The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams)

by Jones, Kirsten

  Study became her sole source of distraction. To her surprise, Malachi’s lessons afforded her the chance to not only learn, but excel in the art of brewing. She became adept at identifying poisons and mixing up their corresponding antidotes, even devising a few of her own that she looked forward to sharing with Cain. She spent many silent hours working in the subdued atmosphere of Malachi’s tower room, but didn’t complain. The work was interesting, and she had an ulterior motive for spending so much time in Malachi’s charmless presence. His aura was still veiled to her by his vampire blood and reading it had become something of a goal for Mistral. If she could force her mind to penetrate beyond the protection his blood offered then she would know for certain that her hard work was at least starting to pay off. Each time he was occupied in a book or pacing thoughtfully, Mistral would abruptly halt mid-task and focus on the air around his dark, close-cropped hair, straining her mind to see more than just the vague misty threads of aura that lingered around his head.

  August arrived, parched and arid. Mistral mastered the complicated and dangerous art of brewing Theriac, learned how to pull teeth and could tell the seasons from the movement of the stars. She spent hours alone in the Main Hall poring over dusty books detailing the lives of the Isle’s previous Seers, but the turgid biographies offered little insight on how to actually develop the gift.

  September came and went and still Fabian remained in the Valley. His brooding presence was her guilty pleasure, like a beautiful wild bird, caged and kept solely for her delight.

  October turned the forests to russet and gold and bought Mistral the joy of seeing her brothers all return. A rare Friday evening of fun lay before her in the form of an ale-fuelled game of cards in The Cloak and Dagger.

  ‘Still no Sight?’ Brutus eyed her suspiciously, his cards held close to his chest.

  Mistral gave him a cold look, ‘Just deal brother.’

  ‘Have you made any progress yet?’ Cain swept up his cards and fanned them out, his question casual but Mistral could sense the underlying meaning beneath his words.

  So what have you been doing since June then? Tell me Saul didn’t die just for you to swan around the Valley doing nothing. As usual.

  Mistral shrugged, ‘I can now read all of your auras at the same time and you wouldn’t have a clue, oh, and I actually managed to get a look at Malachi’s aura today.’

  ‘You did?’ Phantom leaned across the table, his green eyes glittering. ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t completely clear. I had to do it while he was climbing up a ladder to retrieve a book, so he kept looking down –’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure it was a nail-biting event!’ Phantom cut in impatiently. ‘But what did you see?’

  ‘He’s planning something alright.’ Mistral’s eyes slid out of focus, gazing blankly across the room while she recalled the vision of Malachi’s aura. ‘Unfortunately I can’t tell you what.’ she shrugged and picked up her tankard, taking a long drink while Phantom continued to stare at her expectantly.

  ‘That’s it?’ Phantom looked disappointed. ‘Just “he’s planning something”? No secret guilt or hidden love?’

  Mistral gave him an irritated look, ‘No brother. Not even a hint of anything vaguely salacious. Just lashings of good old fashioned greed and a frightening amount of purpose – although, strangely, there was no impatience or frustration.’

  ‘So he’s biding his time.’ Phantasm murmured then gave her a sharp look. ‘Does Master Sphinx know that you’ve read him?’

  Mistral glanced disinterestedly at her cards, ‘More than likely since I’ve told Fabian. They’re up in Leo’s room now, talking. Again.’

  The twins shared a look at the note of bitterness in her voice.

  ‘Ah yes, the on-going drama of our scheming French brothers.’ Phantom abruptly tossed a card onto the table, heralding the start of the game and diverting Mistral’s attention away from her Mage. ‘We’ve just spent a riveting fortnight stuck at the Council listening to endless debates about their suspected plans.’

  ‘It was rather dull.’ Phantasm agreed, dropping a card on top of his brother’s.

  ‘Never thought I’d hear you two say that about the Council!’ Xerxes remarked, smugly flicking an ace onto Phantasm’s card.

  ‘Always straight in with the big card. So predictable.’ Brutus sighed and dropped another ace down.

  Mistral studied her cards for a moment then smiled and threw a pair of fives down, ‘Beat that Cain.’

  ‘Damn it! How could you know that I had no pairs or royals?’ Cain swore and slapped his hand down. ‘I don’t know why I bother playing cards with you Mistral! You’ve got such an unfair advantage! I bet you’ve been reading our auras the whole time!’

  ‘Not the whole time. I only read your aura when you picked your cards up. I can’t help it if you get depressed when you’ve got a bad hand –’

  ‘I knew it! And they call me a cheating hob!’ Cain shoved his chair back and stomped bad-temperedly over to the bar, ignoring the laughter behind him.

  The door to the tavern opened and Eudora entered, pausing to wave flirtatiously over at their table before she continued to the bar. Mistral smiled when the twins shrank slightly in their seats and hid behind their raised tankards.

  ‘Xerxes!’ Mistral suddenly cried in a horrified voice.

  ‘What?’ Xerxes demanded, trying not to look caught out.

  ‘Your aura just went the most revolting shade of ruby I’ve ever seen! Please don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on that old trollop!’

  ‘The experience a mature woman offers can be very attractive.’ Xerxes swept the cards up, his expression aloof. ‘Another game?’

  Xerxes smirked, ‘What my brother really meant is that his army of sweethearts have finally joined forced and gone on strike and he’s feeling lonely.’

  ‘On strike?’ Cain joined them again, his impish face alight with curiosity. ‘As in –’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Brutus nodded, his grin broadening. ‘They’re refusing to see him again until he chooses just one of them and shows some kind of commitment.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Phantom murmured sympathetically. ‘Enforced celibacy not suiting you then Xerxes?’

  Mistral laughed, ‘I think desperate would be a closer description judging by his aura.’

  ‘Back to Master Nox please Mistral.’ Phantasm hid his words by leaning forward to sweep up the hand Xerxes dealt him. ‘Have any of the first years had one of those rather questionable Training Contracts recently?’

  Mistral shook her head and glanced down at her own cards, ‘Looks like that little scheme of his died with Putreo.’

  ‘Or Master Nox suspects we know and is letting the dust settle.’

  ‘What is there to suspect?’ Mistral muttered and dropped a card onto the table. ‘Putreo’s dead and all the loose ends were tied up with the elf he had assassinated. There’s no evidence.’

  ‘True.’ Phantasm gazed broodingly at his cards before picking one. ‘Or maybe he already has enough gold to buy his way to power when the Divinus passes.’

  ‘Gold? Huh!’ Brutus snorted and tossed a random card down. ‘When I think of all the Training Contracts we did with those little added extras for Master Nox I want to be sick!’

  ‘I remember scraping scaramander scales off a five day old corpse for him.’ Xerxes gave a disgusted shudder and flung a card down. ‘It took days to get the smell off my hands!’

  ‘I collected gargoyle eggs.’ Mistral re-arranged her cards thoughtfully. ‘They smell like dung and move on their own. It was vile.’

  ‘I had to milk a basilisk of its venom. Damned thing nearly bit my hand off.’ Cain said bitterly and dropped a low card onto the table.

  ‘What I still don’t get is why Gleacher lets himself be used in the plan.’ Brutus frowned at his cards before selecting one and sending it spinning across the table with a practiced flick of his wrist. It skidded to a halt, face up on top of the pile.

  ‘Show-o
ff.’ Xerxes muttered and ran a finger lightly over the cards in his hand, pulling one and dropping it down with a flourish. ‘I personally refuse to believe that Gleacher’s in it for his own gain.’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve fought beside him on mercenary Contracts and there’s no way he’d do that. Gleacher’s Ri through and through.’

  ‘I agree.’ Phantasm sent a queen somersaulting onto the pack. ‘In fact, I agree so much that I think he’d willingly consent to being the carrier just to protect any apprentices from being coerced into doing it. Let’s face it, getting the raw ingredients is dangerous, but it’s not punishable by death. Being caught with illegal potions is.’

  ‘Why would he agree to do it in the first place though?’ Cain argued. ‘Why didn’t he just tell Malachi where to go and expose him for the snake he is?’

  Phantasm shrugged, ‘I think it’s like we said before; Master Nox must have some kind of hold on him.’

  ‘Oh dear brother, your luck is not good tonight.’ Phantom sighed and casually dropped a king onto the pile.

  ‘Nor is yours brother.’ Mistral smiled and dropped two aces onto the table.

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘You are so banned from cards sister!’

  Mistral laughed and drained her tankard, ‘Whatever Brutus. Just put your money where your mouth is, oh, and get the ale in while you’re at it.’

  Brutus returned to the table a short while later, his hands laden with tankards, ‘Ah, this is just like old times.’

  ‘Nearly brother.’ Cain glanced at the empty chair next to him.

  Mistral met his eye, the memory of Saul rising like a ghost to sit at the table with them. She looked at her cards again. Would it always be so? Or would time, that cure all salve, heal this?

  October passed and November arrived, bringing morning mists that lingered across the Valley in a shimmering veil, hiding the village from sight.

  Mistral leapt out of bed with the first real burst of excitement she’d felt in weeks. It was Sunday and Fabian was taking her hunting. It would be their first hunt together since she’d begun her gruelling regime and she couldn’t wait to spend some time with him. She paused to look out of her frosted window and shivered. It would be bitterly cold in the forests but Mistral would have braved a snowstorm if it meant spending the day with her Mage.

  Returning from the showers she found a note had been pushed under her door. She unfolded it and frowned at the unfamiliar writing. Her eyes slid quickly down to the name at the bottom, written in beautiful slanting script:

  Eternally yours … Fabian

  With a horrible sinking feeling she hastily scanned the rest of the note but was relieved to read that he was only meeting her an hour later than he’d promised because Leo had requested a meeting with the Divinus that morning. She read the note twice over, reflecting that she’d never actually seen his handwriting before. There was still so much she didn’t know about her Mage.

  With an irritated sigh Mistral realised that she now had a couple of hours to fill before she would be meeting him. She gazed discontentedly around her room, searching for something to occupy her and her eye fell upon her saddlebag, tossed in the corner. She should probably pack it ready for the hunt. She could even go down to The Cloak and ask Floris to make them some lunch to take.

  Crouching down beside her saddlebag she undid the straps and opened it. Pulling out her old tattered black trousers she suddenly realised that she hadn’t used her saddlebag since The Festival of the Arcane. She rummaged deeper, pulling out dirty clothes and some mouldy bread, then her fingers brushed against something heavy. She pulled it out and rocked back on her heels to regard the object with a frown. The white linen bag in her hands was embroidered with the snarling head of a wolf and chinked with the promise of coin. Her winnings from the festival. She opened it cautiously and peered inside. There was more money there than Mistral had ever seen, but she didn’t want it. She stared at the bag with something close to revulsion. She might as well have been holding Saul’s life in her hands.

  Mistral stopped herself with a quick shake of her head. That wasn’t right. Saul had died for her, not the money. She looked at the gold again. Well, she certainly wasn’t worth five hundred gold coins, so what the hell was she going to do with it?

  Mistral’s face creased into a thoughtful expression while she stared at the bag in her hand. She wanted to do something right with the money, something that Saul would have approved of, something befitting his memory. She couldn’t buy herself the Sight, unfortunately ... but she could buy something for the brother that missed him the most.

  A sudden thought struck her. Would it look like guilty conscience? She sighed and glanced at Prospero, lounging sleepily on her bed. He gazed back through half-open eyes.

  ‘What do you think Prosp? Will it make me look like I’m guilty or incredibly generous? Because I’m neither. Well, I’m guilty, of course. In fact, I think I’ve got guilt tattooed on my –’

  ‘Mistral? Who’re you talking to?’ Phantom’s head suddenly appeared around her door.

  ‘Prospero!’ Mistral snapped, glaring at him. ‘And don’t you knock anymore?’

  ‘No need. You banned your Mage didn’t you? What could I see?’ Phantom shrugged unconcernedly.

  ‘Lots. But let’s not go there.’ Mistral glowered at him. ‘Something you wanted?’

  ‘Only to moan at you!’

  ‘Oh feel free! What have I done now?’

  ‘Had a hot shower!’

  ‘Sorry brother.’ Mistral grinned. ‘Did you get a cold one again this morning?’

  ‘Yes! And I’m getting sick of it! It’s alright for you, I’ve seen the size of that bath at your Mage’s house! We don’t have such luxuries here, and we won’t have until our damned apprenticeships are paid off and we can afford a place of our own, which won’t be for a long time either!’

  ‘Sorry Phantom.’ Mistral apologised again. ‘I promise to get you up tomorrow morning before I have my shower and let you have the hot one.’

  ‘You’d better.’ Phantom sniffed, looking slightly mollified. ‘Because I think I actually had ice in my hair after my shower this morning.’

  He slammed the door shut and Mistral listened to his footsteps stamping away with a smile, suddenly knowing exactly what she was going to do with the bag of gold.

  ‘Come on boy! We’re going shopping!’ Mistral cried and laughed at how excited she felt about such an alien concept.

  The shop bell gave a mournful clang when Mistral pushed the door open. She stepped inside and peered around curiously. She had never been into this particular shop in the village before and could immediately see why. Boredom crept over her as she took in the piles of parchment stacked up on desks around the room. The air smelt stale and thick cobwebs hung from the ceiling like banners at the drabbest party ever held.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a croaky voice enquired from behind one of the stacks of parchment.

  Mistral turned to see a hunched figure peering at her over half-moon spectacles, leathery skinned and hook-nosed. A goblin. She almost smiled at the irony of it. Only a goblin could be an estate agent.

  ‘Er, yes please. I want to see two properties you’ve got up for sale. Right now, if you’re not too busy.’

  The goblin’s beady black eyes immediately gleamed and Mistral hid a smirk. Her hunt today would be nothing compared to how blood-thirsty the next couple of hours were going to be.

  ‘Certainly! Boaz Fagg at your service! Now tell me, my dear, which ones would you like to see?’ Boaz leapt to his feet and trotted around to the front of the desk, grabbing a large ring of heavy iron keys from a hook on the wall.

  ‘Well, there’s a house on the west side I want to see.’ Mistral followed Boaz out of the shop and into the street. ‘But let’s start with a commercial property you’ve got. The one on East Street.’

  ‘Ah yes, I know the one.’ Boaz turned to give her an overly regretful look. ‘It is spoken for my dear, so sorry. However,’ he leaned towa
rds her with a shifty expression on his face, ‘I may be persuaded to let you overbid the current buyer, for the right price.’

  Mistral fixed him with a hard look, ‘Actually, I want to purchase the property for the current buyer.’

  ‘Really?’ Boaz looked at her in surprise. ‘Well I am pleased! To be honest, I never thought he’d find the money. He’s always in the tavern drinking and gambling with the rest of his wayward brothers!’

  Mistral gave him an icy look, ‘Who also happen to be my wayward brothers.’

  ‘Jolly nice bunch they are too!’ Boaz amended hurriedly and gestured to the street. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘After you.’ Mistral scowled evilly, sending Boaz scurrying ahead up the cobbled street.

  ‘Ah! Here we are!’ Boaz announced, waving grandly towards a dilapidated property sandwiched between a butchers shop and the saddlery store where one of Xerxes’ many sweethearts worked.

  ‘This?’ Mistral eyed the shop in a distinctly underwhelmed fashion. ‘It looks like it should be condemned, not sold!’

  ‘A lick of paint will make all the difference.’ Boaz patted the rotten window frame defensively and quickly jumped back when it crumbled under his hand. ‘Er, care to see inside?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Surely you can see the potential?’ Boaz cried, his face falling dramatically.

  ‘Potential to be a pile of rubble maybe.’ Mistral muttered, examining her fingernails in a bored manner.

  ‘What if I came to some arrangement on repairs?’ Boaz wheedled.

  Mistral gave the dilapidated shop a cursory glance then shook her head, ‘Nope. Sorry but I’m disinclined to offer on such a heap. I think my cash will be better spent elsewhere.’ she turned to look at another shop further up the street being offered for sale by a different agent.

  Boaz coughed, ‘Cash you say?’

  Mistral nodded, her eyes hard, ‘Gold.’

  Boaz licked his lips, ‘Gold?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Full repairs and renovations included in the price!’ Boaz offered wildly.

  Mistral cocked an eyebrow, ‘Stocked and furnished?’