Page 8 of To Kill a King

He sat back in his chair and pulled an oilcloth from his pocket, absentmindedly running it over his blade as he studied the map. The cloth traced the etchings along the edges as his mind lost itself in daydreams of home. He sighed. The booming voice below vibrated the floorboards. He rolled his eyes. Drunk humans.

The door latch released with a click, and the hinges creaked.

He bounded across the room in two leaps and slammed his foot behind the opening door, stopping it a hand-width from the frame. Blocking the intruder’s view with his torso, he shoved his sword against their throat with a growl.

The human couldn’t have been more than twelve. He stared at Elessan wide-eyed as the weapon pressed into his neck. The tray of food in his hands clattered as he shook. “I—I’m sorry, sir,” the boy stammered. “I brought you the dinner you requested.” He took a step back.

Elessan flashed his fangs and slid his weapon into its scabbard with more force than necessary. He must truly be wound too tightly to nearly kill a child for the mere crime of delivering his meal. “Don’t they teach you to knock?” he growled.

The child’s gulp was audible. He dropped his face, but kept his eyes fixed fully on Elessan. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

Elessan bit back a laugh. Based on the boy’s pallid skin and shallow breathing, they were both lucky the child hadn’t soiled himself.

Elessan. Master spy and assassin. Terrorizer of small human children. His mother would be so proud.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry I scared you. Leave it on the floor. I’ll set it back out when I’m done.”

The boy crouched to put the tray down, keeping a wary eye on Elessan. He stood and slid it forward with the toe of his boot and scampered away.

Elessan waited until the human’s footsteps faded into the din below before he pulled the dishes inside. He nudged the door closed with his foot and smelled the stew. It stank of water and brine. He winced.

Another downside to the human realm—all the cheap inns seemed to use more salt than actual food in their meals.

He removed two of the paperweights from his map, allowing it to roll to the side to clear space for the tray. Frowning, he studied the flint and steel in his hand, and glanced at the door. It was simple enough to jam the wedge-shaped rocks under the door and kick them into place. No one else would be opening that door without his permission.

Sitting back at the table, he pushed the slop aside, letting it congeal on the platter. If all went well, the Cerels’ kingdom would fall and this whole affair would be over soon. Then he could go home once and for all.

The din grew louder downstairs. The intense smell of sour ale and human body odor that seemed to have permanently soaked into the inn’s wood suddenly flooded his nostrils. By staying so far outside of the capital, he’d hoped to avoid most of the stench. Reaching to the window, he flicked the latch and swung the shutters open. A faint breeze that smelled of mountains and lilacs blew through the room, clearing the offensive reek. The candle flame danced, casting flickering shadows on the wall.

He pulled his second blade from its sheath and wiped it down with the oil cloth until it shone like its companion. There was nothing more to be done today. Tomorrow, he would sneak into the capital disguised as a human and see what information he could bribe out of the locals.

A loud voice from downstairs yelled, “Aliya Larimar!”

Elessan blinked. What were the Larimars doing so far south? It looked like tonight would be interesting after all. He carefully rolled the map up and pushed it back into its protective leather tube. Then the whole package went into his backpack. With a well-practiced flick of his wrists, he thrust the blades into their sheaths and grabbed his bow and cloak, tucking the hood into place. As he grasped the door handle, a bone-rattling explosion sounded from outside. He slammed his hands over his ears.

Valek. What in God’s Teeth was that?

As the noise subsided, he strode to the window. The smell of pine needles drifted on the spring breeze, followed by the faint stench of sulfur and fire. It still smelled better than the humans downstairs.

At first, he saw nothing. After several heartbeats, four guards dressed in the colors of House Larimar appeared, dragging a struggling woman in a fancy cape down the road. Her wrists were bound in front of her like a common criminal. The fringe of one of the soldier’s cloaks smoldered, giving off tendrils of smoke in the fading evening light. A man in black, bearing the Cerel crest on his shoulder led the procession. A stone clenched in his hand glowed, casting a maroon glow across the ground.

Interesting. Would the fates finally take pity on him and drop the very mage he sought in his lap?

The lady—Aliya?—fought against her captors’ mistreatment. Her hood fell back, revealing cascades of blonde hair—exactly like her mother’s, the late Baroness Larimar.

His heart skipped a beat. What trick of the gods’ was this?

He frowned. Five on one seemed hardly fair. He climbed out the window and scaled the wall to the roof. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, he followed the group. He pulled several arrows from his quiver. There! One of the guards stepped away from the woman, a clear shot. Elessan closed one eye and aimed; the arrow sank home.

Soon all the soldiers’ cloaks were pinned to the ground by shafts fletched with bright orange feathers. Two tripped and ended up falling into each other. Elessan smiled. His teachers would be glad to know he hadn’t lost his touch. He leapt to a lower portion of the roof, keeping his attention on the scuffle below.

The woman threw her shoulder into one remaining guard and kneed the second in the groin. Once free, she spared a quick glance around. He crouched farther out of her sight. She turned and fled into the surrounding forest.

He smiled. At least she wasn’t one to waste an opportunity cowering and whining like most human noblewomen. Of course, he’d expect nothing less from a Larimar.

Aliya ducked behind a tree, pulled a dagger from her waist and, bracing it between her knees, cut through the wrist bindings. Then she ran as fast as she could.

Her breath hitched, but she pressed on. She squeezed her side, trying to relieve the sharp ache. The unfamiliar sounds of the forest at night twisted in her mind, becoming phantom footsteps chasing her.