Blade gazed up at the sweeping marble arches and ornate gabled roof of the Peacock's Nest, one of Jondar's most affluent inns. The missive he had received earlier told him to meet his potential new client here, and gave the room number, but he was not about to walk in and knock on her door. Many exotic trees grew around the inn, and he chose a scarlet-leafed fire tree that gave access to a balcony on the second floor. With no guards to hamper him and an easy tree to climb, he arrived on the balcony in silence and without much effort. Picking the locked doors that led inside, he entered a plush corridor with a polished wooden floor and drab still-life paintings on the cream walls. Busts stood on pedestals between the many doors that led off it, and he found the one marked with the right number, picked the lock and slipped inside.
Viscountess Treblane sat in an upholstered gilt chair in front of a fireplace whose cosy blaze warmed the room. Rich brown velvet curtains framed the windows, and dull paintings graced the walls. A carved four-poster bed stood against the wall on his left, and finely woven rugs softened the floor. Blade walked towards her, his boots silent on the rugs, and she looked up with a gasp when he stepped into her view. Her hand clasped her chest, then she relaxed and smiled.
“You surprised me, sir.”
He wandered over to the fireplace. “Sneaking about is my trade, madam. I'm good at it.”
“So it would seem. Thank you for coming.”
“So, you want your husband dead. Tell me about him.”
“Right to the point. How professional of you, sir. Please, sit. Would you care for some wine?”
Blade sat on the settee beside her chair and accepted a cup of rich, musky red wine.
“My husband is a pig,” she said. “I cannot abide him. It was an arranged marriage, you see. My father –”
“I didn't mean the story of your misfortune. I meant his looks, his habits and his familiar.”
“Oh, I see. He is a man of the boar, of course, and ugly. Fat and hirsute, as all such men are. He turns my stomach. His touch...” She coughed. “Well, he has brown hair and eyes, and he spends most of his day with his noble friends, carousing, hunting, gaming and the like.”
“When does he come and go from his dwelling.”
“That depends on what time he wakes up, and what he chooses to do. Some days he does not go out, but stays at home and inflicts his unwanted attentions...” She hesitated. “He is always at home in the evenings, after he returns from his debauchery.”
Blade sighed, sipping his wine. He hated unpredictable targets, they usually cost him a lot of time stalking them. “What about guards?”
“Only two men in the garden at night.”
“What sort of men?”
“Guards.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “What familiars do they have?”
“Oh. Well, that depends on which ones they are. There are four of them, to alternate between shifts and days. I am not certain of their beasts, although one, I am certain, is a man of crows.”
Blade studied her, wondering what kind of woman she was. The mystery was solved when an emerald snake slithered from her hair to twine around her neck. Its jewel-like golden eyes and triangular head told him it was a tree adder, able to inflict a painful bite and give a man a bad headache. He had never liked snake kin, however. Her information was inadequate, and meant that he would have to spend more time watching the house.
The viscountess leant closer, her gaze intent. “When will you do it?”
Her assumption annoyed him further, as did her eagerness, and he shook his head. “I have not yet agreed to do it, Viscountess.”
“Marilda, please. But you will, surely? I will pay whatever you demand.”
“Your husband's money, I assume?”
“No, my father's.”
“Ah, who arranged this marriage. Clearly he finds no fault with your husband.”
“He does not have to rut with him!” Her voice grew shrill, and she restrained herself with an obvious effort. “I cannot stand it. You must help me. How much will it cost?”
Blade frowned at his wine, pondering the many reasons he had been given, over the years, for his clients' wish to slay their victims. Even though he never asked them, they always seemed driven to tell him, as if it somehow vindicated them. Hers was no better than most, and poorer than many, but that did not matter.
He glanced at her. “Fifty goldens.”
The sum was outlandish, but she had annoyed him, so she must pay.
Marilda did not as much as blink. “How do I pay you?”
“Half now, half when the job's done. And I have a few more questions.”
“Ask.”
“Your address, for one thing. When would be the best time to do it, and do you want it to be quick or slow?”
Her eyes gleamed. “You could do it slowly?”
“Yes, but that will double the price.”
Her eagerness faded. “I see. I suppose it does not need to be slow.”
Blade drained his cup and rose to his feet. “You have the money?”
“Yes.” She drew a pouch from a hidden pocket in her skirt and counted out twenty-five goldens onto the table, which left the bag still heavy with more. Blade swept the money into his pouch and tied it to his belt while she gave him an address in the poshest part of the wealthy district.
She looked eager again. “I could make it very easy for you. If I leave the postern gate and kitchen door unlocked, you have only to slip past the guards, who, I am sure, will be asleep after midnight anyway. I will light a lamp in the window when my husband is asleep, so you will know when to come. Will you do it tomorrow night?”
He eyed her. That certainly made it easy, and well worth the fifty goldens. “I could, in that case, yes.”
“Excellent.” She all but clapped her hands. “And I want to watch.”
“Do you now?”
“Yes, most assuredly.”
“Have you ever seen a man killed, Viscountess? It's not a pretty thing.”
“As a matter of fact, I have. I want to see him die. I will pay more for the privilege if you demand it.”
Blade wondered why she was so keen to pay him more, although she had baulked at doubling the fee for a slow death. Her unhealthy interest disgusted him, so at odds with her fragile beauty. He took no pleasure from killing, yet, judging by the way her eyes sparkled and she licked her lips, she would.
“If you are present and awake at the time, I cannot prevent you from watching. Presumably you will be sharing the bed with him, so you will have a particularly good view, I will wager.” Blade realised that he had picked up her manner of speech without even trying.
She patted her hands together. “Wonderful. I shall ensure that I am awake, then.”
The assassin swung away. “I shall be there tomorrow night. Be sure the gate and door are unlocked.”
“I shall. But please, do not hurry off. Have some more wine.”
He paused by the door. “I think not, Viscountess.”
“Marilda, please.”
Blade let himself out and walked to the balcony to shinny down the tree, trying to blot out her eager, lovely face. He compared her to Lilu, disliking what he found. For all the whore's ugliness, she had a good heart, while Marilda's beauty belied her cold viciousness. She did not require the services of the Dance Master, either. Any second-rate assassin could perform such an easy kill, and he almost found it insulting. She had turned him into little more than an executioner, but death was his trade, and the fee was good. Her friendliness was disconcerting too, he found. Why would she wish to spend time and share wine with a lowly assassin, especially one she had hired to kill her husband? By the time he reached his rooms, he was no less disgusted, but somewhat resigned to it.
Blade paused at the postern gate of the address the viscountess had given him, glancing up at the almost full Tree Moon. Too bright for his liking, but that could not be helped. He unlatched the gate and opened it a crack, peering in. For several minutes, he could find no sign of the two sentries, and waited a bit longer before slipping into the garden and closing the gate. He trotted into a patch of shadow under a tree and paused there to scan the garden again. The sentries were propped up against the garden wall, chins on chests. Whatever Viscount Treblane was paying his guards, it was too much.
Leaving the shadow, he walked up the paved path to the mansion's kitchen door and pushed it open, strolling within. A scent of warm bread pervaded the air, mingled with soot and lonions. In the hall, he found a sweeping marble staircase that led to the upper floor and mounted it on silent feet. A corridor stretched away, at the end of which a line of light shone under a door. Blade paused with his hand on the latch and listened, detecting a rasping snore and wheezing grunts. Opening the door just enough, he scanned the room within. The lamp in the window cast a sullen light over a plush bed chamber crowded with too much dull furniture, its walls populated with stiff-faced portraits.
Viscount Treblane formed a vast mound in a massive four-poster bed hung with dark blue velvet. A hairy, tusked black boar slept at the foot of it, the source of the wheezing grunts. Blade paused to wonder how old the viscount was, and whether his familiar would perish soon after him or survive to try to avenge its friend's death. He did not want to have to deal with the enraged animal, and cursed his lack of forethought in not asking his client where the boar slept. That was something he would normally have discovered by spying on his victim.
The viscountess lay beside her husband, her cheek propped in her hand, her eyes drooping. The stench of pig made the still air rank, and he wrinkled his nose as he approached the bed. The size of his intended victim gave him pause, and he reconsidered his strategy. Like all boar kin, Viscount Treblane owned a big-boned frame buried under layers of fat. So much so that Blade doubted his dagger would be long enough to reach the nobleman's heart from his flank. A chest strike had more chance of success, but the viscount lay on his side, facing his wife and exposing the back of his neck. This was not a method that Blade had employed very often, but he knew it.
Reaching the side of the bed, he drew two daggers with a soft slither of steel and considered his target. Moving closer with infinite caution, he raised a weapon and held it poised, ensuring that his aim was true. The viscountess opened her eyes, which widened and brightened with morbid anticipation and delight. Blade swallowed bile and turned his attention back to his target. The tip of the dagger almost brushed the viscount's skin at the base of his skull. Blade thrust it in with a powerful jab, and it scraped past bone to penetrate brain tissue. The man stiffened, his eyelids fluttering, and went limp.
Blade pulled the weapon out and placed his fingers on the nobleman's neck, detecting a faint, fading flutter. Hardly a drop of blood oozed from the wound, and the assassin straightened, glancing at the boar when the beast squealed and thrashed. It tried to rise to its feet and failed, its limbs stiffening as it died. The viscountess stared at her husband, then at Blade, licking her lips as she sat up.
“That is it? He is dead?”
Blade inclined his head, wiping his dagger on the velvet drapes. “You were expecting it to be more exciting?”
“It seemed... so easy.”
“That's what you paid for. A swift, silent end.”
“It was amazing.” She trailed her fingers across her chest, parting her diaphanous nightgown, which barely hid her nakedness. Sliding off the bed, she approached him, skirting the dead pig.
“You are skilled indeed. A master assassin, well worthy of your title, though you have the appearance of a youth. We shall have wine.”
He sheathed his daggers. “No we will not, Viscountess. Do you have the rest of my fee?”
She moved closer, her voice dropping to a throaty purr. “Come now, do not be coy. Are you not titillated? Does killing a man not excite you?”
“No.”
Marilda stopped before him, too close for comfort. “If you wish the rest of your fee, lie with me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The viscountess gripped the front of his jacket and, taking him by surprise, pushed him backwards. The bed caught him behind his knees, and he landed on his back, the noblewoman on top of him. She straddled him, shed her negligee with a shrug and leant close. Blade froze, staring at her perfect, slender nakedness. Marilda slithered onto his chest, as lissom as a snake, and gripped his face. Pressing her lips to his, she tried to push her tongue into his mouth. The bed foiled Blade's recoil, but he kept his mouth closed. When his hands flashed up to push her away they encountered soft skin, and he snatched them back. Her grip stopped him from turning his head aside, and shock, mingled with intense curiosity, held him fast. Perhaps this time it would be different, although he did not want her tongue in his mouth. She trailed her lips and tongue over his cheek, tugging his collar open.
“You are a beautiful man,” she murmured in his ear. “So strong and deadly, like a big, gorgeous cat.” She drew back to gaze at the base of his throat, her finger tracing his mark. “A beautiful killer.”
Blade wondered why he was so cold inside, as if a blizzard had invaded his chest. He may as well have been a piece of wood. Nothing had changed since his last encounter with a noble slut, much as he wished it had. How he longed for the lust other men had, so he could show her how much of a man he was. He was not, however, and all her beauty and sensuality did not stir one iota of desire in him. She fumbled open his jacket's laces and pushed her hand inside, encountering his leather vest.
She giggled. “You wear far too many clothes.”
Shaking back her hair, she raised her eyes to his and froze, blinking. Blade knew what she had seen there; the utter iciness and emptiness he had seen in the mirror so many times. With a swift shove, he pushed her aside and rolled on top of her, straddling her. He found a dagger in his hand, although he did not recall drawing it, and it was pressed against the side of her neck, where her life throbbed so close to the surface.
The humiliation of his lack yearned for release. One swift slash and she would die in a fountain of blood. He leant closer, gazing deep into her eyes. She gulped, raising her hands in a warding gesture, and placed them on his chest. She was so weak, so helpless, and so beautiful. He longed to snuff her like a candle between finger and thumb. Her lust offended him. All he had was perhaps a little despair. He was frozen. She panted with terror, her eyes white-ringed, reading her death in his.
“You are right, Viscountess,” he murmured. “I am a killer. That is all I am, and all I sell is death.” He tilted his head. “Yet you wish to fornicate with me beside the body of your husband before he has even grown cold. You disgust me. Do you truly wish to join him?”
Marilda's head jerked from side to side, and she gulped again. Her silence bought her life, for he was certain that if she had spoken at that moment he would have killed her. Yet the thought of doing so sickened him. She was helpless, but then, everyone was, against him. Why did the thought of her death repel him? Her soft skin brought memories of other gentle hands that reached out from his past, through the mists that hid it, to stroke and cuddle while a sweet voice murmured tender words. He lifted the dagger, holding it before her flinching eyes.
“This is what you bought. Do not play with ice, Viscountess. It kills just as surely as fire. A more painless end, certainly, but an end all the same. You are closer to it now than you have ever been before. Does it not titillate you? Are you not excited?”
She stared at him, licking her lips. He longed to slice off the wet pink appendage that had assaulted his mouth, and the lush lips it moistened. He turned his head and spat.
“You are worse than a whore. You would pay to rut with the man who just killed your husband. You think your beauty will tempt me, but the ugliness of your mind disgusts me. You inflict your wantonness upon me and sully me with your lust. He was guilty of being a fat smelly man, no fault of his. You are a defiler.”
Blade released her and rose to his feet. “Clothe yourself and bring me my money.”
Marilda donned a satin gown with shaking hands, unable to meet his eyes. She went over to a desk and drew out a bag of coins, placing it in his hand. Blade sheathed his dagger and tied the pouch to his belt. She retreated, looking dazed, when he brushed past her on his way to the door, where he paused.
“I advise you to scream long and hard in the morning, Viscountess, if you wish to convince everyone that you're innocent of this crime. Doubtless you will enjoy sleeping beside his cold corpse as much as you enjoyed watching him die.”
She nodded, rubbing her neck where his dagger had touched her.
Blade slipped out and locked the door behind him before retracing his steps through the garden. Instead of returning to his rooms, as he had planned, his steps led him to Lilu's door in the seedy whorehouse. She sat up when he banged the door closed, her hair wild and her bloodshot eyes wide and red-rimmed in a puffy face. It looked as if she had been weeping. He paced up and down the room, barely five steps in either direction.
Lilu lighted a lamp, watching him. “Blade? What is it? What's wrong?”
He shook his head.
“What's happened? Are you all right?”
He ran a hand through his hair, scowling. She rose and gripped his arm, halting him. He turned his head to look down at her hand, and she released him.
“What did she do?”
Blade paced again, and she sat on the bed.
“You'll wear a hole in my floor.” She patted the bed beside her. “Come and sit down. Tell me what happened. She tried to seduce you, didn't she?”
His mouth twisted.
“You were right to reject her. She's a slut.”
Blade stopped and stared at the far wall, then walked over to sit beside her, his gaze fixed upon the floor. She hesitated, then took hold of his hand, a little surprised when he did not pull it away.
“You did the right thing. You're far too pure for her to tarnish with her depravity.”
Realising that he was not going to speak no matter how much she coaxed him, she pressed his hand to her cheek. She knew that any hint of flirtation from her now would send him out of the door faster than the north wind howled through the Boundary Mountains' crags. He had come to her for some sort of comfort, she hoped, and she thought she knew the reason. Wealthy noblewomen were well known for their appetite for forbidden flesh, particularly that of young men and especially ones like Blade, whose cold beauty and deadly reputation made him so attractive.
Something had upset him to the point that he could not speak of it, and she knew better than to try to persuade him. He would do so when he was ready. She released his hand and poured two cups of wine, the sort he liked, which she kept a bottle of now, for when he visited. He took a gulp, and she noticed that his hand trembled a little. Almost half a time-glass passed while they sipped wine together.
He raised his head and whispered, “She wanted to watch.”
“Who did you kill for her?”
“Her husband.”
“Why did she want him dead?”
“She disliked him. He was a man of the boar. She is kin of snakes.”
Lilu nodded, watching him. “What did she do to you?”
He touched his lips. “She wanted to lie with me.”
“She kissed you?”
“She tried.”
“You feel... violated?”
“Defiled.” He glared at the wall. “She's a defiler.”
She hesitated. “To have her thrust unwanted attentions on you would make you feel like that, naturally.”
“I almost killed her.”
“You hurt her?”
“No. I wanted to kill her. I was a hair's breadth from slitting her throat, but she has no mark upon her.”
Lilu knew that the foolish noblewoman was fortunate indeed that Blade was averse to killing a woman. “That's good.”
He glanced at her. “Why would she do such a thing to a stranger?”
“She's wanton. Some noblewomen allow their lust to rule them, and take advantage of young men. What has upset you so? Is it because she tried to kiss you, or seduce you?”
“All of it. She looks beautiful, but inside she's ugly. She made a mockery of my trade with her wish to rut with me afterwards, beside the body of her dead husband.”
“Oh, I see.” Lilu smiled. “Your pride is wounded. She didn't fear you. She should have respected your status as a killer, not so?”
He inclined his head, frowning. “I suppose that's part of it. Also that she thrust her unwanted attentions on me.”
Lilu bit her lip, not knowing what to say. She could tell him she understood, and that it was a natural reaction, but she could not reveal that she knew the reason for it. He did not want anyone to know what he was, of that she was certain, and most people did not. She hoped he would tell her, but suspected he would not, since all her teasing had not made him reveal it. He must know she would stop if he told her the truth, yet still he would not, even though her flirting annoyed him. He longed to be like other men, and advances such as this only rubbed salt into his wounds.
She leant closer and took his hand again. “I'm glad you're not tempted by sluts like her. She's beneath you.”
He pulled his hand free and slugged back the last of his wine, banging the cup down on the bedside table. “I must bathe.”
Lilu watched him leave with a heavy heart, wishing he would stay. Clearly all he wanted now, however, was to wash off the noblewoman's touch, a strange reaction. Then again, there was nothing normal about Blade, she mused.