The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams)

by Jones, Kirsten

  Mistral looked at him in surprise, ‘Why would I object? It’s your house. You can do what you want with it.’

  ‘No, actually, it is half yours.’

  ‘Oh!’ Mistral paused. Of course, they were married now. ‘No, I have absolutely no objections. Please, er … do as you see fit?’ she finished weakly, hoping that was an appropriate response for a wife to make.

  Fabian smiled mirthlessly, ‘I appreciate the effort, but I think I prefer you the way you are.’

  ‘In that case you can knock the damned thing to the ground for all I care! If I ever set foot in there again it will be a day too soon!’

  This time his laugh was genuine. He pulled her close, kissing her hair, ‘That’s the Mistral I married, oh, and, by the way –’

  Mistral raised an eyebrow and looked at him enquiringly.

  ‘I like you in those trousers.’

  Mistral met his burning gaze and felt the heat rise in her face, ‘You should see what she made put on underneath! It’s killing me!’

  ‘I would love to.’

  Fabian abruptly kissed her, fierce and hungry, completely different to his normal restrained approach. Mistral responded without hesitation, capitalising on his brief departure from his usual rigid control. She suddenly realised that due to the Divinus, Fabian had lived through every agonising moment of her mental torture and been helpless to stop it. Her pain would have been nothing compared to the torment he must have felt at being unable to fulfil the one facet of his nature that was so deeply ingrained in him that he did it without even noticing. The need to protect her.

  Fabian eventually pushed her away with a last regretful look at her tightly trouser-clad form.

  ‘One day.’

  ‘I’m going to double my efforts to gain the Sight, I swear.’ Mistral whispered fervently.

  ‘Thank you, but please could you talk to me about something less interesting? We are now outside Eximius’ residence and he is expecting an ordered meeting, not bear witness to a newly married couple’s yearning passion.’

  ‘Oh please tell me he doesn’t know about the damned ban on our love life too!’

  ‘Since he met with Divinus the moment we arrived yesterday, I think you can safely assume that he is aware of our unusual situation.’

  ‘Great.’ Mistral muttered dismally while Fabian led her through the barren courtyard towards Mage Grapple’s house. ‘Well at least I can rely on Mage Grapple not to make smutty innuendos.’

  Fabian raised the brass knocker on the door and let it fall with a heavy thud, ‘Unlike your brothers I assume.’

  Mistral glanced at him, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut, ‘They may have teased me about being eligible to wear white at our wedding … nothing too offensive,’ she assured him quickly.

  Fabian gave a terse nod but his silence spoke volumes. Mistral could tell that he was still far from impressed with her brothers. It wasn’t just this latest incident, more a whole string of events that seemed to result in her ending up in some life-threatening situation every time. She was about to launch into a long-winded defence but was stopped by the door being opened by a sour-faced woman dressed in a severely cut black dress.

  ‘Mage Grapple is expecting you Mage De Winter, Lady De Winter.’ she nodded politely and stepped aside to allow Fabian and Mistral to enter Mage Grapple’s house.

  ‘I hate being called that!’ Mistral hissed under her breath to Fabian.

  ‘Why do you think I never used the title?’ he murmured back.

  ‘Can’t you tell them not to call me it?’ she breathed while they followed what was obviously Mage Grapple’s housekeeper across the entrance hall and down a long corridor.

  ‘What would you prefer? Mrs De Winter?’

  Mistral shot him a black look, ‘You know what, I’m not sure I’d have said yes quite so easily if I’d known it was going to be about being called ridiculous names!’

  Fabian smiled, ‘Why do you think I organised the wedding so quickly?’

  ‘I’d never change my mind about you.’ Mistral whispered back quickly. ‘Just the damned title that you conveniently hid from me till it was too late.’

  ‘What can I say? You married a thief and an assassin.’

  ‘I married the man I love.’ Mistral corrected. ‘The rest is just a bonus.’

  They paused outside a heavy oak door and waited while the housekeeper knocked and entered. Fabian suddenly turned, holding her with a look of such irrefutable love that she felt the air escape her lungs in a single rush, leaving her staring, breathless and senseless.

  ‘I found this outside the cellar.’ Fabian pressed something cold into her hands.

  She frowned down at the object in her hands and let out a gasp of joy, ‘My dagger!’

  ‘I was going to give it to you this morning but I thought it would be best if you enjoyed the pleasure of Melsina’s company unarmed – ’

  ‘Mage Grapple will see you alone first Mage De Winter. If you could follow me please, Lady De Winter.’

  Mistral shot Fabian a pained look at the repeated use of her new title but he merely smiled and walked quickly through the door into Mage Grapple’s private study.

  The housekeeper led Mistral to a small room, sparsely furnished with two functional rather than comfortable looking chairs and a low table.

  ‘May I offer you some refreshment La –’

  ‘No, thank you.’ Mistral said quickly.

  The housekeeper nodded politely and left, leaving Mistral alone with her thoughts until Fabian returned.

  Walking over to one of the chairs, Mistral poked the uncomfortable looking seat experimentally and found it was as rock-hard as its appearance suggested. She sighed and began to patrol the small room, forcing her mind to focus on the spartan decor, on the uncomfortable item of clothing Melsina had wedged her into, on Fabian’s expression when he had looked at her just now … on anything she could to prevent her mind drifting back to the agonising images Golden had submitted her to.

  Balling her fists in sudden fury, she swore an undying oath to kill her. Soon. Lost in a bloody daydream of revenge, Mistral barely noticed the time passing until the door suddenly opened and Fabian walked into the room. She noted instantly that his expression was tense. Perhaps their meeting hadn’t gone well.

  ‘Is he ready for me now?’ she asked quietly.

  He reached out to take hold of both of her hands, ‘In a minute. We need to talk first.’

  Mistral was instantly anxious, ‘What about?’

  ‘Eximius has issued a contract on Putreo.’

  ‘Alive or dead?’

  ‘Dead.’

  Mistral nodded, her face hard, ‘Good. Who’s taken it?’

  ‘I have.’

  Mistral’s bloody daydream leapt to the forefront of her mind once more, ‘Even better! When do we leave?’

  Fabian gazed at her with velvet eyes so soft and deep that Mistral felt like she was falling into pools of dark water. Treacherous. Drowning her.

  ‘Oh, no! No! NO! You promised! You swore –’

  ‘Mistral.’

  But Mistral didn’t hear him, she was shouting, her eyes wide with anger and panic, ‘You swore to me Fabian! You swore that you wouldn’t leave me!’

  ‘Mistral.’ Fabian gently curled his hands around her face, holding her angry glare, forcing her to keep looking at him. ‘I cannot let you go with me. It is too dangerous for you to leave the Isle right now. You must understand that.’

  ‘I won’t let you go without me! You swore that you wouldn’t leave me! Do you break all your promises so easily?’

  A shadow of pain crossed Fabian’s face but he continued to gaze into her eyes, ‘No. I will never break a promise I make to you. I will be with you always. We are as one Mistral, I can never be without you, nor you without me, we are a part of each other.’

  Mistral stared at him, wretched with desperation, ‘Then don’t leave me.’

  ‘I will not leave you unprotected.’

 
; ‘I don’t want you here to protect me! I want you here because I love you! Don’t you dare go Fabian!’

  He said nothing but continued to hold her gaze with his own.

  Abruptly changing tactics, Mistral began to plead with him in a low voice, imploring him with her eyes while she spoke.

  ‘Let another warrior take the Contract! The Rochfortes are hated by most of the Ri, there’ll be no shortage of takers!’

  Fabian shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving hers, ‘I need to see Putreo dead with my own eyes. I have to know that he can never hurt you again.’

  ‘But – but –’ Mistral cast around desperately for a new argument. ‘But … you no longer take assassination Contracts!’ she finally cried.

  ‘The Contract is immaterial. I will simply be paid for something I was going to do anyway.’

  Mistral breathed in deeply and closed her eyes, forcing herself to speak calmly, ‘I spent the last two days in hell, locked in a cellar and forced to watch you die over and over again until I didn’t think it was possible to still keep feeling more pain.’ Mistral opened her eyes again to look up at him beseechingly. ‘And now you’re telling me that what I saw might come true? You can’t! I won’t let you! There’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight!’

  ‘Sight is precisely why I must go and you must stay.’ Fabian frowned. ‘You must master your gift. It is imperative to the future of the Isle, and more importantly, to our future –’

  ‘Damn the Isle! And damn my cursed gift to hell! If you go without me I swear I will stop even trying to master it!’

  Fabian brushed her angry tears away then kissed her rigid lips until she no longer resisted.

  ‘Please don’t go.’ she whispered, hating how weak her voice sounded.

  ‘Eximius has offered to cast a protective spell over you while I am away.’ Fabian murmured against her hair. ‘It will keep you safe from all other spells.’

  ‘I don’t want a damned spell cast on me!’ Mistral exclaimed, struggling to pull away from him. ‘I want you!’

  Fabian sighed and closed his eyes, his brow furrowed with emotion, ‘Please Mistral, don’t make this harder for me than it already is.’

  ‘Then take me with you!’

  Fabian drew in a sharp breath, ‘Putreo has probably fled to the Rochforte tribe in France. They would be only too delighted if I saved them the effort of kidnapping you again and simply delivered you. In fact, I could even put a bow on you to make you look like even more of a gift!’

  Mistral glared at him, anger flooding through her once more, ‘You can’t go! No! I refuse to –’

  ‘To what? Face up to the responsibility you have been avoiding for your entire life?’ a cold voice rang out from behind them.

  She spun furiously to meet the grey stare of Mage Grapple. He paused in the doorway, eyeing her appraisingly before striding into the room.

  ‘I have to say, Lady De Winter, that you actually befit your title.’

  Mistral ignored the compliment and narrowed her eyes, ‘Why did you offer Fabian the Contract? You knew he wouldn’t refuse!’

  Mage Grapple raised a scarred eyebrow, ‘I shall overlook that fact that you are querying me on my judgement,’ he paused and looked at her steadily. ‘In answer to your ill-thought question, I offered the Contract to De Winter because, despite my frustration at his refusal to honour the Craft in his bloodline, I have respect for his abilities as a warrior. He is efficient, discrete and professional. I also knew that he would kill Count Darke anyway so to send two assassins would be pointless.’

  Mistral flinched at the use of the word assassin. She hated to think of Fabian in that way. Fabian. She looked at him now, the assassin once more.

  ‘Lady De Winter.’

  Mistral ignored Mage Grapple and kept her gaze locked on Fabian’s, begging him with her eyes to change his mind.

  ‘I want you to accept the protection I offer. I assure you that you will be completely unaware of its presence. You must return to the Valley and continue with your training. You are in the second year of an apprenticeship to the Ri and so far, as I understand it, you have done little more than lurch from one disaster to another without managing to progress at all with harnessing the power of your gift.’

  ‘I hope you are not referring to my marriage as a disaster!’ Mistral snapped before she could restrain herself.

  Mage Grapple regarded her icily, ‘Do not try my patience! I refer to your professional life, not personal!’

  ‘Well the two seemed to be inseparable to me!’ Mistral shouted, suddenly enraged. Ignoring Fabian’s warning grip on her hands she glared furiously at Mage Grapple. ‘Why, if my personal life is so damned personal does everyone insist on knowing all about it? I am sick and tired of being forced to live apart from Fabian in order to try and master some cursed gift I don’t even want! All the time with the pressure of you and Leo just waiting for me to become a Seer and obediently help you both to achieve your damned ambitions! I don’t care about the Sight and I certainly don’t want it!’

  Mage Grapple met her heated glare calmly, ‘What do you want Lady De Winter?’

  Mistral glowered at him for a second longer then drew in a deep breath, ‘I want a life with Fabian.’

  Mage Grapple nodded, ‘Then we want the same things.’

  ‘I can assure you we don’t!’ Mistral said with feeling.

  Mage Grapple laughed, a sound so completely out place with his austere appearance that at first Mistral didn’t recognise it and stared at him uncertainly, wondering if she had actually made him so angry that he was having a seizure.

  ‘I agree, I probably don’t feel the same way about De Winter as you do,’ he said mildly. ‘However, you want a life with your husband. You are, forgive me, a half-breed?’

  Mistral shrugged and avoided his gaze. Her bloodline was an open debate that she didn’t want to enter into at that precise moment.

  ‘Then you appreciate that the Rochfortes would remove every trace of your existence from the Isle and have the stain your blood left on the ground scrubbed away too. You would never be permitted to be with a Mage. If you so desperately want the life you have committed yourself to you must fight for it –’

  ‘Fight I can do!’ Mistral burst. ‘But the Sight! It’s – it’s – ’ she faltered, at a loss for words to describe how it felt to spend hours and hours forcing her mind to seek for something she didn’t even know where to start looking for.

  ‘Hard to achieve?’ Mage Grapple suggested coldly. ‘Why does that surprise you? The Divinus is the only living Seer on the Isle and has been for the last two hundred years. Sight is an incredibly rare gift, although I agree that the word gift implies that it is something that is given and easily received, which, as you are aware, is far from the truth.

  ‘There are many ways to fight, Lady De Winter, not just with your fists and your swords or with words, but with your mind too. You must have strength, determination, conviction and above all, the desire to attain control of the gift that lies within you. If the Divinus passes before we have another Seer on the Isle we will be open to countless plots and subterfuge that will threaten the freedom of the sanctuary I have fought so hard to preserve.’

  Mistral stared at the face before her, ravaged with scars from the countless battles he had fought in his struggle to unify the warring tribes and bring peace to the Isle. But more than physical scars, Mage Grapple’s cold nature was evidence of a deeper, less visible wound; a result of losing the woman he loved giving birth to his child. A child that he still believed to this day was also dead. Fabian’s mother had been his lover and unbeknown to him, Leo was his son.

  Mistral felt her anger drain away in the face of such sacrifice and commitment to what Mage Grapple obviously believed to be a more important cause than his own happiness. She felt shamed and belittled by her actions; a petulant child throwing a tantrum because she couldn’t have what she wanted. She looked at Mage Grapple with a chastened expression on her fa
ce.

  ‘I apologise for my outburst, Mage Grapple. And I will do as you ask, only … please can you not call me Lady De Winter anymore.’

  Mage Grapple laughed again, making his scarred face look suddenly younger and less intense. Mistral thought she saw a flash of Emiror and also Leo in the brief light that flared in his eyes but then it was gone, leaving behind only the stern, cold grey stare as he dismissed her with a curt nod.

  ‘He likes you.’ Fabian remarked, watching the door close behind Mage Grapple.

  ‘How can you tell?’ Mistral frowned. To her all Mage Grapple’s facial expressions were limited to the movements of his scars as he spoke.

  ‘He laughed … twice, in fact. I am not sure I have ever heard Eximius laugh.’

  The Babysitting Contract

  ‘I have to say that I’m impressed with how well she seems to be coping with her Mage’s absence.’ Cain remarked while he watched Mistral pulverising one of the first years in the Training Arena.

  Xerxes was sat on the Arena fence beside him, idly cleaning his fingernails with his dagger, ‘Huh, you mean she hasn’t tried to kill herself yet.’

  A stilted silence fell and Xerxes looked up, his expression defensive, ‘What? Is it too soon for that joke yet?’

  ‘Yes brother it is!’

  ‘Oh lighten up Cain –’

  ‘Lighten up? Tell me Xerxes, have you forgotten Mage Grapple, his Leoship and the slightly scary Mage De Winter all giving us specific instructions not to let her out of our sight until the Contract on Putreo is completed?’

  ‘I know.’ Xerxes sighed heavily. ‘Babysitting Mistral is a bit like trying to take a tiger for a walk; dangerous and neither of you really enjoy it.’

  Cain gave a short bark of laughter, ‘I can see the similarities.’ he leaned back against the fence, gazing across the village square to see Brutus talking to the blonde girl from the saddlery. ‘Oh damn your brother! I was going to try my luck again there this evening!’

  Xerxes followed his gaze and scowled, ‘No, you can’t have been. She promised me a date for tonight!’

  Cain gave Xerxes a calculating look, ‘Do you think they’ve started playing us?’