The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams)

by Jones, Kirsten

  ‘Thieves.’ Phantom muttered disdainfully.

  ‘Takes one to know one, Ri!’ chirped one the gnomes and scuttled past clutching a heavy broadsword that obviously wasn’t his.

  They rode by several brawls without a second glance and innumerable intensely silent card games. A group of drows were holding a dreary-looking party around a smoky campfire and stared morbidly at them as they passed. Disjointed segments of conversations drifted to them with the noise and laughter, most of the talk seemed to be concerned solely with the day’s two events and Mistral heard her name mentioned more than once but couldn’t care less. She was focussed on leaving, not staying.

  At the end of the avenue they passed a tribe of forest elves eating at a long table outside their tent. It was quieter here and their conversation carried clearly on the still night air.

  ‘Have you seen that mare tethered outside Bryden’s tent?’

  ‘Hmm, didn’t see her racing today though.’

  ‘Can’t think why, she looks fast!’

  ‘Huh, flashy colouring like that is no good for hunting.’

  ‘Gold and cream … what’s that called?’

  ‘Palomino.’

  Mistral inhaled sharply and pulled Cirrus to an abrupt halt. She turned to the elf, forcing herself to be polite when she really wanted to leap down and shake the answer from him.

  ‘Excuse me for interrupting you meal, but could you please show me the way to Chieftain Wolfsnare’s tent?’

  The elves fell silent and eyed her coldly. One of them suddenly pointed at her accusingly.

  ‘I recognise you! You knocked me off my horse today!’

  Mistral grimaced. The last thing she wanted was to be delayed by an argument, or a fight.

  ‘Sorry about that … heat of the moment thing,’ she mumbled and quickly kicked Cirrus on. He lumbered forward, slightly lame.

  ‘Wait!’ the elf called.

  Mistral pulled Cirrus up and looked over her shoulder at the elf, one hand reaching for the dagger hidden in her belt. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the twins mimicking her action.

  ‘It was good riding sister.’ the elf conceded, smiling reluctantly. ‘Bryden’s tent is that way … but he’s got company.’

  ‘Thanks!’ Mistral called and promptly slipped from Cirrus, throwing the reins to Phantasm. ‘I’ll get there quicker on foot!’ she hissed, her voice vibrating with a mixture impatience and excitement. Abandoning her horse, she began to run in the direction the elf had indicated, swiftly followed by Prospero.

  Could it really be? Was it possible? She didn’t give her wheeling mind time to doubt but ran, stumbling over guide ropes, cursing breathlessly until her heart leapt and her feet stalled. There, in the shadows of a huge dark red tent stood a horse she would know anywhere. Her gold flanks glowed in the moonlight, her mane and tale could have been stolen from the stars.

  ‘Spirit!’

  Mistral ran up to the nervous mare, laughed joyously. Spirit tossed her head and began to fidget anxiously, moving with familiar light dancing footsteps while Mistral stroked a hand down her neck, drinking in the sight of the worn leather saddle and bundled travelling cloak attached to the back. She glanced at the large red tent; the flap was sealed and she didn’t dare burst in unannounced. She hesitated uncertainly by the closed entrance. A light glowed inside turning the occupants to silhouettes. Mistral stared at the shadowy shapes flickering against the tent walls, trying to make out the one she so longed to see.

  Their voices were low, muffled by the celebrating going on all around. Mistral strained to hear, feeling her heart lurch with every half-heard word, desperately trying to separate the sound of his voice from Bryden’s rich tones. She could hear another voice, rougher and wilder than Bryden’s but vaguely familiar. She leaned closer to the tent flap and recognised Bryden’s voice.

  ‘… unacceptable! A blatant violation!’

  He was obviously angry about something. She inched closer, kneeling down in the shadows and pressing her ear to the tent wall.

  ‘My tribe will undertake to escort you as a guest during the festival.’

  The wilder voice was speaking. Mistral frowned, trying to place where she had heard him speak before … then a third voice spoke, so quietly that it was barely above a murmur but Mistral immediately felt her heart stall. She leapt to her feet with a gasp of joy and stumbled towards the tent mouth, reaching out with a shaking hand to pull open the flap … only for it to inexplicably be suddenly out of her reach.

  ‘Shh!’

  Phantasm hissed in her ear and pressed a hand over her mouth while he and Phantom hauled her back from the tent mouth. Phantom kept a firm grip on her while Phantasm knelt down to gaze intently into her face. Still keeping his hand pressed over her mouth he met her outraged glare with a warning look.

  ‘I know Mage De Winter is in there and it must be killing you to be this close, but you must wait!’

  Her eyes flashed angrily and a muffled noise erupted against his hand.

  ‘He’s a Mage Mistral!’ Phantasm whispered fiercely. ‘This is The Festival of the Arcane! He shouldn’t be here! I have no idea how he managed to ride into the Vale without being killed on sight never mind secure a meeting with Chieftain Wolfsnare!’

  More angry muffled noises erupted which Phantasm listened to carefully then nodded.

  ‘Yes, I know we’re planning to leave straight away, but he has already violated the rules and I should think Chieftain Wolfsnare is very unhappy about it! I doubt this is a matter either his pride or his tribe will allow him to simply overlook.’

  ‘Mmph.’ Mistral conceded with a deflated look in her eyes.

  ‘Yes, “Oh”.’ Phantasm agreed. He regarded her silently then asked in a hard whisper. ‘Mistral? If I take my hand away do you promise not to shout his name out or do anything equally as impulsive or stupid? Because if we are caught eavesdropping outside Chieftain Wolfsnare’s tent we will not live to see the dawn!’

  Mistral nodded her head quickly, her eyes wide with unspoken promise to behave.

  With a hesitant glance at his brother, Phantasm slowly moved his hand from her mouth and tensed, ready to slap it back on again if she so much as breathed too loudly.

  She drew in a deep breath and Phantasm lunged forwards, but Mistral merely exhaled again and looked at him angrily.

  ‘What? Can’t I even breathe now?’

  ‘If you must! But do it more quietly!’

  They knelt in tense silence, straining to hear the imperceptible sounds of the conversation going on inside the tent until Phantasm suddenly dragged Mistral to her feet and pulled her back into the deeper shadows.

  ‘They’re coming out!’

  Before he had finished his whispered warning the flap of the tent was abruptly pulled aside. Light pooled out onto the dark ground as the first silhouetted figure stepped through.

  Mistral pulled forwards with a frantic gasp when the lean dark shape of her Mage appeared in the brightly lit entrance. Fabian’s eyes immediately snapped to the source of the sound and widened when he saw her, straining futilely against the twins’ iron grip. His black stare burned into hers with an intense longing before he moved his hand in a slight gesture, signalling for her to wait. She nodded once, rigid in the twins’ hold. Fabian turned away to face the two figures emerging from the tent behind him. Bryden Wolfsnare strode into view to stand beside Fabian, his expression that of a man forced to agree to something against his better judgement. Behind him came the distinctive figure of Imperato, the chief centaur.

  Mistral felt the twins react at his appearance. She knew they were thinking the same as her. What did Imperato have to do with Fabian being in the Vale? Barely daring to breathe, they listened to the conversation being held at the tent mouth.

  ‘It is based only, and I cannot stress this enough Mage De Winter, on our previous good relationship that I can permit your presence here tonight. For you to remain in the Vale for the remainder of the festival is a step too
far!’

  Fabian remained silent while Imperato responded to Bryden’s words.

  ‘The Mage does not embrace the Craft. He is Ri. My tribe and I will vouch for the appropriateness of his behaviour whilst he gratefully accepts your generous hospitality at the festival.’

  Mistral frowned to herself in the darkness. Why would Imperato pledge his allegiance to Fabian? To her knowledge Fabian had never mentioned having any dealings with The Velvet Forest centaurs.

  ‘I am unsure as to why your tribe would wish to vouchsafe for a Mage, Imperato, perhaps you could enlighten me?’ Bryden demanded stiffly.

  ‘He is Bonded to the Seer.’

  Bryden’s face cleared, ‘And now I understand your interest! Mistral De Winter … the winner of the horse race … she is a Seer?’

  ‘It is written as such, though she has yet to master the Sight.’

  ‘Has she indeed.’ Bryden murmured and gazed thoughtfully at Fabian. ‘You are Bonded, and wed too, yet she has yet to attain Sight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Bryden raised his eyebrows and regarded Fabian silently for a long moment, ‘Then I cannot doubt your integrity. You are welcome as my guest Mage De Winter. Enjoy the festival.’

  Mistral watched Bryden retreat into his tent before her gaze snapped irresistibly back to Fabian. She realised she was biting her fist hard enough to draw blood in an effort not to cry out his name and pulled her hand away sharply, spitting blood onto the ground.

  ‘Classy.’ Phantom muttered under his breath.

  Mistral ignored him. Every muscle in her body tensed for the split-second that Fabian so much as glanced in her direction.

  ‘Do not fail me Mage.’ Imperato said quietly.

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘She will See.’ Imperato continued, gazing thoughtfully up at the stars. ‘It is written and cannot be changed.’

  A silence fell and Mistral felt as though she would snap. The tension mounting inside her was so strong that she could barely draw breath.

  ‘When?’ Fabian finally whispered.

  Imperato slowly turned his profound gaze to meet Fabian’s black stare.

  ‘Time is irrelevant to me Mage. You must be patient. She fights her destiny as she fights the two holding her back from running to your arms right now.’ he smiled slowly and switched his enigmatic gaze to meet Mistral’s frantic eyes.

  Taken beyond the limits of her restraint, Mistral cried out and wrenched free, running to throw herself in Fabian’s arms, sobbing with relief when they closed around her, wrapping her so tightly against him that she could feel the warmth of his breath sighing her name.

  Phantom gazed at his brother in the darkness.

  ‘Time to unpack?’

  ‘It looks that way brother.’

  Imperato moved softly away, leaving Fabian and Mistral alone in the pool of light outside Bryden’s tent.

  ‘You’re here!’ she whispered, gazing at him in ecstatic wonderment. ‘But … how?’

  ‘The twins.’ Fabian murmured softly. ‘I heard their thoughts, or rather I felt them. Some strange unbidden desire to add Golden to the Contract and a completely unwarranted realisation that you would be competing at The Festival of the Arcane.’

  Mistral smiled, safe in the warmth of his arms, ‘They weren’t sure if they could project their gift onto an unseen recipient. But they did. I’m sorry about the Golden part. I’m over that now … but you’re here! You’re really here!’

  Fabian laughed softly and gazed down at her, his dark eyes eloquent with unspoken words.

  ‘Fabian.’ Mistral breathed his name, her eyes roving hungrily over the face that she had dreamed of every night since he had left her. ‘Please,’ she began and faltered, gazing at him wordlessly.

  ‘Yes?’ his voice was soft, drawing the confession from her lips.

  ‘Please … never leave me again.’

  ‘But I never left Mistral. Surely you heard me?’ he smiled gently, his eyes oceans of blackest night.

  ‘I heard.’ she smiled. ‘Satin ribbons –’

  ‘Ah,’ he sighed softly and looked up at the night sky. ‘Satin ribbons.’ he exhaled and looked down to meet her gaze once more. ‘I dreamt every night of satin ribbons.’

  Mistral gazed back, lost in the promises of his eyes, ‘Why aren’t you kissing me?’

  He laughed and bent his head, obeying her wish.

  ‘If this is what you consider to be appropriate behaviour, Mage De Winter, I may be forced to re-think my decision!’

  Mistral jumped guiltily and sprang away from Fabian, but he merely laughed and caught her around the waist, pulling her back into his arms.

  ‘I apologise unreservedly for kissing my wife, Bryden, and bid you goodnight.’

  Still laughing, Fabian wrapped an arm around Mistral and drew her away, untethering Spirit as he passed. Mistral leaned against his side and breathed in his scent with a sigh of pleasure. He was here … and she was complete. They began to walk slowly along the avenue, neither feeling the need for words. She dropped a hand to caress Prospero’s head while he padded obediently by her side. Of Cirrus and the twins there was no sign. She guessed they must have taken the horses back to their tent.

  Their tent.

  Saul.

  Mistral felt her blissful state skew. When Saul saw her with Fabian the atmosphere would be thicker than Bernadette’s porridge and Fabian would instantly realise that something had occurred between them. Mistral sighed heavily at the thought of what she had to do.

  Fabian heard her sigh and turned to look at her. Seeing her apprehensive expression he stopped walking and turned to face her. Mistral gazed at him, so entranced by the way his dark eyes seemed to defy the stars with their intensity that at first she failed to comprehend his quietly spoken words.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘No!’ Mistral’s shocked denial escaped her lips before she realised her mistake. Fabian was talking about Putreo, not Saul. ‘I meant good!’ she amended quickly.

  Fabian regarded her narrowly, ‘That is not quite the reaction I would have expected. Do you have something you wish to tell me Mistral?’

  Mistral held his searching look for a moment longer before dropping her gaze to stare guiltily at the flattened grass.

  ‘You’re right, as usual,’ she sighed then gave him a pleading look. ‘But can’t it wait? Can’t I just enjoy the fact that you’re here, alive, whole and next to me, before we have to dissect the usual mess that happens whenever you’re stupid enough to leave me alone for any length of time?’

  ‘No.’

  Mistral sighed again and closed her eyes to hide her embarrassment, ‘Fine. Well, he … Saul, that is … may have suggested that he … er, well, you know –’

  ‘No. I don’t know. Please elaborate.’

  Mistral tentatively opened her eyes and glanced at his face, noting with dismay the rigid tension there she sighed again. She would have given her swords to have been able to greet him with the news that she had gained Sight, or had at least managed to strangle Columbine … instead all she could tell him was that during his absence another man had asked her to leave her husband for him.

  ‘I swear I gave him no provocation,’ she said, gazing earnestly into his flat black stare.

  ‘To do what exactly?’ he demanded coldly.

  ‘Er, to ask me to leave you for him,’ she muttered and cringed, waiting for him to explode in fury.

  ‘How ridiculous.’

  Mistral stared at him, ‘You’re not angry?’

  ‘Furious. But only at his stupidity. Why does he persist in wasting his time pestering you with unrequited love and annoying me to the point of wanting to kill him? Is he so lovesick that he really wants to die?’

  Suddenly fed up with the subject, Mistral shrugged, ‘Don’t ask me, I was too busy winning a horse race to worry about dull things like that.’

  Fabian drew in a deep breath and cast his eyes up to the star-filled sky. A long moment passed before he laugh
ed softly and looked at her once more.

  ‘You know, of course,’ he murmured, his fathomless gaze holding hers with an power that never failed to steal her breath away, ‘that my heart nearly burst with pride when Bryden informed that a certain Mistral De Winter had won the horse race.’

  ‘Oh?’ she whispered, fighting against the familiar falling sensation. ‘At which bit? The fact that I used my married name or the fact that I won?’

  ‘Both.’

  Mistral stared into the velvet of his eyes, mesmerised by the emotions swirling in their black depths. They gazed at each other in silence for a long moment, holding a conversation no words could ever express until Fabian smiled and pulled her against his side again to continue their unhurried walk along the dark avenue of tents. It was quieter now; the wild revelry had given way to drunken sleep. The only audible sounds were of their muffled footsteps and the occasional snatch of muted conversations drifting out from the tents they passed.

  ‘I was leaving for the Valley tonight.’ Mistral began quietly.

  ‘I guessed.’

  ‘We can still go, if you wish to, that is … I don’t really care about the festival.’

  Fabian smiled sardonically, ‘Considering that I have just persuaded Bryden to permit my continued presence – and a Mage at The Festival of the Arcane is an unprecedented event – I really feel it would be a touch rude to abscond in the middle of the night. Besides, you might win the tournament.’

  ‘Huh! If I did, it would be no thanks to you!’ Mistral suddenly exclaimed, halting and turning to fix him with an accusatory look. ‘The twins tried to stop me from winning the race on your instructions!’

  ‘I would never instruct them to make you lose.’ Fabian replied evenly. ‘Merely to be safe.’