by Claire Frank
Athon stood still for a long moment and Rhis kept quiet. Her bargain with Athon felt tenuous at best, as fragile as the web of a spider. One wrong word, and he could pluck it from existence.
He turned and nodded toward the tub.
“I thought you might want to wash.”
Athon made no move to leave, but he kept his back to her; she stripped off her filthy clothes and eased herself into the large tub. A small table stood next to it, with a brush and a chunk of soap. She allowed herself a moment to sink into the warmth, relishing the luxury of the water. She rinsed out her mouth and carefully cleaned her wounded face. When she’d finished, she dried off with a cloth and wrapped it around herself.
“There are clean clothes there,” Athon said, gesturing to a chair. A set of men’s clothes hung from the back: a long-sleeved shirt that buttoned up the front and a pair of loose brown pants. They were large and shapeless, but at least they were clean. She dressed and fastened her belt around her waist.
“That was a kindness I didn’t expect,” she said as she gathered up her dirty things.
Athon turned to look at her. “I’m taking you straight to Cormant.”
Rhis nodded. “Good.”
The door opened and a sailor stuck his head in. “We’re all tied up, Captain.”
Athon grabbed Rhis’s arms and pulled them behind her back. He tied them with a length of smooth rope, then gagged her with a strip of cloth. It chafed at her injured mouth, but Athon hadn’t made it very tight. He stopped and looked her up and down, giving her a nod, and led her out on deck. The sun still seemed unnaturally bright, and she squinted against the glare as they made their way to the dock.
***
The familiar scent of the spicery filled Rhis’s nose. Athon kept his grip on her arm as they walked inside. A woman in a loose shawl looked up and opened her mouth to greet them, but her face paled and she stopped short when she saw Rhis.
“Garlic and ghost pepper,” Athon said.
The woman nodded and quickly ushered them to the back door. They walked down the steps, side by side, past the hanging bulbs and drying herbs. At the bottom, Athon pulled the thick curtain aside.
Cormant’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as Athon pushed Rhis inside and let the curtain drop behind them.
“I’ve come to collect on Rhisia Sen’s bounty,” Athon said. Not a hint of emotion leaked into his voice and he kept his tight grip on her arm.
A slow smile worked its way across Cormant’s face. “Well, well, well.” His eyes flicked up and down, and he licked his lips. “You actually did it. I admit, your reputation is well-earned. Perhaps not grand enough, even. This is certainly your finest catch. I am surprised, however, that you brought her in alive.”
“It’s usually my preference,” Athon said.
Cormant nodded. “Fair enough, my friend. Fair enough.” His eyes traveled slowly up and down, as if he wasn’t quite sure Rhis was really there.
Athon cleared his throat.
“Ah, of course,” Cormant said. “Forgive me, this is just such a surprise. Here I thought it was going to be a quiet day. There’s the matter of your payment.”
Cormant rose from his desk and went to a locked chest at the back of the room. He opened it and produced two large sacks, then hoisted them onto the desk with a loud clink.
“As agreed upon,” he said, gesturing toward the bags of Imperials.
Rhis watched, her heart pounding, and twisted her wrists against her bonds.
“There is another matter,” Athon said.
Cormant’s eyebrows lifted. “And what would that be?”
“The boy,” Athon said.
Rhis forced herself to keep her face still and swallowed hard, trying not to gag on the cloth cutting across her mouth. What was he going to say?
“I understand there was a contract on his head,” Athon continued. “I’ll collect on that as well. He’s dead.”
“The boy?” Cormant said. “Is he indeed?”
Athon let go of Rhis’s arm and pulled something from an inside pocket. He held it up to show Cormant. “This was his.”
Cormant slowly reached out a hand and clasped the warming stone. He held it in his palm, and tilted his head as he regarded the symbol on the front. “What did the boy look like?”
“A boy of twelve, dark hair,” Athon said. Cormant looked up as Athon paused. “Silver eyes.”
Cormant raised his eyebrows again and handed the stone back to Athon. “You killed him?”
“I did.”
Cormant gazed at him for a long moment. “Good,” he said and sat down in his chair, then pulled out a piece of paper. He dipped a quill in a pot of ink and wrote, then blotted the note and folded it, sealing it with a blob of wax. He pressed a seal into the wax and handed the paper to Athon.
“I don’t have the payment for that contract on hand, but take this to the treasury. It’s across the plaza from the palace. Heavily guarded, for obvious reasons, but this will get you what you need.”
Athon nodded and Rhis worked her wrists back and forth, feeling the bonds loosen.
“I must say, it was a pleasure doing business with you,” Cormant said, with an ingratiating smile. “You’ve done excellent work, here. I hope our paths cross again.”
“Let’s hope they don’t,” Athon said, and Cormant’s smile fell.
As Athon turned to leave, he caught Rhis’s eye and gave her an almost imperceptible nod. She tipped her chin just enough, and blinked her eyes. You kept your part of the bargain. Now for mine.
The curtain dropped behind him as Athon left and Cormant rose slowly from his chair.
“Rhisia,” he said, stretching out the syllables of her name as if speaking to a petulant child. He opened a drawer and the coils of a chain clinked. “It pains me to do this, it truly does.”
Rhis kept still as he walked around to the front of the desk, the chains dangling from his hand.
“It shouldn’t have come to this,” Cormant said with a sad shake of his head. “Believe me, all I ever wanted was to have a long and fruitful relationship with you. Alas, we live in a cruel world, and this was not to be. It is a great relief to see you again, and to know this little mess will soon be cleared up to everyone’s satisfaction. Well, not yours, I expect, but it’s an occupational hazard. I’m sure you understand.”
Cormant reached for her arms to bind her in the chain and Rhis ripped her hands free of the rope. His eyes widened and he squeaked something incoherent as Rhis grabbed his forearms. Wrenching his arms behind his back, she wrapped the chain around his wrists and shoved him against the wall next to the curtain.
“Don’t make a sound,” she said into his ear. “I know you have muscle nearby. They’ll only get you killed.”
She pulled a pin from her hair and jabbed into the soft flesh of Cormant’s neck. He gasped and let out a whimper.
“You have five minutes to live, at the most,” Rhis said. “However, I have the antidote. You’re a businessman. Let’s negotiate.”
“What do you want?” he asked, choking out the words.
“Report Asher’s death to the palace. Athon collects the purse, and the palace gets confirmation of his death. I want it to be official.”
“Wait, he’s alive?” Cormant said.
Rhis dug her elbow into his back. “Send word to the palace that the contract is fulfilled.”
“Okay,” he said. His breathing increased and sweat broke out on his face. “Rhisia, please. Give me the remedy.”
“You can feel it working, can’t you?” she said. “It won’t take long.”
“What else?” he said, his voice tinged with panic.
“Where do you keep your records?”
“What records?”
“Contracts,” she said. “Your assassins. All of it.”
“Here,” he said. “It’s all here. There’s a storage room through that door.”
“Nowhere else?” she said.
“I swear it,” he
said through gasping breaths.
Rhis let him go and unwound the chain. “Write the message to the palace.”
“Now? I need the antidote,” he said, the color draining from his face.
“After.”
He scurried to his desk and pulled out a fresh piece of paper. Rhis stood over his shoulder, reading along as his trembling hands wrote. He blotted the ink and folded it, sealing it with a blob of wax, and marked it with his seal.
“Who does this go to?” she asked.
Cormant wiped his forehead. “Mason!”
A door at the back opened, and Rhis caught a glimpse of an alley. A man in plain clothes stuck his head in.
“Take this to the palace,” he said. “It’s a confirmation letter.”
Mason glanced up at Rhis, his brow furrowed, and back at Cormant. “Yes, boss.”
Cormant handed him the letter and the door shut behind him.
“There,” he said. His body shook and white flecks coated his lips. “I did what you asked. Now stop this poison from killing me.”
Rhis crossed her arms. “I can’t.”
His eyes shot up and his face contorted. “What?”
“I said I can’t.”
“Why?” His voice was little more than a croak.
“I don’t have an antidote,” she said, looking him in the eyes. “I lied.”
Cormant tried to speak, but nothing came out but a garbled mess of slurred sounds. White froth bubbled up from his mouth and he slammed his hands on the desk, pushing up as if he meant to stand. He gurgled and clutched his throat; his face swelled, the skin turning a mottled shade of purple. Red ringed his eyes, and his thickened tongue protruded between his teeth. He collapsed forward onto the desk in a heap, his body twitching.
Rhis wrinkled her nose at the smell. He’d soiled himself as he died, and the poison she used tended to produce a lot of noxious gasses in the corpse. She picked her way behind him and plucked his keys from his belt.
She found the key for the side door and eased it open. Inside were chests stacked on top of each other, lining the walls. The tops were inscribed with labels. Morat, Hunsten, Larier. Vellini, Sallero, Eltan. Clients. She opened one and rifled through the contents. It contained contracts, signed by their originators. Rhis had never seen this side of the transaction. She put the papers back and replaced the lid. She had to give Cormant credit, he was incredibly organized.
Working through the room, she uncovered crates, dumping their contents, until she found what she was looking for. There was an entire stack of boxes labeled, Palace.
Rifling through them, she found a few with clear language, describing various targets. All made it clear the order came from the Emperor, probably to add weight to the instructions. Rhis smiled as she took a stack of them and tucked them beneath her shirt.
In the outer office, she held her breath and shoved Cormant’s body onto the floor. She quickly picked over his desk, tossing all the loose papers into the storage room. She wanted to make sure there were no records left of her, or Asher. The drawers held more papers, as well as writing instruments and seals. One had a pouch of coins, and Rhis tucked it into a pocket. When she was satisfied that she’d found everything there was to find, she took a lamp down from a hook on the wall and poured the oil out onto the pile of papers and flung it onto the stacks of crates around the room. She tossed the second lamp onto the oil soaked stack and watched as the flames spread quickly through the storage room. Black smoke poured out and Rhis ducked out through the curtain, letting the thick cloth drop behind her.
She closed the door at the top of the stairs and made her way through the shop. The woman said something as she passed and Rhis stopped, turning to look at her.
“Thank you for coming in,” the woman said, clutching her shawl around her shoulders.
Rhis took a few steps toward her. It occurred to her that this woman had seen her face and could report what she’d seen. It would be cleaner to kill her and toss her body down the stairs to burn. She wanted to walk away with no trace, no record that Rhisia Sen the assassin had ever existed.
Cormant will be my last kill.
“I need to speak with you,” Rhis said.
The woman’s brows drew in. “Why? What’s going on?”
Rhis lowered her voice into a conspiratorial whisper and stepped closer. “My name is Malena. I work for Cormant. I’m not sure what’s happening, but he said he has to leave town. I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I think one of his jobs went wrong. He was acting crazy, rummaging through his desk and tossing everything around. He looked kind of sick.” She drew the pouch of coins and let it clink in her hand. “He told me to leave and give this to you on my way out. You’re to take this and go home, then wait for him to contact you.”
The woman reached for the purse and let it drop into her hand. “I don’t understand. Malena? Weren’t you tied up before?”
“It was a little misunderstanding. I owed him money, but I made good on it.” Rhis waved her hand in front of her. “Just a trifle. But I think you should go. I find it’s always best to do what Cormant says, and not ask any questions. Don’t you?”
Rhis raised her eyebrows and the woman slowly nodded. A hint of smoke drifted in, cutting through the heavy aromas of the spicery.
“We should go,” Rhis said, and ushered the woman outside. She paused, waiting to see which direction the woman would go, then turned to go the opposite way down the street.
“Thank you, Malena,” the woman said. Rhis turned and saw her clutching the pouch to her chest.
Rhis smiled and gave her a nod, then turned and walked down the street, forcing herself not to hurry. She cut through a narrow alley and onto a side street, taking an indirect route away from the spicery. Turning uphill, she made her way up the slope. When she came to a gap in the buildings, she glanced behind her. Plumes of black smoke rose into the clear blue sky. Rhis smiled and looked down at her hands. They needed washing, one last time.
THIRTY-FIVE: VILLA
Rhis smoothed down her ill-fitting clothes as she stepped in through the gate to her villa. The courtyard was immaculate, every tree and plant carefully trimmed, the pathway swept clean. Sebba was taking good care of the place. It shouldn’t surprise her. He’d always been more than competent at his job.
She paused at the door, her hand hovering near the frame. Had there ever been a time when she hadn’t tapped her fingers against the wood? Already, the villa seemed as if it no longer belonged to her, and she certainly wouldn’t be spending the night inside its walls. She let her fingers curl and drew in her hand.
The door opened with a smooth swish and she stepped into the foyer. The air smelled fresh, the surfaces gleaming, as if Sebba had known she would arrive that very day and had made everything ready for her. She half-expected to see him padding down the hallway, telling her dinner had been prepared. Instead, he rushed toward the foyer in a flurry, his eyes wide.
“Mistress Rhisia,” he said. “Please, allow me to apologize. I did not know to expect you. I—”
Rhis put up a hand to stop him. “No, Sebba, you don’t have to apologize. I’ve dropped in on you unexpectedly.”
Sebba swallowed, seeming to collect himself, and adjusted his robe. Rhis glanced at his bare feet. Why had she never thought about his shoes? Did he choose to go barefoot?
“Well, Mistress, it’s hardly ‘dropping in’ when you have simply come home,” Sebba said. His eyes narrowed and he leaned closer. “Are you injured?”
Her hand strayed to her face. The swelling had gone down, but her skin was still mottled yellow and green across her cheek and her lip was scabbed. “It looks worse than it is. I’m fine.”
“If you’re certain,” he said, his voice full of doubt. “In that case, may I assist you in changing out of your … traveling attire?”
Rhis stared at him. Fine lines reached out from the corners of his eyes. He had worked for Rhis for years, and she realized she had no idea how old he was. In fact,
she knew next to nothing about the man who had waited on her hand and foot for the better part of a decade. “No, Sebba, thank you,” she said after a lengthy pause. “Actually, I won’t be staying.”
Sebba opened his mouth to reply, but a serving girl wandered in and stopped dead, her eyes widening as she saw Rhis. “Oh, I … I’m sorry.”
The girl backed away, her eyes filled with fear, as if she thought Rhis might attack her.
“Mistress, I do apologize,” Sebba said, wringing his hands together. “I kept all the servants in your absence. I know they weren’t needed, but I decreased their pay and can make up the difference in expense out of my own.”
“It’s all right,” Rhis said. Sebba let out a breath and his shoulders seemed to relax. The serving girl stood motionless in the hall, as if held up by a string. “You can give them their full pay. I have no reason to cheat them out of their wages.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” Sebba said. There was a touch of awe in his voice that cut through Rhis like a blade. Had she been so cruel that Sebba would assume she would be angry about the servants? She probably had.
“Sebba, I need to speak with you privately. Perhaps in the dining room?”
“Of course, Mistress,” Sebba said. “Shall I send for refreshments?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
“Very well,” he said, with a bob of his head, and followed her through the atrium and into the seldom-used dining room.
Rhis lowered herself onto one of the cushioned benches. Sebba stood in front of her, lines of concern standing out on his forehead.
“Please, sit,” Rhis said, gesturing to the bench.
Sebba’s mouth opened as if he would speak, but he closed it again, his eyes darting to the bench. After a brief hesitation, he sat, lowering himself carefully onto the edge, and kept his back rigid.
“How have things fared in my absence?” Rhis asked.
“Things here are well,” Sebba said. “Quiet.”
Rhis nodded, glancing around at the large oil paintings on the walls. “I see you have kept the villa in immaculate condition.”