 |
A dagger in his right hand, concealed under the silk sheets, Lord Edmund kept his eyes on the one unguarded entrance to his room: the window. If she came from any direction, he reasoned, the window would be the safest route for her. |
He realized his assumption was mistaken when he heard the sound of someone falling outside his door. His first instinct was to call for help, but he knew help would not reach him in time. His best bet was to pretend he was asleep. Only the advantage of surprise could save him from Yavar, Mistress of Assassins.
He heard the door open, and then he mentally counted to five while at the same time thankful he had the foresight to send his wife and children to his other estate. On five he sprang out of bed and jabbed at the shadowed figure with an overhead thrust toward what he hoped was the heart, preparing to scream out at the same moment. Before he could comprehend what happened, his weapon arm was pinned behind his back, and a gloved hand covered his mouth. Pain forced him to drop the dagger, and then his back met the bed, with her on top, her hand still covering his mouth.
“Raise your voice above a whisper, and I will kill you, understand?”
He nodded slowly.
“Good.”
She sniffed his neck. He noticed his dagger in her other hand, its blade glinting in the moonlight. She asked, “How do you nobles always manage to smell so good?”
What kind of question is that? he thought. “Um, perfume?”
“Ah yes, perfume. So I imagine you now know why I am here?”
Lord Edmund shook his head; although, he had a good idea what she meant.
She clucked her tongue then said, “There’s a certain perfume merchant who seems to have his own retinue of bodyguards, and thus has no need for my brother’s protection anymore. Do you know whose herald was on the guards’ scabbards?” “Mine?” Suddenly, he wondered if the deal he had made had been worth it. Too late to worry now, he thought. |
 |
“Good boy,” she cooed. “The merchant was gracious enough to tell us the deal he offered you. That’s a lot of perfume, and for such a cheap price. Where are you taking it? Kevon? Rexon?”
He kept silent. She placed the dagger’s tip against his groin then pressed down. He tried to rise but an open-hand thrust against his ribs put him back down. “Remember, whispers only.”
“K-Kevon,” he said, gritting his teeth. She released the pressure. “It’s a shorter distance, thus less costly.”
“Quite profitable, I imagine.” She pulled the dagger back up to a readied position. “But it leaves you and me in a bit of a situation. To allow someone to interfere with our arrangements with Quaz City’s merchants will make us look weak, but to kill a noble will break the…agreement… between the nobles and my brother.”
She rose off his body and tossed the dagger back to him. “Be glad my brother is merciful and is willing to strike a deal with you. Twenty percent of all profits made in your perfume venture.”
“Or what? Attack my caravans?” Lord Edmund grinned. “Ah, but my caravans are protected by my herald. To attack them is to risk war with the nobles.”
Yavar pulled something out of a pouch that dangled from her belt. She tossed it to him. He looked down at the cold, wet, heart that now lay in his lap, and he forced down the bile that threatened to erupt from his throat. She said, “I took that off another assassin. Can you guess where he was heading?”
Unable to take his eyes away from the heart, Lord Edmund cleared his throat. “Here?”
Yavar nodded and cooed, “Smart boy. Now, unless you wish for us to look the other way the next time one of your competitors decides to kill you, I suggest you agree to our offer. And it’s now at forty percent.”
Slowly, Lord Edmund nodded. He tore his eyes away from the organ. When he looked back, Yavar was already gone.
End