Five Poisoned Apples

by Skye Hoffert et al.

  “I’ll be all right,” he assured her, heading toward the stairs at the back of the room.

  “Take a coat with you.”

  “I will,” he promised, not minding her grandmotherly concerns. It was pleasant having someone to fuss over him sometimes, even if he was twenty-five. That was one thing he’d miss when he left town.

  Aside from the wrinkled proprietor, he was the only full-time resident at the tenement house. All others came and went. Currently he and Widow Gaisun had the place to themselves. His door was at the end of the long hallway at the top of the stairs, on the left. Inside, the room was mostly bare. He had given the widow strict orders not to fuss with his space, so he kept it meticulously clean, giving her no reason to fret.

  Zaig crossed to the large trunk at the foot of his bed, drawing a leather cord and key from the neck of his shirt. The lock clicked open, and he lifted the heavy lid. An array of weapons greeted him, wrapped in scabbards and scraps of soft leather. He couldn’t help a little smile. Which ones would come with him tonight?

  The first thing he pulled out was a single-shot pistol. Completely useless for stealth, and too slow to reload in a fray, but sometimes a person needed just that one shot to survive. If tonight was some sort of trap, it might serve him well. If it wasn’t a trap though, he planned to use some of the reward to buy one of those new revolver pistols. And maybe a gun disguised as a walking stick.

  He tucked daggers into the scabbards in his boots and added a few throwing knives to the inside of his vest. The last thing he selected was a set of knuckles that slid over his fingers, with a blade arching over the bridge of his hand. He tucked it into his pocket for the time being, secure in its sheath but ready for quick use.

  Grabbing the coat Widow Gaisun had requested, he trudged back down the stairs.

  “Will you be late?” the widow asked, hobbling her bent form to the kitchen doorway.

  “Yes.” Zaig shrugged into the coat under her watchful eye, though it wasn’t at all cold out.

  “I’ll leave a lamp on for you then.”

  Zaig knew it would only upset her to tell her he could find his way quite well in the dark and to not use up her gas. The widow had an uncanny fear of the night that he had never understood nor shared, so he just nodded and stepped out into the twilight. The streets were all but empty now, and everything was put away for the night. The only people he saw were a few sooty-faced chimney sweeps and the lamp lighters making their way down the streets. They paid him no attention as they went about their work.

  Zaig headed toward the edge of town nearest the castle by traveling through the shipyards and warehouses. It was the long way around, but he had no desire to be caught on the streets where Laivden’s upper class lived. They’d probably accuse him of trying to break into something.

  Factories had sprung up like weeds here, and their smell was strong in the hot air even though they’d stopped belching fumes for the night. Zaig breathed a sigh of relief as he passed the last of them and slipped into Havan Gardens.

  The arch stood between the castle walls and the outskirts of the city, too grand to be part of the streets, but not fine enough to be included in the royal grounds. Lagby Arch wasn’t truly an arch at all; rather, a collection of stone wedges jutting up from the earth at such angles that to anyone approaching it looked like one solid archway. A man named Lagby, who fancied himself an artist, had designed it years ago. Zaig found the whole concept pointless, but it did serve as a convenient meeting place.

  Before he reached the arch he deviated off the footpath into the brush, picking his way carefully. He made sure not to let his clothing brush against the reaching branches, not to push a twig out of place. No sound carried so well as that of a man tromping through nature.

  He settled down behind a bush at the base of a tall tree. The summer foliage offered him good cover, and a gap in the branches gave him a view of the arch. Only one gas lamp stood near the arch, spilling a small circle of light onto its stone sections.

  Someone was already there, standing in the shadows though not truly hidden. The constant shifting from foot to foot suggested whoever it was wasn’t trying to be discreet. A long coat concealed most of the form, but Zaig guessed from the stance that it was a man. Certainly not the queen. And he was not coming out for anyone but the queen herself.

  It was only a matter of minutes before another figure approached the arch. This man was much larger than the first. They spoke in low rumbles, their words indiscernible from Zaig’s vantage point, but their body language told an easy story. The smaller man asserted his claim of being there first, and the newcomer didn’t care in the least. Zaig watched, curious to see if they were foolish enough to come to blows over the matter. You couldn’t claim the prize if you got yourself killed first. He caught the glint of moonlight on metal in the big man’s hand, and the first man immediately backed down. He skulked away soon after, and the darkness swallowed him.

  Zaig cast a glance toward the moon then back to the arch. He let his body sink gently into last year’s leaves, settling in for a long wait. Hours passed. His thoughts drifted back to the old man from the ship telling him to be patient, to not think about how much time had lapsed. Impatience was a sure way to get killed. Everyone on the crew had called the man “Boots.” Zaig didn’t know if he had another name, but considering the scope of his rather specified knowledge, it made sense that he wouldn’t want his real name to be known.

  The big man at the arch finally gave up and stalked away. More came, squabbling for supremacy of the arch. A fistfight broke out, and the dull thunk of someone being slammed into a wedge was loud in the still night. Zaig rolled his eyes but otherwise held still.

  The bold fools under the arch weren’t the only ones present. From somewhere to his left there was a sharp, pain-filled cry that cut off short. Everything froze. Even the crickets stopped their incessant chirping for a few moments before starting up again. The brawlers beneath the arch let go of each other and quickly disappeared.

  The hair on the back of Zaig’s neck stood on end, and he had to remind himself to breathe steadily through his nose. No need to get his heart pounding so loud he couldn’t hear his surroundings. These bushes offered excellent cover. He would know if someone drew near long before they knew where he was.

  Nothing changed after that. No one came or went. There was no noise. Time crawled on with all the speed of a corpse, with nothing to mark its passing. Zaig guessed it was nearer to morning than night now. He was starting to wonder if this was some twisted joke—if the queen wasn’t coming, hadn’t put the word out to begin with. If she was truly looking for an assassin, she should have shown up hours ago.

  Movement pulled him from the thoughts. Someone had crept into the shadows of the arch. He noted the telltale motion of skirts and sensed nervous tension in the constant turning of the head, as though whoever it was wanted to watch her back with every step. Could this be the queen? He didn’t know of any female assassins, but the prospect sounded terrifying.

  He forced himself to wait a moment longer, though for all his forced breathing his heart was in his throat. He made himself start counting. It was his mother’s trick to help calm him down when he was scared, and he’d never stopped even after she was gone. He watched, straining his eyes for any movement in the dim light. He could hear only crickets and his own pulse thudding in his temples. No one approached the woman. Were the other assassins waiting, like him? Or was he the only one left? The thought raised goosebumps on his skin.

  When his count reached two hundred he slowly stood. He didn’t wait to see if anything would happen, just started off along the perimeter of the wooded area, half crouching. He kept to the shadows but avoided places where he couldn’t see the ground. The last thing he wanted was to step on a would-be contender.

  He flanked the arch without incident and hesitated only a moment before crossing the open space between the trees and the nearest segment of the arch. He didn’t allow himself the relief o
f actually running, not wanting her to hear him coming.

  Cautiously he wove his way between the wedges, peeking before he stepped around each one. Nothing hid behind them but shadows. Had she really come alone? He could hardly believe it, but as he neared the place where he’d last seen her standing and still encountered no one, he concluded that she must have. He reached the last wedge and stepped around it softly.

  “Your Majesty?” he murmured.

  The woman turned without so much as a flinch and dipped her chin coolly. “Your Highness, now. Are you to be my assassin?

  “Possibly,” he said slowly, sizing her up in the silvery light. He could see her doing the same to him, and somehow he felt inadequate under her sharp gaze.

  Finally, she seemed satisfied and gave a short nod. “Well then, let’s get down to the business of it.” She whisked past him, deeper into the cover of the arch.

  Zaig followed her, dumbstruck. This woman was so unlike he’d imagined a queen. She was young. Probably only a bit younger than him. Word had circulated that the widower king’s second wife was young enough to be his daughter, but it was jolting to see her in person. She was almost girlish. And beautiful. Even the scant light was enough to reveal that. Her grey walking dress and cape were perfectly arranged, and she clasped a parasol in both hands. Her hair was pale gold and pinned neatly at the base of her neck. She had large eyes, a delicate mouth, and a trim petite figure that made her look in need of protecting.

  However, the sharp gaze she swung on him was anything but helpless, and the hard set of her jaw told him she was every bit a queen.

  “I take it you heard about the price?”

  “Yes,” he answered evenly.

  Her eyes narrowed, and he checked himself for not addressing her properly. “Yes, Your Highness,” he muttered.

  “And you no doubt heard I wanted only the best?” Her tone was direct and pointed.

  “I did, Your Highness.”

  “Well, will you accept my offer?” She arched a slender eyebrow.

  “Who would I be hunting?” Zaig tipped his head, casually sliding his hands into his trouser pockets.

  “I didn’t know assassins were picky with this much money on the line.” Her lips pulled into a thin line, and she rustled her parasol slightly. Zaig gave it a quick glance. A parasol was useless at this time of night, so he guessed it must hide a weapon of some kind. A gun barrel perhaps. Or a long knife.

  “I’m not picky.” He tried not to sound flustered. He wasn’t used to people being so straightforward when requesting his services. “Just curious.”

  She hummed deep in her throat then nodded. “I need you to kill my stepdaughter.”

  Zaig couldn’t keep the surprise from his face. “Princess Ailda?”

  “Yes.” The queen spoke easily, either ignoring or not noticing his shock. “I’m certain you’re the best man in the city for the job. I only sent word out yesterday morning, and someone clearly thought of you and told you to be here. I didn’t want to allow time for the story to travel the kingdom and have to sort through a lot of scams. Enough of those showed up as it was.” At his questioning look she continued: “I’ve been here since before nightfall. The fools brawling and making a spectacle of themselves in plain sight were obviously not what I wanted. Whoever killed that man out in the woods was clearly ruthless.” She smiled, and her face lit up. “Was it you?”

  “No,” he admitted, scuffing his boot into the dirt.

  “Good. Because any killer worth his gold would have made a quiet kill and not alerted the whole area to his presence. You’re honest with me. I like that. You’re also patient, evidenced by the fact that you waited this long for me. And you’re silent. Now, will you accept my offer? Because if you do, I need you to listen very carefully.”

  Zaig’s mind raced to keep up with her. He was used to seeing people display a certain measure of guilt when talking to him, even if the situation was justified, and her lack of remorse was unnerving. He nodded slowly.

  “Good.” Some of the tension melted from her posture, and she took a deep breath. “While you’ve shown great promise here tonight, it won’t be enough. You must be cautious like you’ve never been before. Discreet, swift. And absolutely uncaring. Be ruthless. Your heart and mind must not play a role. I’m paying you to be a coldblooded killer, and that’s exactly what you must be. Stripped of all humanity. Like you were hunting a wild animal, a monster.” She frowned, her gaze holding him captive. “Do you understand?”

  “I’ve killed before,” he growled, irked at her instructing him like a child.

  “Not like this you haven’t. Now, you’ll need this.” She slid a small box from under her cloak. “When you kill her, I want you to drive this through her heart and bring it back to me in this box. That way I’ll know she’s truly dead.”

  Zaig accepted the box and opened it enough to reveal a sharp stake inside. Something clenched inside him, and he snapped it shut quickly, holding back the slew of feelings and questions boiling up inside him.

  “Tomorrow,” the queen continued, “you will find a royal guard’s uniform in the bushes at Blagwell Church. I’ll try to get the size close. Put it on and report to the castle by three o’clock. No one will question you. Ailda will want to go riding tomorrow, in the evening when it’s cool. It’s a habit of hers. You’ll be assigned to accompany her. When you’re well away from the castle grounds, kill her, dispose of the body, and bring me her pierced heart. You’ll have your reward and be out of my sight by the next day.”

  The cold and calculated tone sent shivers down his spine. This was not the behavior he’d come to expect in a woman. Or even in most men. This was her stepdaughter she was talking about, after all. Just a girl.

  He quickly buried that thought. This would be the last time. He’d take the money and go away, forget this version of Zaig ever existed.

  “Now,” her sharp voice made him flinch, “have I given you sufficient information to complete the task?”

  Zaig got the feeling she would be less than pleased if he said no. “Sufficient.” He dipped his chin.

  “Are there any problems you can foresee? I need to know everything, if you can think of any.” She shifted her parasol to her shoulder. “You can ride, I hope?”

  “I can ride.” Zaig nodded. There could be any number of problems with this plan. The foundation was all there, and he had to admit that the queen was cunning, if coldblooded. Still, the whole thing bothered him in a way he wasn’t sure how to put into words. He was already committed though. “I’ll make it work.”

  The queen frowned and glanced toward the castle. “Can you read?”

  Zaig followed her gaze, trying to find whatever had distracted her, but all he could see were the shadowy towers through the branches. “Yes.” The priest at the orphanage had taught them all. Why would she want to know that?

  She nodded and faced him again. “All right then, it’s settled. By this time tomorrow, I’d better be the only royal left in that castle.”

  With that, she spun and strode away, leaving Zaig alone in the darkness.

  Chapter Two

  True to her word, Widow Gaisun had left a lamp burning low on the table inside the door. Zaig picked it up then turned the lock into place. He made his way carefully up the steps, avoiding the third one that creaked. Once in his room, he barely had the energy to remove his weapons and douse the lamp before falling into bed.

  Years might have passed for all he knew. He was dead to the world until a soft knocking pulled him from sleep.

  “Come in,” he groaned, and the widow nudged the door open, carrying a tray of food.

  “I’m sorry to wake you. I know you came in late. But it’s almost noon, and I thought you might be hungry.”

  As she set the tray on the table, he sat up gratefully. The bread from yesterday hadn’t been enough, and a growling ache rolled in his belly. “Thank you. I’m starving.” Zaig sat at the table to devour the meal, hardly tasting the meat and cooked
vegetables as they passed over his tongue. After five years of living with the widow, he knew it was delicious.

  He glanced up at the delicate creature puttering about, straightening the rough bed covers. “Don’t worry about it, Gaile. It’s fine.” He used the given name she insisted on.

  She crossed to stand behind him and tugged on a strand of dark brown hair that brushed his shirt collar, clicking her tongue in disapproval. He pushed a lock back from his face, ready to tell her he liked it how it was, but stopped himself. Palace guards were well kempt and clean cut. A uniform alone wouldn’t make up for his runaway hair and bushy eyebrows. He ran a hand across the scruff on his jaw. That needed to be taken care of too.

  “Do you think you could trim it?” he ventured, and Gaile clucked happily.

  “Well, of course. You just come down to the kitchen and we’ll get you looking like a proper gentleman.”

  “Don’t get too carried away,” he laughed, gathering up his dirty dishes as she hobbled downstairs as fast as her short, crooked legs could take her.

  The kitchen was the largest room in the house and always smelled delicious. There was a pie cooling on the heavy wooden table, and Zaig resisted the urge to steal a pinch of its flaky crust. He set the dishes down on the table and sat in the chair the widow pulled out for him. She hmphed and hummed to herself as she settled a towel around his neck and squeezed another out over his head to dampen his hair. Zaig shivered at the droplets that went tickling down his back.

  “Any last wishes?” the widow cackled.

  Zaig shook his head, failing to suppress a smile. “You can go shorter than usual.”

  “Ooh.” She sounded curious but didn’t question, just set to work. Her scissors made a pleasant rhythm, and Zaig let himself relax.

  Gaile made short work of the back and moved to stand in front of him. She lifted a lock off his forehead, exposing a jagged scar running up from his temple into his hairline. “Do you want me to keep this covered like usual?”