Chapter 3
Valtar
Her waiting woman urges her down the staircase into the scintil-lit passage below.
She looks back only once, those large gold eyes of hers flashing like a cat’s.
I hold my breath. Will she spot me where I hang from two hand-hooks among the stalactites crowding the passage ceiling overhead?
But her gaze merely searches the floor where I stood a moment before.
She doesn’t think to look up; why would she?
One does not expect one’s guardsman to boast the skills of a dracori assassin.
I wait until she is out of sight, then wait a count of twoscore longer before relieving the barking strain in my arms and abdomen.
Unhooking from the stalactites, I lower myself to the floor.
The drop is several feet, but I land in a crouch.
Rising slowly, I release a breath, measured and silent, emptying my lungs completely before sucking in an equally measured inhale.
My heart, which has been galloping strangely for some minutes now, at last resumes a more natural beat.
I roll my head, first to one side, then the other.
“Damn.” The word is soft. So soft, only the barest trace of sound vibrates the air on the brink of my lips.
I had it all planned. Down to the last second.
In the last week since her arrival, I’ve learned my mark’s routine and the routines of her guards and attendants.
I’ve timed the distance from this very corridor to the black crevice where I intended to deposit her heartless corpse, and from there to the delivery shaft where, every five days, fresh goods are lowered to stock the king’s larder.
When the crates descend, the counterweight stones rise—a perfect conveyor for a single, silent figure on a mission of utmost secrecy.
“Damn.” The word rumbles a little deeper this time, a low growl in my chest. The delivery is complete by now. The shaft won’t be opened again for another five days. The drugged guards will be wary now of any unexpected taste in their midday grog—I will not be able to simply drug them a second time.
The opportunity which I have taken such pains to construct is lost.
I should have killed her when I had the chance.
When she was there in my arms, her warm, soft, vibrantly alive body pressed fully against mine, making me aware of each and every curve right through the protective barrier of my stolen cuirass.
How easy it would have been to slip my knife into her kidneys.
Even now, I can almost feel the little start of surprise that would rip through her body…
can almost hear the soft intake of breath that would suck through her parted lips as she drew back from me.
For an instant, the life-spark would flare in her brilliant eyes.
Then her knees would buckle, her spine would go limp, as she crumpled in my grasp.
It would have taken three minutes, no longer, for me to carve open her breast, remove her heart, wrap it in the silk bag I’ve prepared for its transportation, and clear the hall.
All trace of her vanished from this world.
Only that gods-damned prince stepped in and threw off every hard-earned moment.
Perhaps I should have killed him too. A pleasure, to be sure, but a messy pleasure. I have not survived this long by letting collateral lives pile up on my ledger. And by the time he left us, the narrow margin by which I could have accomplished all that must be done was passed.
Five days. It will be five days now before the next delivery. Before my next opportunity for escape. Because I must escape; this has never been a suicide mission. I’ve often wished it was, for it would certainly make my task easier. Were that the case, I would have killed her long before now.
But I must return with her heart intact. Or else…
Bring back her heart, sweet prince. Bring it to me, or I will have your brother’s heart instead.
I will rip it from his breast and devour it while he yet screams. And you will watch, my darling.
Even as you stand at the stake. Even as your flesh burns.
And you will know that it was your failure that brought this fate upon him and yourself.
The hissing voice burns into my brain. A stink of sulfur stings my nostrils.
Do not fail me, beloved. Bring back this sacrifice for your goddess.
A stroke of fingers down my cheek, along the line of my jaw. The razor edge of talons against my throat—
With a sharp inhale of breath, I open my eyes, returning to the present. To this cold, subterranean hall, far from the fires of Drathoridan. Far from the pits, the stench of burning flesh. Far from my goddess’s eyes.
But those eyes are ever on me. Even here, even with half a world between us. I cannot escape her. No one can.
So I will not fail. I will fulfill her every wish.
But I cannot hope to remain hidden for another five days. Rumor will spread. One stray word from the princess and my presence here in Stromin Palace will be disastrously revealed. Then the manhunt will begin, and any hope I had of escaping with my prize—and saving my brother—will be lost.
No. There’s only one option left to me now.
“Damn,” I growl once more. Then, turning on heel, I slip into shadows. The time has come. I’ve always known this contingency might be my fate. I thought perhaps I could avoid it, could render it entirely unnecessary. No other choice remains to me, however.
I must take up my true name once again. A name I forswore long ago. And with that name, I will become her champion.
With that name, I will become her death.