Chapter 34
Keira
There were several reasons why a known assassin would flee a kingdom.
Every reason was ingrained into my brain with so many other details that I had been taught would be necessary in my line of work. The art of assassination comprised of many components, none of which came easy or without a price.
But every assassination has some amount of gaining information, planting evidence, aliases, forged credentials and devious planning.
Just as every spy always has a backup plan. This was mine.
“I don’t expect you to supply me with an explanation,” Rorcan muttered from a few feet behind me, no doubt, with his blade still in hand as we made our way downhill, “but the least you could do is tell me where we’re going.”
I didn’t speak at first. There were too many loose ends.
“I have some people I have to meet and you’re welcome to come with me milord.”
“I think we’re past formalities.” His voice held a hint of annoyance that I smiled at.
I didn’t bother responding though, as we neared the foothills of the great Valdare Mountain. And yet again, I ignored the strange sensation pulsating in time with my heart, louder and louder with each step I took away from the alluring bluestone castle.
Rorcan and I did not speak for a long time. He did not question me any further and I knew better than to supply him with any tidbit of information that could and would be used against me.
When we finally reached the forking roads, we held each other’s gazes for a moment, his filled with wariness as I had expected, mine with anticipation.
Not wanting to risk anymore time, I started on the second path lined with ferns.
“I can’t let you leave,” he said when I had taken too many steps to his liking.
Letting out a small sigh of exasperation, I turned around with an annoyed look.
“Well then, make up your mind Rorcan.” He frowned at my use of his name. “I don’t have all day to wait for you to decide whether or not you’re going to pursue your curiosities or bring me to justice.”
And there, just as I had predicted, after a moment, he wordlessly followed. I did notice the hand he idly kept over his blade.
“Good decision,” was all I said as we carried on through the bushes.
~
Riveria was a bustling, beautiful town from all the stories and paintings I’d seen and heard of. And yet, there were too many things my traitorous eyes roved over, too many scents I couldn’t breathe in fast enough, too many sounds I wanted to feel.
I liked to think that I had hid my awe well.
It was clear that all people could talk about was the wonderfully executed fundraiser ball that nobody apparently wanted to be done talking about. Except for the fact that many of these people had not known they were losing their money. I was the one who had arranged it after all.
It was a simple yet effective plan; only the elite and compliant would know about the fundraising, no one else. And those would only be the ones that Rorcan and Gladys could easily negotiate with and manipulate. Rorcan and Gladys, because it was evident that no one dared gamble with Ryzen. Let alone even look at him.
The thought brought back a very recent, sore memory;
It must have been well past midnight and there we lay as a tangle of limbs, he and I.
His dark hair was a raging sea of raven waves clashing against each other, this way and that, some over his closed eyes, dark lashes fanning his cheeks. Hair that I had my hands in, just moments ago. There was a raw beauty to his face that was unlike his older brother’s. Where the older Malavek brother was a thing of such beauty, it would have been impossible to capture on a canvas, Ryzen Malavek was sculpted from stone; glimmering, precious stone.
And nothing could stand against the vibrance of his emerald eyes, a testimony to my earlier impression of him. An impression that was formed too soon, I had thought.
But then I had seen the scars that ravaged his back, arms and stomach, the moonlight now tracing shadows around them as I ran a hand down the panes of his back muscles. So many scars… so like mine.
I knew it was because of the curse. ‘Scars seen and unseen shall remain.’ He was cursed to forever be wounded internally as well as on the outside, unlike most Fae, who would heal at a much faster rate. Like me.
But that wasn’t the first crack in my armor.
Something pulled me back into the present, a warm presence by my side.
“You’re thinking of something,” Rorcan observed, causing me to look at him, his face scrunched up in a frown. “Maybe of where to dispose of my body?”
“Right now? I’m contemplating it,” I responded dryly, scanning the crowd.
Rorcan followed my gaze, probably not finding anything incriminating as all he would find were innocent townsfolk, going about their day unawares of the royalty standing among them. Well… and me.
“Stay here,” I muttered to him and made my way through the throng of people. I could hear him calling out my name, no doubt following me, thinking I was escaping him.
He should know better than to do that by now.
It was hard to get to the board that read, Sven’s Concoctions with the heavy rucksack that I would soon have to abandon.
The rickety old door that had definitely seen better days opened to the cramped shop that was much worse than the door. Dust lined every surface and maybe even the white beard of who was most probably Sven.
“Welcome to Sven’s miss. How may I help you?” He spoke in a voice older than the shop, rough on the surface but promising sweetness if he wanted.
“I was looking for someone…” I began, scanning the brown shelves that held all sorts of potions, herbs and roots.
“Oh, I think you must be looking for my grandson!” he said joyously and there was mischief alight in his eyes as he took in my freckled face.
“I’ll get him now.”
As he hurried away I took one final look through the grimy windows to where I could see Rorcan’s tall frame wading through the sea of people, his head turned away.
Sven didn’t hear me when I came up behind him in what must have been the stock room.
He also did not have enough time to react as I blew crushed strewling that I grabbed from the Roots shelf, over his head. Sleep overtook him immediately as he stumbled and his body thudded to the floor.
The sound alerted the young boy I had met two weeks ago. He was young and handsome and most probably a heartbreaker with that jawline and pretty blue eyes.
“Grandpa!” His yell of fright went unheard in the tiny shop. All he would find was me.
“What do you want?” he asked shakily. He obviously did not remember me. Did not remember that he had asked me the same question then, only with a charming smile.
“Unfortunately, I don’t need anything,” I said, my hand tight around the grip of the dagger at my back. “I’m just here to settle things.”
“What, money? Is that what you want?” His hands shook. Sweat beaded on his brow.
He really was a charmer.
“Such a shame,” I said, just before I launched the dagger into his chest.
To be continued…