by Ariana Nash
“We’d be missed…” Venali admitted.
Ah, Conor. Of course. Trey wasn’t staying, but Conor was, and if Trey kidnapped Venali, Conor would notice. He didn’t want to drive a wedge between them, whatever they did or didn’t have together. Like Kalie said, it was apparently complicated.
“Come,” Venali urged, leaving his tea on the side. “If we go early, we can leave early.” He was out the room in a few strides, leaving Trey to catch up. They walked the corridors, passing elves who nodded at Venali with respect. Would it be so bad for them to see Venali wasn’t immune to hurt? Probably not, but convincing Venali he didn’t need to hide was another task entirely. And with Trey not planning on hanging around, he had no right to ask, even if there did seem to be more growing between them than sating lust.
“A few months ago, Alador hinted at some things,” Trey began, and then quickly continued before losing his nerve, “and Conor mentioned…” Venali raised an eyebrow. “Look, I’m just going to come right out and ask it. Did you have a crush on me… from the war?”
Venali’s mouth twitched. “Kalie said something?”
“And others. My tattoo… You noticed it had changed since I was last here, over a year ago. The only way you’d know that was if you were paying attention.”
“Are you suggesting I don’t pay attention to prominent assassins who pass through these doors? Assassins who have the ear of Eroan Ilanea no less? Only a fool would ignore you.”
Venali had said it all with a straight face and level tone. “So it was just… professional attention?” Alumn, maybe he’d thought too much on it, heard meaning where there wasn’t any. “Never mind…” Trey caught Venali’s smirk in the corner of his eye. He knew. And he deliberately made Trey squirm on a hook. “Dick.”
Venali laughed and opened the door into AD. “I may have had more than a passing interest in you since the war.”
Trey arched a brow and sauntered past him. Venali’s glare scorched his ass, diverting his attention to the sentinel stalking behind him, so he missed how empty the club was until finding the bar deserted. “Are we early?”
“A little.”
Kalie wasn’t behind the bar. Nobody seemed to be setting up for the night and the elves who milled around weren’t drinking. “Where's Kalie?” Trey asked a female passing by.
“No idea.” She shrugged, then eyed Venali like he was next on her to-do list. Venali gave her one of his prized grins but sidled closer to Trey and settled a hand on his arm, seeing off her advances.
“Is she usually late?” Trey asked. He’d have enjoyed Venali’s gesture more if Kalie had been here to comment on it.
“Never,” Venali said, attention wandering. “AD is her sanctuary. She’ll be here.”
But as the club filled, others took up Kalie’s place at the bar. She clearly wasn’t showing. Trey had hoped to say goodbye before he left, but perhaps he’d catch her in the morning. Venali had countless glances and propositions thrown at his feet. He graciously declined them all with a laugh and touch from his smooth gloves.
“You’re more of a tart than I was,” Trey muttered when the latest interested party slunk off, dejected.
“I’ve heard about your old ways. Before you became an assassin.” Venali leaned closer, bumping his shoulder against Trey’s, eyes catching the lamplight. “You had a reputation I’ve yet to match.”
“Had a reputation.”
“Rumor is you have a lover in every village. You leave a flower on their pillows.”
He really had been asking around. Trey hadn’t done that in years, but it was true, all of it.
“You’ve never left me a flower, darling,” Venali murmured against Trey’s cheek. “After you leave tomorrow, will you go back to those beds?”
Trey tilted his head up, relishing the feel of Venali’s smooth chin brushing his cheek. “Would you care?”
“If I said yes,” he growled, his fingers claiming Trey’s hip, “would you stay longer?”
That seemed like an awfully big question considering they’d only had one drink and the night was still young. Trey rested his head back against the wall, looking up as Venali crowded him close. The sentinel was impossible to see or think around. The things he was asking, it was the lust and wine talking. Venali tipped Trey’s chin up. His lips brushed Trey’s, stroking a promise across his mouth.
“When you first came to Ashford,” he said, slipping his fingers into Trey’s hair and then stroking down his cheek, “everyone watched Eroan. But I watched the marked warrior standing beside him.” Venali pressed himself close, leaning his weight inward, his body smothering Trey’s in all the right ways. “I only had to look at you to know you cared deeply for Ashford, despite never having been here.” Venali’s hand found Trey’s thigh. His fingers kneaded, approaching Trey’s pounding erection only to skip away again. It wasn’t enough. Trey sighed out and angled his hips, needing Venali’s hand on the hardest part of him. “I know a good soul when I see one,” Venali whispered. “And yours is Alumn-bright.”
His strong fingers cupped Trey’s cock, spilling delicious shivers down his spine. Trey bit into his own lip.
“I saw you in battle,” he continued, whispering against Trey’s cheek. “In the blood and chaos, I saw you fight dragons. You are righteous and loyal. You are the best of us.” His wet tongue flicked over Trey’s. “I can’t hold your wandering soul for long, but I’ll take you while I can.”
His words were too great, too heavy, too full of feeling.
Venali’s hand squeezed, pulsing pleasure down Trey’s arousal, making his head spin and his thoughts scatter.
“Fuck,” Trey gasped, “me.”
Venali pulled him into motion, through the back door. They made it as far as the corridor outside a familiar room when Venali kissed him hard, his hands tearing at Trey’s clothes, trying to dive inside. “I’m going to fuck you so hard—” he moaned into Trey’s mouth, “—you’ll cry my name as you come.”
Trey groaned out something like agreement, too breathless and lost to form proper words.
Venali flung open the door, tripped inside, and froze.
The lamp was lit, the flame spluttering so low it had almost choked itself out.
Kalie lay on the floor, propped against the couch, twin gashes sliced up her forearms. Her eyes were open. Her mouth too. Like a doll propped there and forgotten.
Shock stole Trey’s thoughts. He saw, but couldn’t see or think or understand. “Kalie?”
Venali staggered in, dropped to his knees in the shiny pool of blood, and tore off his gloves, reaching for her neck. “I can’t… I can’t feel. Is she alive?”
Trey jolted forward, shoving the horror aside. He pressed two fingers to her neck, where her pulse should flutter, but felt nothing.
Kalie’s eyes stared at the wall. In his mind, he heard her laughing, saw her winking, telling him to fuck Venali already. This wasn’t the same Kalie. It couldn’t be. He touched her face, smearing blood across her still warm cheek. “Kalie…”
Someone in the corridor screamed.
Venali twitched, looked down at the blood covering his ungloved hand, and scrabbled backward, smearing the glossy dark blood across the floor, coating himself in blood. “Oh, Kalie, no,” he moaned, face crumpling.
Another voice behind them. Trey jerked into motion again, falling into the kind of battle instinct that had gotten him through the war. He tore off the floor and blocked the doorway. Already, people were spilling from the club, trying to see what had caused the screaming. “Get Alador,” he barked at them. “Go!”
He pulled the door almost closed, but kept an eye on Venali inside, his breaths coming in saw-like gasps. Nobody needed to see Kalie like this, or Venali beside her.
“Is she dead? Is it Kalie?” numerous voices asked.
Rising panic tried to crush his heart. “Just… stay back…”
Alador arrived after what felt like too long guarding the doorway. Someone handed Trey a sheet, and he d
utifully covered Kalie’s body, only half listening to Alador talk with Venali. The elder’s presence lifted a weight off Trey’s shoulders and had roused Venali enough for him to explain how they’d found Kalie.
“There’s no blade,” Trey mumbled, wrapping his arms around himself. He couldn’t get warm. He stared at the sheet, watching blood soak through the fabric. “There’s no blade,” he said again, louder.
Alador and Venali both looked over.
“She didn’t do this. Someone took the blade. Someone killed her and left her here.” He’d need another look at her, a closer look, to be sure, and really didn’t want to peel off the blood-soaked sheet, but he had to know.
Pinching the sheet, he lifted it off again, avoiding Kalie’s glassy eyes. Bruises peppered her neck. She’d been held there, choked and attacked.
“Her hands,” Venali croaked.
Trey turned her cold hands over. Both palms were shredded. Forearms too. She’d scratched and clawed at her attacker, but it hadn’t been enough.
Cold rage numbed Trey’s mind. He gently laid the sheet back over her and regarded Alador’s stricken face. This was wrong. So wrong.
“Do you need me here?” he asked, sounding cold but not ready to fix that.
Alador blinked. “No, I’ll see to it she is properly cared for. You can go.”
Trey flung open the door and passed between the guards, avoiding the main club. He made it back to his room before noticing the blood on his hand and clothes. His face, too, he realized, staring at his ghost-like reflection in the mirror.
Assassins weren’t supposed to die anymore. He was so sick of wasted lives. So sick of pointless death. “Alumn, why?” It hurt. He clutched at his chest, trying to claw out the pain. Goddess, he couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t been made for this.
“Trey…” Venali stumbled in through the open door. “You’re leaving?” He was bloody, too, and deathly pale, his fine clothes all disheveled, one glove missing.
“Leaving?” Trey could, he realized. He could walk out, get back on the road. This wasn’t his life, his world, not anymore. He’d walked away from Eroan and the assassins for a reason.
“Don’t,” Venali breathed out, his face stripped of its usual stoic mask. He staggered, movements jerky, as though he didn’t know whether to stay or go.
Trey went to him, pulled him close, folded him into his arms, needing to feel him as much as Venali must need this too. Venali slumped against him and shuddered. He folded his hands into fists and crushed Trey to his chest. It was too much. No words could fix this. No drink could chase it away.
“She told me to do something,” Venali hissed. “I didn’t… and now she’s gone.”
Trey gripped the sentinel’s face with both hands. His eyes shimmered too brightly. Nothing Trey could say would lessen his pain, not yet. Sometimes it felt like no matter what Trey said or did, death still stalked him.
He led Venali by the hand to the bathroom and began to unbutton and unlace his blood-stiffened clothes. Venali did the same with Trey’s shirt and trousers, his scarred fingers trembling. The shower washed off the worst of the blood, but Venali still shivered, the chill seeping into his bones.
Trey drew a bath, letting Venali submerge first, to his shoulders. After Trey stepped in, Venali pulled him back against his chest, folding his arm around him, wrapping him close.
Only Venali’s soft breathing and the dripping tap upset the quiet. That and the screaming in Trey’s head. Trey let his eyes close, unwilling and unable to stop the memories from spilling in. He’d screamed at Nye, yelled at him to stop before his actions got him killed. But it was too late. Nobody knew he’d seen Nye in those last few hours, not even Eroan. Trey had reached for Nye—his teacher, his lover, his friend—promised him the hurt would end, that he’d take Nye away to heal, but the madness was in his eyes, in his words, and he’d died full of poison and hate. It could have been different. If Nye had just listened, just… taken Trey’s hand, Trey could have saved him. Trey saved people, he didn’t hurt them. The Order changed that, and war changed everything else.
Venali’s hand found his, burned fingers entwining with Trey’s.
He rested his head back against Venali’s shoulder and let the tears for Kalie, tears for another friend needlessly lost, fall.
Venali wasn’t in the room when Trey woke. Alone, he lay still, trying to convince himself he’d dreamed Kalie’s death. In his mind, he saw himself getting dressed, and tonight, he’d go down to AD and she’d be behind the bar, pouring drinks and flirting.
But someone had ended all that. An Assassin of the Order had killed her; nobody else could get past the door guard into the club.
An Order member had killed their own kin.
Trey closed his eyes.
War changed people, chewed them up and spat them out. And if nobody caught them, they’d fall and keep right on falling.
He couldn’t watch another person fall.
He dressed stiffly, hooked his blade into his belt, and pulled his hair back into an Order-style braid. Stern, cold eyes looked back from his reflection in the mirror. He’d thought he’d left that look behind when he turned his back on the killing ways. But nothing of the Order could ever be forgotten. It was all inside, carried with him every day.
He walked Ashford’s too-bright-for-winter, sun-soaked, first-floor passageways and entered the atrium from above. Sunlight poured in, setting the tree’s colored ribbons ablaze. A female he recognized from AD was climbing the tree, a new ribbon in her hand.
Trey leaned on the rail, a floor above the crowd of grievers gathered below.
Fucking ribbons weren’t going to stop this from happening again.
He scanned the crowd. Most all were assassins. The killer was likely among them.
Venali stood beside Alador. The sentinel scanned the crowd, too, perhaps for the killer, or Trey. A male gently making his way toward Venali—Conor. They spoke briefly, and then Conor rested a hand on Venali’s shoulder before moving off.
Jealousy spiked. Trey had no right to Venali. He had no plans to stay, and clearly, Venali needed someone who wasn’t going to split on him after a few days. The jealousy twisted, turning sour. Trey was the last person Venali needed, but last night, and the bath, and before all that… Venali’s honest words about loyalty and light. Trey should have shut it down long before now. He knew better than to make his relationships about more than sex.
He moved on, it was what he did, loving anyone he wanted for a night. Trey was supposed to fall back into that, not get drawn into a life he could never be a part of.
Venali needed Conor or someone like him. An anchor.
Trey left the ceremony.
Returning to his room, he packed his bag. Another night would turn into another and another. But it couldn’t last. There was nothing he could do here that Venali already couldn’t, just get in his way. It was time to leave. Informing the assistants’ desk of his intention to leave before nightfall, he borrowed a pencil and piece of paper from the attendant and took up a spot not far from the tree. Snowflakes fell and melted in the tree’s upper branches. Winter waited outside Ashford.
The words for the note came easily. He told Venali he was special, he was loved, that he only had to make it one tomorrow at a time and he’d survive. And it would get easier. Just not with Trey. He signed the note with his name and removed a small wildflower from his pocket. He’d picked it earlier from the gardens after noticing its tiny blue petals poking through the thin layer of snow.
“Trey, I went to your room, but…” Conor noticed the winter boots and coat. “You’re leaving?”
Trey stood and handed out the note and flower. “Will you see these get to Venali?”
Conor looked at the note and flower and frowned. “You’re just going to go, with everything that’s happened?”
Shit, he hadn’t expected Conor to care too. “The longer I stay, the harder it will be. Will you… hand this over and just be there for him?”
Conor snatched the note. “Go. I’ll give him your fucking note and flower.” He whirled and then whirled back again. “It must be nice. To be able to just fuck off when you feel like it.” His top lip curled. “Maybe next time you come back around, don’t bother finding us.” The words rang out through the atrium, reaching more than a few ears.
He could hardly blame Conor for his reaction, but leaving would only get harder the longer Trey stayed. It was time to move on. Conor’s reaction was proof of that.
Trey collected his messenger backpack and headed out into the snow.
Winter lasted long into what should have been spring. Trey carried food parcels when he wasn’t already laden with trinkets and letters. He wore his feet sore and body lean but delivered every single package, parcel, and note.
Spring finally returned, and along with the bright, chilly mornings and budding flowers, Trey returned to Ashford.
The heavy weight of his backpack said he’d left it too long.
He approached the carved stone archway under blue skies and fresh warmth. Not much had changed. The atrium tree was sprouting new green shoots. Elves and humans still bustled about the many corridors and levels, making Ashford bigger, better, and brighter.
Trey spotted Venali among the guards. His hair had grown long again. Autumnal locks skimmed his shoulders. He looked… leaner. Harder. Or maybe he’d always looked that way? Avoiding the main entrance, Trey took a back pathway into Ashford and delivered his bag without announcing his presence. With any luck, he’d be back on the road in a few days. There was no need to alert Venali or Conor to his presence. Besides, it had been months since he’d left. They’d probably moved on.
He hurried to his allocated room, turning the strange wooden key over in his hand. Only Ashford used keys. There were few locks in the villages he passed through. But Ashford was different. There would be no AD visits this time, no warming another’s bed. Strictly in and out.
Rounding the final corner, Trey lifted his head and almost fell over his own feet. Sentinel Venali leaned against the wall outside Trey’s allocated room, his arms folded, eyebrow arched.