Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
T he sorceress lost consciousness and slumped against the stone bridge.
The wolfhound snarled at Eleksi, making him back away. What in the hells was he going to do? He couldn’t just leave. Sparing her life tonight would only delay her inevitable assassination, and mark him as dead for failing his mission.
He cursed in anger. How had he erred this badly?
Slaying the sorceress was supposed to be his redemption, but this threatened to be an even bigger nightmare than his last job. It wasn’t like him to fail, especially not twice in a row. He feared he was losing his gift for bringing swift and silent death.
The dog growled, her lips pulling back over her sharp teeth. If she barked, he was finished. He’d very nearly been defeated by a single mage—once more converged, he had no hope.
With exaggerated slowness, he returned his golden dagger to the sheath within his cloak. The dog’s huge brown eyes watched his every movement. Still, she didn’t lower her hackles or put away her teeth. How would he separate the witch from the hound?
A noise from the depths of the sprawling castle did it for him. There were voices, male and female, and laughter. The dog gave a small yelp and ran toward the people.
Knowing he’d have minutes, perhaps less, Eleksi picked up the sorceress, her head lolling against his chest. Neve was her name. If he wasn’t going to kill her, he’d need to make it appear to her colleagues that she’d run away. That might buy him some time to figure out what he was going to do.
Was it a perfect plan? No. But this was an emergency. Even a bad plan was better than waiting around to be vanquished by a horde of incensed mages. He prayed she wouldn’t regain consciousness until he’d successfully spirited her away from the Gardens.
His feet silent on the stone, he crossed the walkway and returned to her wing of the castle, pausing at archways to ensure the path was clear.
In her room, the fire had burned out. Without bothering to relight it, he placed her on the unmade bed while he grabbed a satchel, stuffing it with garments and her leather boots.
Her black robes hung from a hook on the wall. Eleksi eased her into a sitting position and swung the robes across her shoulders, feeling like a lech the entire time. If she wanted to have another crack at killing him when she awoke, he could hardly blame her.
His spider ring lay in the corridor, where she’d discarded it. For a moment, he hesitated to slide it on, holding the ring over his thumb. Why did the prospect of wearing it create a heavy weight in his chest?
He shook his head and jammed the ring on. This was not the time to be making drastic decisions about his life and purpose. His demons could wait.
After a last glance around the room, Eleksi put her satchel over his shoulder and swept Neve into his arms again. Her beautiful face was peaceful, like she was dreaming about rainbows and kittens and unicorns. Not at all like she’d just fought for her life, and almost taken his via magic.
The sorceress had surprised him. He knew he’d be in for a good fight, because he had no magic of his own, but he hadn’t bet on her being able to drain his soul through her hand. He hadn’t even known that was possible. Would she regret sparing him? Why had she?
With grim resignation, he stole down the corridor and spiral stairs, thinking that he may live to regret sparing her . Meliohr had demanded to see Neve’s corpse as proof of death, presented to her at the palace in secret during the Harvest Festival. The queen was thorough, and wished to leave nothing to chance. It was the reason she’d employed the Spider Kings in the first place. They were the best assassins in all the kingdoms.
Eleksi was presently the one notable exception, he mused as he strode through the dark trees with his very-much-alive mark cradled snugly in his arms.
At the edge of the forest, on the outskirts of Starlight Gardens, he hauled Neve onto the back of his horse. She was deeply unconscious, her body slackened, and she kept sliding off. Finally, he positioned himself behind her in such a way that would keep her safely in place, one arm wrapped around her waist and his other hand on the reins.
The night sky in the Gardens sparkled impossibly bright. He’d never seen anything like it. No wonder the mages never wanted to leave this place.
For a minute, he let his head angle back and drank in the spellbinding view. When he looked down again, Neve’s pale face glowed with the reflection of the silvery starlight. He shook his head in wonder and disbelief. Her face was hewn by angels.
Her beauty was not why he didn’t kill her, he told himself sternly.
But it hadn’t hurt.
Eleksi touched his heels to the horse’s flank and began the long journey to the village where he’d been holed up for the past few days. Once he returned, he would decide what on earth he was going to do with the witch.
The instant the horse crossed the boundary from Starlight Gardens, Eleksi was thrown into darkness. Blinking his eyes to adjust to the penetrating depth of the black night, he let his steed guide them along the narrow path.
The crescent moon smiled down at Eleksi. Mocking him, he supposed. Gods knew he deserved it.
Neve lay warm and soft against his body. He drew the robes around her more tightly, to prevent a chill.
With an unpleasant ripple of melancholy, he realized he couldn’t recall the last time he’d touched another person, except when he was ending their lives.
He was born into violence, and he grew into it, too. His father made sure of that. Although his father was long dead, Eleksi still heard his voice in his ear whenever he considered becoming anything other than a killer.
You are poison, Eleksi. You are rotten, twisted, void.
His father had a flare for the dramatic. In contrast, Eleksi prided himself on his subtleness, his silence, his shadow-like existence. But the son was every bit as violent as the father. It seemed fated.
For so long, he’d been good at his job. More than good—he’d been superior. It was the only reason he was given this chance to redeem himself after the Trogoda hit.
And what did he do with that chance?
He sighed, feeling the weight of the sorceress against him.
Until now, he’d only ever taken contracts where men were the target. No children, no women. He thought by crossing that line and claiming the life of a woman, his killer instinct would return in its full, unbridled glory.
He’d watched her for days to learn her habits and disposition. She was introspective, diligent, and quite plainly troubled about something. He tried not to let his imagination dwell on the enigmatic contents of her mind.
From a safe distance, he told himself he could take her life. The stakes were too high to allow himself to fail. If he didn’t eliminate the sorceress for the queen, his own life would be forfeit.
He was a killer, through and through. Always had been. Was determined to always be.
The sky lightened to mauve, the mocking moon sliding past the horizon. The horse’s ambling gait and the fresh dewy scent of the morning were calming, and at odds with the dire situation he was now in.
The sorceress continued to slumber. Performing magic fatigued sorcerers, he knew, but she seemed beyond fatigued. She was far, far away. What if her current state was mystical in nature? If she was in some kind of coma, he would be left to deal with her.
The assassin didn’t feel his best, either. Having one’s soul nearly sucked out of oneself was tiring, as it turned out. How he wished to sink into some bedcovers and not emerge for days. If only he wasn’t on the run—with a woman he was supposed to kill, no less.
Still, they could rest for one day, surely. Even if the mages suspected Neve hadn’t left the Gardens of her own volition, they wouldn’t search the villages right away. He’d erased signs of struggle, and mages couldn’t speak to hounds.
He’d overheard Neve talk about visiting her family in Klatos. The sorcerers would check with her mother first. By the time they realized Neve wasn’t in the capital city, she would be . . . well, he didn’t know yet. But he’d work it out. After he slept.
His chin rested on the top of Neve’s head. He tried to ignore the way her shiny ebony hair smelled of cinnamon. He told himself it would be unforgivably lecherous to lean down and inhale.
He did it anyway.