Chapter 26
A Stroll Through the Market
I spend the next week watching Guild Masters Keller and Rostova, learning the names and faces of the people around them, scouting out advantageous locations to attack from, while trying to anticipate all likely opportunities.
After hours of planning and replanning, as if to mock my efforts, fate presents me with an unexpected opportunity.
On the ninth day of Winterfest, the market is bustling with vendors hawking their wares and customers bartering for last-minute gifts.
With my hood pulled low over my face and my cloaking spell in place, I weave through the already rambunctious crowd, sedately picking my way through the stalls, stepping over discarded wine bottles and around puddles of Founder only knows what.
Typically, I avoid throngs of people, but the shortest route to my inn is through the market.
I slip between two stalls, heading for the next alley, when I spot a scout wearing the red, green, and gold colors of House Rostova.
I slow my pace and stay back, observing him.
Male-presenting, around eighteen to twenty years old.
Blond, short hair. Pale skin. Average height.
A bit of an awkward gait. Right-handed. No weapons. Low threat.
A minute later, a cluster of six men wearing the same house colors and bright Winterfest masks stumbles into the square, well into their cups, laughing and shoving each other.
Their four Onyx Guild bodyguards appear haggard, visibly trying to keep the group together and protected.
With their faces covered, it’s difficult to tell exactly who the men are, but after three weeks of observing the guild masters, I’m certain that Rostova is part of that group.
The presence of the guards confirms it. Although not wearing the silver robe of his office, the man at the very back has the same closely cropped silver hair, is the right height and build, and holds himself a bit apart from the others, as though he’s better, or more important.
I carefully withdraw a ring from the pouch at my hip, slipping it onto the middle finger of my right hand.
It’s an ugly silver monstrosity, decorated with a cluster of intricately carved skulls.
I acquired it from a target I’d eliminated over a decade ago in Adytum.
Unaware of what it was, the ring almost killed me as I pried it from the dead man’s hand.
The pressure had triggered the spring-loaded latch, exposing a poison-filled needle hidden beneath.
It was love at first sight. It’s now one of my prized possessions, and I carry it with me on every hunt.
There have been a few instances, such as now, where an opportunity presents itself and the ring is the ideal weapon.
The bodyguards attempt to herd the drunk men down the center of the street while still keeping them within their protective circle, but the crowd jostles them almost constantly.
I use the convenient distraction to get closer, listening to their chatter, hoping to verify that Rostova is in the group.
It comes as the man at the back yells curses when he’s knocked off balance by one of his own revelers.
I recognize his voice. Cautiously, I press through the mass of people until I’m just outside the rear bodyguard’s line of sight and wait for my opportunity.
It doesn’t come soon enough. The group is likely to leave the main thoroughfare at the next corner to head for the Rostova compound.
If that happens, I’ll lose my ability to follow undetected.
I need a big diversion, preferably one that causes people to swarm near them.
Because creating illusions isn’t in my skill set, I’m forced to resort to the one thing that will guarantee a frenzied response from the crowd.
I grab a handful of coins from another pouch at my hip, surreptitiously tossing them near Rostova. As expected, utter chaos ensues.
There are shrieks of excitement from the shoppers.
Several of them drop into a crouch right in front of Rostova’s group, tripping some of them.
Children dart in and out of legs, pushing and shoving people as they scramble for stray coins.
The bodyguards can’t pay attention to everyone at once, and a few of them fail to cover the people they’re tasked with protecting.
I allow the crowd to propel me into Rostova.
Without hesitation, I squeeze the trigger on the ring, flipping open the cover, grab him by the hip, and stick him with the needle.
The injection is instantaneous which allows me to quickly stumble back into the churning mass of the crowd.
I let them carry me away, the guards never the wiser.
Once I’m pushed clear of the worst of the chaos, I walk away from the market at a steady pace.
As I pull my cowl lower over my face, the cry goes up for a healer.
I turn down the next alley, exhilarated by the accomplishment. Two more to go, Kas. Only two left.