Weapon of Fear

by Chris A. Jackson

  Dee shrugged and stepped back. “Try it.”

  “Are you serious? It’ll have to be restitched.”

  “Sure. The stitching’s easy, and you really should make sure you can get out of it quickly. Just don’t pull too hard. If you break the tabs, you’ll have to fight in it.”

  “Right.” Mya bit her lip. Fighting the emperor’s blademasters in a gown had nearly been the death of her. One more thing to worry about. “Okay, I just pull, right?”

  “Right.”

  Mya jerked the two tabs. With a zip, the specially constructed side seams split from hip to shoulder, and the bodice of the gown fell loose. Mya shrugged out of the sleeves, and the skirt dropped to the floor. She stepped free of the frothy heap easily.

  “Well, that worked like a charm!” Dee grinned.

  “I hope I don’t have to use it tomorrow.” Mya took off the wig and placed it on its stand, then ran her hands through her short hair. “What if this whole thing’s a set up? What if Lady T fed me a big lie to get me to kill Duveau, making Arbuckle even more vulnerable?”

  “That seems an elaborate ruse.” Dee cast her a sidelong glance, then snatched up the dress and examined the stitching to be replaced. “You’re thinking about this too much.”

  Mya knew Dee was eying her wrappings, but she didn’t care; he already knew her secret. She started to pace, lifting a hand to bite her nails. “How can I not think about it?”

  “Don’t bite your nails! You’ll ruin the lacquer.”

  “Oh.” She looked down at her painted nails and cringed. “I forgot.” She clenched her hands at her sides.

  “Would you please stop worrying about it?” Dee fixed her with a stare like a disapproving governess. “If Duveau tries to kill the prince, you take him out. If he doesn’t, you have a nice time and eat too many confections at the reception. Play your cards right, and you might even get to dance with the new emperor.”

  “Stop it!” Mya started pacing again. “Telling me not to worry is like telling fire not to be hot. I could be going up against a gods-be-damned archmage! I have no idea what to expect from him!”

  “And he has no idea what to expect from you.” Dee stepped into her path. “In fact, he doesn’t even know you’re coming. Surprise him, and he won’t have a chance. Wizards bleed, just like regular folk.”

  She stopped and glared at him. “Since when have you been a tactician?”

  He looked a little affronted by her comment. “Just because I was your assistant, doesn’t mean I don’t have other skills. I am an assassin, you know.”

  “I know.” She turned away and stalked back and forth across the floor, her mind awhirl. Of course Dee had skills. He was smart and thorough, and had done fine against Hoseph’s mercenaries. A wry thought flashed into her mind; if Moirin’s boasts were to be believed, he had other skills, too. She glanced at Dee as she turned.

  They’re…beautiful,

  Stop it, Mya…this is Dee. She paced faster.

  “You’re going to wear a rut in the floor. Would you please try to relax?” Dee stepped into her path again, his dark eyes pleading. “You haven’t slept since Hoseph attacked the inn. If you don’t get some rest, you’ll be exhausted tomorrow!”

  Mya sidestepped him. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Fine!” Dee whirled and scooped up the dress. “Worry yourself sick. But if you get yourself killed tomorrow, you’re not just letting yourself down; you’re letting the whole guild down. The whole empire, maybe.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me worry less?”

  “No, it’s supposed to make you realize that if you don’t relax, you’re dead!” He stormed out with the dress, leaving her alone with her worries.

  Mya stopped and looked after him. Dee certainly wasn’t acting like her normally mild-mannered assistant. But he was right. If she didn’t relax, she was dead.

  “Wine and a bath. That’s what I need…” Mya donned her robe and snatched up her towel. She would pick up Gimp on her way down to the cellar to watch for her.

  The scent of the scorched floorboards wrinkled her nose as she emerged from her room. The hall was a maze of strings once again. She bent and wove her way through the path toward the stairs, glaring at Dee’s door as she passed.

  They’re beautiful…

  The doorknob turned in her hand before she realized what she was doing. Nails and Nestor sat on the floor playing some game with sticks and stones, their crossbows within easy reach. Dee looked up from where he sat on his bed, her dress draped over his lap, a needle and thread in his hand.

  “I need to talk to Dee in private.” She held the door open. “Go get something to eat in the kitchen.”

  “Okay!” The urchins grabbed their weapons and left.

  Mya closed the door and met Dee’s gaze with eyes that wanted to look anywhere but at him. Don’t do this, Mya…

  “I need to ask you something, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” She clenched her hands at her sides, trying not to fidget.

  “All right.” Dee put the dress aside and looked at her patiently. “Ask.”

  “After Moirin died, did you ever… Have you been with anyone else?”

  Pain flickered across his face. “No. Not yet.”

  “You were in love with her.” It wasn’t really a question. She knew he had been.

  “Yes, but she obviously wasn’t in love with me.” He crossed his arms and shifted on the bed. “Why the interest in my love life?”

  “Because…” She sighed and looked away, unclenching her hands. She looked down at them. It seemed that all she’d ever done with them was kill. “Because I was in love with Lad for a long time. It was stupid. I was a fool, and he’s still in love with his dead wife, so he’s gone. I just wanted to know if you ever feel…over it.” She looked back up at him, her teeth grinding together.

  He showed astonishingly little surprise at her admission. “Over it?” He shrugged. “Not really, but it hurts less with time.”

  “Good.” She fiddled her fingernails, longing to bite them. “I needed to know that I won’t feel like this forever.”

  “You won’t.” He nodded to the towel. “Going for a bath?”

  “I was.”

  They’re beautiful…

  “Mind if I ask one more question?” Why are you doing this, Mya? Don’t be stupid… Her conscience was right, she knew, but the rest of her needed something that her conscience didn’t.

  “Not at all.”

  “You said…in the washroom…that my tattoos were beautiful.”

  One of his eyebrows lifted. “Yes, I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they are, and I didn’t want you to misunderstand me.”

  “Because you’re afraid of me.” She could see the fear in his eyes. At least, she thought it was fear.

  “Partly, yes, but I wanted you to know the truth, too.” He sat up straighter. “You might keep them covered because you don’t want people to know your secret, but they’re not ugly.”

  “You don’t think they make me a monster?” Don’t do this, Mya… She told her conscience to shut the hell up.

  “No, they don’t.”

  “Would you like to see them again?” She fidgeted with the tie of her robe. “All of them?”

  “Mya, I…” Dee swallowed hard, then nodded. “I would.”

  Mya pulled her robe tie and shrugged out of the voluminous garment. She loosened the end of her wrappings at her wrist, then hesitated and looked at Dee again. His mien remained neutral, attentive, but his eyes gleamed.

  “You’re sure?” She had to ask.

  “I’m sure.”

  Mya unwound her wrappings, balling the magical cloth as she bared one arm, her neck, the other arm. The air felt warm against her breasts as she unwound the fabric from her torso, her hips, and, finally, from her legs. She dropped the wad of cloth to the floor and stood straight. Dee’s gaze roved over her from head to foot, his mouth slightly parted. He looked a lit
tle stunned, but not disgusted, as she thought he might be.

  “Well?”

  “Well…” He cleared his throat. “Well, what?”

  “Do you still think they’re beautiful?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  Mya walked up to Dee slowly, deliberately. He stared up into her eyes. Her conscience was blissfully silent.

  “Would you like to touch them?”

  His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Very much.”

  Tell him the truth, Mya! Be honest. He deserves that much. For once, her conscience was absolutely right.

  “I’m not in love with you, Dee. Love is a weakness I can’t afford. Don’t expect me to fall in love, or swoon like a maiden, or write you love notes. It’s not going to happen.” She met his eyes with firm resolve. “I’m not in love with you, but I need to be touched. I need someone to make me feel…human.”

  A sweet, peaceful smile graced his lips. “I can do that.”

  “Then touch me.”

  Dee lifted his hands from his lap and ran his fingertips up her thighs, her hips, her abdomen…light as feathers, smooth as silk. Mya shivered with the sensation, closed her eyes, and let his touch sooth her tortured soul.

  Chapter XXVII

  Mya stepped off the curb as Lady T’s elaborate coach rounded the corner. As the matched team of four clomped past, she hiked up her gown, took two running strides, and hopped up to the running board. The gold latch turned in her hand, and she ducked through the door, landing in a frothy pile beside an astonished man in dress doublet and hose.

  “What in the name of—”

  “Sorry I’m late, but I simply could not make myself get out of bed this morning!” Mya flashed a smile at the man, then at the open-mouthed Lady T.

  A cry from one of the coach guards above heralded a bellow from the driver—“Whoa!”—and the conveyance rumbled to a stop. One of the guards leapt down and jerked open the door.

  The man beside her brandished his cane like a weapon. “See here now! You’ll be out of this carriage this instant!”

  “No, you’ll be out of this carriage this instant, or I’ll break that cane of yours and stick it up your arse splintered end first.” Mya smiled sweetly.

  He swung the cane’s golden head at her, but she caught it easily. He tried to wrench it free, but she wouldn’t let go. The guard tried to grab her arm through the door, but his hand stopped an inch from her. Guild. He couldn’t touch her.

  “Get out. Now.” Mya jerked her head toward the door.

  “Terrance!” Lady T’s commanding tone drew the man’s attention. “Please don’t make a scene. My friend here intended to attend the coronation with me, but had a conflict in her schedule. That conflict has evidently been resolved. Please leave us. I’ll make it up to you.”

  Terrance’s face reddened, and he snatched his cane from Mya’s eased grasp. “Fine!” Shoving past Mya, he dismounted the carriage, turning back to glare at her as he slapped his hat on his head. With his jaw clenched, he bowed to Lady T. “I’ll contact you tomorrow, milady.”

  “Do so.” Lady T nodded to the guard. “Drive on!”

  “Goodbye, Terrance!” Mya twiddled her fingers and blew the enraged man a kiss.

  The door closed and the carriage lurched into motion.

  “You picked up on that very quickly. I’m impressed.” Mya smiled at her hostess and settled back in her seat, relaxed and comfortable. It was amazing what a good night’s sleep had done for her outlook. The rumors about Dee had proven wholly inadequate, and she’d told him so…many times. As sweet as it might have been to stay with him until morning, she had gone back to her own bed to sleep, guarded by her urchins. Mya woke refreshed, still not in love with anyone, and feeling wonderful.

  “What in the Nine Hells do you think you’re doing?” Lady T’s face flushed scarlet, her crimson lips set in a hard line.

  “I’m attending the coronation as your guest, just like you told your friend.” She glanced back out the window. “He’s gorgeous, by the way. Is he any good in bed?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, he’s absolutely fabulous in bed.” The lady regained some of her composure. “What makes you think I’ll take you to the coronation?”

  “Two reasons: One, you need me to keep Arbuckle alive so the guild will have rich customers to fleece, and two, if you don’t, I’ll break your knees and tell everyone you had an accident while having intercourse with one of your horses.”

  “You filthy…”

  “Stop playing the lady with me, Lady, and start thinking like an assassin.” Mya jabbed a finger at Lady T. She was through with jokes and threats. “I told you what would happen if the prince died, and yet you seem content to keep playing along with Hoseph’s mad plan. I’ve already warned the prince about the impending assassination attempt, so he’ll have all kinds of protection. I probably won’t have to intervene, but I’m here to make sure nothing goes wrong before he’s crowned.”

  “You warned the crown prince? How?”

  “I whispered in his ear.” Mya enjoyed the woman’s skeptical glare. “Now, I’m assuming your invitation to the coronation says something like ‘Lady Tara Monjhi and guest,’ so I’ll be your niece, Moirin, visiting from Twailin for the coronation. I imagine there’ll be whole flocks of young women being presented to the new emperor during the reception.”

  “And if there is trouble and you do have to intervene, as you put it, what do I tell the nobility of this realm? That my niece also happens to be a magically imbued assassin?”

  “No, you tell them that you hired the very best bodyguard money could buy. You’ll probably be given a duchy from the emperor for having the presence of mind to order me to save his life at your own personal risk.” Mya grinned. “Are we thinking like assassins yet?”

  Lady T glowered at her, her eyes flicking down to Mya’s dress. “How did you know I’d be wearing lavender?”

  “I didn’t.” Mya noticed for the first time that they matched hues nicely, her gown darker than the lady’s by several shades, but close enough to complement one another perfectly. “Sometimes you just get lucky.”

  Arbuckle pushed aside his untouched breakfast. This was his second, actually. The first had gone cold and been replaced. It looked delicious, but if he ate it, he knew he’d be sick. His stomach clenched on nothing but blackbrew, a roiling pit of nerves and acid. He’d been awake all night, sitting in an armchair surrounded by guards, reading a book of fanciful stories in hopes of distracting his mind from the impending coronation…and the chance that he might not live through it. The dwarven clan elders had shown them the secret passages throughout the palace. Arbuckle’s father had sworn them to secrecy, but their oaths had died with him. Arbuckle had ordered them to seal the passages, so there would be no more unexpected midnight visits. Still, he hadn’t slept.

  Now, a contingent of guards and knights stood quiet and grim, ready to escort him to the Great Hall at the appointed time.

  For now, he waited.

  “Milord?” The footman proffered the blackbrew pot.

  “No, thank you. My head is about to explode already.”

  “Something stronger then?” The man smiled and produced a silver flask from his waistcoat. “A single malt from Fengotherond. The best, in honor of your coronation today.”

  “Bless you, my good man.” Arbuckle nudged his blackbrew cup over and the man poured a double measure. The cup didn’t crack, so it wasn’t poison, and the prince could definitely use the whiskey’s medicinal properties. He sipped and sighed in bliss, smiling his thanks. “Your name?”

  “Getry, milord.” He bowed.

  “Thank you, Getry.”

  “My pleasure, milord.”

  “Milord, it’s time.”

  Arbuckle turned to find Baris with a cushioned golden tray in his hands. Upon the red satin sat his princely accoutrements: a platinum band for his head, a necklace of office resplendent with rubies, and several rings. They were remarkable r
eproductions—all paste and wood—but they looked like the genuine articles.

  “Very well.” Arbuckle downed the rest of the smooth liquor in his cup and stood. With great solemnity, Baris placed the mock jewelry on the prince, his movements as deft and sure as ever. When he’d finished, Arbuckle grasped the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Baris. For everything.”

  “I look forward to seeing to your needs as emperor, milord.” The tray under his arm, Baris bowed low and backed away.

  “Ready, milord?” Tennison looked regal in his dress clothes and badges of office, his ever-present appointment book in hand. Only the strain around his eyes betrayed his apprehension.

  “Hells, no, I’m not ready.” Arbuckle hoped his sarcasm might break the tension. A couple of the guards hid tight smiles. “But ready or not, we better be at it. If I’m late, they’ll probably hire someone else for the job.”

  A few more smiled at that, and Sir Calvert choked off a snort of laughter.

  Arbuckle took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is the Great Hall in order?”

  Tennison nodded, with a reassuring smile. “All is in order, milord, and the guests are entering as we speak.”

  Arbuckle glanced around the room. The footmen had gone, and only his trusted cadre of guards and attendants remained. “And Master Keyfur?”

  “He’s with us…in spirit, milord.” Tennison winked.

  Arbuckle jumped as something unseen brushed his shoulder.

  “More than in spirit, milord,” the mage whispered. “My simulacrum is in place with the rest of the Retinue of Wizards. It should fool Duveau. I’ll be at your side throughout this.”

  “Good.” Arbuckle allowed Baris to place the robe of his office on his shoulders. The chain and clasp had been replaced with gold-painted wood, but the garment weighed heavily on him. There were no more reasons to delay. “Ready then.”

  They proceeded through the palace in precise formation: knights in the van, Arbuckle with Tennison and Verul centered within a cordon of imperial guards. The sedate march seemed to take an eternity, and Arbuckle looked at things as he never had before. The palace had been his lifelong home, though he’d more often felt like a prisoner than a resident, always under guard, never allowed to leave except with a detachment of protectors, relegated to meeting only those deemed safe and appropriate for a crown prince’s company. Only the last few weeks had opened his eyes to the lies he had been fed his entire life about what he should be, what being noble meant, and why his father considered him a failure.