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“Oh yeah? What is that?” I said, voice low as my eyes continually darted between the two men. I had no time saved in my Sypher’s magic, only the fire of a fíra, something that I really wasn’t interested in using right then.
I supposed my lifetime of training would have to work. I could easily take down Jarrurd before he could draw his blade, perhaps throw a dagger at Yersua before he too drew. All of that would not be without sound however, and with the splashing that was now echoing down the hall, it was not only these two that I was about to face.
“This,” Yersua slipped one of the pieces of parchment out from the file, the ink smudged and the picture nearly unrecognizable.
I knew what it was at once, a bounty poster from when I was seventeen, from that very first job.
The posters had been hung everywhere after I had killed a man in Turin and robbed him of enough gambling winnings to feed my Qit for a year. Which it had, through an ‘anonymous donation’ to the town coffers.
That kill was my first, and I had been seen which is why the bounty had been called. It wasn’t a kill I regretted, however, the man was selling and gambling away children. He deserved what came for him.
It was also that kill that had led me there, although I had stepped atop The Sway months before I would actually end the former owner's life. Months before I would hear of the brother who was now attempting to avenge him.
Even though I knew the poster, I stared at it in forced confusion, careful to narrow my eyes as though I was trying to read the smudged ink.
“Is that about the Prince’s marriage?” I said the first thing that came to mind. The confusion didn’t hit my voice, it was as dangerous as before.
“No,” Yersua snarled, his lip curling as everything rocked again and more water sloshed around my shoes. “This is the bounty slip for the man who killed my brother. An assassin with a dark complexion and eyes of two different shades of blue. An assassin I had only heard about again recently, although this time he was called the Wanderer, and hunts Fae with curved blades. Just like you.” He stood, the muscles in his shoulders flexing as he extended his blade from underneath the desk.
Yesterday, my life had begun to unravel with the knowledge of how little time I had left; now, all those threads were exploding together. I couldn’t stop it.
“I didn’t–”
“Don’t lie to me!” he roared, the mask he had been wearing so well slipping away as he stood, the tip of that long sword stretched over the desk to point right at me. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t grab my blade, even as I heard the dagger of Jarrurd and at least five others in the hall grind against their sheathes as they too were drawn.
I thought fighting the Fae had been fun.
I hadn’t taken on this many without my time magic since all those years I spent fighting alongside the assassins. It wasn’t only that dangerous mix of my magic that wound its way through me, it was anticipation.
“I’m not lying. I didn’t kill him. The bottom of the cliff surely did that all on its own, even if I hadn’t removed his arms before I threw him over the edge.” I shouldn’t have smiled. I shouldn’t have basked in that rage and agony that was on Yersua’s face.
But, I did, that twisted part of my soul delighted in it.
Yersua was screaming in anticipation of a quick kill, his blood shot eyes raging as he lunged, his sword shaking in his fury. He didn’t reach me, none of them did, for at that exact moment the Qit rocked to the side and sent everyone into the wall.
Chapter 10
Caspyn
My feet went out from underneath me as the Qit swayed, sending the three of us, and I assume everyone who was hiding in the hall, into the wall.
Wet wood creaked as I collided with a loud smack, everything in the Qit groaning as Jarrurd swore and pulled to his feet. His face was wrapped in fury as he gripped the rusted and stained dagger and lunged.
He was used to the Sway, his feet steady underneath him as the floor heaved and sent him directly into me. With another great lurch he stepped to the side and I stumbled forward, grabbing his legs as I went down and rolled him with me, throwing him back into the wall as Yersua drew his own blade, the small throwing dagger barely visible before he unfurled it.
The cold metal hilts of my blades bit against my hands as I drew them, finding my feet as quickly as I could. Lifting my glittering daggers, I easily deflected the two dirt and blood streaked shards of metal Yersua had sent hurtling through the air in my direction.
“You fucking ass! I’ll make sure you die for what you’ve done!” Yersua screamed as his blades fell uselessly to the rocking floor. The poor man was red faced and raging. Clearly, he hadn’t expected this to be so hard. I had no idea how he could underestimate me when I had brought him so many Fae heads over the years, but it was an error he would die with.
Yersua reached for another of his hidden weapons as Jarrurd raced to his feet once more, the stained and rusted blade still held out as he slashed the air. One quick swipe of my own glinting golden blades and his confident swing was thrown into the wall with a thud, his eyes widening as I swiped up, the sharpened metal of my own knife clanging loudly against the thrown blade which now clattered lifelessly to the floor.
“Do you really want to attempt this?” I growled, my focus darting between Yersua who glowered as though he could end me with his eyes, to Jarrurd who was already reaching for a second blade, the poor thing even more rusted than the first. “Fine. If this is how you wish to meet your end.”
The words were a snarl through the clench in my teeth as I stepped back, swinging one blade up against Jarrurd’s arm. It sliced through leathers and flesh without so much of a pinpoint of pressure until the sharp edge ground against bone. His rusted blade clattered to the ground as I ran my second knife over the salt covered neck of my attacker, the deep motion familiar and deadly.
With no time reserves, the warm droplets of his blood went everywhere. The bright red spots rained over my face, over my heavy black leathers.
Jarrurd’s scream reduced to gurgles and the slosh of blood before he had been able to let out more than a gasp. The sound of his body falling to the floor, his head barely hanging on, was louder, however. The hollow thud of impact echoed over the creaking of the Qit as the waves sent us in another direction, his body sliding over the wet floor and spreading swirls of red over everything. I barely saw anything other than the red faced Yersua, his eyes wide as the smell of blood mixed with the salt.
