by Terry Spear
What need had he of her, if he already was a master sorcerer? He didn"t look to be the kind of man who would be anything but the master of his work. Let him do his own killing.
Or was it that he had a conscience? Or didn"t want to get caught?
The latter, she presumed was more likely the truth.
His horse pawed at the mossy path, where streaks of afternoon sun shed its golden rays through the leafy foliage, and touched his dark hair almost making it appear light in places.
The gentleman sat quietly listening, waiting. She could wait out the best of them. Part of it was her father"s guild training. Although her heart was beating at twice its normal rate, and her hands grew clammy as she strangled the branch in front of her. Even her breath was a little ragged. And here she was a master assassin! Or at least pretending to be in her father"s stead. It really annoyed her that she could never earn the title unless she was a member of the guild.
She still couldn"t understand why Guild Master Lyon had sent her the case of the jilted lover. Maybe he figured she would send the man packing when one of his fledgling assassins might have taken the case on and made more of a mess of things than they already were.
Although the guild master had groused at her, threatening to kill her himself if she failed to accomplish another contract. She"d just smiled, knowing he needed her too much to do such a thing.
“I was told this was the path to take, Lord Armonjas,” the gentlemen said, breaking into her thoughts.
His voice. She recognized his voice. Lord Fairhaven. It couldn"t be. His hair hadn"t been that dark. Though his face was cast in shadows and from the height she was at in the tree, she hadn"t had a good chance to see him all that clearly. And he was hiding his fae aura. Which was the reason she"d considered he had to be a changeling.
She barely breathed. How could he have found her? No, not her. He was looking for her father. Did he know she lived here? Maybe not. Except she had fae traveled without hiding her dust when she arrived at the falls the night before she had killed Lord Davenport.
Fairhaven"s back to her, he stared straight ahead, never shifting in his saddle. His voice was dark and low, and she imagined even the thieves in the woods, if there were any hiding there now, took measure of the threat in his words. Everything about him made him appear to be someone not to be trifled with.
He would have made an adequate assassin. She would know. He had killed the thief without blinking an eye.
She would have more than words with Guild Master Lyon. How could he have sent this man to her?
Was he afraid of Lord Fairhaven or had the man coerced the guild master to give him a name of one of the top of his list of assassins? The remaining ten were in other regions of the Irian Continent for now, which left her the only one for the job, despite the fact she was supposed to be retired!
She was torn between ignoring the nobleman and remaining hidden in the tree, or pretending to be the good daughter of her deceased father and telling Lord Fairhaven that her father was no longer taking any work. But the foreboding in the pit of her stomach made her more cautious than usual.
What if he realized she was her father"s daughter, an assassin like him, and had eliminated Lord Davenport like her father would have done? What if he decided to blackmail her with the knowledge?
The man seemed as patient as she could be, when she set her mind to it, though at the moment, hers was running out.
“I wish to hire your services, my lord. The coin is good, but I do not wish to speak of such matters in the thick of the forest.” His dark sultry voice sent a shiver of awareness up her spine. She imagined he could entrance a weaker-willed mind with that dangerous voice of his.
Before the soul realized his folly, the man would work his deadly magic.
She inhaled a deep, but silent breath. She was making way too much of this insolent man"s abilities. He might be nothing more than a well-to-do nobleman, who had somehow endeared himself with one of the fae courts.
So why wasn"t that logic easing her mind?
She stared at the man on horseback, not moving an inch. Why did he not continue down the path to her castle? She frowned. Because he knew she was here, though she assumed he thought her to be her father.
Deciding to take another ploy, she climbed down from the tree and brushed her skirts off.
“Lord Amonjas is retired, my lord,” Sessily said, in her most sure voice, wishing it was as dark as the way he spoke and just as compelling. But she wasn"t about to use her fae abilities to mask her voice and project a more ominous tone like she wished. Besides, if she did, it would ruin her chances at pretending to be just her father"s obedient and meek daughter.
Not that she sounded timid in any way. Her annoyance with the man was evident in the bite in her voice. And certainly when she"d first met him, she hadn"t acted cowed in the least.
Slowly, Lord Fairhaven turned his horse around, though she wondered if it was because he feared frightening her away, or he wanted to show how certain he was of himself. His blue eyes like glacial ice assessed her in a chilling way.
Blue eyes that warned her he knew just who she was. Or kind of. He really didn"t know who she was, but she was afraid he"d soon learn the truth.
“Sessily,” he said, under his breath. “Lord Amonjas is in yonder castle?” he asked, motioning east with a gloved hand.
“When he wishes to be. Not oft of late, though.” Only when she got bored and summoned him to play a game of Battle Chant. “If you seek Lord Amonjas"s skills through Guild Master Lyon, I must warn you, His Lordship has long since retired as of six years ago, and…” She paused at the intense look in Lord Fairhaven"s expression.
His gaze bore into hers as if he was trying to read her mind, but most fae could do no such thing. Unless he could do so like Gevus, Lady Marguerite"s butler. Was Lord Fairhaven"s stern look an attempt at intimidating her?
She straightened her shoulders and folded her arms. She didn"t intimidate easily. “He no longer works for the guild and will have to have a word with Master Lyon concerning this matter, once more. I"m sorry for your troubles, but you have His Lordship"s permission to tell Master Lyon what you will, concerning wasting your time.”
“If it is all the same to you, my lady, I will see Lord Amonjas and let him speak for himself. „Tis not the business of a fair maiden to discuss.” His lips remained hard and unsmiling, his blue eyes as cold as the northern lake of Caris in a deep freeze. “What are you to his Lordship?”
“His daughter.”
He stared at her in a cool assessing way. “You are not from Doverton Castle as you said before.”
“You already said you knew I wasn"t.”
“You came to the falls here when you so hastily departed Lord Davenport"s manor house.
But you returned to his estate again that same night, did you not?”
“Whether I did or not is my business, not yours.”
“He died, that night.”
She lifted her chin. “Then your cousin will marry Lady Marguerite?”
“You are not curious as to why Lord Davenport died? Or in the least bit upset about the fact that he died? Or concerned that the lady is in so much distress?”
“She will live long enough to enjoy her life, perhaps.”
“Which means?”
Sessily shrugged. “She is…safer now. Unless your cousin means her harm.”
Lord Fairhaven narrowed his eyes. “You are saying Lord Davenport would have harmed the lady?”
“I am merely my father"s daughter, my lord.” She knew Lord Fairhaven would not be easy to dissuade, but she had to get him off the subject of Lord Davenport and the Lady Marguerite. Yet she was curious as to what Lord Fairhaven wished done. “Suit yourself if you wish to see my father.”
Now what? She was not easily tongue-tied, yet the man"s eyes held her hostage as if he cast a spell of stone over her. He did not budge, nor did she.
Finally, he nodded. “I will see Lord Amonjas. And rest assure
d, I will speak further with you.”
Speak further? He meant to interrogate her further!
With that, he turned and headed deeper into the forest past Crystal Falls. When he was a quarter-mile down the road, he turned to look at her over his shoulder and shouted, “Are you not coming?” His words carried on the breeze and echoed off the blue quartz framing the falls.
“In due time.” All this land was hers. She was at home anywhere that she stood within its boundaries from the fairy glade to Strangewood Forest so named because of how easy it was to get lost in these woods.
“Suit yourself,” he replied, mocking her own words. “But I hear the bell ringing for evening meal.”
She shifted her attention to the rays of the sun. It was not time for the evening meal, or afternoon meal either. More than likely, he would know that. Someone was ringing the alarm bells? How could he hear them when she could not?
Maybe because he was a quarter-mile closer.
She dashed into the woods and ran down a barely visible path that only she used in haste.
The hooves of his horse galloped along the dirt road, parallel to her path, though he could not see her for the trees and underbrush, nor could she see him. But she knew he intended to get to the castle before she did. And on his great steed, he would, if it were not for the maze of paths he would soon encounter, designed to confuse unwanted travelers.
She dove forward, racing against him, hoping that her people had raised the alarm only for a minor difficulty like the last time—a small kitchen fire easily extinguished. Maintaining a castle and keeping her people safe and happy could be a trial at times.
At the end of her path, she raised her hand and cast an incantation. The mass of purple flower-covered vines parted for her like the maids pulled the curtains aside each morning that surrounded her bed. Stone walls encasing stairs appeared. She ran down the mossy stone steps, careful not to slip. She hurriedly spoke the words to hide her secret entrance and grabbed the brass handle of the door blocking her way. The lock clicked open at her touch, and she dashed inside, the door slamming shut behind her, automatically locking it.
Mistress Teramond ran to her, panic in her stricken white face, her thin fingers clutching at her belt ties. “It"s Master Travis. It"s…it"s his heart again.”
“Has anyone sent for the healer?” Sessily headed for the servants" quarters, wishing she"d learned more of the healing arts, but her father had warned her that learning too many different skills lessened her ability to do any of them well. Better to concentrate on her gift of the knowledge of potions that enabled her to be a master assassin, than to dabble in the healing arts and be nothing more than an apprentice in either field.
“She"s assisting a woman in labor near Bar Harbor. She can"t come.”
“Again.” If she"d had enough money to support one, she"d have hired one to live permanently at Armonjas Castle. She dashed down the north hall to the servant"s quarters, her heart racing pell mell. Poor Master Travis, the overseer of their stables. He was getting up in years and no matter how many times they tried to see him through his difficulties, she feared anytime could be the last. “He hasn"t been lifting the saddles, or doing anything strenuous again, has he?”
Mistress Teramond, head cook and more than a friend to Travis, shook her head. “You know what a stubborn old goat he is. He"ll not let the young stable hands show him up.”
“Fool,” Sessily said, not meaning it in a bad way. “I will confine him to a chair, and he can oversee the great fireplace if he doesn"t mind my words, if we get him through this again.”
Stalking into the room, she saw Master Travis lying on a straw mattress in his quarters, his sweaty face flushed. He instantly averted his blue eyes. “Don"t you look away from me, Master Travis. You know my ruling in this matter, and if you die on me…”
She couldn"t help choking on the words and had to quickly blink her eyes to keep the tears back. As mad as she was that he most likely overexerted himself to the point of his condition being life-threatening, he was like the father she"d lost, and she couldn"t bear to lose him, too. She motioned to Mistress Teramond to bring her the poultice she"d already prepared, like the healer had done for Travis the last time. They applied the foul smelling stuff to his gray-haired chest, and he groaned.
“If you die on me,” Sessily said, her words hard, “I swear I"ll bring you back to oversee the stable hands and give you no rest at all. You know I bother my father all of the time when I get bored.”
He managed a small smile, which cheered her. She took his hand and squeezed it. “How is your breathing?”
“Labored, but better. Thank you, Lady Sessily.”
“Certes.” She noticed then two of the young stable hands, twelve and thirteen years of age, were watching them, their eyes wide with concern. “Go back to your chores. Master Travis will be expecting the horses fed and well exercised. Go!”
“Yes, my lady,” the eldest one said.
“My lady,” the other echoed, and the two hurried out of the room.
They yelled in surprise as Venetia"s voice met theirs. “Ye cannot go in there, my lord.
My lord, you cannot go in there unless…”
The gentleman stalked into the room beside a stricken Venetia, Sessily"s loyal advisor.
“I"m sorry, my lady, for the intrusion.” Her dark brown eyes were narrowed in contempt as she motioned to the intruder with her head.
“I understand there"s some emergency,” Lord Fairhaven said. His blue gaze took in Sessily, Mistress Teramond, and Master Travis. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
“Are you a healer?” Sessily asked, brushing her hair out of her face, annoyed with his boldness, unless he could prove to be of some use. What was he?
“I know some of the healing arts. May I?”
“Please.” But Sessily wasn"t pleased. She had no intention of assassinating whomever this man wanted killed, but if he used his healing arts to save Master Travis"s life…
Yet Travis appeared to be recovering just based on her own meager mending skills.
Maybe she could be a naturopath? With the proper training under a master healer, she was certain she could do it.
Lord Fairhaven leaned over Travis and felt the pulse in his throat. “I see you have used a poultice that aids the circulation of the heart.” He glanced at Sessily. “Are you a healer?”
“I learned some techniques from one.”
He tilted his head back, but didn"t say a word. Then he took a deep breath and motioned at Travis. “He won"t live through the night without a master healer"s intervention.”
Teramond gasped.
“Go, please, Mistress Teramond and fix the afternoon meal.” Sessily waited until Teramond curtsied and hurried out of the room, her sobs tearing at Sessily"s soul. She turned and glared at the man. “What do you want of me?”
“You, my dear lady?” he asked, his voice bitingly sarcastic, his brow raised. “Why nothing of Lord Amonjas"s daughter. I wish his services, like I said before. Besides paying him a fine profit, I will save this man"s life. Would it not be worth it?”
She could have blown her cover big time with her comment. But still, she could tell the man did not believe she could be the assassin in her father"s place.
Master Travis waved his hand weakly at Sessily. “My lady, I am an old man who cannot cheat death forever. If my time is now, then so be it.”
Lord Fairhaven looked from her stable master to Sessily. “I think the lady feels differently. So what will it be?”
“Can you not just do a good deed in saving his life? What kind of a man are you?”
“Rather the same as your father, I would think, who kills for money.”
This man was an assassin? She thought he had a dark look about him. But then what need had he of her? Or…her father, rather.
She stiffened. “Only for good reason,” Sessily said, her voice hard. Though it was not a guild decree, her family had always followed the rule that they would
not take a case if it were not for good reason. They did not kill just for money.
“Then he was not a follower of guild policy,” the man said, his voice dark with disgust.
Her father had been a rebel in his own right. Much like she was. “He had his own ways.”
“Had I been one of the guild members, I would have followed guild policy.”
So he wasn"t guild-certified. She frowned. What was he? “So you will not help Master Travis unless—”
“Your father helps me.” He stepped away from the straw mattress where Master Travis was resting. “Call your father. I assume he is hiding behind your skirts, but once a guild member, always a guild member, until death, is that not correct?”
Well, the masquerade was up. She tilted her head to the side a little, acknowledging he"d won. “You"re right. Guild Master Lyon has sent you on a wild assassin"s chase. My father is dead.”
The man"s face fell. Master Travis looked nearly blue.
“Oh for goddess sake, help Master Travis.”
“When did your father die?”
She fairly shouted at the ogre. “Four years ago.”
The gentleman"s eyes narrowed. “Your father killed a rogue assassin three months ago.
And if I was guessing as to Lord Davenport"s death, you scouted the estate, then gave your father the details so he could go there and eliminate the lord, just two weeks ago. Any other tall tales you wish to tell while your friend here dies?”
She ground her teeth, fighting the urge to use one of her darts on Lord Fairhaven that would knock that smug look of condescension off his face, but if he could save Master Travis, she had to do whatever it took.
“Listen not to this viper, my lady. Do what ye must. Lady Teramond will give me hell if this man makes me well.”
Sessily let out her breath in exasperation. “My father is dead, but if you wish to see him, so be it.” She waved her arm, summoning her father.
Chapter 5
Instantly, Sessily "s father appeared. His green eyes flashed with annoyance, as he stroked his white bearded cheeks. “Do not tell me you wish a rematch, daughter! So soon? How many times to do I have to beat you at Battle Chant before you give up?”