Sprite grunted as she hefted the still-bleeding weight of her latest victim back onto her shoulder. His arms flopped uselessly against her back and she questioned once again why she’d taken the trouble to drag him out of the main house. She told herself it was because he didn’t deserve it, because on sight it was clear he wasn’t noble born. His presence in the bedchamber of Berenice Dynevor was a mystery she didn’t care to solve.
Her leg throbbed from the wound Lerra had delivered. The bleeding had slowed, but she would need to attend to it properly before dawn.
She approached the gatehouse of the quietened estate. Karth and Lerra appeared to have killed everyone in sight. That wasn’t the agreement; the servants worked for honest coin and deserved no part of the villainous bloodlust of thugs. She considered what would happen if she reported Karth and Lerra’s treachery to Flint. Almost nothing, certainly; more likely to receive a knife in her ribs for disposing of her two so-called associates. She snorted at the prospect. Assassins had no honour; it was why she spent most of her time around soldiers.
Dumping the lad on the orderly grass verge, she slipped into the guardhouse and retrieved the keys from an unseeing body as the metallic tang of blood reached her nose. Karth and Lerra had ensured a slow and painful death for the two Houseguards. Sprite regretted she hadn’t been able to inflict the same upon her fellow assassins.
The gate opened with an agonised screech; these Houseguards knew their business. She checked the lad’s breathing; shallow but steady, before she hauled him back up over her shoulder, grimacing as her leg protested. ‘Raleli’s blades,’ she hissed, peering down to check for any fresh welling of blood.
‘You should be more careful with your cursing.’
Sprite almost dropped her quarry in shock as she looked up to see a woman leaning against a gatepost with infuriating nonchalance. Or maybe it was that she’d been able to creep up on Sprite, wounding her pride by so doing.
The woman had the look of an assassin, dressed in leather and cloth of black and grey; clothes made for subterfuge and concealed blades. However, the physique of the woman before her left Sprite in doubt. The leathers and wrappings of cloth couldn’t hide a portly frame; a stark contrast to the lithe, balanced stature of a killer.
The woman’s face was dominated by a nose altogether too large for the rest of her features, but that face split into a smile. ‘Taken your measure of me, yes? My apparent ease can only be a front, hubris designed to compensate for my lack of agility. The only possible way I could have arrived undetected is because you were distracted. You have plenty of time to drop the boy and ready yourself before I close the distance between us.’
Sprite frowned. Nobody had done this to her before; it galled that the woman had given a fair summary of Sprite’s thoughts. ‘Who are you?’
The woman merely smiled, ignoring Sprite’s question. ‘I sense a disquiet within you. I’m sensitive to these things, you understand. Your loyalties waver.’
‘You know nothing of my loyalties.’ Sprite glared emerald fire at the assassin, lifting her chin to emphasise her point.
An eyebrow arched in apparent amusement. ‘Your devotion is strong. Your only true loyalty is to yourself, but we’re not talking about that. We’re talking about things far more ephemeral and superficial.’ A blade appeared in the woman’s hand faster than Sprite could account for, and she sketched a quick reappraisal. Far more dangerous than she first thought.
The blade pointed right at her heart. ‘You wear the look of one betrayed. A thin, recent layer scraped over a much older and deeper wound.’
Sprite flinched before readying herself. With her leg in its current condition, and the woman’s speed, it might be suicide, but better to attack first. ‘I ask again. Who are you?’
The blade danced on the assassin’s fingers like moonlight on water. Brown eyes considered Sprite. ‘Would you take it from me, girl? The gift comes at a dreadful price.’
‘Enough words,’ Sprite growled. ‘Do what you came to do or be on your way.’
‘But I came to talk to you.’
‘Why? What’s so special about me?’
‘Exactly what I came to find out.’
‘Well?’
A wry laugh escaped her would-be killer. ‘I hate to disappoint, but my first impressions were misaligned.’
‘So we’re done.’
The woman sucked her teeth now. ‘Not quite. Who’s the boy? What is he to you?’
Sprite kept her eyes ahead, looking for any sudden movement in the face of what appeared to be misdirection. ‘Him? I don’t know. I stabbed him by accident. I was…’
A faraway look carrying the hint of regret glazed the eyes of the woman opposite, quickly replaced by a now familiar mirth. ‘The compassionate assassin has a short lifespan.’
Sprite grunted in reply. ‘Good thing I’m a soldier, then.’
Now the woman threw back her head, shoulders shaking as she loosed a floaty laugh into the silence of the night. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ Her eyes landed on the lad again, and she nodded. ‘May I?’
‘That depends.’
‘I wish the boy no ill, for now. I merely wish to discern his nature.’
The mystery behind the lad deepened. She narrowed her eyes at the woman before her. ‘What are you? A seer? A priest?’
A hand waved, the mouth quirking in infuriating amusement once more as she moved closer. ‘I told you, I have a sensitivity to certain things.’
‘What things?’ Sprite ground out, breath hissing from her nose.
‘We’ll find out as soon as you cease obstructing me.’
‘You could take him, if you wanted.’
‘And make an enemy of a potential ally.’
Sprite sighed, sure she could never ally with one so... smug. Yes, that was the right word. She let the lad down back onto the grass verge, glad to be free of his dead weight. ‘All yours, just don’t kill him. I didn’t carry him all this way, only to see him die.’
A half-smile danced across the woman’s face again as she moved forward with a grace that belied her frame. ‘I assure you he’s quite safe, at least from me. I was merely curious,’ she muttered, laying a tentative palm on the lad’s pallid forehead. She glanced up at Sprite. ‘Are you sure you know nothing of him? I’d hate to think you were deliberately trying to mislead me.’
‘I told you, I stabbed him by accident. Looks like some country boy here for that damned festival. How he got into the estate, I’ve no idea, but there he was.’
‘Just a country boy, then,’ the mysterious woman repeated. ‘Yet so much more now.’ The humour was gone from her eyes now. ‘What did you see in there, girl?’
Sprite railed against that pointed gaze with a glare of her own. ‘First, you tell me what you found. I want to know what I’ve gotten myself into.’
Leathers creaked as the woman settled back into a squat, hands dangling over her knees. The brown eyes seemed to gather in the night. ‘The lad is God-touched, that much is clear. But there’s... something else, layered over the top of it. Or the residue of something else. It’s as though it was ripped away, forcibly. So I ask you again, what did you see in that house? Or should the question be: What did you do in that house?’
The threat in the woman’s voice was plain, and Sprite quelled her typical contrary urge. ‘My comrades... former comrades,’ she quickly corrected, ‘had killed everyone inside, apart from him. I only saw the last of their victims. A woman, dressed all in white. The Lady of the house, I think.’
‘How?’
‘Decapitation,’ Sprite replied, as though discussing the weather.
The woman’s head bowed, hair obscuring her face. ‘Yeah, that’d do it.’
‘Do what?’
‘Kill her, of course.’
‘Of course.’
Now the woman’s head whipped up. ‘That woman was especially hard to kill.’
Sprite shrugged. ‘Well, she’s hardly alone in that.’
The woman snorted. ‘No, and of course one such as you wouldn’t mourn the loss. Make no mistake, though, a great tragedy has befallen this city tonight. Perhaps even the world, though the ripples will surely be softer.’
‘Are we done here? I don’t know who you are, but I guess you’ve convinced me you’re dangerous. Can I walk through that gate without you knifing me? Because I’ve really had enough of your riddles.’
Sprite tensed as the woman stood. She was certain now that she’d lose if it came to a fight, but she’d give a good account of herself. ‘Fine, I’ll speak plainly, though you may not thank me for it. There’s a chasm inside you. You know why, so let’s not get into that here. You need a purpose to fill that chasm and unless I miss my guess, you just had the foundations of that purpose shaken tonight. You have no identity. Are you an assassin or a soldier, or maybe both? That’s a riddle only you have the answer to, but I can help with the purpose, if only for a short time.’ She nodded to the lad. ‘Get him to safety and stay close to him. This city may well have torn itself apart by morning, but the residue within him should be enough to shield you from the worst of it.’
Each word felt like a tiny knife stabbing into Sprite. It was impossible for this woman to know so much, or see so clearly. She opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off once more.
‘No, I didn’t invade. I merely see much of myself in you.’
Sprite’s scowl deepened as she reinforced herself against those tiny knives, burying the pain with all the rest where she couldn’t feel it. ‘What residue? And why do I need shielding?’
A sad smile greeted her. ‘I see now that you have a shield of your own. If I was being poetic, I might say this is the night love died.’
‘And if you weren’t?’
The woman scoffed a laugh. ‘Ever the pragmatist. In that case, I’d say that someone just cut Adenne’s head off. Keep him safe. I must go and clear up inside. The blood of a Patron can be put to misuse, and it appears the gods are meddling.’
Sprite moved to pick the lad up once more, turning to see the woman’s amused smile had returned. ‘One last thing. Give my best to Flint, would you?’
‘I would if I knew who in Raleli’s name you are.’
The mellifluous laugh escaped once again, as though Sprite had made a fine joke. ‘I’ll wager you’ll figure it out by the time you see him.’