“A visitor for you, my lady.”
Adria looked up from her book, a slightly vexed expression crossing her face. Reading the faded, curiously worded script of what she supposed was a senile official overly impressed with his own vocabulary was an exercise in patience and in keeping one’s vision straight. No one would ever accuse Adria of having too much patience.
“Who is it?” Adria asked, placing her finger on the book over the word “stultify” and reaching for a quill to note it on her list of words to pester someone about.
“I didn’t catch a name. I’ve never seen him before, but he asked for you specifically.”
Adria scribbled the word on a scrap of parchment. “Bother,” she muttered. “Probably the representative from the merchant’s guild. I thought he wasn’t supposed to be here until late afternoon.”
Carefully, Adria pushed her chair away from the dining table and got to her feet. The baby was starting to make it difficult to get out of a sitting position, not to mention getting decent fitting clothing.
“He’s waiting in the parlor, my lady.”
Adria thanked the servant and exited the dining hall, wiping a smear of ink from her fingers with a kerchief. Bilbus was gone for the afternoon with her brother, touring the docks. She had thought to have a bit of peace and quiet for her research, but apparently the merchant’s guild dictated their own appointment times. Adria sighed. It was just another polite ambush, a power play to catch the family off guard. Perhaps they thought they could trick the lady of the house into an agreement while her lord was gone. Well, she’d show the merchant’s guild the del Cartachs did not appreciate being bullied. And then perhaps she’d have a nap.
Stiffening herself, Adria grasped the door handle firmly and entered the parlor. A man was standing just to the side of one of the large windows, apparently studying the view of the grounds in their lush summer splendor with his hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed simply in dark colors and did not wear a sword at his side. It was odd, Adria thought, that he wore dark gloves even in summer. Something about that registered and ticked at the back of her mind, and then the man turned and she knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.
“Shut the door, Lady del Cartach. We have business.”
Adria quirked one eyebrow, mesmerized like a mouse before a snake. She obeyed, gritting her teeth.
The man before her was unremarkable. He was neither tall nor short, handsome nor ugly, young nor old. His clothing was of moderate quality, and the only adornment he wore openly was a gleaming silver ring, over the gloves.
Kuso, Adria thought. Bad sign. Her pulse quickened slightly.
Of course, in his line of work, being unremarkable was a survival trait. He wanted to be overlooked and forgotten. His face was neutral, but there was an intelligence in his eyes that could not be masked.
“You look very different from the last time we met,” he said smoothly.
Adria glanced downward. She knew he didn’t just mean the pregnancy, though that was the most obvious change. The long dress she had chosen to wear was a far cry from the armor she was accustomed to wearing in his presence. She felt fragile without the protection of layers of leather.
“And you look much the same. Can I ask what brings you to my home?”
“Blunt, aren’t you?”
Adria blinked. “I don’t want to waste your time.”
“And polite. Curious combination in a noblewoman. Why don’t you humor me, and we’ll waste my time with a little conversation.”
He gestured to the arranged couches. Reluctantly, Adria took a seat. She noticed they both sat gingerly on the edge. Backs straight. Empty hands carefully placed in plain sight. Good.
“So tell me, how was your trip?”
“Very long,” Adria remarked carefully, almost bewildered by the normalcy. “It is good not to be travelling any more.”
“And do you like being home?”
She paused. Home was such a strange word. “Portsdale is different. But I am adjusting.”
“How is your husband . . . adjusting?”
“I’d prefer if we didn’t discuss my husband,” she said flatly.
“Ah.” He paused, clearly unhappy with her answer.
Adria forced herself to breath calmly, slowly. She resisted the urge to clench her hands. “Do you have business with him?”
The look he gave her was catlike. “Would it be a problem if I did?”
“Yes,” Adria replied softly. “It would be a problem.”
They stared at each other for a few long seconds, neither moving a muscle. It seemed like an eternity. Adria was almost ready to jump up and scream when he broke the silence.
“I don’t have business with your husband. But I do have business with you.”
Adria swallowed. Her throat was dry. “Indeed.”
He studied her as if he were making a mental decision. “Portsdale is different, as you said. When your father passed on, there was no strong figure to keep the other houses in check. Things have become . . . chaotic. The lesser houses squabble and make grabs for power. Officials have become corrupt. There was no one with authority to enforce the law. It has been, shall we say, a very profitable year for the guild.” He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “But I’m afraid it has been bad for Portsdale, and what is bad for Portsdale is bad for the guild, eventually.”
Adria bit the inside of her lip. “So what do you want from me?”
“Not much. Perhaps a lot. It depends. When I heard the del Cartachs were returning to Portsdale, I was curious about what would be the manner of their return. There are many rumors running through the city in all circles, much like rats that breed in dark corners. Some say your husband is a fraud, and should be removed. Some say he is nobility, and should be removed. Many doubt his ability to regain control, and keep it. I would see for myself what the truth is.”
“Bilbus is nobility. That is the truth. I think that those who doubt him will not do so in a few months.”
“You have conviction. It is something that you have regained since you were wed.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I have experienced much since my wedding.”
“Noted. And perhaps you could clear up another rumor for me.”
“Of course,” she said, carefully avoiding the urge to inject sarcasm in her tone.
“They say you killed your father for him.”
His eyes were neutral, but she knew he had already winnowed the falsehoods from the truth. He knew what had happened, but he was testing her. “I fought an honor duel with my father because he disgraced the family name. There was a debt to pay to the del Cartachs. He died. I lived.”
Unimpressed, he continued. “And can I ask you when your brother Cain will be returning from his unexpected absence?”
Adria caught her breath, suddenly feeling cold. “I’m afraid Cain’s absence is permanent.”
“I see your training has been useful.”
“I do what needs to be done.”
“As do I.” He paused, then produced a small velvet pouch with a simple flick of his fingers. Very practiced, as if by magick. He placed it on the low table between them and slid it towards her. “I think, perhaps, this is yours.”
Trying to keep herself from trembling, Adria reached for the pouch. A small hard object was inside. A ring. It slid onto her palm. It was thick silver, a twin to the one he wore. The band was plain except for a series of small characters designed to be worn on the inside of the palm. It was an assassin’s ring. Adria stared at it, then put it back in the pouch.
“I can’t accept this.” She put it back on the table and pushed it towards him.
“I think you should reconsider.”
“I think you should get the hells out of my house.”
The guildmaster’s eyes narrowed. “Not so polite, are we.”
“No, I’m not,” Adria snapped. She wished to stand but feared that the sight of her levering herself up would not be impressive. “One generally does not look forward to visits from the master of the assassin’s guild. One also does not like being interrogated about one’s family. I appreciate what you are offering – believe me. I will turn down the honor of getting my throat slit in an alley, thank you.”
He did not seem angered by her outburst, which both relieved and provoked her. He barely showed any response at all, as if he’d anticipated what she’d say.
“Would you believe me if I told you it was better than your other alternative?”
Adria glared at him. “I really can’t imagine anything worse.”
He raised an eyebrow and pulled a piece of folded parchment from a hidden pocket. He put the parchment on the table. “Read it.”
Adria hesitated. She didn’t want to read it. The whole thing was some kind of trick. Wasn’t it? With a low growl in the back of her throat, she reached out and took the paper from the table. Damn you, she thought.
The parchment unfolded, revealing a scribed copy of an official document.
“I, Duran del Quintin, do initiate this contract with one named Corvus on this fifth day of Ngetal, 2044. The terms of the contract shall be, if in the span of one year if I should be killed through foul play, or from some cause of death that is instigated by an attacker, that the one who caused my death shall be hunted and dispatched without delay by Corvus’ hand. I do give Corvus his requested fee for this act, should it be required or not . . .”
Adria read it once, then twice. “This has got to be a joke . . .”
“I can let you verify the original if you request it.”
She glanced at the parchment, then back at him. “Is this your business, then? Is this why you came to see me?”
“It was one reason.”
Adria read the parchment once more, her eyes barely glossing over the script. Her mind worked mechanically over her options. If she bolted she’d be dead before she reached the door. If she called for help she’d be dead before anyone could come. Bilbus wasn’t home. Her only weapons at hand were her small knives. It wasn’t looking good.
“That must have been a very expensive contract.”
"Extremely.”
“So I’m dead, then, aren’t I?” she asked softly. Orcs couldn’t kill me, my father couldn’t kill me, drow couldn’t kill me, and I come back home and die in my own parlor. Bloody hells.
“It’s against guild policy to take a contract on another guild member.”
Adria blinked at him.
“I can’t honor the contract if you join the guild,” he explained. “And I don’t think, Lady Adria, that I want to complete this contract. Portsdale has had enough death.”
“Odd to hear an assassin say that.”
He shrugged. “A hunter knows when to stop hunting. I think Portsdale needs the del Cartachs to regain control. I think your husband needs you to succeed. It is not in anyone’s best interest for you to die. So.” He nudged the velvet pouch back towards her.
“I’m familiar with the guild’s workings. Taking that ring may not save my life.”
“Certain death or possible death. Your call.” He paused. “I think that contact with the darker parts of the city might be of benefit to you and your husband, as well.”
"And the assassin's guild gains direct access to a powerful noble family."
He smiled thinly. "We are what we are. Naked altruism does not become either of us. You'd be suspicious if I had no ulterior motive."
Adria sighed. She folded up the copy of the contract. “May I keep this?”
“Of course.”
Reluctantly, she reached for the pouch. “I accept your offer.”
“Wise choice.” He stood in one quick, fluid moment, then extended his hand to her. Adria gritted her teeth and took it, letting him help her up.
“Given your condition, there’s no need to be present for meetings right away. I’ll give you until winter solstice to join us. Should I fail to see you between now and then, I will consider our agreement void. Understood?”
Adria nodded.
“Then our business in concluded. Good day, Lady del Cartach.” He turned and quickly made his way out of the room. In a moment he was gone.
“Good day, guildmaster,” Adria muttered to the empty room.
“So what did you do today?”
“Oh, nothing special. I researched more records, and then I nearly died, and then I joined the assassin’s guild, and then I took a nap, and then I bitched out some representative of the merchant’s guild.”
“That’s nice. I looked at some ships. And I talked to Pete.”
“I imagine Pete had some interesting stories. Oh, and what does ‘stultify’ mean?”
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