by Amano, Mia
Oh, this poison was good. Tarak’s thoughts filled him with lust.
He was paralyzed, mired in helpless bliss. It was mind-numbingly amazing. And he realized that at least one part of his body hadn’t been paralyzed. His cock had been hard from the time she walked in the door and he registered her unmistakable scent, and the faintest trickle of her qwi, which she’d worked so hard to suppress.
She couldn’t hide from him. He had told her as much.
Tarak tried to move his legs as the door opened, with little success. Vicson appeared, and froze, his pale eyes wide with shock.
“My Lord!” He rushed to Tarak’s side. “What’s wrong? What happened to you?”
It took the greatest effort for Tarak to speak. “I’m fine,” he rasped. “Get Kietesh.”
“You want me to fetch Amun? But-” Vicson started to protest, his tone of voice echoing his fear of the assassin. No-one liked to interrupt Kietesh.
“Do it.” Tarak ground out, every syllable ground out with colossal effort. Vicson nodded and rushed off, leaving Tarak to study the worn, wooden floor. It was going to be a long wait until the poison was out of his system.
He would send Kietesh to track the little assassin. And once he found her, he would show her what it truly meant to raise the ire of an Akuna Warlord.
She hadn’t killed him, but she had succeeded in stoking the twin flames of his anger and lust.
It was a volatile combination.
Unable to move, sprawled on the hard, cold floor, Tarak Chul decided that he wasn’t finished with the Inue woman yet. Now it was her turn to be the hunted.
~~~
Tarak must have drifted. When he opened his eyes again, he saw two pairs of feet before him. Vicson’s soft leather court shoes twitched nervously. He recognized Kietesh’s worn, black leather boots.
The owner of said boots squatted down. “Leave us, Vicson.” Kietesh’s voice was soft, but his words carried a quiet menace. Vicson disappeared without any further questions.
“You let yourself be poisoned.” Kietesh’s tone was dry. “You must be getting soft, brother.”
“Fuck you, brother.” Tarak strained his eyes, catching a glimpse of Kietesh’s face. He might be imagining things, but he thought that a corner of his mouth was curled upwards, as if amused.
He knew Kietesh too well. The bastard was laughing at him.
“Vicson told me it was a woman. I’ve never known you to lose your head over a woman, Tarak.”
“I’m lying on the floor, poisoned, Kieh. Have some sympathy.”
“It won’t kill you. Not with your blood.” Kietesh shrugged. “What did she poison you with?”
“Black Bellflower.”
“Hm.” Kietesh lifted one of Tarak’s eyelids. “You won’t be able to move until sunset. I bet you’re feeling good right now.”
“Amazing.” Tarak laughed. He couldn’t help it. The ridiculousness of the situation was too much.
“There’s no antidote, you know.” Kietesh stood and moved behind Tarak. He slid his arms around him and lifted him into a sitting position, then dragged him across the floor so he was supported by the wall. Tarak was aware of every sound, every movement, his senses hyper-acute.
The only problem was, he couldn’t move.
But he didn’t care. With Kietesh here, he was safe. Kietesh was the only person he trusted completely in this world.
He had regained some degree of control over his neck muscles. At least he could keep his head up. Tarak’s right eye started to twitch. Perhaps that was the effect of the poison, starting to leave his system. “When you’ve finished gloating, brother, I have a job for you.”
Raising an eyebrow, Kietesh sat down beside Tarak. He lifted his curved sword from his waist and lay it on the floor. Kietesh was dressed in the loose, black robes that were so characteristically Akuna. His long, black hair was bound in a high topknot. He stared at Tarak with a flat, impenetrable gaze. “You want me to kill her?”
“No.”
“When she finds out you’re alive, she’ll try again. That’s the way of the Inue.”
“I know.” Tarak closed his eyes, remembering the feel of the female assassin’s body against his, the way they fit together, her lithe, muscled figure moulding into him. It had been almost perfect.
Save for the fact she had injected him with a lethal dose of poison.
“You’re smitten, brother.”
“Shut up. It’s just the poison.” Tarak wanted to sit here and think about her until the last of the poison had been cleared from his cursed body. But he was the Warlord of a lost tribe, and he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. Daydreaming about women was for hormonal, teenaged brats. With great effort, he fought through the false euphoria, the sense of detachment the Black Bellflower brought, and found the scattered tendrils of his qwi. He pulled his aura around him, searching for that icy centre of control in his mind that had served him so well in the past.
It had served him when the Eratean slavers had tied him to a post and whipped him, leaving him in the relentless sun for three days and nights, without food or water. It had served him when he had endured the depravity of his Eratean masters, forced to do the unthinkable; to pleasure them.
His childhood had been a far cry from what it was supposed to be. The Akuna had been driven out of their homeland by the Erateans, and sold into slavery or forced into hiding in the labyrinthine network of caves and tunnels beneath the Esskar mountains. Before the Erateans came, they thrived in the rocky, forbidding peaks of their winter-bound homeland. Any Akuna craved the wild, wind-whipped slopes and endless blue skies. And they needed to revel in the thrill of the hunt, to stalk the vicious mountain cats and lesser dragons, to find an outlet for the Akuna bloodlust. If the bloodlust was kept suppressed for too long, the Akuna suffered a special kind of madness.
They called it the Taint, and nobody could really explain it, aside from the theory that there had been a demonic ancestor in the Akuna bloodline. Some said they had inherited the blood of Imril, the God of Death himself.
Tarak’s Taint was stronger than most. He healed better. He was bigger and faster and stronger. And at first, when the bloodlust came on, he had found it difficult to control. But over time, he had learnt to suppress it, had learnt to channel his anger. A childhood in slavery under the Erateans had taught him that. The only other option had been death. But sometimes, the bloodlust still threatened to overtake him. Like all Akuna, he needed the fight. So he sated it on the battlefield.
If peacetime ever came, he didn’t know what he would do.
Tarak reined in his wild thoughts and tried to look at Kietesh. It took great effort to get his neck to move, even a fraction. “Kieh, I need you to follow her only. Find out who she reports to.”
Kietesh’s expression was blank, his face a cold mask. Any trace of his earlier humor was gone. “And then?” His intent was obvious and chilling. Tarak knew Kietesh could kill the woman without blinking an eye, no matter how skilled she was. She would never see him coming. He couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.
“You won’t lay a finger on her. You report to me.”
“There’s a camp of three thousand retreating Erateans just across the border. It doesn’t take a Rageshi wiseman to figure out who might have hired her. It would be better if I killed her.”
“No Inue would willingly serve the Erateans, brother. You of all people should know that. I need to know why she’s under their thumb.”
Tarak realized he had regained some function in his hands. He flexed his fingers a fraction. “Besides, the Erateans will soon think me dead. I intend to use that to my advantage.”
Kietesh rose to his feet in one fluid motion, in that eerie, soundless way of his. He retrieved his sword and offered Tarak a small bow. It was so typically Inue, and from Kietesh, most unexpected.
“This is why I let you order me around, brother. Most of the time, you know what you’re doing, and you have the ability to turn shit into gold.” K
ietesh slid his sheathed sword into a loop at his waist. The curved callidum blade had tasted too much blood in recent years. It was designed for speed, not trading blows. Most of Kietesh’s opponents were dead before they could even unsheathe their weapons. Kietesh started to walk away. “I’ll get Vicson to take you to your room. Just remember, Katach, that I trust your judgement for now, as always. However if you go astray on this, I will take matters into my own hands.”
Tarak didn’t doubt the assassin for one moment. After all, he had done it before.
CHAPTER FIVE
When Tarak opened his eyes again, he was lying in his bed, covered in a fine sheen of sweat. He vaguely remembered being carried down the stone halls of Larion Fortress by his Akuna guard. Even now, they would be standing outside his door.
Bright morning light washed over him, and he blinked, wondering how long he had been asleep.
The dense fog of euphoria clouding his mind was gone, and he stretched in relief. The Black Bellflower had released its grip on his limbs. He could move again.
The sensation of detached bliss had been replaced with a dull, throbbing headache. As Tarak reached over for a pitcher of water, he saw a shadow pass across his window.
Tarak pulled on a pair of loose, cotton pants and walked over to the balcony. Kietesh sat on the railing, staring out at the fortress grounds.
“Sleep well?” The assassin raised an eyebrow.
“Well enough.” A chill morning breeze tugged at them, brought down from the mountains. Tarak tasted a hint of the coming winter on the wind.
“Your female Inue is working for the Erateans. I followed her straight to their camp, cross the border. She went into the commander’s tent.”
“So she’s working for Garul?”
“Evidently.”
Tarak wondered why a woman like that would do the bidding of a spineless thug like Jerik Garul. The former Lord of Larion Fortress and Wider Varanada hadn’t even given them a proper siege. As soon as supply lines were cut off, he had held up the flag of surrender and taken his men back across the Eratean border.
Tarak had allowed them to go, not wanting the native Varanese to witness any more slaughter. They had suffered enough when the Erateans had occupied their lands. He had expected Garul to withdraw his men back to Adalan, Eratea’s capital. But the man had stubbornly remained just over the border.
“They’ve started to move. I expect Jerik thinks you’re dead. They’ll try to surround our army from both sides, and take back the Fortress at the same time.”
Tarak grinned. “So the little Lord thinks the Akuna are any less savage without me? Let them come, brother. Send word to Mistress Enki to prepare the men. But tell her to keep the cooking fires burning and the tents erect. I don’t want Garul to suspect a thing. We’re going to draw them onto the mountain and into the fortress and send a message to the Eratean Empire. I was happy to let them retreat, but their idiot commander is leading them to their deaths.”
“And the woman?”
“You and I are going to pay a little visit to Chukol village.” Tarak turned to the north, watching a lone hawk crest the swirling eddies of wind at the base of the mountain ranges. A thin haze of woodsmoke hung in the air. From Varanada Town below, the cries of a lone cockerel pierced the morning stillness. “I assume you know how to find the secret village?”
Kietesh was giving him that look again. Tarak knew what it meant. Kietesh disapproved, but he was content to play along, for now. “Yes.” He didn’t reveal anything further. When it came to the Inue, Kietesh never said much. But Tarak knew he’d received training from an old Inue master.
Kietesh never spoke of his time with her.
Like the forbidding Esskar ranges themselves, Kietesh was a man of deep secrets and layers, with a facade as cold and hard as winter ice.
“Then we’ll go and pay the Elders a visit, just you and me.” Tarak slapped Kietesh on the shoulder. He was the only person on the continent who would dare such a thing. “It’ll be just like old times.”
Kietesh only offered him a flat stare in exchange.
What he didn’t tell Kietesh was that he craved to see her again, to feel her warmth and inhale her alluring jasmine scent. He intended to teach the Inue assassin there was more to life than blindly following the Inue killer’s code.
And when he was done with her, she would regret ever trying to kill him.
CHAPTER SIX
Amina knelt before Elder Okuro, breathing in the faint, aromatic scent of herb smoke. Dried leaves had been thrown onto the hearth, as they burned, they filled his hut with a medicinal smelling haze.
The Elder had bad lungs, and the burning herbs helped treat chest infections. They also kept the mosquitoes away.
“Get up, girl.” Okuro coughed, and motioned to a low wooden stool beside him. “You’re not my student anymore. Come, sit by the fire.”
Amina nodded and perched on the stool beside the old man. Okuro looked at her with pale, rheumy eyes. He didn’t see much these days, but his sense of qwi was second to none.
He studied her for a long time, silent. Okuro then cleared his throat with a deep, hacking cough.
“Some students of mine saw you entering the Eratean camp, Amina. Now, I hear Jerik Garul’s army is on the move. They seem to be heading back over the border. What have you become mixed up in, former student of mine?”
Amina shifted uncomfortably on the hard stool. “Master Okuro, I was given a job, and I executed it. As you always told me, politics are not our concern. We can’t afford to ally ourselves with any cause but our own.”
Okuro closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Then, he stood and started to busy himself with a teapot that was boiling above the fire. “You are correct to the letter, as always, Amina. We don’t become involved in the politics of other tribes and empires. The way of the Inue has always been to stand apart, and for that reason, our tribe has survived centuries of war. We have seen entire civilizations rise and fall.” He poured tea into two small cups and handed one to Amina. She held it to her face, breathing in the bitter, acrid scent. The aroma of Okuro’s tea reminded her of childhood. “But we also follow the creed of Imril, Taker of Life and Lord of the Void. And what does he teach us, Amina?”
Amina’s recalled Tarak Chul, and the way he had regarded her. He’d seemed amused, even patient, but she hadn’t missed the deep hunger in his black eyes. Sitting before Elder Okuro, in his small hut, the way once sat before him as a child, she started to feel the sting of regret.
None of her other kills had made her feel this way before.
There was an unfamiliar feeling settling in her chest. She felt a tightness, an emptiness.
What was this feeling?
“What does Imril teach us, Amina?” Okuro sipped his tea, and waited.
Amina’s voice hitched as she said the words. “He tells us that death is balance, and in all things, we must seek to find balance.”
“It’s not wrong to refuse a job, child.”
“I had no choice.” Amina shook her head, looking towards the floor, unable to meet Okuro’s eyes. She let her defenses down, allowing him to sense the raging storm of her qwi. She was torn. “Garul has links with the Emperor’s people. He knows of Mira, and her role in the Palace of Arches. He threatened to have her sent to the pleasure houses of Fortuna if I didn’t take this job.”
The Elder brought a gnarled hand under her chin, and gently lifted her head. “Even though your sister never had the heart for killing, she’s stronger than you probably think. Remember, Amina, that when our village went through the Black Famine, cut off from the rest of the world because of Eratean occupation, she chose to go into the heart of the Empire itself, just so we could survive. The packages she sends have kept us alive through these difficult times. Mira will survive, child. She is Inue, even if she does not appear that way.”
“I merely thought to protect her.”
“You did what you thought was right, but you did not truly think.” Re
moving his hand, Okuro reached for his cane and rose to his feet. “Let this be a lesson for you, Amina. In life, the training of an Inue assassin never ends. And those who think they know everything end up dead. Resist the temptation of ego, child.”
Amina’s mouth felt dry. Here was Master Okuro, her longtime mentor, chastising her in that gentle way of his. But his manner was brutality wrapped in silk.
“I still haven’t told you who I killed.” She glanced towards the doorway of the small hut. It was framed by an ornate, blackwood arch, carved in an intricate tangle of branches and leaves. At the centre of it all, the serene face of the goddess looked down on them, merciful and wise.
Okuro turned, and a flicker of a smile crossed his face. “From what my students have told me, I can easily guess who you think you’ve killed. But I don’t think you’ve ever tried to kill an Akuna before.” The old man turned again, leaning on his cane as he passed through the doorway. “You may have just stirred the viper’s nest, child of mine.”
Shouts echoed from outside, along with the flare of several angry qwis. Caught off guard, Amina rushed after the Elder, into the clearing at the centre of their village. Smoke rose from a chimney in the Great Hall, drifting into the thick canopy above.
A crowd had gathered in the middle. Amina recognized several of her fellow Inue, standing with their weapons drawn. And in the centre of the cleaning stood a ghost.
Tarak Chul grinned as he saw her emerge, meeting her gaze. He stood back to back with another man, who stared at her with the coldest eyes she had ever seen. Tarak was clad in the loose, black robes of the Akuna, brandishing a large crimson blade. His wild, black hair framed his hard, angular features, his dark skin standing out amongst the pale complexioned Inue. He was the most glorious thing she had ever seen. Amina felt a strange surge of relief. The poison hadn’t killed him. But how was that possible? And how had they found Chukol village?