The Assassin's Saint, page 9
Ashton jested, but his overall tone was pleasant. a fleeting sensation similar to heartache hit me,
“Yes. I understand how complicated it can be at times. It’s not that you won’t act on those feelings, but it’s the impact it may have on them, you, and those around you.” I couldn’t help but commiserate with him, now realizing I too felt this intricate heartache even now. “They live lives so much shorter than we do, don’t they?”
Ashton fell deathly silent. Looking at the mask in my hand, I pushed it inside my satchel. Should find someplace or someone to help me clean and bandage myself when I get into Terahime. Maybe the Scarlett House is a good alternative in a tight pinch. No rules saying I have to use their better-known services.
Rocks spilled off the ledge, and a man in a tripoint hat slid to block me.
Fallen Arbor!
I pulled my dagger.
Shit!
Taking a few steps back on the ice, I could hear someone sliding down from behind me. Sidling farther out onto the ice, I heard it crack and ping under my steps. The beige trench coat brought my eye to meet Landon’s gaze, his eyes seeming to laugh as he unsheathed his rapier and pointed it in my direction. It’s definitely him. He was the one in the stables. I knew those dark eyes, colorless in the sunrise, with the finely kept moustache, wearing a three-piece suit under the coat.
Can I really beat him here on the ice like this? But this is my chance to take down Landon! I will not make the same mistake I did when I had a chance to kill Falco.
Chapter 11
Never Again
Glancing at the embankment, I saw no other signs or sounds of the larger group I had seen at the lighthouse. My heart raced, adrenaline pushing its way into my system once more. I bounced my eyes between the two men. Calming down, I narrowed my gaze at Landon.
Normally I would try to play innocent bystander, but I don’t know how long they’ve been watching me. Not to mention the clear gunshot wound in my chest and signs of a recent fight. No one would think that I wasn’t the killer.
The operative tightened his grip on the machete, white knuckled as a gust kicked up snow all around us.
“We gots you now, Guild trash,” growled the operative.
Landon picked me apart, eyes taking in the wounds and the blood still on my blade. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon after Taverns Way, nor that you would take care of Guild business like any other assassin. How precarious for a prince of the House? Granted, your lot have a history painted in red, from what I recall.”
Snorting, steam rolled from my nostrils. It was clear he recognized me from the stables. But which of us does he think I am? Dante or Ashton? “How’s the finger?”
Landon chuckled and flashed his hand to show a fully normal, functioning hand though gloved. “Fingers all accounted for, despite abandoning a piece that night. You can’t kill the likes of me, though it’s not often someone lands a hit, let alone more than one, and lives.”
“You want Ashton alive, yes?” The operative opened his mouth, and Landon sighed in annoyance.
Ashton’s excitement for battle was building.
“Over your dead body,” I spat in reply to the operative. “Come try me!”
antagonized Ashton, though no one but me could hear him.
Then I caught Landon’s gaze on the blade on my back, and a wicked grin grew across his face. “Now that’s a new trinket. Where did you find that shiny piece of weaponry?”
Does he know? Could he… Shaking the uncertainty from me, I remarked, “A little gift left by my master, Red Wine.”
Landon snorted, a scowl dragging his features down. “I doubt that, though she too was searching for…” He paused, weighing his words as he bounced between me and the claymore with an uncertain expression. “Bring him and the blade to me.”
The operative closed the gap between us. He was fast, but his footing faltered on the ice. The man swung, reckless and aim off kilter. I parried a few of the strikes with my dagger before kicking him off balance. The ice added to the momentum, and his feet flung out from under him. A great thud and wheeze told me all I needed to know. I took a step forward to give the killing blow, but the man’s words from before came to life in my mind: “Gots me a wife and kids back home.” It was enough to make me retreat and focus on the real threat—Landon.
It’s now or never.
Rushing forward, I exchanged blows with Landon. The dagger was barely enough to push the jabs off my shoulders and torso as we parried. Steam erupted from our efforts, obscuring any who may have been watching for an opening. I managed to drop low and sweep a leg out. Landon evaded, kicking up and off the embankment before swinging wide and downward. The cut grazed my cheek. Lunging forward, we parried more. Landon was losing ground as he cautiously kept his balance. Each swing I made pushed him across the ice, shoes scraping as the force hit him.
“Did it feel good to take one of my own out, huh?” Landon pulled a second blade, Betty’s knife from the table in the lighthouse.
It cut across my chest, and I almost lost my balance. The wobble was enough for me to struggle to parry against Landon’s strikes, and I inched farther out on the ice. The other operative was still wheezing, allowing me to put my full focus on Landon. Another jab from the rapier, and I parried only for him to lock up my swing with the knife. We could feel the heat from one another’s faces we were so close. The wind blew off his hat, the shaved sides of his head a common style worn by ogres for centuries. Landon lacked the tattoos commonly seen here, but I managed to push him and break free.
He’s ogre, or at least a disparate with ogre ties as we suspected.
“You’re quick. Good reflexes.” Nodding to himself, Landon seemed at ease. “I’m glad her death was against someone that even gets my blood hot.”
“She hurt someone close to me, so she had it coming.” I drew in slow breaths, pacing myself in the short reprieve. He must know who I really am and what the sword on my back is. He’s too smart to not be fully aware of everything at this point.
“The clergyman.” Landon half-laughed. “That was her suggestion. Glad it left a lasting impression on you, Blood Prince.”
Gritting my fangs, I glared at him. John getting hurt was planned. My anger seethed, the swell of rage filling me with newfound stamina. Landon worked off his coat and tossed it to the ground. Taking a fighting stance, he prompted me to charge in. He’s a dead man! Another wave of blows ensued. Landon was faster, more alive as he laughed. Now our blades were slicing shallow where strength waned against each other’s incoming strikes. Heavy with each swing, we fought viciously as if we were two wolves fighting over dominance. The sun well above the horizon only made the fresh splattered lines of red bright against the ice underfoot. Tiring of the game, I took the small knife through my palm and gripped his fist. Wild with rage, I banged my skull against his nose, the crunch loud.
“Fuck!” Landon shouted, failing to pull his hand free as blood rushed from his nostrils.
I pushed, hard and fast like a charging bull until I bashed him into the rocks and mud of the embankment. Landon dropped the rapier, eyes digging daggers into me over how I overpowered him. He thought me weaker. Then he must think… I pushed my dagger’s edge against his throat. Doesn’t matter! I’ve done it! This ends here, starting with the mastermind. Landon struggled as the blade drew blood, and he froze. A chuckle rolled from his chest before it escaped him.
“You can’t kill me,” Landon teased.
“I killed Betty,” I retorted, and his smile fell. “Why did you do it? Why did you plan to bring down everyone at once?”
“You noticed,” Landon cooed, irritatingly calm. “I wanted the bloodlines. Clan Thompson and the Emperor’s golden bloodline. There’s magic I need from you and what you hold dear. I wish to ascend further, make this world in my image, and wipe fools like you off it completely at long last. You can crawl back like the roaches you are.”
“And you’d destroy the world for it? To get what you want?” The knots in my stomach didn’t ease. “Why?”
“You must wipe the slate clean before rebuilding it in your image,” he answered with unnerving ease, simply repeating his answer. “Go ahead and cut my throat, Blood Prince. But know Tombé protects me. He’s part of me now, though I am still incomplete. I cannot die.”
“You’re nuts,” I murmured, and Falco’s words bit into me: Did I not warn you I would kill him if you dared defy me! Inhaling deeply, I proclaimed, “But I won’t dare make the same mistake twice.”
Ashton shouted, his anger rattling me.
“Do it,” prodded Landon. “I suppose you’ve grown up since the days Falco bent you over—”
The blade slid through the flesh of Landon’s throat with ease. I stepped back, the blood rushing from where he held the wound. The smile on his face was unnerving.
Will it really end with this?
Landon sank down, blood dribbling from his lips and a shine in his eyes. He made a feeble attempt at laughing before his eyes fought to stay on their target. The operative was struggling to get his footing. Slinging the blood from my dagger, I turned to march away. Ashton had been shouting at me, but I had blocked his voice out. My past mingled with my present actions. Would I have felt relief if I had been the one to kill Falco?
“LANDON!” roared the operative who was struggling to reach for his weapon.
“Go back home to your family.” I kicked the machete farther out onto the ice. “Your master’s dead. There’s no more reason to keep destroying Grandemere and its people. Enough is enough.”
“Why you!” The man turned his focus on Landon, finally up on his feet. “He and Tombé will come down on you like the Galelord did against the gods themselves!”
“Fairy tales don’t bring lives back,” I said with a bitter tone. “And no gods walk this world with the way we’ve tainted it.”
I can’t say how long I had been marching before straying off the path just outside of Terahime. Wandering through the woods, I skirted my way through the wilds to the west of town before settling there to sit in the snow under a small fir tree.
It’s done. Landon is dead.
I pulled out the dagger, still sticky with blood. Rubbing snow on it, I started to clean off the blade. At last, the trembling of my nerves caught up, and I couldn’t have stood even if I wanted to. I’m a wreck. I just slaughtered two people, but it was for the greater good, was it not? This is the end to the onslaught on Grandemere, right? I gripped my chest, the pain a mixture of my wound and self-hatred.
Ashton managed to push his way to being heard at long last.
“What could you possibly say to lighten this guilt? It was one thing to fight with John in danger, but I came here with the intent to assassinate whoever could pose a possible threat. It feels wrong. Different.” I dropped the dagger and covered my face. “An assassin. What was I thinking, taking this path?”
warned Ashton.
“I slit his throat. He’s dead, Ashton.” Swallowing back the vomit rolling up, I pleaded for him to see sense. “It’s not like he’s becoming a soul weapon. There’s nothing there to do it with.”
A swell of rage and fear filled me from Ashton.
Fear knotted in my chest. “What makes you so sure? Gods aren’t real.”
Another wave of tangled emotions, a mixture of his and my own at war within me.
“I should go back.” I tried to stand, but the overexertion and expended nerves made my legs give out. “Fuck, stand, dammit!”
Sighing, Ashton seemed to shift to comforting me.
A shudder shook me as Landon’s face flashed in my mind. “He was far too happy for me to slit his throat. Do you think he got something from us without noticing?”
Ashton mulled it over as I commiserated.
“We’re not talking about that right now.” The nausea rose up once more. Just when I thought I could be free of my past or not make another mistake, I’ve set my enemy’s rage loose once again. “I need to burn the body next time.”
Ashton hummed to himself before adding,
“They burnt that place down twice in the last hundred years or so.” I inhaled and held it.
Ashton prodded.
Exhaling, I scoffed, “Sure, let me just add it to my itinerary right behind keeping John alive.”
“And place a bigger target on a man’s head who may be dead when I get back?” It was my greater fear building. “It took a few days to get there, and it a few days to get back. Plus, I still have glass in my shoulder and clothes to replace before I come anywhere near Henry’s, let alone John.”
Ashton growled.
“I’m certain it came with great benefits at the Scarlett House,” I drawled. “Spare me.”
Ashton fell silent, though the heat of his ire bit at me and even heated the blade itself. We sat in silence, in the cold, both weighed down under our self-pity at this rate. I dozed off at some point, only to wake the next day half-buried in snow as Ashton raged on in an endless rant. Feeling completely defeated, I went to the docks, found a ship’s doctor, and had them pull the rest of the glass from my shoulder. Besides, it seemed the best bet after working for them for so long. I was dazed, hungry, and exhausted.
What good did I even do if I can’t confirm Landon is indeed dead at all? After all, he grew his finger back, did he not?
Chapter 12
The Barkeep’s Request
A few days straight of scraping barnacles off hulls and lugging lumber from wagons seemed never ending, though it had numbed me to the regrets from my mission. Fingers raw and chilblains multiplying as my skin swelled in itchy red patches made my day-to-day work annoying at best. Sleeping out in the snow for a day before that didn’t help either. While other laborers shivered, I stood stalwart against the icy winds. Still insecure about being alone with John, I settled into the warmth of the tavern instead of heading back to the room under the apothecary’s floor.
I hope the note I left will satiate John’s need to know what I’m doing. He’s so bull-headed, but he’s still too weak to chase after me. At least his appetite is on the rise, and he’s moving on his own more. Henry is handling the medicine I left under the bed so … here’s hoping Ashton’s tincture brings results.
The tavern sign swung in the wind, but the words were still legible in the fading daylight. The Mermaid’s Nest was written in a strange language I had only encountered here in Terahime. While working on the ships, the sailors had taught me how to read the strange letterings, and I soon burned the merchant’s alphabet, or as it was known, Merchant’s Tongue, to memory. What a clever means of keeping their own secrets, I suppose. I thought it strange the signs were a mixture of common and something else. Until now, I had no idea there was another language to even master outside my studies. Then again, from what the laborers implied, it’s only passed on by those in the trade or who have grown up on the Scarlett Isles.
Once more, the tavern was buzzing with activity all around as I slid into an open spot at the bar. The barkeep met my gaze and grinned wide. Shit, he’s far too excited to see me. Brushing snow off my shoulders, I huffed on my fingers to warm them as I waited for him to finish with another customer. Despite being hunched over the counter, the moment my hood fell back, eyes and whispers erupted, and the familiar hushed word “Falcon” filled the air. One fight, and now I’m the talk of the town. Can’t I go anywhere without making my presence known?
“Yes. I understand how complicated it can be at times. It’s not that you won’t act on those feelings, but it’s the impact it may have on them, you, and those around you.” I couldn’t help but commiserate with him, now realizing I too felt this intricate heartache even now. “They live lives so much shorter than we do, don’t they?”
Ashton fell deathly silent. Looking at the mask in my hand, I pushed it inside my satchel. Should find someplace or someone to help me clean and bandage myself when I get into Terahime. Maybe the Scarlett House is a good alternative in a tight pinch. No rules saying I have to use their better-known services.
Rocks spilled off the ledge, and a man in a tripoint hat slid to block me.
Fallen Arbor!
I pulled my dagger.
Shit!
Taking a few steps back on the ice, I could hear someone sliding down from behind me. Sidling farther out onto the ice, I heard it crack and ping under my steps. The beige trench coat brought my eye to meet Landon’s gaze, his eyes seeming to laugh as he unsheathed his rapier and pointed it in my direction. It’s definitely him. He was the one in the stables. I knew those dark eyes, colorless in the sunrise, with the finely kept moustache, wearing a three-piece suit under the coat.
Can I really beat him here on the ice like this? But this is my chance to take down Landon! I will not make the same mistake I did when I had a chance to kill Falco.
Chapter 11
Never Again
Glancing at the embankment, I saw no other signs or sounds of the larger group I had seen at the lighthouse. My heart raced, adrenaline pushing its way into my system once more. I bounced my eyes between the two men. Calming down, I narrowed my gaze at Landon.
Normally I would try to play innocent bystander, but I don’t know how long they’ve been watching me. Not to mention the clear gunshot wound in my chest and signs of a recent fight. No one would think that I wasn’t the killer.
The operative tightened his grip on the machete, white knuckled as a gust kicked up snow all around us.
“We gots you now, Guild trash,” growled the operative.
Landon picked me apart, eyes taking in the wounds and the blood still on my blade. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon after Taverns Way, nor that you would take care of Guild business like any other assassin. How precarious for a prince of the House? Granted, your lot have a history painted in red, from what I recall.”
Snorting, steam rolled from my nostrils. It was clear he recognized me from the stables. But which of us does he think I am? Dante or Ashton? “How’s the finger?”
Landon chuckled and flashed his hand to show a fully normal, functioning hand though gloved. “Fingers all accounted for, despite abandoning a piece that night. You can’t kill the likes of me, though it’s not often someone lands a hit, let alone more than one, and lives.”
“You want Ashton alive, yes?” The operative opened his mouth, and Landon sighed in annoyance.
“Over your dead body,” I spat in reply to the operative. “Come try me!”
Then I caught Landon’s gaze on the blade on my back, and a wicked grin grew across his face. “Now that’s a new trinket. Where did you find that shiny piece of weaponry?”
Does he know? Could he… Shaking the uncertainty from me, I remarked, “A little gift left by my master, Red Wine.”
Landon snorted, a scowl dragging his features down. “I doubt that, though she too was searching for…” He paused, weighing his words as he bounced between me and the claymore with an uncertain expression. “Bring him and the blade to me.”
The operative closed the gap between us. He was fast, but his footing faltered on the ice. The man swung, reckless and aim off kilter. I parried a few of the strikes with my dagger before kicking him off balance. The ice added to the momentum, and his feet flung out from under him. A great thud and wheeze told me all I needed to know. I took a step forward to give the killing blow, but the man’s words from before came to life in my mind: “Gots me a wife and kids back home.” It was enough to make me retreat and focus on the real threat—Landon.
It’s now or never.
Rushing forward, I exchanged blows with Landon. The dagger was barely enough to push the jabs off my shoulders and torso as we parried. Steam erupted from our efforts, obscuring any who may have been watching for an opening. I managed to drop low and sweep a leg out. Landon evaded, kicking up and off the embankment before swinging wide and downward. The cut grazed my cheek. Lunging forward, we parried more. Landon was losing ground as he cautiously kept his balance. Each swing I made pushed him across the ice, shoes scraping as the force hit him.
“Did it feel good to take one of my own out, huh?” Landon pulled a second blade, Betty’s knife from the table in the lighthouse.
It cut across my chest, and I almost lost my balance. The wobble was enough for me to struggle to parry against Landon’s strikes, and I inched farther out on the ice. The other operative was still wheezing, allowing me to put my full focus on Landon. Another jab from the rapier, and I parried only for him to lock up my swing with the knife. We could feel the heat from one another’s faces we were so close. The wind blew off his hat, the shaved sides of his head a common style worn by ogres for centuries. Landon lacked the tattoos commonly seen here, but I managed to push him and break free.
He’s ogre, or at least a disparate with ogre ties as we suspected.
“You’re quick. Good reflexes.” Nodding to himself, Landon seemed at ease. “I’m glad her death was against someone that even gets my blood hot.”
“She hurt someone close to me, so she had it coming.” I drew in slow breaths, pacing myself in the short reprieve. He must know who I really am and what the sword on my back is. He’s too smart to not be fully aware of everything at this point.
“The clergyman.” Landon half-laughed. “That was her suggestion. Glad it left a lasting impression on you, Blood Prince.”
Gritting my fangs, I glared at him. John getting hurt was planned. My anger seethed, the swell of rage filling me with newfound stamina. Landon worked off his coat and tossed it to the ground. Taking a fighting stance, he prompted me to charge in. He’s a dead man! Another wave of blows ensued. Landon was faster, more alive as he laughed. Now our blades were slicing shallow where strength waned against each other’s incoming strikes. Heavy with each swing, we fought viciously as if we were two wolves fighting over dominance. The sun well above the horizon only made the fresh splattered lines of red bright against the ice underfoot. Tiring of the game, I took the small knife through my palm and gripped his fist. Wild with rage, I banged my skull against his nose, the crunch loud.
“Fuck!” Landon shouted, failing to pull his hand free as blood rushed from his nostrils.
I pushed, hard and fast like a charging bull until I bashed him into the rocks and mud of the embankment. Landon dropped the rapier, eyes digging daggers into me over how I overpowered him. He thought me weaker. Then he must think… I pushed my dagger’s edge against his throat. Doesn’t matter! I’ve done it! This ends here, starting with the mastermind. Landon struggled as the blade drew blood, and he froze. A chuckle rolled from his chest before it escaped him.
“You can’t kill me,” Landon teased.
“I killed Betty,” I retorted, and his smile fell. “Why did you do it? Why did you plan to bring down everyone at once?”
“You noticed,” Landon cooed, irritatingly calm. “I wanted the bloodlines. Clan Thompson and the Emperor’s golden bloodline. There’s magic I need from you and what you hold dear. I wish to ascend further, make this world in my image, and wipe fools like you off it completely at long last. You can crawl back like the roaches you are.”
“And you’d destroy the world for it? To get what you want?” The knots in my stomach didn’t ease. “Why?”
“You must wipe the slate clean before rebuilding it in your image,” he answered with unnerving ease, simply repeating his answer. “Go ahead and cut my throat, Blood Prince. But know Tombé protects me. He’s part of me now, though I am still incomplete. I cannot die.”
“You’re nuts,” I murmured, and Falco’s words bit into me: Did I not warn you I would kill him if you dared defy me! Inhaling deeply, I proclaimed, “But I won’t dare make the same mistake twice.”
“Do it,” prodded Landon. “I suppose you’ve grown up since the days Falco bent you over—”
The blade slid through the flesh of Landon’s throat with ease. I stepped back, the blood rushing from where he held the wound. The smile on his face was unnerving.
Will it really end with this?
Landon sank down, blood dribbling from his lips and a shine in his eyes. He made a feeble attempt at laughing before his eyes fought to stay on their target. The operative was struggling to get his footing. Slinging the blood from my dagger, I turned to march away. Ashton had been shouting at me, but I had blocked his voice out. My past mingled with my present actions. Would I have felt relief if I had been the one to kill Falco?
“LANDON!” roared the operative who was struggling to reach for his weapon.
“Go back home to your family.” I kicked the machete farther out onto the ice. “Your master’s dead. There’s no more reason to keep destroying Grandemere and its people. Enough is enough.”
“Why you!” The man turned his focus on Landon, finally up on his feet. “He and Tombé will come down on you like the Galelord did against the gods themselves!”
“Fairy tales don’t bring lives back,” I said with a bitter tone. “And no gods walk this world with the way we’ve tainted it.”
I can’t say how long I had been marching before straying off the path just outside of Terahime. Wandering through the woods, I skirted my way through the wilds to the west of town before settling there to sit in the snow under a small fir tree.
It’s done. Landon is dead.
I pulled out the dagger, still sticky with blood. Rubbing snow on it, I started to clean off the blade. At last, the trembling of my nerves caught up, and I couldn’t have stood even if I wanted to. I’m a wreck. I just slaughtered two people, but it was for the greater good, was it not? This is the end to the onslaught on Grandemere, right? I gripped my chest, the pain a mixture of my wound and self-hatred.
“What could you possibly say to lighten this guilt? It was one thing to fight with John in danger, but I came here with the intent to assassinate whoever could pose a possible threat. It feels wrong. Different.” I dropped the dagger and covered my face. “An assassin. What was I thinking, taking this path?”
“I slit his throat. He’s dead, Ashton.” Swallowing back the vomit rolling up, I pleaded for him to see sense. “It’s not like he’s becoming a soul weapon. There’s nothing there to do it with.”
Fear knotted in my chest. “What makes you so sure? Gods aren’t real.”
“I should go back.” I tried to stand, but the overexertion and expended nerves made my legs give out. “Fuck, stand, dammit!”
A shudder shook me as Landon’s face flashed in my mind. “He was far too happy for me to slit his throat. Do you think he got something from us without noticing?”
“We’re not talking about that right now.” The nausea rose up once more. Just when I thought I could be free of my past or not make another mistake, I’ve set my enemy’s rage loose once again. “I need to burn the body next time.”
“They burnt that place down twice in the last hundred years or so.” I inhaled and held it.
Ashton prodded.
Exhaling, I scoffed, “Sure, let me just add it to my itinerary right behind keeping John alive.”
“And place a bigger target on a man’s head who may be dead when I get back?” It was my greater fear building. “It took a few days to get there, and it a few days to get back. Plus, I still have glass in my shoulder and clothes to replace before I come anywhere near Henry’s, let alone John.”
“I’m certain it came with great benefits at the Scarlett House,” I drawled. “Spare me.”
Ashton fell silent, though the heat of his ire bit at me and even heated the blade itself. We sat in silence, in the cold, both weighed down under our self-pity at this rate. I dozed off at some point, only to wake the next day half-buried in snow as Ashton raged on in an endless rant. Feeling completely defeated, I went to the docks, found a ship’s doctor, and had them pull the rest of the glass from my shoulder. Besides, it seemed the best bet after working for them for so long. I was dazed, hungry, and exhausted.
What good did I even do if I can’t confirm Landon is indeed dead at all? After all, he grew his finger back, did he not?
Chapter 12
The Barkeep’s Request
A few days straight of scraping barnacles off hulls and lugging lumber from wagons seemed never ending, though it had numbed me to the regrets from my mission. Fingers raw and chilblains multiplying as my skin swelled in itchy red patches made my day-to-day work annoying at best. Sleeping out in the snow for a day before that didn’t help either. While other laborers shivered, I stood stalwart against the icy winds. Still insecure about being alone with John, I settled into the warmth of the tavern instead of heading back to the room under the apothecary’s floor.
I hope the note I left will satiate John’s need to know what I’m doing. He’s so bull-headed, but he’s still too weak to chase after me. At least his appetite is on the rise, and he’s moving on his own more. Henry is handling the medicine I left under the bed so … here’s hoping Ashton’s tincture brings results.
The tavern sign swung in the wind, but the words were still legible in the fading daylight. The Mermaid’s Nest was written in a strange language I had only encountered here in Terahime. While working on the ships, the sailors had taught me how to read the strange letterings, and I soon burned the merchant’s alphabet, or as it was known, Merchant’s Tongue, to memory. What a clever means of keeping their own secrets, I suppose. I thought it strange the signs were a mixture of common and something else. Until now, I had no idea there was another language to even master outside my studies. Then again, from what the laborers implied, it’s only passed on by those in the trade or who have grown up on the Scarlett Isles.
Once more, the tavern was buzzing with activity all around as I slid into an open spot at the bar. The barkeep met my gaze and grinned wide. Shit, he’s far too excited to see me. Brushing snow off my shoulders, I huffed on my fingers to warm them as I waited for him to finish with another customer. Despite being hunched over the counter, the moment my hood fell back, eyes and whispers erupted, and the familiar hushed word “Falcon” filled the air. One fight, and now I’m the talk of the town. Can’t I go anywhere without making my presence known?
