The Assassin & The Skald: Liberation

by C. M. Lind

  “Nah, I think I’m right. It’s my job to know about everything that happens with Jae, and you lady, you’re not happening with Jae.” He pulled away from her and stepped back. “So, if we’re clear about everything then I think we’re done here.” He turned away from her and walked up to Soli, offering her his arm.

  Soli made sure that any hint of a smile was gone before Randolph saw her face.

  Irene’s eyes were watering as she fled back down the hallway.

  “You’re late, sweetheart,” said Randolph. He took her bag from her shoulder.

  Soli looked Randolph in the face, trying to hide her amusement from his exchange with Irene, but she was sure a glimmer of it remained in her own eyes. “I was delayed.” She showed him the bandaged hand.

  He took her by the arm to safely pull the injured hand closer. “Are you alright?” He asked the question as if she had just told him that an ancient, great serpent had descended from the Cragmar Mountains and attacked the city.

  “I’m fine. It was an accident. I broke some glass.” She let him inspect the bandage, even though she was sure he couldn’t see through the bindings. “I’m really more worried about being late for Etienne.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, love. He’s been busy. That woman, Irene, she and him have been working on something tonight. She probably scuttled back to his lair to hide.” He let go of her arm gently. “Gods above, that woman is insufferable! Be sure to give her some distance, Soli. She’ll make trouble for you.”

  “I see. Am I relieved tonight then?” she asked. Before she had thought how lovely it would be to have the night off, but, suddenly, the prospect of being alone with her thoughts was as abhorrent as hearing Irene Monvel’s voice again.

  “Not at all,” Randolph said while putting his arm around her waist. He startled and pulled back his hand for a second before settling it around her. “Wow, that’s a bit of meat you have on you!”

  “Not as much as you, Mr. Randolph.” She smiled. Avelinian men preferred their women to be thin and weak; apparently Mr. Randolph didn’t share that predilection.

  “Sweetheart, it’s just Randolph to you.” He rolled his eyes again.

  She ignored him. “Then where shall I wait?”

  He walked with her, his arm firmly around her toned waist. “The parlor would be perfect. I have some snacks waiting, in case you’re hungry. I didn’t know how long you would be.”

  Soli pretended to tolerate the contact with Randolph. “I see. Are you certain this isn’t a ploy? That Etienne isn’t waiting for me?” she asked while raising an eyebrow.

  “I guarantee Ety cannot wait to be with you, but it’s no ruse. I overheard Irene and him speaking about some business, planning, mining, something to do with blah, blah, boring stuff. It was all white noise when those two started talking…”

  His hand was strong and large, and for a moment she could see a touch of Northerner in him—but just a touch. His features were that of a southerner, probably from Rhydwyn, Meilyr, or possibly even Van Faller, she thought. His skin was tan, and his eyes a light brown, the color of wet sand. “I see.” She suppressed her amusement, for a man like Randolph would surely read too much into it. “I would love something to eat.”

  Randolph took her to the parlor, the one he fancied since it was rarely used, and set her bag just inside the doorway. Awaiting them on the small table near the fireplace were platters of small quiches filled with pungent, fresh fish and scallions, sliced blood oranges and sugared lemons, and blueberry turnovers topped with a dollops of freshly whipped cream. Next to that was four bottles of unopened wine: a dark red cabernet, an aurelent Riesling, and two rosés, one a pale orange, the other a rosy pink. For the second time in the evening, Soli thought about her past birthdays.

  She smiled and turned to Randolph, who looked disappointed. “It’s lovely,” she said.

  “They forgot the truffles…and the glasses!” He released Soli and leaned back into the hall. “Val, Guy! One of you, get me truffles from the kitchen. A bunch of them! A couple glasses, too. Now!”

  Two faint voices called back, “Yes, Sir!” and Soli heard two sets of armored feet scuffle until a victor was reached, and he ran down the hall.

  “It will be lovely in a minute. I’m so sorry about that.” He brushed his long, fine, dark hair back with his hands. Usually it was pulled back in a leather thong, but that night it was loose. “Gods above, I plan one thing and it doesn’t even go right,” he mumbled, looking at the ceiling with frustrated eyes.

  Soli didn’t wait for Randolph. She was starving. With the events and thoughts of the day, she had completely forgotten to eat lunch and dinner. She sunk onto the plush sofa. With one hand she grabbed the biggest quiche, and with the other, a blueberry turnover. They both felt so warm and moist, and somehow the scent of fishy quiche smelled intoxicatingly good with the sugary blueberry. She shoved a whole mini-quiche into her mouth and chomped down. Her eyes went wide, and she opened her mouth. Steam poured from it. She dropped the turnover back onto the tray, and it audibly plopped, cream side down. She tried to breathe to see if it would help with the burning, but she realized quickly that it was too hot, which meant there was only one thing left to do.

  Randolph walked over to the feast in time to see Soli spew the fishy quiche. She, at least, had enough sense to avoid the table filled with delicious food, and most of it landed on the sofa and the carpeted floor. Bits of eggy quiche, fish, and stringy green onions mixed with saliva stuck onto the fibrous materials.

  Randolph was mortified.

  “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” The phrase started as a whisper but became almost a yell by the end of it. “No! What else is going to go wrong? First that awful woman ruins any attempt at a good mood for the evening. The kitchen forgets to send the truffles and glasses! And now? Now the quiches are off!”

  Soli stuck her tongue out, which was burning, and grabbed the nearest bottle of wine, the Riesling. She grabbed the silver corkscrew lying right next to it and drove it into the cork with the ferocity of a seasoned drunkard.

  “I knew it! You never go with fish! It could be spoiled! It spoils too easily!” His hands were back on his head. He stared at the quiches as if they would explode at any moment.

  “Is everything alright, sir?” Val was suddenly in the room. Soli couldn’t hear his approach over Randolph’s panic.

  She finished driving in the corkscrew. She clamped the tongs down. With one pull the bottle was open.

  “No! Not at all! I’ve poisoned her!” Randolph pointed to the quiches with one hand; the other still was on his head.

  “Shall I fetch a doctor?” Val was just as intense as Randolph.

  Soli slammed half the bottle while they spoke and some spilled over her lips. Her other hand still held the corked corkscrew. She brought the bottle down onto her lap and licked her lips. “No! Nobody get anything!”

  Both men stopped their panicked conversation and looked to her as if she had just told them she was dying.

  It was as if something broke inside her: she laughed. “Val, thank you. You may leave,” she said before taking another swig of the wine. Somehow, Randolph’s words, the food, the worried Val, the Riesling—all of it lifted away the gloom from her.

  Val looked confused, but backed through the door without hesitation. He was clearly a man used to taking direction without question.

  “I’m fine,” she said while still laughing; her face was beginning to delightfully hurt from it. “It was just too hot.”

  Randolph lowered his hands. “They’re not off? I didn’t just make you sick?”

  “No,” she said with a smile. “They’re extraordinary. It was burning my tongue, and there wasn’t really any other alternative. I guess I thought they wouldn’t be that hot since you couldn’t possibly have known when I’d be here.”

  “Well…” he awkwardly trailed.

  “Well what?”

  “I had them make a bunch throughout the night and when I saw you at t
he gate I might have called them in…” The last of the sentence trailed up, almost as if it was a question.

  “Well,” she said before taking another swig of wine, “it must have been worth it since they’re so delicious.” She signaled for him to take a seat.

  He sat down next to her without hesitation.

  “Thank you,” she said. She offered him the bottle of half depleted wine.

  He accepted and took a small sip. “So the night isn’t completely ruined?”

  “Nope.” She laughed again. “We don’t need glasses or truffles. It is fine the way it is.” Soli grabbed the turnover she dropped moments ago. The thing was covered in whipped cream that slathered her fingers. This time, she took a careful bite. A small amount of fragrant steam escaped the creation, and she savored the smell.

  Randolph did the same, grabbing a turnover and cautiously eating it.

  “So why are you free tonight then?” she inquired.

  “Jae is preoccupied again.” He said the word preoccupied with accompanying air quotes from his left hand.

  Soli shook her head. She had been at the estate long enough to know what preoccupied meant when it was said about Jae. Jae had been preoccupied often, but that never meant that Randolph was free to relax to such an extent. “He’s always preoccupied. So what is different about tonight?” She took a big bite, savoring the buttery, warm pastry and the gooey, sweet center.

  “Oh, he had a surprise tonight. He’s been trying to get Odette Debeau for years, but she has never responded to his offers. She just showed up tonight! Right there on the doorstep! Acted like they had an appointment. Once I told Lord Jae who had stopped by he cancelled everything, which left Ety and Irene pissed. Jae told me that I could have a proper night off. I haven’t ever seen him so happy.”

  “Well, at least he’s happy,” she said.

  “I guess it goes to show that determination pays off.” He winked.

  “Yeah, and a pile of gold—at least for that kind of woman.”

  He cocked his head to the side, taking a moment to think. “A pile sounds about right.”

  “What makes her worth a pile anyway?” She pushed the rest of the turnover into her mouth, and grabbed another before she even finished chewing.

  “I wouldn’t know personally, but, apparently, she’s the best. She looks pretty spectacular,” he backpedaled, putting his hand up in a surrendering motion, “if you’re into that kind of thing. I am so not. I totally am not!”

  Soli laughed. “Speak your mind; you don’t have to defend yourself.”

  “She looks so different. She has this curly, shiny hair. The color reminds me of the palomino my father had. She wears so much make-up! Her eyes are thick with kohl like the Northerners.” He gestured to Soli offhandedly. “Her painted lips are a bright, yet deep, red like the Venari women I’ve seen. Her cheeks are blushed like the high society women here.”

  Soli began to wonder how many women Randolph was familiar with, considering his expertise on the fashions he spoke of. Was this man actually well-traveled for the sake of women?

  “But her clothing? Nothing like here. She was wearing this corset that had as much metal as leather on it, but, even then, it wasn’t very concealing. I could see right through her long skirt, which was nothing but a couple layers of plum lace. I could see her legs; they were hairless like they do in the south—like in Rhydwyn.”

  Soli concluded that perhaps he was well-traveled, that he was not so simple after all…although his motivations for such travel, she was sure, were women.

  “She had no feet! Just like I heard! One foot gone at the ankle,” he made a chopping motion at his own ankle, “one leg missing up to the knee. Instead she had the most beautifully worked silver I’ve ever seen, crafted with tall, spiked heels. She looked like a weird treasure.”

  She laughed again. She couldn’t remember that last time she had laughed so much, or spoken so freely “Being footless a thing that Avelinians like then?”

  “What? No. It’s just different. I like my women to have two feet personally. I’m greedy like that.”

  Guy rushed through the door panting, his face a bit pink. He had a silver bowl filled with dark brown truffles in one hand and two steel flagons in the other. He set them down on the table then took a long breath, giving Randolph a smile similar to what a hunting hound gives his master when fetching his game.

  “Really, Guy? Flagons?” said Randolph.

  “What?” said Guy. His smiled turned about.

  “For wine?” Randolph gestured to the wine sitting on the table.

  Guy turned to Soli, then back to Randolph. “But, that’s what I use. The other glasses are so small.”

  Randolph looked at the flagons, exasperated. He was just starting to open his mouth when Soli put her hand over it. She looked to the confused and scared Guy. “Thanks, Guy. They’ll do splendidly.”

  “It was a pleasure!” Guy turned back and ran out the door, once again giving Soli the impression of a dog.

  “We don’t need glasses anyway, do we?” She grabbed the bottle from Randolph and took a sip. It was a fine enough wine, but she never really cared for the drinks of Aveline.

  “Nah. I don’t think we do.” His gaze drifted from her lips to her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said gently, the bottle still at her lips.

  “Nah, no need. It was really the kitchen that was put out. It’s nothing,” he said with a simper.

  “No, I mean for all of this.” She gestured to the table before them, then towards him. “You made me laugh tonight.” She felt comfortable talking to Randolph, and she felt that he was comfortable talking to her in return. She had missed speaking so freely, and Randolph felt like the last person alive she could do so with.

  “Well, if all I need to do is make you laugh, then I won’t bother with all this.” His hand surveyed the banquet before them, in a fashion similar to hers.

  “Oh no, by all means, continue to bother will all this.” She gestured again, a flowery salute to the buffet, topping Randolph’s from moments before.

  “Alright then.” He put it hand up, almost in surrender to their competition. “Laughter and food it is.” He opened his hand up towards her.

  She placed the bottle back into his large hand. “Warm food, drink, and laughter always have a way of brightening one’s life. It’s been too long since I’ve had them.”

  “I know I said I’d provide laughter and all, so excuse me if I’m being too serious, but you don’t ever seem happy. Not really, that is.” He took a slow drink, as if hiding behind the bottle.

  Soli, a woman who prided herself on her voice and thoughts, couldn’t find the words to say, or the strength to even say them if they could have been found. Instead, she opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then closed it.

  “You’re not, are you? No offense, but if I was a beautiful, intelligent, talented lady like you? I would be living it up. I certainly would never pay for a drink again as long as I live.” He took another sip.

  “No,” she said to her leather boots, “I’m not.”

  “Why not?”

  She thought about the question. She felt as if slushy snow was passing over her: a slow, cold, heavy, and encompassing sensation. “What do you do when the last of your family dies?”

  “Well,” he said, “I suppose… I don’t know?” The last of his response was cautious and unsure.

  “I’ll tell you. If you’re lucky, you have their body, like I did this last time. You deal with it. You sell their stuff. You move on.” Her voice was as hard and strong as stone.

  “So you’re ‘moved on?’”

  “I’m still working on that part. It’s hard to move on when you’re trapped. A captive in Aveline.”

  His voice was silly and hearty again, as he was wont to do. “It’s not so bad here—“

  He was cut off by her adamantine voice, a tone that could have made a seasoned veteran pause. “Yes, it is. I hate the people here. I hate the
food and the drinks.” Her mouth was open, she had so much more to say, but she couldn’t do it. The memory of making Roed his tea everyday crept into her mind: the steam from the kettle, the smooth clay mug, the strong, crisp, inviting smell. She put her head in her hands. “I want to go home.”

  Randolph set the bottle on the floor and moved a bit closer to her, until they were only inches apart. “I miss home too.” He reached out to the tray with the blueberry turnovers and put one finger on the edge of it. “Home to me was helping my mother with breakfast, and, more often than not, that was boiled oats with honey. I was the youngest so apparently that meant I had to help make the food, or, as my brother called it, woman’s work. I didn’t mind though, my mother was wonderful.” He pulled the tray closer to Soli. It knocked against an undisturbed wine bottle with a timid clank. “After that I would spend my day with my father, my brothers, and the horses. Our horses were strong, and any farmer or trader wanted them. They could haul so much and never get tired.” The tray settled in front of Soli, and she could see the whipped cream was melting into the turnovers.

  “It was hard work, but I was happy enough. I didn’t have a lot of friends, but I had the horses. It made for some very one sided games of tag, but, beyond that, it was perfect. I didn’t care that my brothers were jackasses; my mother and father were amazing.

  “My dad was incredible with horses; he just understood them in a way that I couldn’t. He grew up with them. He inherited the place from his own father, and my eldest brother, Nel, inherited it from him. He never had a problem with a horse he couldn’t solve.

  “One day, I was helping him in the stable. We were cleaning it out, but we couldn’t send the horses outside to the corral, and the stable was so cramped—we were housing some abandoned pigs we had found nearby, or as my father called it: free bacon. It was an awful winter that year. You could get icicles on your teeth by just opening your mouth! Dad said it was no problem. That we’d just be really careful, that he had to do it a few times when he was a child.