Event Narrative
Her name is Saranna Lief, an aristocrat who built her fortune on the slave labor of children. She's new money, terrifying. It's not just because of her rumored tastes, I'm told, but because new money scares the old nobles. They don't like competition. I nod, but I don't understand. Money is money, why should it matter where or how it's come by.
For a moment, I worry about being struck, but Master Rook laughs, cupping my face between his large, rough hands. “Oh, my dearest Shelby, you are too young to understand.” I blink up at him, unsure if I should respond to that. I am too young to understand money, but old enough to kill.
I definitely don't voice this.
She's in Dillinger for a week. I have one week to watch her and complete my assignment. I don't ask about failure. I know what happens if we fail. There was a boy, Michael, that I trained with for years. He failed his first assignment.
The other apprentices killed him, the older ones who had succeeded.
If I complete this task, I'll join them.
If I don't, I will be killed in the same manner as Michael.
I get to know her, the way she eats, how she eats, the way she talks to a men and women, based on status and appearance. I watch her sleep now. She's a light sleeper, and I've only taken the time to do a sweep of her room once, but this is a newer inn. Less chance for wood that creaks. I slip in through the window, my footsteps light. I'm the quietest one of the apprentices, quieter even than my own master.
The blade presses against my palm with a chill reminder. I've killed before, but never human.
I creep up to the side of her bed. Go for the throat, I tell myself. Quick and easy, she'll bleed out in seconds. My job will be done. I'll be an assassin.
I'm too caught up in my own thoughts to notice that she isn't asleep as I had thought.
“They send a child after me?”
She grips my wrists and throws me into the wall with ease. I'm small, light. In most cases, this is good. Not now. My head snaps back against the wall, browning creeping into my line of vision. Faintly, I hear the clatter of my blade as it falls to the floor.
“How fitting this must be!” Lief cackles, leaning over my slumped form. Her fingers are long and easily wrap around my throat. She doesn't squeeze, though, and this is her failing. I wrap my legs around hers, tripping her, and she falls to the floor hard.
I'm on her the instant she falls. This woman, my mark, she isn't going to give up. I stare down into her furious gray eyes for only a second before her fist connects with my jaw.
“Do you have nothing to say?!” Her long fingers snatch at my hair, using them as easily as reigns on a horse as she whips my head back and forth. “Who is the one who hired you? De Pretennes? Ponn? Who?”
I whimper. It's the first time I have made such a noise in years, but I can't help it. This is fury like I've never seen before, and it burrows into my bones, the fear of this woman. She's going to kill me. I am going to die.
Something flashes in the corner of my eye, and I see my weapon in her hand. She presses it to my throat, and I go still. She doesn't know what she's doing. The knife is held wrong, where it's pressed into my skin won't kill me. It gives me a spark of hope. My assignment isn't lost on me just yet.
“No matter. I'll send them a message not to send a child after me.”
She begins to slice, but I'm used to the cut of a blade and the warmth of my own blood. I grab her wrist, encouraged, and twist. There's a scream as I hear a snap.
“You talk too much,” I whisper, before wrenching my blade from her grip and shoving it between her ribs, into her lungs. There's a gurgle, and blood bubbles from her mouth. She's dying, but she doesn't stop. Her nails rake along my cheek, and I wince.
She dies moments later as we sit in a pool of her own blood.
Outside, my master waits. He grabs my chin, tilting my head up to glance at the cut on my neck.
“You were the right choice, Shelby.”
I grin at him. “I will never let you down, Master Rook.”
For a moment, I worry about being struck, but Master Rook laughs, cupping my face between his large, rough hands. “Oh, my dearest Shelby, you are too young to understand.” I blink up at him, unsure if I should respond to that. I am too young to understand money, but old enough to kill.
I definitely don't voice this.
She's in Dillinger for a week. I have one week to watch her and complete my assignment. I don't ask about failure. I know what happens if we fail. There was a boy, Michael, that I trained with for years. He failed his first assignment.
The other apprentices killed him, the older ones who had succeeded.
If I complete this task, I'll join them.
If I don't, I will be killed in the same manner as Michael.
I get to know her, the way she eats, how she eats, the way she talks to a men and women, based on status and appearance. I watch her sleep now. She's a light sleeper, and I've only taken the time to do a sweep of her room once, but this is a newer inn. Less chance for wood that creaks. I slip in through the window, my footsteps light. I'm the quietest one of the apprentices, quieter even than my own master.
The blade presses against my palm with a chill reminder. I've killed before, but never human.
I creep up to the side of her bed. Go for the throat, I tell myself. Quick and easy, she'll bleed out in seconds. My job will be done. I'll be an assassin.
I'm too caught up in my own thoughts to notice that she isn't asleep as I had thought.
“They send a child after me?”
She grips my wrists and throws me into the wall with ease. I'm small, light. In most cases, this is good. Not now. My head snaps back against the wall, browning creeping into my line of vision. Faintly, I hear the clatter of my blade as it falls to the floor.
“How fitting this must be!” Lief cackles, leaning over my slumped form. Her fingers are long and easily wrap around my throat. She doesn't squeeze, though, and this is her failing. I wrap my legs around hers, tripping her, and she falls to the floor hard.
I'm on her the instant she falls. This woman, my mark, she isn't going to give up. I stare down into her furious gray eyes for only a second before her fist connects with my jaw.
“Do you have nothing to say?!” Her long fingers snatch at my hair, using them as easily as reigns on a horse as she whips my head back and forth. “Who is the one who hired you? De Pretennes? Ponn? Who?”
I whimper. It's the first time I have made such a noise in years, but I can't help it. This is fury like I've never seen before, and it burrows into my bones, the fear of this woman. She's going to kill me. I am going to die.
Something flashes in the corner of my eye, and I see my weapon in her hand. She presses it to my throat, and I go still. She doesn't know what she's doing. The knife is held wrong, where it's pressed into my skin won't kill me. It gives me a spark of hope. My assignment isn't lost on me just yet.
“No matter. I'll send them a message not to send a child after me.”
She begins to slice, but I'm used to the cut of a blade and the warmth of my own blood. I grab her wrist, encouraged, and twist. There's a scream as I hear a snap.
“You talk too much,” I whisper, before wrenching my blade from her grip and shoving it between her ribs, into her lungs. There's a gurgle, and blood bubbles from her mouth. She's dying, but she doesn't stop. Her nails rake along my cheek, and I wince.
She dies moments later as we sit in a pool of her own blood.
Outside, my master waits. He grabs my chin, tilting my head up to glance at the cut on my neck.
“You were the right choice, Shelby.”
I grin at him. “I will never let you down, Master Rook.”