Chapter 38
GARRICK
Before
I was far from a master of poisons. The fae did not use them.
They were more creative in their methods of killing.
They had to be. There were no known poisons in Velora from which a fae could not recover.
A few could incapacitate them temporarily.
Those effects were more exaggerated now, with magic dwindling away.
But in the decades since I’d left Balar Shan, I’d learned many new ways to kill.
Humans were easier than fae. Fragile, really.
They let me move among them, completely unaware of the threat my lineage posed.
The rounded shells of my ears protected me.
Not that the feeble humans left on this continent would have stood much of a chance, had they known what I was.
They mistook wealth for strength. They did not understand true magic or power.
Jarrin of Combra leaned back in his seat, rubbing one hand over his stomach. It was slightly distended, his belt tighter than it needed to be to emphasize the bulge. Bulk equaled wealth. He could afford to eat.
“Garrick the Red, at my table,” Jarrin said. Finished rubbing his stomach, he took to tapping it with his fingers in a pattern as he spoke. “Auspicious, if not somewhat unnerving.”
I dipped my chin and lifted the glass of wine to my mouth. It was watered. “I am honored by your hospitality.”
“We appreciate you not making a fuss about the weapons,” Jarrin winked. “Can’t have you stabbing us over the dessert.”
I shifted in my seat. It could do with a cushion, but those luxuries had been sold off generations ago.
I wasn’t uncomfortable, anyway. I adjusted my position to reassure myself of the weight of the bow, still in its sling across my back.
I’d let them have the arrows. Without them, the bow wasn’t dangerous.
I did not need a weapon to kill every single person at the table.
But that was not necessary. Nor was the death of every person.
That was not the brief. I would not have accepted it if it were.
My objection was not to the woman seated at the table.
Women were just as capable of depravity as men.
But her belly was rounded, near term. A rarity in Velora these days. I did not kill children.
Jarrin dominated the conversation. At his left was his wife.
Beyond her was his father-in-law, an elderly man.
Another rarity on this continent. At Jarrin’s right was his business partner, Amero, the steward of the river that powered Jarrin’s mill.
He was the only guest at the table, beside me, who was not directly related to Jarrin.
The food was bland. I could have made better over a campfire. But the seasonings I imported from my homeland across the sea were rare in Velora before the curse. Or so I’d been told. My mother and I had arrived when Velora was already well in its grip.
Across the table, the young mother-to-be ate quietly. Her brothers, one at my side and one at hers, spoke often. They had opinions about how their father ran his business. They would make trouble if the paperwork was not in order. Paperwork was not my problem.
I suffered through three courses of food.
True wealth would have served seven. But while Jarrin and Amero were wealthy by the standards of Velora, there was simply not enough food to be bought.
Potatoes could only be served in so many ways.
Game came into the market so rarely that even if you had the money, you might not be lucky enough to buy it.
Finally, the dessert wine was served.
The bottle was familiar. Identical to the one I’d taken from Jarrin’s cellar three days before. If I had not disposed of the original myself, I might have questioned whether the switch had even been made.
The maid poured small portions, as I’d expected. Jarrin was not going to waste an entire bottle on his family in his attempts to impress me. Small didn’t matter. Hexblight was a powerful poison.
“A toast,” Jarrin said, lifting his tiny glass of delicate amber wine. “To our esteemed guest. May we never have need of your services.”
Every person lifted their glass; even the pregnant daughter and elderly father-in-law. The wine was a special treat, and such a small amount could not do any harm.
I drank, too. Hexblight had no impact on me. I was half-fae, after all.
I leaned back in my chair. I did not use hexblight often, but its effects were predictable.
I counted in my head. By five, the pregnant woman and her grandfather were sagging.
Then Jarrin’s wife, sons, and Amero. Jarrin himself was last, thanks to that little bit of extra bulk he was so proud of.
He had the presence of mind to look my direction, just for a moment, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward.
I finished my wine.
The maid who’d poured would not come back for at least an hour or until she heard screams. I’d paid her more than enough to ensure it.
I kept counting. I was around sixty when Amero roused, right on time.
He blinked for a few seconds, his eyes bleary. There was one antidote to hexblight, effective if taken within an hour before ingestion. Amero had taken it a few minutes before his arrival at the meal.
While Amero acquainted himself with the new order of things, I kicked out of my chair and walked around to the head of the table.
I pressed two fingers to Jarrin’s throat. There was no pulse of blood against my hand, but I held it there for a full minute to be certain. “He is dead.”
There was no need to check the others. They’d also been given the antidote—a smaller portion, mixed in with the barley ale.
They would wake, though not for a few more minutes.
Long enough for Amero and me to conclude our business.
Only Jarrin had not been given the antidote; he did not like barley ale.
Amero spread his palms out on the table, a wide grin stealing over his face. “Well done,” he said. “You are worth every single gold coin.”
I said nothing. I’d been at this for a long time. Consorting with his kind never got easier. Even though I was one of his kind.
He counted coins out into a leather pouch. I barely paid attention. I was a wealthy man. Money was not the reason I did this; it never had been. If I wanted riches, I’d have remained at Balar Shan.
“You should drink the second dose soon,” I said, watching the rest of the party for signs of consciousness.
“Not necessary,” Amero said, handing me the sack of gold that signified the end of our arrangement.
I’d completed my brief. Jarrin was dead.
When the others woke, I would be gone. They’d believe that their rival in the village an hour north was to blame for Jarrin’s death.
Amero would assume complete control of the mill, exactly as he’d planned it.
The three sons would squabble, but Amero assured me he’d forged the documents to show that all property reverted to him. I did not care.
It was an easy bounty. Not even a bounty, really. I had not had to hunt anyone down. The worst part of this job was eating the bland food.
“One spoonful should be enough. You will wake a few minutes after the rest of them, free of any suspicion.” With the amount of antidote already in his system from the barley ale and his pre-taken dosage, the extra hexblight would only knock him out for a few minutes.
“Not necessary,” he said again.
I was almost out the door. I should have kept walking. But a nagging voice in the back of my head—one that sounded too much like my mother—asked the question. “Why is it not necessary?”
He was busy making a circuit of the table, delving around in each of their pockets.
“They will not wake.”
Cold slid down my back. A warning. I was back at the table in one step. The father-in-law was closest to the door. I grabbed his wrist. No pulse. The elderly man might be more susceptible to hexblight, given his age.
The pregnant woman’s hand had fallen across the table, her fingers still half-curled around her empty glass of wine. Her wrist was tiny, despite her condition.
No pulse. I could not let myself believe it. I pressed my fingers to her throat, cradling her head carefully against my midsection with my other hand. It had to be there. She could not be—he could not have…
No blood thrummed against my fingers. I set her head gently against the back of the chair.
“What have you done?”
Amero straightened, his hands full of the goods he’d pilfered from Jarrin and his family’s pockets. A few coins, an engraved silver signet ring. He shrugged. “You did it.”
My mind flipped through the possibilities. There was only one that made sense. The brief had been for Jarrin—to dispatch him so that Amero could take sole control of the mill. It was ugly. It was wrong. But it wasn’t this.
“You did not put the antidote in the barley ale.”
Another shrug.
“I did not do anything. You did,” Amero repeated.
He was right.
I was the one who snuck into the cellar and switched the bottle of sweet wine for another, laced with hexblight.
I had paid the maid to serve the wine and not ask any questions.
It was I who had procured the antidote and instructed Amero on how to use it.
He had done nothing—except ignore one piece of my instructions.
And in doing so, he’d murdered an entire family. A pregnant woman.
No, my blackened conscience corrected. He had not killed them.
I had.
This would follow me. Amero and Jarrin’s competitor would still get the blame, and he would not have to deal with forging the paperwork that made him the sole proprietor of what remained.
There were no heirs left alive to make a claim.
Amero would play the lucky survivor of a botched assassination attempt.
By Garrick the Red.
The color of my reputation did not matter. Black had always suited me.
But these lives did matter. Jarrin obtained the grain for his mill by extorting desperate farmers. He was not a good man. Neither was Amero; I’d known that before accepting the job. But one bad man commissioning the death of another was not a crime I concerned myself with.
This…
I curled my hands around the back of the nearest chair. The one with the pregnant young woman. The wood cracked beneath my grip. “You killed them all.”
I killed them all.
Amero was a clever man. He noticed the shift in my tone. He paused in his looting. “You have your bounty. You may go.”
I was not going anywhere. Neither was he. I would have to live with this forever. I would see that young woman’s face in my nightmares. Forever.
Amero’s eyes darted to the door—no escape there. Maybe he was thinking of the closet beyond, where Jarrin had stashed all of my weapons when I’d turned them over. The chair splintered beneath my hands.
I did not need poison or weapons to kill. I was the weapon.