A Deathless Empire (A Deathless Empire #1)

1

There was little Valine considered more predictable than the folly of men and their truly astounding ability to think only with their cocks.

Even the most stalwart of soldiers found difficulty forming coherent thoughts and following simple logic when the sway of hips or jiggle of tits were present. It was why she felt disappointed now, in the forgotten-named, bawdry tavern located at Astra’s Edge, with the sour stench of ale and male sweat permeating her nose. All it took was donning her most coquettish smile paired with a shy flutter of lashes over her bare shoulder, and her mark was done for.

Inside, the tavern was warm, bathed in golden candlelight from the stubs dripping on tables and the massive antler chandeliers fashioned above their heads. The walls were paneled ironwood and stone, both hewn from the Laskava Mountains on the south-eastern border and surrounding territory. Women perched, and men leered at the far end of the liquor-soiled bar. Some men were drinking to drown their sorrows, others drinking to be merry, and others drinking to fuck.

By the massive hearth lounged Valine’s mark, Captain Ishaq. He was a grizzled soldier with a thin scar bisecting his left brow, stark white against the olive of his skin and the black of his hair. Thick, rubbery lips were hidden beneath a poorly groomed beard, and the beginnings of crow’s feet radiated from his cold eyes. Valine knew implicitly, like she knew the north-western Kingdom of Talloh had a triad of moons, that those lines were not from smiling.

Disregarding her unpleasant notions, she approached the man and fought her rising gorge after catching sight of his sharpened teeth. Such was the style of the former Ixaithan Empire during the Tri-Region War twenty years before, only further affirming her suspicions about why she’d been hired and what crimes he’d been pardoned for. Tri-Region War veterans were considered heroes, but as a foreigner in the conquering lands, she knew the victors of that war were anything but.

Ixaitha had lost sovereignty over the independent kingdom of Melusda, the eastern half of Adraali, and the northern border of Dubon. The northern desert country had turned into one of the weakest nations, while Adraali was steadily becoming increasingly influential, thanks to the power of the west side liberating all three countries during the war.?

“I’ve heard a man in uniform is to women what a whore’s lingerie is to men. I’d never believed it before, but now it’s starting to make sense,” she said coyly. It was a lie, of course; the man was repugnant.

He laughed gruffly as she twirled a lock of her dark hair around her fingers—it was similar to spinning a blade. “Not from around here if this old lout is the first uniform to tickle your fancy. What is that accent? Dubonian?”

It was true. She wasn’t from Adraali, and her cool white complexion only further betrayed her southern heritage. Observing all her exposed skin with lust darkening his mossy gaze, his eyes traveled her form. He took in everything from her creamy thigh slipping from the high slit in her skirt to her cleavage and the full breasts begging to spill from the top of her corset.

“Thyccan, actually,” she corrected. “And on the contrary, I enjoy my men older.”

More lies.

“Thyccan,” he nearly purred, reaching for her hand and pulling her into his lap. She let him. “You make it sound like you’ve bedded a man or two.”

“Perhaps I have,” she simpered, running a beringed hand down his chest. Ishaq had the start of a gut, soft from lack of battles, and below, she could see a rather unimpressive erection tenting his trousers.

Ishaq tightened his meaty grip on her ribs while his thumb stroked the underside of her breast, possessiveness growing on him. Valine swallowed back the nausea his touch evoked and shifted her weight into him, biting her lip softly. She pretended that, for a moment, nothing mattered but his stale breath at her neck, his broad, hairy chest beneath her fingertips, and his rotten gaze devouring her generous decolletage. In reality, she was pulling into herself, focusing on the ruffians in the corner singing the pirate ballad about Veronyka’s freckles, the clinking of metal tankards, and the high-pitched giggles of courtesans.

“That’s a beautiful ring. Only beautiful things for such a lovely girl.” He was gesturing to her teardrop-shaped emerald, many golden claws holding it in place. It was modest and it adorned the middle finger of her left hand. It was one of her many rings.

“It is quite special.”

“What’s your name, pet?” he drawled.

“Jemma.”

It continued like that for some time. Captain Ishaq would inquire, and Valine would lie. He would stroke, and she would caress, careful to tease and scintillate without being too transparent. Sickness roiled in her belly, but she held her fa?ade, and the captain was none the wiser. She was quite an excellent actress, and had her situation been different, she may have found her calling in the theatre. Alas, it was not her life, and the way of shadows was her future.

It took moments to convince him to take her to his room. Leading him up the stairs, she let him fantasize, let him leer. It was the least she could give him in his final moments.

Producing the bronze key, she playfully snatched it from him, holding it to her nose in a child-like way. His creature grin deepened, and that spark of lust in his eyes became a deadly inferno.

“What wonderful things this key will unlock for you,” she lilted as she grazed it down her bodice, resting just below her navel. “So many treasures to be discovered.”

She turned to unlock the door as his large arms wrapped around her waist, his face in her mahogany waves, nuzzling below her ear. She forced a contented sigh as she opened the door, pulling out of his grip and flouncing into his room. Spinning on her toes, she coaxed him to enter with all but a finger. He dutifully followed, locking the door and his fate behind him.

The room was modest. A bed, a wardrobe, a washbasin, a chest, and a chair. The chair in question sat in the center of the room. She pushed him into it. Eagerly, he let her as she trailed her fingers across his chest and circled him. Her fingers traced his throat, and he reveled in the touch of a woman more than twenty years his junior.

His inclinations were his ruin as she pulled a thin wire from her jeweled ring, and wrapped it around the deceptively delicate—and hooked—filigree of another. Yanking the wire taut against his throat, she used the leverage of her boot on the back of his chair to haul the bigger man up and plunged the hidden spike into the soft bit of flesh below his ear.

What he didn’t know about that beautiful ring was that it hid both half of a garrote and a poisoned barb. It was laughable, that he had complimented the instrument of his death.

His movements became wild and animalistic. Any thoughts he had of sex evaporated the same instant that his realization of impending doom solidified. Ishaq was spitting, reaching to claw her, but she was well out of the way, and her leather vambraces protected her from his filthy nails.

“I’m not going to kill you yet,” she growled, dropping her false accent as he thrashed. “But soon.”

She still had an accent, but it was not Thyccan as she had faked and he had assumed. It was more lyrical, the flowing tones of Runell. There was a lilt of their highborn she couldn’t seem to obscure completely in the roll of her tongue—proper enunciation and slow, languid speeches.

“The toxin won’t kill you right away. It paralyzes first. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it was to draw venom from a silvered viper—bastard bit me a time, too. But the lovely thing about this venom is that it allows you to speak for a short time and experience all sensations—some accounts say, in a heightened manner.”

Even now, the captain’s movements were slowing, growing sluggish. Drool seeped from his mouth; blood boiled beneath his skin. Seconds later, as Valine was rounding the chair, Ishaq began to still and freeze, but his eyes maintained a murderous hatred. His arms dangled uselessly beside his legs, and his back began to slump. Now, in front of the captain, Valine pushed him against the chair with the thick sole of her booted foot, forcing him while the toxin completely incapacitated him.

She leaned into her knee, luxuriating in the fact she had such a vile man beneath her boot. “You’re going to die tonight,” she told him simply. “Now, it’s your choice whether it be quickly or slowly.” Her eyes drifted down to his crotch as she wrapped the garrote back into her ring. “And you can choose if you lose your favorite little toy.”

“Fucking bitch,” he spit. It was hardly discernable under the poison’s duress, but Valine understood perfectly.

“What limited vocabulary, I’m disappointed. I was hoping for something a little more creative than that.”

“Wicked cunt.”

“Ahh, there’s an improvement, Captain. You had me worried, I’ll admit.”

Taking a jeweled blade from her boot, admiring the amethyst hilt and golden inlay, Valine brandished it before them. Quite casually. Ishaq’s eyes widened ever so, just enough for the whites to show.

“I have questions and I kindly request you give answers. The more truthful I deem your responses, the less pain I elicit. Do you comprehend?” She emphasized this by setting the tip of her blade beneath his nail and pushed. His eyes lit with pain and he began to spew hardly discernable vitriol laced with panic. “Am I clear?”

“Yes,” he growled.

“Delightful!” Valine pulled back and sat upon the bed the captain had thought he was going to get lucky on. Crossing her legs, she leaned forward as the captain was of no threat to her now. “During the Tri-Region War, you were serving under a General Azad until you murdered him because he found you raping and pillaging, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Those little vixens had it coming, running from me in those tiny dresses. A man has needs, and the chase makes it all the better.” There was no shame in this monster’s eyes, no remorse in his soul. Valine felt sick, felt her stomach roiling. It made all that she had to do easier.

She slammed her booted feet to the floorboards. “They were children.”

“They had tits, didn’t they? I hardly call fourteen Harvest Seasons a child.”

“Do you remember how many?”

“No.”

“You’re a twisted motherfucker.”

Ishaq tried to shrug but only succeeded in moving his jaw, which caused an indecent amount of drool to slip from his mouth. “I’ve seen your type before. You’re going to kill me either way, and no amount of begging or pleading will save me, so I’d rather go quick. You want me to lie? Say I didn’t enjoy those fresh little flowers? Their screams? Their soft little noises before I tore out their throats?” He grins, showing those fucking teeth. “All of that made me harder than the willing cunt of any whore.”

In that moment, Valine didn’t care that she lost her composure. There were other missions, other jobs where she could restrain herself, be a little less impulsive. But it wasn’t this one, and she reassured herself that the torture she would give this monster would be repeated over and over tenfold until he pled for death. Until the toxin left his soulless corpse, and even then, begged to disappear into the afterlife. She would not let him, not until she knew how many needed justice. Not until she got their vengeance. He was too cocky, too proud; she would have to bring him down to a level deserving of his filth.

“Thank you for your cooperation. True death will be swift.”

It was a flash, and she was across the room with an even longer blade she’d stashed beneath the bed. It was seconds, and she’d removed his favorite weapon. It was a breath, and he was screaming. It was blood that covered the floor in crimson and the scent of copper. It was anger when she pummeled his face and squashed his nose beneath the blows. It was warranted as she tore every single one of those demonic fangs from his mouth. It was a pity when he fell unconscious while she pulled his nails from their beds. It was righteousness when he woke up to her carving RAPIST into his chest.

It might have been overkill when she gouged out his left eye.

Valine yanked back his head by his greasy hair and grinned demonically at him, pouring all her fury into her black gaze. He was a blubbering, bloody, drooling mess. Blood and gore leaked from the mess of his eye socket. Scarlet ran rivulets from the pockets in his gums, streams from his nailbeds. The scent of piss and shit was acrid in her nostrils.

“Please, p-p-please let me go this time. Please let me die,” he begged and sniveled. He’d already died thrice.

“I thought you said you knew my type? That no amount of pleading or begging will save you?” Valine asked sweetly, knowing the tone was ruined by the blood that spattered her pale complexion.

“Please! Please stop bringing me back, you promised me!” he sobbed, tears running from his one good eye.

“I promised you only a quick true death. I said nothing of the others. Dear Captain Ishaq, have your previous passings become permanent?”

“You fucking witch!” he shrieked, spraying spit and blood everywhere. He screamed and sobbed in fury and agony. “You hateful fucking bitch.” His last word broke, ending in a choking breath. “I didn’t know you were a fucking necromancer when I said that!”

Caressing his face with the tip of a knife, ruby following in its wake, she cocked her head to the side. “I will let you go this time, but only because I’m out of time.”

He hung his head in her grasp and sobbed, equal parts relief and despair. Taking the blade from his face, she pulled back, extricated her magic from his reanimated body, and sliced him from ear to ear. A gout of claret red spilled across his front and splattered onto her boots and long skirt.

Before the sounds of Ishaq’s comrades coming up the stairs could reach the landing, Valine was throwing open the window, the scent of cool night air blasting her as she dashed outside. Balancing on the desiccated flowerbed, she launched herself across the alley and onto the trellis of climbing wisteria on the building opposite. She scaled the structure and pulled herself up over the lip of the bakery’s roof. Seconds later, she was gone from sight before the dismayed yells of Ishaq’s discovery could implicate her.

Captain Ishaq’s final death was swift as she’d promised, but evidence of his previous demises was anything but. She grew tired of bringing him back. Truly, she wondered how the man had survived so many battles when he died with the first cut. Granted, the first slice had been the removal of his cock—and the nicking of an artery—but the monster deserved the castration. The second was when she’d jammed his nose into his brain—that was a tricky one. Head injuries were so much harder to pull the strings of the spirit back from.

From one moment to the next, she was night and shadows, darkness and death. As she crossed the roof, there was another moment, and a figure stepped out from behind a brick chimney. A breath later, lancing pain struck her skull, and oblivion overtook her.