by Claire Frank
Rhis pulled a few coins out of her pocket and dropped them on the table as she stood. No, she hadn’t traveled all this way to return empty-handed. Whatever odd sensation had overcome her in the farmhouse was gone, replaced by simple resolve. Rhisia Sen was known for being quiet, efficient, and reliable. She’d been hired to do a job, and that was precisely what she was going to do.
She walked out of the tavern into the muddy street, the drink making her slightly fuzzy. The rain had stopped, but gray clouds still hung low overhead. Although she’d paid for her room, and a decent night sleep would do her some good, she wanted to get back on the road so she could finish this job once and for all. It would take a few days to get back to the farm, skirting around Harmoth so she wouldn’t be seen. Frustration surged through her again and she pressed her lips together as she walked. She’d made this monumentally more difficult than it needed to be.
Despite the weather, Tindale’s market was in full swing in the center of town, the sudden break in the rain drawing people out to do their shopping before the next downpour. Rhis slowed as she walked along the crowded street, her boots sloshing through the mud.
A tingle ran down her back, as if she was being watched. Deciding to trust her instincts, she veered across the plaza, ducked between two stalls, and slipped into a narrow alley. She jogged through the pathway and slid behind the building, leaning out just enough to see the alley’s entrance. Her heart thumped. No one appeared. Rhis pressed her lips together, and waited.
A man in a hooded cloak slipped between the stalls and into the alley, his eyes darting around. Rhis ducked behind the building and pulled a dagger from her belt, listening to his footsteps as he approached. She didn’t know who he was or why he was following her, but she needed to find out.
As soon as the man peeked out from between the buildings, she grabbed him, snaking her arm around his neck, and dug the point of her blade into his throat.
“Why are you following me?” she said.
He sucked in a breath as she twisted the dagger, almost hard enough to draw blood, but he didn’t answer.
“I suggest you start talking,” she said.
“I wasn’t following you,” he said, his voice strained.
“Believe me when I say I have no qualms about killing you.”
“You’re Rhisia Sen,” he said.
“You have the wrong woman,” she said. “My name is Hava.”
“No, you’re Rhisia. I’ve see you before.”
If he knew who she was, it meant he wasn’t local. “Where?”
“Put the knife down,” he said. His hands gripped her arm, but the pressure of her blade kept him from struggling. “Cormant sent me. We both know Cormant, yes?”
Rhis narrowed her eyes. Why would Cormant send someone here? “Sent you for what?”
“Insurance. It was a large contract. I’m supposed to make sure it’s done.”
Cormant had never sent someone to check up on her work. “That was a waste. I hope he didn’t pay you too much for your trouble.”
“Enough. Now let me go.”
Rhis hesitated. The man had a point. It was a large contract, and the out of the way location would make it difficult for Cormant to verify the job was complete, even once she’d sent a messenger bird to notify him. News of the death of a farmer’s son wouldn’t travel past Harmoth, let alone all the way to Altia. Although it irked her that Cormant hadn’t told her someone would be verifying her work, it was a reasonable enough safeguard, especially with the large sum of money involved. More than anything, she was angry with herself for taking so long. If she’d dispatched her mark when she’d had the chance, she’d have nothing to be concerned about. This man could have sneaked his way to Harmoth and sent word back to Cormant, and her money would have been waiting for her when she returned. Now she had to tell this lowlife that she was still on the job.
She pulled the dagger away from his throat and let go, letting him stumble forward. He rubbed his neck as he turned to look at her.
“So tell me, is it finished?” he asked.
Rhis pressed her lips together, considering what to say. “No.”
He raised his eyebrows. “No?”
“I ran into unforeseen complications,” she said. “It will be complete in a couple of days. You’re welcome to attend the mark’s funeral, but in the meantime, stay out of my way.”
“I don’t know—Cormant implied you were being paid incredibly well for this job,” he said, taking a step backward. “Maybe I’ll finish it for you and collect on both our contracts.”
“Both?” she asked, cursing her fuzzy mind. She shouldn’t have had that drink. The look in his eyes told her she was missing something.
“Cormant put out a contract on you.”
The fingers of his right hand twitched and Rhis dove out of the way as he pulled a dagger and threw it. The blade skidded off the building behind her. She threw her own, but he was ready for it, and deflected with another knife. Adrenaline and anger burned the alcohol from her blood and she pulled the knives from her boots, narrowing her eyes at him.
The man shook his head. “That was a mistake. You should have run while you had the chance.”
“You should have picked an easier mark.”
Darting in, she slashed, but he turned her blade with a metallic clink. She struck with her other hand, flicking her wrist to slice him across the arm. He winced, and his next cut came high and fast. She was faster, her dagger deflecting his as she scored another scratch.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” he said with a sneer.
Rhis ignored him, stabbing low. He jumped out of the way and her knife caught on his cloak. Ripping it through the fabric, she blocked with her other blade, but his knife sliced across her arm. The pain didn’t register even as blood welled up from the wound, and she stabbed again, nicking his shoulder.
Their daggers darted in and out, slashing and biting with a sharp ring as they hit. He was stronger than her, but she used his momentum against him, pushing his attacks wide.
The man grunted. Rhis’s knife caught near the hilt of his weapon and, with a quick cut, she scored another graze. He blinked hard, stumbling to the side as he swung again. Taking advantage of his imbalance, she drove in, slashing him two more times. Her blade ripped across his chest. One knife fell from his hand as the other tore at her. She met his blade with her own and sidestepped, letting his strike sail past.
His legs wobbled and he fell to his knees. Rhis stepped backward and held her daggers up.
Blinking again, he looked down at himself, then up at her, confusion on his face. Blood ran from a laceration on his arm and a ribbon of red blossomed on his tunic, but Rhis knew his injuries were shallow.
“What did you do to me?” he asked, his speech slurring.
Rhis straightened and crossed her arms. The man looked around the dingy alley as if trying to find an answer, his eyes going glassy. With a groan, he crumpled, falling to the ground in a heap.
“How?” he managed to say, his voice a croak.
Taking a few steps forward, Rhis looked down at the cut on her arm and shook her head. “That’s the problem with you amateurs. You’re so worried about nicking yourself, you only poison your blade when you have the element of surprise.” The man coughed, his face turning a deep shade of red, and looked up at her. She smiled. “Mine are always poisoned.”
White foam bubbled from his lips, and his body shook with violent tremors. Rhis cocked her head to the side and watched him die. When he stopped moving, she sheathed her blades and picked over his body. Although she wasn’t sure if she would find his instructions on his person, she reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a small piece of folded paper, the remnants of a wax seal still on one side. Her heart thumped as she opened it.
Rhisia Sen. En route from Harmoth to Altia.
Rhis ground her teeth together. That bastard Cormant had actually done it. Why would he want her dead? She was one of his best.
And if it wasn’t Cormant, who else wanted her dead badly enough to pay for it?
Carefully, she folded the paper and tucked it in a pocket. Whoever it was, it wouldn’t be long before he realized the man he’d sent after her wasn’t going to return. He would send someone else, and next time she might not be so lucky.
Leaving the body behind, she jogged through another alley, taking a roundabout route to her inn. With a contract on her head, she needed something to bargain with in order to ensure her survival. She had chests full of gold, and as much as it would hurt to part with any of it, the Imperials wouldn’t do her much good if she were dead. But what if that wasn’t enough?
The beginnings of an idea stole through her mind. The contract on the child was substantial. Whatever the reason, the Emperor certainly wanted Asher dead. What would Cormant do if she kept the boy alive? Asher could be an added bargaining chip, a way she could negotiate with Cormant to cancel the contract on her head. It was a gamble, but if she showed up in Altia with the boy, she might be able to strike a bargain.
If she could get them both there in one piece.
EIGHT: BARGAINING PIECE
Although the rain had stopped, Rhis kept her hood drawn over her head as she led her horse through a copse of trees. The journey to Harmoth had taken an extra day, since she kept away from the road and had to skirt wide around the town. She hadn’t slept well, her mind racing with the realization that there was a contract out on her. Although she’d handled the would-be assassin easily, Cormant would be expecting him to send a messenger bird. The longer Cormant waited without confirmation that the contract was complete, the more likely it was that he would send someone else.
She followed the neat rows of grapevines until she came to the farmhouse. Pulling her horse to a stop, Rhis looked at the woman who emerged from the doorway. Asher’s mother clutched a shawl around her shoulders, looking at Rhis with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. The boy peeked his head through the door behind her, but the woman sent him back inside with a sharp word, and closed the door. Rhis dismounted and left her horse to dip his head and nibble at the grass.
“Who are you and what do you want here?” the woman asked.
“Are you the boy’s mother?” Rhis asked.
The woman’s eyes flicked back to her house. “Yes.”
“Then I need to talk to you. His father too.”
“You’re the woman I saw near the river.”
Rhis nodded, intentionally softening her expression. “I’m Hava. And you are?”
“Maida,” the woman said.
“I realize this is unexpected, Maida, but it’s very important that I speak to you and your husband. This is about Asher.”
“What about him?” Maida, crossing her arms. “He hasn’t been anywhere near the village recently. You can’t come here blaming him for things that aren’t his fault.”
“No, that isn’t why I’m here,” Rhis said, glancing around. “Is your husband home? I need to talk to both of you.”
“He’s home,” Maida said, but made no move to find him.
Rhis took a step closer. “Your son is in danger. I’m here to help, but we don’t have much time.”
“I already told them he’s not a Wielder,” Maida said, her voice low. “They came to investigate, but they could see as well as I could that he isn’t. They told us it was over and no one would need to bother us anymore.”
A Wielder? Wielding was a type of magic, giving people abilities that varied widely—from influence over heat or fire, to the power to move objects without touching them. In other parts of the world, Wielding was common, but it was strictly outlawed in Attalon. When children with Wielding abilities were discovered, they were taken by the Guild, who would watch over them and ensure they only used their abilities in highly monitored situations. Some, particularly those who showed greater Wielding strength, simply disappeared. If Asher was under suspicion of being a Wielder, it could give Rhis a way to convince his parents of the danger.
“They lied,” Rhis said and Maida’s eyes widened. “Your husband?”
Maida gave her a vague nod and hurried off toward the field. Rhis glanced around as she waited, wondering what it would take to convince the parents to let her take their son. She’d considered simply abducting him, and still would if it came to it. But if the child went missing, people would come looking for him, making their escape to Altia more complicated. It would be preferable if the parents let him go willingly, although she knew it was likely they’d refuse. Parents often seemed rather attached to their offspring.
The farm house door creaked open and a pair of eyes blinked at her through the crack. Rhis raised an eyebrow and he ducked back in the house as Maida and her husband approached. Demmen, Rhis recalled.
“What’s this all about?” Demmen said, brushing his hands down his pants.
Maida laid a hand on his arm. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk out here. Let’s go inside.”
Narrowing his eyes at Rhis, Demmen grunted and turned for the front door, his wife at his heels. Rhis followed them in. The house was as she remembered it: clean, with simple furnishings. The boy had retreated to the ladder and sat watching them with interest. Rhis wondered where he got his silver eyes; neither of his parents had them.
“Asher, run along outside,” Maida said.
Asher’s brow furrowed and his lips pressed together. He hesitated, as if considering whether to argue, then left, closing the door somewhat harder than necessary. Maida sighed as she gestured for Rhis to sit at the table.
Demmen sat and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “Are you going to tell us what this is about? What do you want with our boy?”
“I came to warn you,” Rhis said. On the way there, she’d considered several different stories she could tell his parents, but had decided the truth would serve best—a version of it, at least. “Someone is trying to kill your son.”
Maida sucked in a breath, and Demmen’s nostrils flared as he sat up straight.
“How do you know this?” Demmen asked.
Rhis kept her face neutral and met his eyes. “Because I was hired to do it.”
Maida’s hand flew to her mouth as she gasped again, and Demmen put his hands on the table and stood.
“You will not hurt my son,” he said.
“You can sit down,” Rhis said. “If I was going to kill the boy, he would already be dead.”
“Get out of my house,” Demmen said, his voice low, and pointed toward the door. “Get out and stay away from my boy.”
Rhis held his gaze. “I’m not here to kill your son. If I wanted him dead, you’d be mourning him now. I won’t kill him, but when they discover that I didn’t they’ll send someone else who will.”
“Who are they?” Maida asked, clutching her husband’s arm. “Why would they want to hurt my son?”
“That I don’t know,” Rhis said. “I wasn’t given a reason.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Demmen said, shaking his head. He lowered himself into his chair. “I don’t understand it. He’s just a kid.”
Rhis shrugged. “You claim he isn’t a Wielder, but perhaps they discovered something that makes him dangerous. Regardless, the next person who comes won’t worry about why, and they won’t stop until he’s dead.”
Demmen gaped at her and tears slipped down Maida’s cheeks. The woman stared at Rhis, her bottom lip trembling. “If you were here to….” She trailed off, as if she couldn’t utter the words. “Why didn’t you?”
Rhis hesitated, glancing away. She could hardly answer the question for herself. “He’s a child,” she said after a long pause. “Most in my profession have a line they won’t cross. This is mine.”
Maida’s eyebrows lifted but Demmen’s brow lowered. “How do we know any of this is true?”
“Whether you believe me is something you’re going to have to decide,” Rhis said. “I was hired to kill Asher. When I took the job, I didn’t know who he was. Unless there’s another m
an named Asher in Harmoth—and I’m quite certain there isn’t—I was hired to kill a child. I decided not to. But I won’t be the only one they send, so I came back to warn you.”
“Demmen, what are we going to do?” Maida asked, lifting a trembling hand to her mouth.
“I’ll tell you precisely what you need to do,” Rhis said and Demmen narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re going to pack up what you can and leave as quickly as possible. Get out of Harmoth, go as far away as you can. You aren’t safe here.”
“This is our home,” Demmen said, gesturing with his arms. “We can’t just up and leave. We have nowhere to go.”
“If you stay, they will probably kill you too,” Rhis said.
“But if we leave, won’t they still find Asher?” Maida said, her voice weak. “Won’t they still try to….”
Rhis took a deep breath. She almost had them, but this was the part she knew they would have the hardest time swallowing. “Asher needs to come with me. I can protect him. I can keep him alive.”
“No,” Demmen said, slamming his hand on the table. “I’ve heard enough. He is my son and you will not take him from me.”
“Someone will come, and you won’t even know they were here,” Rhis said. “It’s likely they’ll kill all three of you to ensure there aren’t any loose ends. If you leave, and take him with you, they’ll hunt you down. If he comes with me, they’ll follow, but I’m more than equipped to deal with it. I can keep him safe.”
Demmen flew from his seat, knocking over his chair, and lunged for her. Rhis caught his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, sending him to his knees. Maida shrieked. Demmen wasn’t a small man, his arms and back strong from farm work, but Rhis held his arm on the verge of breaking.
“If you think you can protect that boy, you are sorely mistaken,” Rhis said, leaning close to speak into Demmen’s ear.