The temperature in the room was rising nicely. I made my last revelation.
“And Christina, yours is simple. Two children with a husband you do love—a family started when you were fifteen. And here you are at nineteen, learning that your affections are for women. So what to do?” I stopped, seeing her ready to speak.
“Just live through it,” she said. “For my small ones.”
“Then why come here?” I pressed, knowing the reason full well.
She shook her head. I spared her the revelation of her lust for a few women around the circle. But I did give her reason for new hatred. “Your secret’s been shared with your husband. A good man is your Jon. But when his parents learned of it, they had papers drawn up, legally taking custody of your children.”
“You told them?” Christina’s face twisted with rage.
“No, Ann did. At first she was seeking leverage over you. Over all of you. But in your case, Christina,” I told her, concluding my round, “she may not have anticipated the actions of your husband’s parents. A miscalculation on her part.”
Christina’s head turned in a comically slow fashion to face Ann. I knew the look: murderous intent.
“You’re all overreacting,” Ann declared. “We’re the Society of Ruin. I’m your leader. Of course I would need some assurance of your loyalty.”
“Poor try,” I said. “You love the thrill of it.”
“Of what?” she asked, oblivious to the rising storm around her.
“Betrayal.” I thought a moment more. “Which is more potent when it comes between two friends. Or six.”
I pulled a leather roll from a clutch on my belt. Unrolled it. Six knives, each in its own sleeve. I removed them, placing one in front of each girl. Then I rolled up the leather, stood, and strode to the window. By the time I looked back, each girl had taken a knife in hand.
Desire to do death can be felt. And it grows as the action nears. This room thrummed with it. Ann had plotted. I’d made some of that easier. And I’d exposed it
all.
Ann caught my eye before I ducked out the window. “You’re a bitch.”
I smiled. “I’m just better at ruin than you.” With that, I stepped back into the night, leaving the Society to its own.
* * *
“You put an end to some promising young careers,” Jenn said. She took her son’s hand and turned to the door of the house.
Bur held Audra’s gaze a long moment, then followed her in with a troubled brow. He was a man who lived too much in his head because he wasn’t allowed to say the things he felt. He’ll die of mental illness, Audra thought.
The following day the vintner took them to a bottling warehouse. A small affair. Oak paneling. Smelled of aging barrels. A good, patient smell. Jenn and Audra sat at a table with a crate of bottles between two barrels with brass spigots. The vintner showed them what to do, then left them to the work. They filled one bottle at a time with the blend that had formed over the last few weeks after the admixture of yeast.
Red wine. Dark as blood.
They worked in silence until the door squeaked open, and five men and women ducked inside. All were lean. All wore the indifferent expressions of hired cutters.
“You think I’m here to kill you, then?” Audra asked, finishing a bottle and putting the topper on.
“I just got to thinking, after your little story for Bur last night.” She turned a spigot and began to fill another bottle. “You never really know someone. And your friends wind up with too much personal information about you. So, you’re either still Dannire. And maybe here to kill me. Or you’re a very good aide, and have been with me long enough to know of things I’d rather you didn’t.”
“So, killing me is safest, regardless of who I am.” Audra nodded to the logic. “Practical.”
“I think so, too,” she replied, continuing to fill her bottle.
The cutters came in, forming a wide circle around the two women. Jenn finished filling her bottle of wine. She put the stopper in, placed it in the crate, and stood up. “I’ve enjoyed our association,” she said rather genuinely. “But nothing so much as these last few days. I’ll say I’ve learned something from your killer ways. Thank you for that.”
“My pleasure,” Audra said. “Will you be staying to watch?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replied with a smile.
As Jenn backed up to the wall, the men tightened their circle. Much as Audra had done with the Society of Ruin, she pulled her leather roll from the clutch on her belt. She laid it out on the table, and drew the knives.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” Audra announced with good humor, “this is a dance we all know, and which we get to do together. Best of luck.”
A broad-shouldered fellow, came in fast from her left. He feigned a sword stroke with his left hand, and came up underhand with a knife throw out of his right. Old move. Audra waited until the last moment, side-stepped, and flicked a knife of her own. A good throw is in the wrist. This one buried steel deep in the man’s throat. He dropped to the floor clutching at the hilt sticking from his neck. A gurgling sound rose as he gasped a few breaths.
A woman, wiry type, didn’t wait on the first cutter to die, coming at Audra’s back with two short swords. Incredibly quick. She whirled the blades in a disorienting flash. From the corner of her eye, Audra could see a second woman aiming a crossbow. Distraction.
Audra stepped toward the first woman, drawing the aim of the other closer to her mate. Then, she circled out. Slowly. She waited until she saw the trigger-finger of the other tense, starting to pull, fire. She took a sliding step in her circle, forcing the other woman to turn into the bolt. It caught her in the back of the head. Her blades fell. Her eyes shut. Her legs gave out. After all the clatter, Audra snapped a knife at the archer. It buried itself in the woman’s chest.
The last two were men. Older. Sagely waiting to see how the others fared. When their fellows were downed, they hemmed her in front and back. This would not be so easy. Knives would never work on men who’d been at killing a good while.
To her right, on the table, the freshly bottled wine sat, impertinent. While the two men watched, she grasped several bottles from the table and smashed them on the ground in front of her. The ground there was now slippery and sharp. The man in front of her would need to take some care. It would give her a half-moment’s time with each of them. More than enough.
“Clever,” said the one in front of her. He then began to dance through the glass as nimbly as a surefoot—a cutter class known for negotiating rooftops and ledges.
Audra didn’t have time to vacillate. She turned and charged the man coming at her from behind. He smiled, revealing several browning teeth. He pulled a pair of hand axes from his belt. Not good cutter weapons, which made her think he was challenging himself. She respected that.
He set his feet, put one ax up in a defensive posture, and cocked his other arm to strike. He shook his head, as if acknowledging her mettle. A stride from him, she faked a knife strike at his defensive arm, making him think she meant to go hand-to-hand. Then, using her momentum, she dropped, slid, bringing her knives up into him. Not to his manhood. Such was a simple woman’s attempt to declare her superiority, or anger. No, Audra took him in the two arteries that passed down the legs. They’d bleed fast. He wouldn’t suffer overmuch. She afforded him that mercy for showing her a measure of respect.
Then something struck her in the back. A wine bottle. Apropos, she thought.
She whirled in time to see the last cutter throw another bottle, taking her in the chest. The bottle splintered and broke, splashing wine all over her and knocking the wind from her lungs. This was the crew chief, no doubt.
He stepped to the warehouse floor and drew three long needles from his belt. These he shot with an interesting finger motion, sending them deep into Audra’s shoulder, cheek, and stomach. They weren’t killing blows. And he’d not have descended to poison in combat. That was for theatrics, really. Not a test of face-to-face skill. These were nuisances. These showed he could hurt her in multiple ways.
“You’re doing quite well,” Jenn called from the far wall. She didn’t sound concerned, or overly interested.
“She’ll keep hiring out your death,” the man said.
“So, I should give in?” Audra smiled.
“Hells, no,” said the man. “I just want you to understand that killing me isn’t a win. And, for my part, killing you isn’t a brag. I hate to see skill wasted.”
Audra nodded to that. She didn’t give another moment’s thought, rearing with both hand-knives. One she threw at the man’s boot, the other at his chest. Smart as he was, he eluded the fatal blow with a twist, taking the other full in the top of the foot.
He’d now be a half-beat slower than her. She could see in his eyes he knew it. Audra drew her sword. She struck. He parried. She struck. He countered. She struck. He struck back.
They danced for several minutes. Evenly matched. She looked for an advantage.
Behind him, maybe ten strides back, an unbroken bottle of wine lay on the floor. She began to press, forcing him to give ground. She took a few nicks from his blade, but nothing she couldn’t sew up later. She never let her eyes drift to the bottle, but kept it in her peripheral view.
And she guided him. She’d need him to take a full step back in order not to simply shuffle it out of the way. She waited, watching his feet from the edge of her vision. Then she jumped at him, slashing hard. He stepped back with his right foot, his heel coming down on the bottle. He slipped and fell back, catching himself. But before he could recover, her sword was in his chest.
Blood immediately flowed from his mouth. He looked up at her, respect in his eyes.
“A damn bottle of wine,” he said, and eased himself down.
Audra let him die with her sword still inside him. No painful removal. No further blows.
When he’d been still a good ten seconds, Jenn came up beside her. “Well, that didn’t go the wa
y I’d hoped.”
* * *
On their last night in the vineyard, their last night of the wine-making season, they sat on a fieldstone terrace beneath a lattice overgrown with ivy, taking a fine meal with a few dozen other visitors. It was the final leg of the journey, where they’d drink wine drawn by the same process they’d shared over the past week. They’d talk of what they’d learned. Use metaphors. Share regret at having to leave, but eagerness to relate what they’d learned from the wine-making process.
Audra sat with Jenn, who’d yesterday tried to have her killed.
“They teach you wine making as a Dannire?” her employer asked. It felt like an examination.
“Actually, I don’t drink wine,” Audra revealed.
They both laughed at that.
“Am I going to get a glass lined with poison?” Jenn asked. “Or maybe tainted duckling?”
Audra knew they weren’t real questions. After all the years she’d spent as the second counselor’s assistant—and now that Jenn knew Audra’s unique skills—the woman would have realized Audra could have killed her at any time. Perhaps she wasn’t sure if Audra’s Dannire days were in the past. Whatever the truth, she was fishing. A bit clumsily for her, but then she’d probably never been quite as close to killing as she had in the last few hours. Ordering death on a piece of paper is an entirely different matter from watching it take place. Or doing it yourself.
“I think the meal is going to be quite tasty,” Audra replied cryptically. She wasn’t above a bit of fun at the counselor’s expense.
“How does it go in the storybooks?” Jenn asked. “The master of the house has someone taste her food to ensure it’s safe?”
“Now that you mention it, I am rather hungry,” said Audra with a gambler’s absence of certainty in both her tone and expression—more ambiguity to unsettle the woman.
Jenn sat back, collecting her wits. “I wish I’d known years ago how subtly deceptive you could be,” she said. “I could have put those talents to work. Or do you only take commissions from the Reconciliationists?”
Evil is a Matter of Perspective: An Anthology of Antagonists Page 44
