Ivar's Escape (Assassins of Gravas Book 2)

by N. J. Walters

  “What’s your name?” Given his appearance, it was hard to tell if it was her target. He’d lost weight and was totally disheveled and dirty. It was doubtful his own mother would recognize him in a fully lit room, let alone by dim candlelight.

  He swallowed heavily, his throat rippling. His fingers tightened around the stub of candle. He opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again. “I don’t know.” His breath hit the flame directly, blowing it out and plunging them into darkness.

  Chapter Two

  No! his mind screamed, but he clamped his lips together to keep the sound inside. Was he having a dream? Had his mind finally snapped?

  He’d been talking to someone, hadn’t he?

  A soft scratching sound and then a flame leaped to life. “Put the candle out through the bars and I’ll light it for you.” The voice was low and calm.

  The fire sputtered and went out, plunging them into darkness again.

  Another scratching sound and light appeared once again.

  His fingers curled possessively around the stub of candle before he thrust it through the bars. The tip of the match touched the wick, flared, and then settled into a steady glow.

  Carefully, he pulled it back inside. Enthralled, he stared at the flickering flame. It had been so long since he’d held a light this bright.

  “Hey, are you hungry?”

  His head snapped up and he bared his teeth. His stomach growled as he studied the person who’d invaded his small world. Was this some new ploy to somehow break him?

  “Here.” The youth—because whoever it was, they were small and slender and the voice sounded young—reached into a pocket and pulled out a nourishment bar.

  He wanted to lunge for it, but refused. Better not to want it only to have it taken away. He raised the candle higher and studied his visitor. Dark skin that was smooth in some spots and pockmarked in others. The shirt and pants were dirty but of decent quality. He wanted to say it was a young man, but something stopped him. There was something almost feminine about the way the visitor moved.

  “How did you get in here?” he asked. The door hadn’t opened. He’d have heard it.

  White teeth flashed. “That’s my secret.” The bar was unwrapped and tossed through the bars. His free hand snapped out and grabbed it. The wrapper was folded back up and stuffed back into a pocket. Smart. No evidence for the guards to find.

  “Who are you?” he asked again. The bar in his hand was worth more than gold. It was small but packed with nutrients. He hadn’t seen one since he’d arrived here.

  “Call me Del.”

  “Del,” he repeated. His mind came up blank. No surprise there. “Do I know you?”

  “No. Who are you?”

  Frustration coursed through his veins. Pain pounded at his temples. He dropped the treasured bar and the candle to the ground and gripped his head. Why can’t I remember?

  “Hey, it’s okay.” The voice soothed him. This time, the accent was gone and it was more of a lilt. It sank into his bones, past the fear that threatened to consume him.

  It’s a woman.

  That certainty filled him. He grabbed the candle, which was beginning to sputter, and sat it upright beside him. On his knees, he gripped the metal bars. “You have to leave. You can’t be caught here.” What they’d do to a woman didn’t bear thinking about.

  She jerked back as though he’d hit her. “You’re worried… About me?”

  “Women aren’t treated well around here.” The nourishment bar was lying on the stone by his knee. He grabbed it, bit off a chunk, and began to chew. The slightly nutty taste was pleasant and so different from everything he’d eaten in far too long.

  “You really don’t remember your name?” Del totally ignored his revelation about her identity.

  He shook his head. “I’ve been hit so many times it scrambled my brain.” He prayed that was all it was. That it wasn’t permanent. This wasn’t anything he hadn’t told his captors so he wasn’t worried about telling her.

  “Shit. None of us considered this.”

  He ate methodically, chewing each bite over and over until it practically dissolved in his mouth. Only then did he swallow.

  “Do you have any tattoos or markings?”

  Since he’d already checked and his captors had examined him, he shook his head. “No. You’re looking for someone?” Despair settled over him. “You don’t know me, do you?”

  The shake of her head was hesitant, as though she didn’t want to disappoint him.

  His head dropped forward and he nodded. “Thank you for the nourishment bar. You should go.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “What does it matter?” He slid closer to the bar, anger threatening to take control again. His emotions were all over the map, his usual restraint almost nonexistent. It was the flare of hope followed by the crushing disappointment. Better Del had never come.

  “I need to know who you are.”

  Prickles crept down his arms. The short hairs on his neck rose. “Why? Do you think a simple candle and food will break me when all the beatings and starvation haven’t?” It was actually a brilliant tactic. He was so hungry for kindness, for hope, he’d almost given in.

  Her hands were fisted by her sides. Frustration or anger? It was difficult to tell.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Shouldn’t you know?” His voice was a hoarse whisper. It had been so long since he’d actually talked with someone. Usually, he was silent. Or screaming from the torture.

  “Just tell me.” She glanced toward the door at the far end of the hall.

  He knew how many marks he’d scratched into the wall. “I’m not sure. I can’t tell time from the sun. But I think it’s been about forty-eight planetary days.” An eternity.

  She started to rub her hand over her face, cursed, and stopped. “Is there anything you remember?”

  He snorted. “I speak multiple languages and can map the known universe.” A vision popped into his head. It was a formal dinner of some kind. “And apparently I know the right silverware to use at a banquet. Not exactly helpful.” He clamped his mouth shut before anything else spilled out.

  “You’d be surprised.” Her voice was soft.

  His heart began to race. “Am I who you’re looking for?” When she hesitated, he almost begged her to answer. He bit his lip hard, drawing blood, to stop himself.

  “I think so. Who is keeping you here?”

  His captors already knew that so there was no reason for her to ask. “A man named Balthazar.”

  Something about her changed. A spike of excitement shimmered in the air. “Does the name Spear mean anything to you?”

  “Is that who I am?” He rolled it around in his head. “It doesn’t seem right.” But it did seem familiar.

  “No, that’s not your name.”

  Your body is a weapon. So is your brain. Use it. The voice in his head rang with authority. He tried, but there was nothing but a blank slate where his memories should be.

  “I have to go.”

  He bit back his roar of denial. She’d jolted his world, given him hope. To take it away would crush him.

  You’re stronger than that.

  “I have to take the candle.”

  She was right. If the guards discovered it, he’d get a beating until he confessed who’d given it to him. He didn’t want Del getting in trouble with Balthazar. He shoved the candle through the bars. The flame sputtered and extinguished. There was a slight rustling sound as she collected it and slipped it into a pocket.

  “I’m going to get you out of here.” Her words sent warmth to his heart.

  “It’s too dangerous.” It was a miracle she hadn’t been found out.

  “I won’t be caught. And if I am, I’m not without skills.”

  He shook his head, not sure if she could see him. “The guards don’t have blasters, but they have knives and clubs and they’re big bastards.”

  “And I’m deadlier than I lo
ok.” The air in front of him stirred as her dark hand came toward him. He flinched before he could stop himself. When she started to withdraw, he grabbed her fingers. She curled them into his, squeezing gently. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  The promise sank into his bones, strengthening them, firing his determination. “You can’t risk yourself. I don’t have much time left. Balthazar wants information I can’t give him. Even if I could remember it, I wouldn’t.”

  “Not even to save yourself?”

  He shook his head. “No, honor is everything.” He’d said it without thinking. It was part of the very fabric of his being. “Family and honor is all.”

  Her fingers tightened around his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ivar.”

  ****

  He didn’t know who he was. That was a situation none of them had foreseen. But the more she talked with him, the more convinced Delphi was that this was Spear’s missing brother. The fact that he could speak multiple languages, map the universe, and had attended formal dinners all fit with his role as a long-range scout for the Gravasian military and a member of the royal family.

  And the way he’d said that family and honor was all was the most telling, even though he didn’t seem to realize it. That was the basis of all Gravasian life. To a male, his honor was everything.

  “Is that my name?” His low voice seeped into her, warming her. Dirty and unkempt he might be, but there was a dignity, almost a regal bearing about him. While she couldn’t one hundred percent confirm his identity, she was willing to take the gamble.

  “Yes.”

  “How can you be sure?” Most men would have been grasping at the piece of information, not questioning it. Another point in his favor.

  “I can’t. Not completely, but everything fits.” It was harder than it should be to make herself release his hand. He clung a second longer before letting go. “I’ll find a way to get you out.”

  “It’s impossible.”

  Used to being underestimated, she shrugged. “Nothing is impossible. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Now that I know where you’re being held, I can make plans.”

  He shook his head. Even through the gloom, she could see it. Her eyes had readjusted to the darkness. And there was a bit of light visible beneath the bottom of the door at the end of the long corridor.

  A muffled sound came from the outer room. “I’ll be back,” she promised. She hurried down the hall and shoved herself up into the tiny chimney just as the door was flung open, smacking against the inner wall. Hand and feet braced, she clung to the chimney, staying completely silent.

  “I heard voices.” The guard’s footsteps were heavy as he stomped toward Ivar’s cell.

  “I was talking to myself. It helps pass the time.”

  The guard snorted. “Better you talk to Balthazar. It would end your pain faster. Now shut up. I need me rest. Don’t make me come back here. Next time, I’ll bring me club.” With that promise, the guard lumbered back out and shut the door, throwing the heavy bolt.

  Delphi remained where she was for long minutes, breathing slowly and steadily. Ivar’s voice reached her as he steadily recited, “I am strong. I am a weapon,” in various languages.

  Closing her eyes, she struggled with the urge to go back down and be with him. It felt as though she was deserting him, even though that wasn’t the case.

  Even though it was impossible, her hand still seemed warm from his touch.

  Focus.

  This mission was the most important one she’d ever been sent on. Ivar’s safety, his life depended on her.

  That wasn’t new. As an assassin, she’d often held people’s lives in her hand. But she’d always been sent to end them. This was the first time she’d been sent to save someone.

  Enough time had passed that she began her careful ascent up the chimney. She paused at the top and poked her head out, scanning the area. It was almost morning, which meant most of the inhabitants were in bed or passed out somewhere. She eased herself down the side of the building, using the chinks in the stones as hand and footholds.

  When she reached the bottom, she moved silently and quickly through the streets, having mapped and memorized them her first few days here. An excellent memory for such things was a must in her profession. She could move as easily through the narrow streets as someone who’d lived here their entire life.

  The hovel at the end of this lane was her destination. She went around the back to the small room she was renting. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all that had been available since she wanted privacy.

  Her keen gaze ran over the doorframe. The piece of thread she’d placed there had been disturbed. Someone had been inside. Might still be there. She drew out her knives from beneath her shirt, took two deep breaths, and then burst into the room. Staying low, she rolled across the floor and came up onto the balls of her feet.

  The intruder was waiting just inside the door. He’d struck, or tried to, but she’d ducked beneath his swing. Without hesitation, she launched her knives, hitting her target. On a shocked cry, he went down.

  She stalked toward him and slammed her foot on his hand, breaking his fingers so he couldn’t hold his knife. “Who sent you?”

  The man shook his head, blood bubbling up from his lips.

  “By the god Melton and his fiery hell,” she muttered. Melton was the god of the Zaxian version of Hell and one of her brother’s favorite ways to express his displeasure. Her knives had hit him too well. The intruder was going to die before she got information if he didn’t talk fast.

  “Tell me who sent you, and I’ll get help for you.” Not that it would do any good. He was already dead. It was only a matter of time.

  He shook his head. “Easy score,” he gasped.

  She snorted. “You were wrong about that, weren’t you?” The man took one final desperate breath before going silent. Delphi lowered her head, hating that she’d been forced to kill someone. There were already enough faces haunting her dreams without adding unnecessary ones.

  There was no time to wallow. The sun would break over the horizon at any moment.

  Moving fast while being thorough, she went through his pockets and patted down his body. There was a small amount of money tucked in a pouch around his neck, a bit more in a hidden pocket in his thick belt, and more in his boot. Not a very trustful fellow.

  There was nothing to give any indication of his identity. The only personal items were his knife, which was ordinary enough, and a pendant he wore around his neck. She studied it, but it was nothing more than a symbol carved into a thin wooden disk. It was a symbol of protection. It had failed.

  Grabbing him under the arms, she dragged him out the door and two streets over before leaving him in an alley, propped up beside a rain barrel, his back to the wall of a dwelling. She removed her knives from his chest, wiped them on his dark pants, and returned them to their hidden sheaths. There was nothing to hide the bloodstains spreading across his shirt. But there was surprisingly little blood because it was a straight heart wound. She hoped he’d sit there for a while, people assuming he was drunk before they discovered differently.

  To add to the illusion, she placed his knife in his hand and left his money and necklace on him. The scavengers could have it. Taking nothing that could link him to her, she returned to her room and shut the door.

  The blanket on her cot had been disturbed. As if she’d put something under the mattress. There weren’t many hiding places, but people always did the expected. They looked around and down. Very few ever looked up.

  Using the tiny indents in the wall, she went up one side of the wall and removed the stone she’d loosened. It had taken her little time to carve a chunk off the back of the stone so when it was replaced, there was a small space behind it the size of the piece she’d removed.

  Her extra money, her garrote bracelet, and a spare knife were there. She retrieved them and returned the stone.

  After heading into the small room that passed as a bathi
ng chamber, she opened the water cistern on the primitive toilet and pulled out the watertight bag she’d stuffed in there. It contained a change of clothes, makeup, and a small stash of credits—things of no real value.

  Hurrying, she stripped off her clothes, pulled off the head covering, unwound her hair from the short braid, and washed in the trickle of water from the waterspout mounted in the wall. It was the reason her room was so expensive—it included what passed for a shower. Once she was clean and all the makeup was removed, she dressed, this time donning leather leggings and a short tunic. She pulled a skirt on over the leggings.

  The ragged boy who’d dragged the body into the street was gone. In his place was a tough female mercenary. Weapons strapped on and everything else packed away, she slung her bag over her shoulder. Time to move to a new location. She’d hit up the local bar, get something to eat, and listen to the gossip. Then she had to contact Spear and give him the news.

  As she left, she finally allowed herself to think about Ivar. Even malnourished and beaten, he exuded a vitality, a strength that drew her.

  She had a soft spot for the underdog.

  “Don’t get involved,” she muttered in Zaxian in case anyone overheard her. She hadn’t seen anyone from her home planet of Zaxus here, but that didn’t mean another didn’t speak the language. Best to keep to Alliance Standard, as that was the most commonly spoken.

  Still, there was a slight spring in her step. She’d be seeing Ivar again and soon. The faster she could come up with a plan, the faster they could both leave this godforsaken place.

  Chapter Three

  “You want to go to your ship?”

  “Aye.” Delphi used the old Terran slang word that was often used by pirates. It was a favorite on Tortuga. They really took this whole pirate thing too far. “Imagine my surprise when I was told I needed permission.” She’d gone through the invasive process of getting into the settlement, submitting to a body scan. No blasters, no communication devices, no tech.

  But no one had warned her about this.