by Emma Alisyn
The Prince paused, eyebrow slowly rising. “You don’t date. You have no male relatives. Have you had any interaction with the opposite sex? At all?”
She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, like she was a bug or one of his sister’s experiments. “I spend my time in study and intellectual pursuits.”
Assassinating someone was an intellectual pursuit. His actual moment of death was only a bare fraction of time in the entire task. Murder took weeks, months of research, study, and infiltration. Wealthy or influential targets required more care and study. Over the course of her assignments, Rhina had dabbled in a multitude of subjects to create her covers, establishing identities in various fields, which made her proficient at her craft.
“Is your father dead, or you don’t know his identity?”
For some reason the question stung. She glanced down at the files, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know his identity.”
“Why haven’t you had your DNA matched?”
Rhina’s lips thinned. The family had forbidden it. “It’s too expensive.”
“I see. Well, do the best you can here. Once Bea is free, she’ll take over again, and I’ll go over your choices as well. You’re simply a first-stage filter. Pick the males you would think worthy for yourself.”
She turned back to the task, considering. This one here, she knew of his family. Several of their cousins had married into the Mogren. That family produced solid warriors, the kind that lasted for at least a century of duty, followed orders with a kind of brash honesty, and otherwise caused no problems. A good family needed that kind of blood in the ranks. She set that file aside as a possibility.
And this one, here. He knew three languages, was well-traveled and specialized in a form of esoteric Chinese martial arts. Her lips pursed. He was another good possibility. Lavinia would have said a match between Rhina and a male like this was no insult to the family.
“Interesting choices,” Geza said.
She glanced up. He’d come to stand over her again, head tilted, so he could read backwards. “Why so? They are solid males. Come from martial families, well-educated but not highborn, so a royal guard's female would not be beneath them in class.”
“They both come from Mogren-affiliated families.”
“Affiliated?” she asked politely. It would have been funny–that even under deep cover–her blood and upbringing told on her, if it had been in any other circumstance.
“Yes. Families known to have made temporary alliances with the Mogrens.”
“Ah. I’ll remove—”
He waved a hand. “No, don’t bother.”
But he continued to watch her the rest of her work shift.
Geza disconnected the communication to Niko. He wasn’t certain why it mattered, but he trusted his instincts. Forwarding the bit of information on to his head guard regarding Rhina’s lack of information on her paternity, and her particular choice for matches, had sparked a glint of interest in Niko’s eyes as well.
“It’s far-fetched,” the warrior had said.
They both paused. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Geza said. “I’ve never known Mogren to use human spies, but there’s a first time for everything.”
Niko had nodded. “If your hackles are up, it could be you’ve noticed something your conscious isn’t processing yet. It will come to you.”
That sounded far too philosophical for his taste, but Geza got the point. There was a reason why a quiet, mousy, far-too-interested-in-gargoyle-politics-concerning-the-Mogrens, human woman was setting off tinkling, alarm bells.
There was always a reason.
8
Rhina slipped an earpiece into her right lobe in order to watch the prelim while working, and not disturb the others. Bea had decided they wouldn’t watch as a group anymore. Probably to prevent Rhina from offering any other unsavory opinions.
Geza’s voice captured her attention, coming unexpectedly through the feed. What the hell was he doing? He’d left the office some time ago. She stopped working, staring as the camera zoomed in on his face.
“Good evening,” he said, expression smooth. He wore the formal black uniform of his rank with the high collar and insignia of his House, dark hair brushed back in loose waves, and for once, not an iota of roguishness marring his dignity. He looked every inch the stern, cool, in-command Prince.
“This is a difficult time for my family. In the last several years we have endured the abdication of our Prince due to health concerns, the attempt by factors both within and without to weaken the bonds of loyalty between my siblings and I, and the many attacks on our lives. We’ve defended ourselves with honor, and we have not sought revenge. In the rule of any Prince, there will always be those who oppose him, and it is the way of our culture that opposition is often violent and sometimes even treacherous.” He paused. “We have honor, and our intention with these trials is not to crush one of our high-blood families out of existence but merely to prosecute, by lawful means, those who would have used dishonorable tools and methods to sneak attack rather than facing us on a battlefield as is the just way to war.”
He paused, eyes scanning the crowd. “The Ioveanus bear no ill will towards the Mogrens. I bear no personal enmity to any member of that family. Those who are innocent will be returned to their homes in due time. But—”
The camera zoomed in, and his face filled the screen. “—we are now aware that a member of the Mogren family is at large. A female who escaped our lawful warrants and, even now, may be working against us. We know who you are.”
Rhina didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, eyes trained on the screen.
Geza’s voice softened, just a little. Maybe no one else would even have noticed. She did. “I know you. I remember your name. You recall the offer I made to you all those years ago. Accept the offer. It’s still open to you.”
Rhina blanked the screen, ripping the earpiece out with trembling fingers.
Damn him. Damn Geza Ioveanu. He wanted to bait a sweet trap with pretty words? She would spring his trap, but not in the way he expected.
Security tech wasn’t as tight in the Prince’s personal suite. Situated at the very top of the tower, it was inaccessible to anyone without wings. They’d sealed off the elevator and stairs leading up to it weeks ago, and the Prince hadn’t thrown a party since. Guards flew above, always on the alert and laser arms crisscrossed the air in invisible streams ready to blare alerts if a physical object should cross their lines.
The Prince still didn’t sweep his own floors or change his own linens. There were bots for some of the more basic tasks, but Ioveanus preferred humanoid labor. It was a sign of wealth and prestige. Any peasant could purchase a cleaning bot, but not many could afford warm-blooded bodies to personally scrub their toilets and shower stalls.
Moghrenna wore the face and body of a male member of the Prince's cleaning crew. She had to be careful of no one touching her. If a hand landed on her, the glamour would shatter. At this time of night, when everyone was relaxed and busy with their tasks, Geza typically took an hour or two to himself for meditation and reading—no one would glance twice at an orderly flapping up the several flights in uniform.
A guard swooped down and intercepted her. She paused, using the touch of magic gargoyles needed to remain suspended in air while the guard glanced at her face and scanned the ID hanging around her neck. He grunted, and rose back into the air. Moghrenna landed on the balcony and walked through the service entrance.
There would be cameras, so she paused in the narrow hallway, opening the supply and linen closets to grab armfuls of the items she would need. The blueprint of his suite was in her head, the only thing she didn’t have recent intel on were things like the placement of furniture.
She entered the main room, sheets in her arms and glanced around casually. The entire area was open with the balcony lining the full length of the wall to let in the shower of moonlight through the transparent glass. A round couch was in the middle, and there were
scattered seating areas in various corners as well as modern art on the walls. She glimpsed a bed through another threshold on the far side and strode across the room. He was here somewhere, and if it wasn’t the bedroom, then it would be his personal office or bathing area.
Moghrenna dumped the clean sheets in a nearby chair, and made quick work of stripping down the bed, bundling up the used linens and taking them to the hamper back in the service hallway. Instead of returning to the bedroom, she hoisted the good, old-fashioned, plastic bottle of spray hanging from her waist and walked to the door leading to Geza’s study. She wasn’t entirely certain what a . . . what did you call a male maid anyways . . . janitor would clean in an office, but maybe straighten chairs, dust . . . stuff?
The door slid open as she approached, as it wasn’t an open entry like into the bedroom. She stepped inside and glanced around, frustration mounting. Where the hell was he? Moghrenna began picking up books and jackets. There were stacks of books and files on the floor in corners as if someone had literally sat and read for an hour or two. Since she saw the evidence of crumbs, she knew her guess was correct. What did he do, curl up in the corner of the room with milk and cookies and read actual paper books like a teenager?
“You don't need to tidy in here,” Geza said behind her.
Moghrenna straightened from her crouch on the floor, spray bottle in one hand, and turned. He was standing several feet away, a stack of files under one arm and an open bottle of red dangling from his fingers. His expression was blank, and she realized just how open and warm he was when speaking to Rhina. Right now, he was looking at her as one would an annoying, but necessary, stranger. In other words, a janitor invading one’s privacy at an inopportune moment.
She nodded, not speaking since the glamour wouldn’t do anything about her voice, and left the room, the spray bottle still clutched in her hand. She pictured him settling into a chair or at the smaller desk, downing a glass of wine or two and going through his pet project files. He’d been barefoot, shirt half-open, and hair tousled as if he’d been sleeping or running his hands through it.
Opening the spray bottle, she drew out the thin wire garrote and upended two flesh colored patches onto her palm. Working quickly, she peeled the clear coating off one patch then delicately pried it from the backing strip, applying first one and then the other to the pads of her index and middle fingers. She’d injected herself with a localized antidote just an hour before, so the poison would be blocked from entering her bloodstream for a time, which meant she had to work quickly.
Now, the only problem was how to get close enough without him setting off an alarm. Moghrenna stopped a few feet from the door, not close enough to activate the open sensor, and ran through the scenarios in her mind.
He had her on sheer physical strength, of course, though not by much. Her muscles, though lean, were dense. After numerous attempts over the years, Lavinia had discovered her bones to be nearly unbreakable. It required a great deal of localized force to crack Moghrenna’s ribs, and as she wasn’t likely to stand still and allow that to happen. Another of the many oddities about her, that she assumed was a hallmark of her mysterious parentage. One thing she knew for certain, she had not one drop of human in her veins.
The problem was solved for her a mere two minutes later when Geza walked out. “Where are you?” he called out. “I just tripped over my own books, so on second thought—”
She moved quickly, fingers hooked. Her nails were sharp enough to slice through skin. Follow-up with a swipe of her poisoned pads, and the poison would enter his bloodstream and weaken him enough she would be able to get behind him and use the garrote. Quick, quiet, minimal blood loss.
Geza reacted instantly, fangs and claws flashing, using his wings as a weapon the way only highly-trained warriors did. If a layman tried that trick, his appendages would wind up shredded. The strength it took to control wings during a fight . . .
The speed of his strikes impressed her. No slouch, he must have applied himself to his training. She’d known he was good from reports, but hadn’t thought he was this good. Not the indolent, constantly sardonic and famously lazy, playboy Prince.
Moghrenna worked to stay on the offensive. Moved faster, infused more power than she ever had into her fighting. It would be all over if she was forced to make the adjustment to defend.
“Who sent you?” he asked, circling. He engaged, she backed away from access, but he leapt and swiped with those powerful wings, forcing her to roll out of their reach. She couldn’t bring her own wings into play, not yet. Her advantage was speed, and the added concentration of utilizing wings would take away that narrow edge.
A thin smile curved her lips. She was professional, but this job was personal. She shoved aside doubts, the nagging suspicion that not all her beliefs were correct. Kill first, ask questions later. This mission was all she had left. Vengeance was all she had left. No family, no mother. No purpose other than to bring glory to the Mogrens.
He reacted to her smile with a snarling hiss, eyes flat, countering her thrusts. She leaped back, escaping a new hold. She must protect the poisoned hand.
Why didn’t he call out to his guards?
Geza advanced, attempting to herd her into a corner where he would have the advantage. “Who sent you? Tell me, and I’ll let you live.”
She ignored him. He’d let her live an extra day of torture, and then execute her. There wasn’t time to think. He attacked in earnest, and her teeth set as she defended herself. She’d underestimated him. A glancing blow to her ribs, and the sickening crack stole her breath long enough for him to press his attack. She punched with her left arm, and he grabbed her hand, twisting the fingers until they snapped. She swallowed a scream of pain and kicked out, allowing him to have her hand as a distraction.
His knee buckled for a split second as he roared, and she leaped away, streaking towards the balcony. Abort mission.
Geza followed, tackling her from behind, and they tumbled off, even as his guards swooped in. The tower alarms went off in a blaring siren, and people on the ground looked up and began running, some launching into the air.
Rhina stopped defending herself and seized the nearest guard, wrapping her arm around his neck as they all rose in a tangle of wings, and she swapped faces. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, she fought, touching another guard to swap faces with him. Three swaps, and no one knew who was who anymore. They began fighting themselves, and Rhina took a chance. She’d practiced voices in her training, through it wasn’t her best skill, but a skill. And in a fight where everyone was distracted . . . .
She pointed. “A second assassin! Secure this one, you and you come with me.”
Warriors were trained to respond to authority. A half dozen surrounded Geza and flew him off to safety as she flew with the others towards the person on the ground running. Whoever it was, she apologized.
In the confusion that ensued, Rhina slipped away.
She wasn’t a chameleon, she couldn’t blend into the shrubs. She wore the guard’s face as she made her way to the kitchen quarters where it was possible the alert hadn’t fully spread yet. She waited in a dark corner for a servant to pass. She didn’t kill the female, but locked her in a utility closet that was often used, so she would be found when she woke.
Moghrenna strolled out of the closet wearing the female’s face and walked boldly through security and off the grounds, teeth gritted against the pain of forcing herself to walk straight.
“Moghrenna!” Tyra exclaimed when she limped into the apartment. Her cousin rushed towards her. Rhina tensed, muscles and nerves still in full fight or flight mode. She forced herself to relax.
“Don’t touch my right hand, it’s poisoned,” she said.
Tyra nodded, and helped her to the bed. “Do you have a med kit?”
“Yeah. Bathroom.” In the utility closet, she’d found clean towels to clumsily wrap the wound. And a janitor's coverall she’d taken from the female servant to add texture t
o her glamour.
Tyra returned a moment later, upending the kit. “You have a stitcher. These things are—”
“Expensive. Family investment.”
It would seal her flesh wound and accelerate healing. It wouldn’t help the cracked ribs or the snapped fingers of her left hand. Had Geza noticed the injuries he’d caused? If she didn’t show up to work tomorrow evening, her cover would be completely blown. There was no way he could connect the male assassin with Rhina Janson. She hadn’t left blood behind, or any other DNA evidence. If Rhina walked in with an injured hand, would he notice?
Her comm unit pinged. Rhina tensed as Tyra tossed it to her. Bea. She set it to audio only and answered.
“Bea?”
“Rhina, we need you to come in, I know it's your off day, but I have to pull away from the project again.” Voices rumbled in the background, the kind of tense energy one might expect in the aftermath of a near crisis.
Fuck. “Um . . . okay. It might take a bit, I was in the middle of something.”
“Can you be here in ninety minutes?”
What would Rhina Janson do? Unfortunately, she knew the answer. “Okay, sure. I’m happy to be of use.”
“Good,” Bea said, and disconnected.
Tyra stared at her. “You can’t be serious. You just tried to kill the Prince, didn’t you?”
“I need to hide the hand injury,” she said, forcing herself not to panic. Panic was for amateurs. She had to set the hand, she couldn’t use the fingers and they were obviously injured. She couldn’t just fake it. Could she disguise the injury somehow?
“I need you to do something for me,” Rhina said.
Rhina entered the office, her left hand wrapped in thick, white bandages. Pain pills eliminated the discomfort of her ribs, and the gash in her side was nearly healed.
Bea exited Geza’s office as soon as she entered, slashing a look at her. The human was in her warrior leathers, the state-of-the art uniform covering her from neck to toe in form-fitting black and grey. The uniforms were impenetrable to blades, bullets, and lower-level laser strikes. Bea had told her there’d been some consternation in adjusting the style to accommodate breasts better. The fabric hadn’t been touching the skin, even under the breasts. The designer had adjusted by adding an extra layer over the chest so even though the uniform showed every single curve underneath, the added draping on top still allowed for modesty.