Chapter One
On days like this one, he felt like he would never be able to show his face in public ever again.
The engagement had done a great deal to restore his reputation. Those who had once whispered that he was still hurting from a beating delivered at his bride’s behest had mostly ceased to speak of it. Many seemed to have decided that he would not marry a woman who would do such a thing—either to his person or his reputation—yet rumors persisted.
Lord Tulius feared that these would hound him until the day he died, or at least until the bruises healed. He felt that was taking forever, so it provided little encouragement.
He still winced when he moved his arms, and his physician had told him that the broken bones would take some time to heal. Salves and even face paints had done little to conceal the damage.
"Toad-fucking barbarians," he whispered under his breath and sipped the hot tisane that had been poured for him. Few establishments could make his preferred beverages perfectly in the city. Only one, in fact, did not disappoint. Even his servants struggled to heat the water to the correct temperature to avoid burning the delicate dragon flower petals.
But the small shop, appropriately named the Dragon Flower, was one of the few that catered specifically to the tastes of those in the city who were selective about what they put in their bodies.
It was also known for other things, such as staff who were known to not wag their tongues about what was said and heard inside the establishment. Such a reputation was sorely underrated in this city.
"More tea, sir?"
The demure voice belonged to a woman who clearly didn’t work at the Dragon Flower, mostly since she referred to it as tea and not by the proper name of tisane. He wasn't entirely sure what the significance was, but there was still relevance to it for some reason.
She was at least dressed like the other serving women who worked in the establishment. The long, flowing robes seemed to emphasize a curvaceous form rather than hide it, but unlike the employees, her face and her hair were hidden behind a veil.
He had a feeling that her choice of attire was meant to distract from her features so all who saw her—whether they were men or women—focused on the body that was fully covered but in such a way that one's imagination ran rampant.
Even so, he was a newly engaged man and needed to hold his appetite in check. Not only that, if what he’d heard about this woman was true, there was no point in risking his life by disrespecting her boundaries.
"No, thank you," he said finally, having determined that she was the woman he had come to meet. "But if you would like to share mine, I would be more than happy to oblige.”
She had insisted that he speak a predetermined phrase to enable her to identify him correctly.
It had the desired effect and she sat on the other side of the table and studied him closely. Her crystal-blue eyes could barely be seen behind the gauzy veil, but it felt like they dug into the back of his mind to divine all his thoughts and discover everything there was to know about him.
It was an uncomfortable sensation, and Tulius shifted in his seat and looked away after only a few seconds, unable to return her gaze.
"You summoned me here for a reason, Lord Tulius."
"No names."
"Of course."
"And yes, I did summon you for a reason. The whispers have spoken of your connections to those who might be willing to take care of a troublesome character."
He could see her smirk, even behind the mask. "Do you have difficulty spelling out your true intent?"
His eyebrows raised. "I—"
"Do not respond. I know that lords and ladies find it uncomfortable to openly discuss that which you find overly commonplace. We shall consider dealing with this difficult character who plagues you so much—for the right price, of course."
"We?"
"Those I speak to. I would never engage in such a delicate matter myself, after all."
Tulius nodded. "Indeed. I assumed those capable of such acts would want as much distance between themselves and those who would require their services. What kind of price would they charge for those services?"
The woman tilted her head. "That would depend on who you would like taken care of."
It was odd how the way she said it stripped away all the distance he wanted to put between himself and the actual action. It annoyed him, which he supposed was the intention of her pointed use of the term.
"A mercenary." He sipped his tisane and tried to calm himself. The situation was unfamiliar and set him on edge. He had never done this before, although he had heard of those who had, including members of his family. But acting for himself felt wondrously dangerous, even though he knew he wouldn't put himself in any personal danger.
"There are many mercenaries in this town," the woman replied smoothly and regarded him steadily. "There are even guilds—guilds that protect their members."
"Will that be a problem?"
She leaned forward. "That would depend on which mercenary you had in mind."
He ran his fingers over his clean-shaven cheek, took a deep breath, and shook his head. "Skharr is his name. A piece of dung-eating barbarian shit."
The woman paused, leaned back in her seat, and looked at the table. Her long, delicate fingers traced the marble tabletop as she considered his statement.
"Skharr?" she asked finally. "Skharr DeathEater?"
"I assume so." Tulius waved his hand dismissively. "The surnames of the dead do not interest me."
"They should," she replied. "You do know of the DeathEater Clan, yes?"
"Barbarian legends, easily dismissed."
"Barbarians? Yes. Legends? No. You remember what he did to you and your men. Unarmed and on his own. If you're interested in legends, you should hear the one in which he delved a dungeon on his own and came back alive—and wealthy. And there's the legend of how those who tried to stop him never returned."
His expression scrunched into a scowl. "Do not speak to me as if I were a child."
"Then stop acting like one."
He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the insult. "Well then, if legends prove true, you have more of a reason to kill him. Avenge the fallen and enrich yourself, whichever you happen to choose. Perhaps even I can find a way to profit from this little arrangement if you're willing to share what you find."
The woman sighed and shook her head. "I'm not sure you understand. The man has become something of a legend during his short time in our city. Those who would choose to kill him would either be incredibly stupid or incredibly expensive."
"Why the stupid? Are they cheap?"
"Yes, and for good reason. You might find one who is lucky enough to stumble into a kill, but the likeliest scenario sees them giving the DeathEater your name instead. I assume you wouldn't want him to discover your involvement in his assassination, yes? Although I suppose the cheap ones might not want to know who is hiring them or even make assumptions, but are you willing to take the chance that the barbarian might retaliate?"
"That is assuming he survives the attempt, of course."
"Yes. Assuming he lives."
"What are you, his contract issuer?"