Chapter 1 #2
Her hand was around the pommel of her blade before Hark had finished speaking.
‘Arla!’ the king growled. ‘I did not summon you both here to fight like dogs, though I am beginning to think dogs might be more useful to me than you are.’
Backing away from the Kastonian, Arla took a seat on the stone steps of the dais, her eyes following the king as he paced the length of the hall.
Despite his untidy appearance and the harsh way he often spoke to her, Arla liked Cyrus.
He was never unfair to his staff or soldiers, and he’d had the good grace to let a gangly, nine-year-old orphan into his barracks and let her watch his private guard train.
Arla smiled at the fond memory. She sometimes wondered what would have happened to her if she had been left starving and alone after the war.
Those two months had been the hardest of her life, and it had seemed like a gift from the gods when Cyrus had seen her fall beneath the legs of his horse and brought her to his palace.
Even at nine years old she’d been aware of the whispers, of the distaste amongst palace staff that the king had brought home an orphan.
How strange and unbecoming it was. She wondered if Cyrus had known then that he would eventually select her to be his personal assassin.
Would he have felt differently if he had known the only reason she had been beneath his horse that day in the marketplace was because she was trying to steal the gold buckles from his horse’s girth?
The King did not employ thieves, but even he couldn’t deny that her talents made her perfect for the role.
‘Whilst I have my reservations about directing the two of you to work together—’
‘Absolutely not,’ Arla interjected.
‘Arla! You will be silent!’ The king glowered at her, and she flopped back onto the steps from which she had so quickly risen.
‘Whilst I have my reservations about sending the pair of you on this mission,’ Cyrus continued, ‘the need for discretion is more important than your distaste for one another.’ Arla’s interest pricked at the king’s words.
It was rare he ever requested discretion, and he had never set her to work with Hark.
He had never asked Hark to work for him at all.
‘Shipments of iron are going missing in the north before they can reach Kastonia. I would not normally involve our kingdom in another’s affairs, but King Elrod of Kastonia asked for our help, Hark, and it is in everyone’s interest to root out troublemakers before it starts to affect us, too.
’ Cyrus turned to face the pair of them, his pale grey eyes fixed on Arla.
Hark did not react, and Arla had no doubt the request for aid had been passed through Hark before it was even whispered about within the halls of Castle Grey.
The iron trade was not Hadalyn’s usual focus, though Arla supposed Cyrus’s interest lay in its role in forging weapons.
He would not want to be without it, and he certainly would not want Kastonia to gain an advantage that could tip the balance of a future invasion.
Because if Kastonia were hoarding iron, too…
No. Everything was fine. Hadalyn’s army was growing and it made sense that Kastonia’s must be, too. It was perfectly reasonable for them to be buying in shipments of the metal.
‘I don’t need him,’ Arla said coldly. ‘I’m perfectly capable of tracing missing supplies on my own.’ Arla rose from the steps again. It was true that she had been north many times, with instructions to kill. Discovering the whereabouts of missing cargo would be a breeze in comparison.
‘That may be, but it is not only our kingdom that suffers, Arla; it is Kastonia, too, and Hark will be joining you. This is non-negotiable.’ There was no room for argument in the king’s voice, but Arla could feel anger burning a hole straight through her.
‘Since when have we cared about them?’ she growled, throwing her arms in Hark’s direction.
He looked back at her with a sort of amusement that called to the anger simmering in Arla’s blood.
‘They stormed this very castle to find dragons that do not exist, and then waged war on our city because they didn’t like what they found! ’
A muscle in Hark’s jaw feathered, and Arla enjoyed the feeling of satisfaction that came from tapping a nerve.
‘We are well rehearsed in the actions of nine years ago, Reinhart.’ Cyrus’s eyes darkened to the colour of steel. Arla had been toeing the line of disrespect too long not to know when she found herself on the wrong side of it, and that it would not be tolerated.
‘When do we leave?’ she asked, spine straightening as her mask of obedience slid into place once more. She was the King’s Assassin, and if she had learnt one thing in nine years of service, it was when to back off.
‘In the morning,’ Cyrus stated, his tone almost …
far away, as though the imminent departure of both his assassin and the ambassador was the least of his concerns.
Arla didn’t care much for what had preoccupied his mind, and with a sigh of resignation, made her way back towards the oak doors through which she had waltzed only moments ago.
The king’s voice halted Arla before her shoulders could pass through the doorway.
‘I am trusting you, assassin.’ A slimy, oily thing turned in Arla’s stomach at the statement.
It was rare Cyrus ever spoke to her with anything other than warm fondness.
It felt wrong to hear him demote her to her role.
‘Find out who is disrupting the supply chain, dispose of them, and leave Hark alive.’
A wry smile twisted its way across Arla’s lips, and she was glad that her back was to the king.
He knew her too well – he’d obviously felt the need to give her a direct order not to kill Hark – and he knew the violent, angry streak that raged in her, like a caged wolf who was already plotting ways to dispose of the Kastonian ambassador.
‘Of course, Your Majesty,’ she said sweetly without turning around. She palmed the pommel of her blade and swept out of the chamber.
She headed towards town. It would be cold in the north, and it had been a long few months since she had left Hadalyn. She wanted to look her best.
She wanted to visit Halos.