Vicious Circle

by Elle E. Ire

  “I lost count,” she complained, pouting pink lips at me. “I was only going to have one, you know, for courage.” She blushed. “They keep filling up my glass before it’s empty.” Kila indicated the long-stemmed crystal she held, despite the near fall. The liquid within, more of the blue sparkling wine, sloshed onto the floor, but some remained. At least the spill missed the lacy white dress draping her in tiers like cascading water. A stain would have ruined her angelic appearance. She giggled again.

  “I thought you didn’t drink.”

  “I don’t. Not really. At least not until today.”

  Wonderful.

  “I’m sorry.” She was too. I heard it in her voice and wanted to hug her. And as someone unpracticed who hadn’t planned to drink, she hadn’t thought to take an antitox tab. I hadn’t either, but I knew my tolerances, and despite recent events on Vargas’s ship, I was working and had no intention of getting drunk tonight.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll deal with it.” In keeping with our performance, I hooked my arm in hers and led her to an empty pair of seats at one of the tables farthest from her brother. “Let’s get some food into you.” A drunken Kila might give me away. One slip and the entire contingent of guards would have me cut off from any possible escape. I eyed the uniformed men stationed at each exit from the banquet hall, then signaled a server to bring my companion a plate.

  While we ate, Kila kept one hand on my thigh, beneath the stark white tablecloth. Not part of the show, since no one could see it. I considered shifting position, but her fingers trembled, and I figured she needed the contact. The alcohol was playing her emotions through their entire repertoire.

  “Calm down,” I breathed.

  She managed a smile but accepted another refill from a passing servant.

  I suppose I couldn’t blame her. She’d been off-planet for weeks. Now she occupied the same room as the man who’d raped her multiple times. That had to wear on her stability. I watched her throughout the meal.

  Another couple joined us, tuxedo-clad gentlemen, fit and attractive, wealthy shopkeepers from the village specializing in foodstuffs and spices imported from other worlds. Their constant chatter about taxes, exotic molds, and root vegetables saved both me and Kila from having to speak a word. I nodded and smiled and tried to look interested while keeping an eye on my friend and how much she drank—at least two glasses during the main course, and fate knew how many prior to my arrival. I considered cutting her off, but ordering about a member of the ruling household might start a scene.

  They’d filled my own glass twice, and the potency of the beverage surprised even me. Kila didn’t weigh much, so she had little body mass to absorb the alcohol. If I didn’t get her out of the party soon, she’d be too intoxicated to walk.

  Clearing my throat, I interrupted a debate between the two men over the rising costs of preservatives in shipped goods. “If you’ll excuse us?” I drew Kila up to stand beside me. She wavered, catching herself with one hand on the back of her chair.

  “Of course!” one of the shop owners said, rising as well. He winked.

  “We understand completely,” his partner assured us, eyes gleaming and a lascivious grin spreading across his face.

  Their responses played right into our drama. I didn’t care what they thought, as long as I could escort Kila to her bedroom before she embarrassed herself or I had to carry her.

  I put an arm under hers for support, concerned by her dependence on me to remain upright. Turning her in a gradual motion so as not to add to her disorientation, I pointed Kila in the direction of the main doors… and came face-to-face with her brother and his two guards.

  Chapter 15

  HERE. THEIR master was here. Through Kila’s eyes they had seen him, though she knew him not for the great creator he was. And now, even as they came face-to-face with their target, their master was moving away, blending into the shadows, letting matters run their own course.

  A shiver of what passed for trepidation passed through the ephems. Intelligence of noncorporeal beings had limitations, but if He-Who-Had-Created-Them had seen fit to attend this gathering, then their exalted master had lost faith in the ephems’ ability to carry out their task.

  And put other plans into motion.

  Prophecy dictated without the Guardian, their master would achieve eminence. But a multitude of different paths could lead to that favorable outcome. And some might not be so favorable for the ephems.

  “Jaren!” Kila stumbled backward until she connected with the table, setting dishes to rattling and knocking over at least one glass. A servant appeared as if from nowhere to clear the mess.

  He wasn’t the only one to appear from nowhere. I cursed my lack of vigilance.

  Jaren moved as if to embrace his sister, and instinctive protectiveness placed me between them. The guards frowned. I tried to cover my actions by extending my hand to take his. “We haven’t met. I’m Corianne.” My full name sounded strange coming from my lips.

  The young lord recovered quickly, wrapping strong fingers around mine in an affectionate press. I tasted bile in my throat.

  “A pleasure!” he exclaimed, his voice as melodious as his sister’s and equally soothing.

  I shook my head as a sudden fogginess filled my vision. Perhaps I, too, had lost track of the wine refills.

  Jaren’s eyes sought Kila behind me. “I’m so glad. You deserve someone so attractive—and strong!”

  I realized my grip had tightened and released him. He flexed his fingers with a sheepish grin. “I would have come to see you sooner, but with all the preparations for the final ceremony….” Jaren’s hand swept the room, including tonight’s festivities. His grin faltered, and I had the distinct impression the evening and all the attention weighed upon him.

  Poor thing.

  “I would love to hear all about the two of you. Mother says you’re well matched. Will we be planning a different sort of ceremony soon?” His genuine enthusiasm stunned me. He was quite the performer himself.

  “Jaren,” came Kila’s voice from over my shoulder, “you don’t understand.”

  Uh-oh. Had the alcohol weakened her resolve? Too risky to let her continue, I cut her off. “We haven’t made any long-term plans. And we were just leaving. Kila’s not feeling well.”

  His concern seemed equally real. “Should I contact the physician?” This time he managed to pass me, placing his hands on Kila’s arms and forcing eye contact. I tried to reinsert myself, but one of the guards cleared his throat and shook his head. I obeyed the electrablade he carried more than the subtle command and remained where I stood. A better time for this confrontation would present itself.

  “It’s nothing, too much celebration.” The firmness of Kila’s voice reestablished my emotional balance. Her gaze met mine and held it. I watched with heightened admiration as she embraced her greatest nightmare in a warm hug. “Nothing a few hours’ sleep won’t cure.”

  “You’ll miss the presentation of the gifts,” Jaren mumbled. His delicate chin rested on Kila’s shoulder. “I think some of them are even for you.”

  “I know. Forgive me. Please.”

  I saw her fingers press more deeply into the material of his formal jacket. The tone of her words carried heavier weight than a simple apology. Jaren noted the change as well. His head came up, and he scrutinized her face.

  Time to go. “Well, off to bed, then!” I laughed, feigning a bit of unsteadiness on my own feet, and managed a half fall that bumped them apart. One guard caught me by the elbow, helping, not hindering, while Jaren stabilized his sister’s balance. I recaptured Kila’s arm and maneuvered her out of his grasp and through the double doors.

  In the hallway, I sagged against the wall with relief, pulling Kila against me for a moment before attempting the stairs. She didn’t look at me, didn’t speak, but when I kicked off my heels, she followed my lead, carrying the shoes to manage the climb to the second floor. Even so, we collided with the banister numerous times, and our ste
ps weaved to her bedroom suite.

  I wasn’t intoxicated, not in the slightest. The close call with Jaren drove away the mild buzz I’d gained from a few glasses of the sparkling blue liquid. But keeping Kila upright presented a challenge.

  After depositing her on her mattress, I turned and threw open the window to let in the cooler night air. Holding her had raised my temperature to an uncomfortable level. Kila flopped on the pastel sheets with a contented sigh and appeared to pass out. I moved to stand beside her, checked her breathing, rolled her on her side, then covered her with a light blanket.

  Returning to the window, I cooled myself in the ocean breeze and let my heart rate slow to normal speed. The moonlight reflected off the silver material of my dress, casting rainbow patterns on the walls, ceiling, and rug. I watched them shift and shimmer with every breath I took.

  Despite the late hour, I detected quite a bit of activity in the little seaside village. Hand lamps bobbed and weaved along the walkways, the tiny lights dancing and disappearing between buildings. I appreciated the island’s desire to remain low-tech, using it as a tourist attraction. It kept things quaint.

  My sensitive hearing picked up shouting and what might have been gunfire. A bar brawl spilling into the streets, perhaps. Regardless of the cause, additional security guards emerged from a side entrance and formed a human wall at the T’ral mansion’s gates. The island’s first family didn’t take chances.

  Then again, they’d let me in.

  I stepped away from the window with purpose, stripped the formal wear off my body and retrieved my work clothes from Kila’s dresser. Each familiar snap and fastening fortified me. The feel of the knife in my hand before I sheathed it reminded me of who I was. With or without the Guild behind me, I was a master assassin, not some arm ornament for a wealthy debutante.

  I stood before the full-length mirror, scanning my appearance from boots to face. When my eyes met my own reflected gaze, I knew I wouldn’t return to this room. Until now, I’d fantasized about completing the job and sliding back into my consort persona, remaining in the household to comfort Kila through her inevitable psychological trauma, despite being half its cause.

  I’d comprehended little of the religious service I’d attended, but I understood one thing for certain: Kila didn’t need someone like me. She needed a gentle soul, a lover and protector unencumbered by a dark past and a tormented future. She’d be better off without her brother. She’d be better off without me.

  What I needed didn’t matter.

  I waited until I heard voices in the outer hall, male voices. Then I held off an additional hour to give my target a chance to fall asleep. At the end of that time, I pulled Kila’s gift from where I’d hidden it with my clothing and draped it over the back of the couch. At least she’d have something to remember me by, if she wanted to.

  Maybe she’d burn it instead.

  I collected the climbing gear from the storage chest and leaned out past the shutters, my dark-clad form one more shadow against the stone wall. Jaren’s room lay two doors down the hallway, so I counted windows and guessed at the distance to his.

  I held the round auto-extender, careful to keep my palms flat, and ran my thumb over a dial embedded in its surface until the measurement numbers on its tiny viewscreen matched my estimation. Then I aimed for the recessed area around Jaren’s window and depressed the release.

  A self-guided pair of lines a meter apart shot from the ball and angled outward, flying across the expanse between my target destination and myself. Powerful adhesive tips at their ends impacted with Jaren’s window frame and locked into place with a squish. I held my breath, but the sound carried away on the wind and the crash of distant waves.

  Next, I pressed the extender ball against the stone wall just outside Kila’s window. After a few seconds of applying pressure, the device’s malleable material adhered itself to the rock and secured my end of the wires. Now I had two taut cords, each capable of holding five times my weight, stretching from one window to the other.

  I slapped grip soles to the bottoms of my boots and prepared to pull on a pair of climber’s gloves, when I heard the rustle of Kila’s sheets.

  “Cor?”

  As if compelled by some unseen force, I rose from the windowsill, leaving the gloves behind, and crossed to stand over her. The grips on my shoes made sucking sounds with each step, and I winced at the noise shattering the peace of the moment.

  At some point during my preparations, Kila had rolled onto her back and wriggled free of the coverings. Her filmy dress gathered around her thighs, and the paleness of her skin shone in the light cast by the moon. I could see her eyes were open, but her exposure kept drawing my gaze lower.

  Backlit, I must have appeared as no more than a silhouette—a silhouette in assassin gear.

  She extended a hand to me, and I reached out to grasp it, letting her draw me to sit beside her on the bed. The mattress exhaled with the addition of my weight, a soft sigh of escaping air.

  Kila didn’t release me, but rather drew me closer, then closer still until our faces were centimeters apart. With a slight lift of her head, she closed her lips over mine.

  I forgot to breathe. I forgot to think. Her petal-soft touch drifted away, making me wonder if I’d imagined the contact. I leaned my other palm onto the mattress to prevent my body’s collapse. Part of me wanted to fall, to press myself against her, but I locked my arm in place. If this was going to happen, she had to lead.

  Reading my thoughts, Kila took the hand she still held and placed it over the thin fabric between her breasts. Her heart pounded so hard I wondered I couldn’t hear it in the near-silent room. The pulse drove through the skin of my wrist and traveled up my veins, maddening me with its echo. My own heart rate raced to catch up.

  The outer edges of my fingers brushed the sides of her breasts. Keeping my palm firmly in place, I moved my fingertips ever so slightly over her soft curves. Her body arched, pressing her more firmly against my hand. Kila’s breath caught. Mine came more heavily.

  All pretense of resistance fled. I leaned down and caught her mouth with my own, my tongue teasing her lips and tasting the fruity blue sparkling wine. Kila released my hand to run hers through my hair, allowing me to explore her body more freely. I strummed my fingers from her waist up her rib cage and over one breast, then across to the other and down the opposite side. Her sharp inhalation broke our kiss.

  Every piece of clothing I wore felt too restrictive. Despite the open window, the room sweltered. Kila captured my hand again, this time bringing it to her uncovered thighs. The heat of her soft skin seared me. Her perfume of flowers and spice dazed me more than any alcohol or drug.

  Unsure of myself, I hesitated, drawing a tiny whimper from her. I knew what I liked. I had no experience with other women. Very slowly, then a little faster, I ran my fingertips in a feathering touch up and down the crease where her legs pressed together, encouraging her to part them. I hoped I might give her a pleasurable memory to blot out her brother’s aggressive acts.

  My hand stilled.

  In her intoxicated state, how was this any better than what Jaren had done?

  I wanted her. My desire rivaled what I’d had with Micah at the height of our affair. A desperate groan escaped me as I sat up on the bed and drew my arm away.

  Kila wrapped both her hands around my wrist. “Please stay.”

  I forced a smile, hoping she could see it in the darkness. “Ask me again when you’re sober.” I pulled from her grip and brushed strands of hair away from her face, thinking the gesture might soften my refusal.

  “You won’t want me then.” Kila rolled onto her side, facing the wall. The bed shook as she trembled.

  What in all hells did that mean? Did she know I didn’t plan on coming back? By the time the alcohol wore off, I’d be long gone. Was that it? I opened my mouth to argue with her, but there was no argument for truth and nothing more to be said.

  I returned to the window and slipped
on the climbing gloves, trying to ignore the muffled sobs emanating from the pile of pillows and blankets behind me. Swinging my legs over the sill, I planted the grip soles of my boots on the lower wire and clutched the upper one with both hands. Then I edged my way along the exterior of the T’ral mansion.

  Even through my clothing, the cold stone sapped the arousal heat from my body and enabled me to focus on the job. Down below, in the adjacent village, the shouting had risen in volume, and more gunfire resonated along its streets. Something had turned the sleepy town into a shooting gallery, likely all the mercs and other visiting military types, but I couldn’t concern myself with any of that right now. The job mattered, nothing but the job, because that was the only thing keeping me from climbing back through the window and into Kila’s bed.

  All the windows on the second floor were dark. The one on the guest room between the siblings’ suites was closed. Jaren’s, however, hung open, and every scrape I made against the exterior wall accelerated my pulse. As I arrived at his ledge, clouds obscured the moon and plunged me into absolute darkness. The lights in his suite were extinguished, but as I seated myself on the sill, I heard faint snoring coming from within and knew the young lord had retired for the night.

  I found the window seat Kila described and used it to climb into the room. I removed the grip soles and placed them in my pocket but kept the gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints on anything. Then I waited.

  The moon appeared from behind the clouds, lighting the room. The layout of the furnishings matched Kila’s, though the specific decorative choices reflected a more masculine taste. The light wood dresser and chairs bore sharp angles rather than rounded edges. Darker fabrics instead of pastels covered the couch and the bed. As expected, woven art pieces hung from the walls. I couldn’t make out their themes or subjects in the shadows, but their rough fringes identified them.