11. Clash of Stone and Steel
Clash of Stone and Steel
Samhail
Samhail looked at the unconscious woman on the couch in Bressen’s study and tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He ran his fingers absently over the bruise on his jaw – the one Bressen had given him today during their sparring session – then let his hand fall.
The woman looked peaceful now, as if she were just dozing while they discussed her, and it registered somewhere in his mind that she was unexpectedly beautiful.
That hadn’t stopped him from wanting to squeeze her throat until she passed out, though.
He could easily have crushed her windpipe or snapped her neck earlier, and it had taken all his control not to do either of those things when he’d had her in his grasp.
Luckily, she’d chosen to port again and then Serise had taken over with her containment bubble.
He didn’t want to know what he might’ve done if the woman hadn’t ported out of his hand, and that was enough to make his shame rise up anew.
He’d never lost control like that. Even when Morland had controlled his mind all those years ago, he’d still felt more in command of himself than he had when he’d had this woman by the throat.
Now they knew where Cyra’s porting ability came from, in any case.
Samhail had thought maybe the woman might have wings when she first tried to jump off the balcony, but when she hadn’t manifested any the second time she’d jumped, he assumed she’d decided on death over capture.
When he dove after her, he hadn’t been trying to capture her, but rescue her.
He’d been stunned when she disappeared in mid-air only about ten feet from the ground, so much so that he’d nearly planted face-first into the hard stone himself before he pulled up in time.
He’d been impressed despite himself when he realized she’d thrown herself off the balcony to put enough distance between her and Cyra to get her powers back. That he could want to kill the woman, rescue her, and be impressed by her within the span of a minute made his head reel.
“Did you find out who she is?” Axenus asked Bressen.
Samhail and the twins had resumed the posts they’d had earlier, and Bressen leaned against the front of his desk again, which was where he usually stood when he needed to think about something. Only Cyra and Axenus sat in the chairs in front of the desk.
Bressen was currently glaring at his wife for negating his powers and forcing him out of the woman’s head, but he turned away from Cyra to answer Axenus.
“Talyn of Avril,” Bressen said with a shrug. His tone said the name meant nothing to him.
The name meant something to the twins, however, because both of them jolted, and their eyes shot to the woman on the couch. Samhail thought the name sounded familiar as well, like something he’d heard in passing, but he couldn’t place it.
“Talon of Avril?” Surgeon repeated in disbelief. “Or do you mean the Raptor of Avril?”
“Raptor?” Bressen asked, giving Surgeon his attention. “I’m pretty sure she said Talyn, but who or what is this Raptor?”
“The Raptor is only the most deadly assassin on the continent,” Serise said as if they should all know this.
“At least, that’s her reputation. She was given that nickname because she seemingly comes out of nowhere to take out her targets, the way an eagle or hawk drops from the sky to snatch up its prey. ”
“Assassin?” Samhail asked, suddenly more alert. He pushed himself off the wall where he’d been leaning. Fear flooded through him as he remembered this woman had been posing as Cyra’s lady’s maid for the-gods-knew how long. “Was she here to kill someone?”
“Yes,” Bressen said. “Me and Cyra.”
Samhail’s blood went cold, and the desire to kill the woman lying on the couch rose up again.
“Sandrian hired her,” Bressen went on. “Up until recently, she was only supposed to spy on us, but Sandrian gave her the go-ahead to kill me and Cyra four days ago. She was undoubtedly the one who tripped the wards around our bedchamber. Her porting explains why she was able to get away so quickly. Once she realized she tripped the wards, she ported back to her room so I couldn’t sense her up here. ”
If Samhail’s blood had run cold before, it turned to ice now. The idea that this assassin had been alone with Cyra for days if not weeks was going to give him nightmares.
“But why hasn’t she tried since then?” Cyra asked.
“Perhaps she was afraid of getting caught?” Samhail offered. “Killing you in your sleep would’ve given her plenty of time to escape. If she tried to kill you during the day, she would’ve had to fight her way out. For that matter, once she killed one of you, the other would’ve torn her to shreds.”
“Thank the gods we had you syphon warding power when you did, or we’d both be dead,” Bressen said to Cyra. His tone straddled anger and relief, and Cyra shuddered in her chair.
“So what makes this woman the most deadly assassin on the continent?” Bressen asked, turning his attention to Serise. “How many has she killed?”
Serise shook her head. “No one knows for sure. It could be dozens, it could be hundreds. Anyone who’s admitted to hiring her claims to have seen someone different.
Until now, it was still possible The Raptor was just a myth, a story born from various accounts of assassinations stitched together to create the idea of some legendary killer, but it appears she does exist. That she’s a masque makes sense.
She must change her appearance every time she meets a potential client so no one can identify her. ”
“Unfortunately,” Surgeon said, “That means no one knows for sure what her body count is. There may be people she’s killed that we don’t know about because the fool who hired her didn’t realize who she was, or it may be that half of the people she’s supposed to have killed were actually killed by others hoping to capitalize on her name and reputation. ”
“The only part of the lore that never seems to change,” Serise said, “is that she made her first kill when she was sixteen. I don’t know where that rumor came from, but it always seems to crop up when I hear The Raptor mentioned.
Three hells, this is the first confirmation she’s female.
Many people assumed The Raptor was male, but the times I talked to someone who claimed to have met the assassin, they swore she was female. ”
“If this is The Raptor,” Surgeon said, “we’re likely the first people to ever see what she really looks like.”
“I don’t care what she looks like,” Bressen snarled as his eyes flashed red in anger, “or even if she is this Raptor. She came into my home and inserted herself in our lives with every intention of killing my wife. She should be in Revenmyer already, if only so I’m not tempted to kill her myself with my bare hands. ”
Cyra stood up and went to her husband. She rested one hand on his hip and the other on his chest. She looked into his eyes, and Samhail knew she was speaking into his mind. The effect was immediate, and Bressen’s body visibly relaxed under Cyra’s touch.
No one could calm Bressen like Cyra. Ironically, the times the lord swung to extremes of fear and rage, it was because he perceived a threat to her. She was both the reason for his violence as well as the cure for it.
Samhail himself had felt burning anger and aggression on Cyra’s behalf at times, but unlike Bressen, she couldn’t – and wouldn’t – touch him like that to ease his inner turmoil. Only brutality released his rage.
He recalled when Cyra and Raina, who was Cyra’s lady’s maid at the time, had snuck out of the Citadel and gone into the city to drink.
They’d gotten into trouble on the docks when four men had attacked them, but luckily he and Bressen had been nearby at the time, and they’d arrived in time to prevent anything from happening.
Bressen had seen in the men’s minds how they’d intended to take turns raping the women in every way they could.
Samhail had managed to keep hold of his anger and disgust, but Bressen’s rage had poured off him.
Bressen had wanted to take the men apart piece by piece, but he’d decided instead to let Samhail take care of them.
Samhail had been pleased when Bressen turned the men over to him to punish. He’d wanted to hurt them, and if Bressen hadn’t let him, he would’ve found another way to release his rage.
He’d spent all night with those men. Three of them anyway. The fourth had been pulled into the Scion River by a nixie and was granted the much quicker, easier end of drowning and being feasted on by the many carnivorous things living in the river waters.
The other three men had endured hours of agony at Samhail’s hands.
He’d started by breaking each of their fingers, one at a time.
They’d been unable to move or scream under Bressen’s mind control, but Samhail had seen the pain in their eyes, seen it in the tears that streamed down their faces as he beat them.
Each shattered bone and dislocated joint had eased his fury just a little more, but it was castrating them that had finally released the last of his pent-up fury.
When Cyra had asked him later what he’d done to the men, he told her he’d left their pricks somewhat intact. That had been true. He hadn’t touch their cocks, only removed their balls, and those he’d ground under the heel if his boots until they were a flattened, bloody mess.
Only then had he left the men. He’d sent Bressen a message to release his mental hold on them, and Samhail had returned to the Citadel to wash their blood off himself.
He hadn’t felt like being with a woman for days after that, which was odd because bloodlust usually went hand-in-hand with erotic lust for gargoyles.