Aveline (18 page)

Before his sentence was complete, Aveline
had plunged one dagger into his hand, pinning it to the table, and
held a second to his throat.

The dealer gave a cry of pain. His eyes
widened. “You … you cannot threaten me! I have powerful clients who
–”

“- who won’t know what happened because
you’ll be too dead to tell them!” She twisted the knife in his
hand.

He grimaced.

“Do as I say.” Aveline lowered the knife
from his throat without removing the one in his hand. She stepped
back and waited warily.

His good hand trembling, the dealer sloppily
filled vials halfway with one powder then half with another before
shaking them. He sealed five vials with corks before withdrawing a
sixth and filling it with sugar from the jar on his table.

“Good man,” Aveline said. She released the
knife. “That blade is steel. It’s worth more than the medicines.”
Collecting the vials, she tossed him one of the ten ounces Matilda
had given her for the medications then whirled and left.

Expecting him to raise the alarm with others
of his ilk, Aveline left his shanty and broke into a hard run as
she tore through the fish markets and back towards the structure
where she now lived. Thrilled by the workout and brief escape, she
could not help smiling when she reached the great pyramid. Before
returning to Tiana’s room, she ducked into a quiet hallway in the
basement and opened the pouch. Claiming seven of the ounces, she
hid them in a pocket before double checking the vial supposed to
contain arsenic. It was indeed sugar; Tiana’s teas would grow
sweeter without killing her.

Pleased with herself, Aveline grabbed dinner
from the kitchens and returned to the top floor and strode through
the apartment, just as dusk began to darken the sky. She quickly
deposited food on the table near the window in Tiana’s room before
going to Matilda’s door and knocking on it.

A flustered slave answered. Her eyes and
nose were puffy and red, and her cheek blazing crimson as well. By
the wrinkled sash, someone had grabbed her, and by her limp,
Aveline assessed the slave had been thrown down at an angle that
hurt her.

Anger flared within her, but she forced
herself to remain silent. Aveline handed the slave all six vials as
well as the purse with two ounces remaining. The slave said nothing
but claimed everything and closed the door.

Aveline stared at the ornate mahogany wood
inches from her face, recalling the emotion she had experienced
when the two girls at the brothel had been sentenced to the
butcher.

Those in the city forced to suffer deserved
better than to be controlled by people like the Hanover’s and
Matilda. It was the fault of the city leadership that the inner
city was unable to feed its residents and children were eaten
instead. It was also Tiana’s father who allowed a woman like
Matilda to abuse her slaves and Tiana, and who kept his own
daughter living in poverty.

Aveline returned to Tiana’s room, her upbeat
mood ruined. Tiana was standing beside the table, holding her plate
of food as she gazed out over the city. She had divided up the
portion so each had half, and Aveline took her plate and sat on the
ground.

“I cannot wait to see the sunset in spring!”
Tiana said.

Aveline did not respond. She ate the
venison, unable to taste meat for the first time without wondering
how many innocent children she had inadvertently eaten.

“Did you go far?” Tiana asked her. “Did you
see anything wonderful?”

“The city needs to be burnt to the ground.
There’s nothing wonderful about it, anywhere, at all,” Aveline
snapped.

Tiana turned away from the window. “Are you
bleeding?”

Aveline glanced down. Some of the
apothecary’s blood had splattered her clothing.

“No,” she answered.

“Where is your sash?” Tiana asked, dismayed.
“Did someone take it from you?”

“No,” Aveline replied. “I traded my sash for
this.” She shifted to pull the dream catcher out of her pocket and
tossed it to Tiana. “It’s supposed to help with your
nightmares.”

“It is beyond beautiful!”

Aveline rolled her eyes at her ward’s too
chipper exclamation.

“How does it work?”

“When bad dreams come, they get stuck in the
web,” Aveline explained. “My father taught me about these. My
mother was a native, and my father did not want me to grow up
without understanding who she was. I slept with one of these above
my bed.”

“You never speak of your family.” Tiana sat
down before her. “Are your parents alive?”

“No.” Aveline bit off the word, hoping, for
once, the Hanover girl took a hint and stopped talking. Tiana, of
course, was oblivious to most social cues, since she rarely spoke
to anyone.

“I am sorry to hear that,” she said. “Was
your mother beautiful like you?”

Aveline’s eyebrows lifted. “Beautiful?”

Tiana nodded. Her gaze was on the ground.
“Your hair is so long and shiny, and your bones do not protrude
like mine. Your eyes are normal, the same color as the night. Your
face is shaped like a flower.”

“A flower?” Aveline’s agitation softened.
She felt her cheeks self-consciously. “My father said she was the
most beautiful woman in the city.”

“Then you do look like her.”

“You are some sort of mad,” Aveline said,
unable to stop her smile. “I am not beautiful. You are.”

“I am deformed.” Tiana frowned.

“You’re not deformed. If you had a mirror,
you would know this.”

“My father banned mirrors when I was
four.”

Aveline set her plate of food down and
reached to the armoire drawer where she kept her few belongings.
She pulled the assassin tool kit out and rummaged through it.
Assassins used light reflecting off mirrors to coordinate attacks
when more than one assassin had been hired for a job.

She retrieved the round mirror and pulled it
free from its leather case. It was the size of her palm, large
enough for Tiana to see her reflection.

Aveline handed it to Tiana, who took it
slowly. Her gaze was instantly riveted to the reflection, and the
Hanover girl stared, her breathing shallow and her body
tensing.

“You see?” Aveline asked.

Tiana did not answer.

Aveline returned the satchel to its drawer,
and her gaze fell to the envelope her father had entrusted to her,
which she dared not open. Her fingertips grazed it, and she
recalled too clearly how he had looked the last time she sat before
him. Shaking her head to clear the vision, she sat back down to
find Tiana had not moved an inch.

“Well?” Aveline prodded.

Tiana blinked. She was pale, and her eyes
filled with tears. “It is so much worse than I thought.” The words
were choked, and she lowered the mirror. “No wonder everyone who
lays eyes on me wishes me dead.”

“What? No, Tiana, your eyes are –”

“I should have been burnt at the stake!”
Tiana hopped to her feet and dashed to the closet.

Before Aveline could react, she heard the
closet door lock and the sound of Tiana sobbing.

Aveline retrieved the mirror and dream
catcher from the floor and released a long, controlled sigh.
Dealing with Tiana gave her a headache, not because Tiana was mad,
but because Aveline had to remind herself frequently to be gentle
towards the skittish girl. If she were dealing with anyone else,
she would drag her ward out of the closet and give her a stern
lecture about her childish behavior and how her tantrums would
hinder her survival in the world outside the city.

Replacing the mirror in her satchel, Aveline
went to the door and sat down. She rested her head back against the
wood and gazed at the ceiling. At a loss as to what to say, and
doubting the weeping Tiana would listen, Aveline slid the dream
catcher under the door. She listened for several minutes to hear if
Tiana was calming down.

“Tiana, you will never be strong enough to
leave the city if you cry about everything,” Aveline said in
frustration. “You have to toughen up, remember?”

Her words were met with heartfelt sobs.

Rolling her eyes, Aveline stood and went to
the table to finish her dinner.

Tiana did not come out for food or when
Aveline yelled through the door that she was going to bed. Aveline
turned out the lights and stretched out on the floor. The light
from the closet casted a golden glow around the edges of the door.
By the time Aveline drifted to sleep, Tiana had stopped crying
without leaving the closet.

I hope the dream catcher
works,
Aveline thought as she slid into
slumber.

“A night hunt?” Warner asked. “For what
purpose?”

Arthur declined to answer aloud, aware his
honorable friend would come to the dishonorable conclusion soon
enough. He tied an axe to the saddle of his horse, whose breath
rose in puffy clouds towards the dark sky. Arthur draped a blanket
over the horse’s rump to shield the gelding from the cold and then
double-checked his own overcoat. Winter was jabbing his skin with
an icy finger. It took a moment of searching before Arthur located
the button he had missed. He promptly sealed the tiny opening.

“Arthur,” Warner said with a sigh.

Hearing the realization in his voice, Arthur
gripped his lover’s forearm with his gloved hand. “Justice.”

“You mean vengeance.”

“I would not be my father’s son, if I let a
man like Marshall try to kill me without consequences.”

“No. You would be a better man than your
father.” Warner pulled his arm away and stepped back, anger in his
blue eyes.

Arthur debated trying to soothe his friend’s
feelings. Warner was a trained soldier from a good family, low
enough in standing not to be a threat to the Hanover’s. He did not
always understand how much more difficult it was to retain a
position at the top of the social hierarchy. Arthur admired his
friend’s unerring sense of honor and fairness, of right and wrong,
because he himself was often lost in the political intrigue
defining his position as the sole male heir to the Hanover
legacy.

“We both know I am not my father, because I
have your heart to guide my actions,” Arthur said softly. “And that
I must play the part of a true Hanover sometimes. If Marshall had
not called me out, I would not have to respond.”

Had Arthur any doubt about his plan, he
would have shed it when he considered any danger he was in, his
sister faced as well by becoming vulnerable should something happen
to him at the hands of Marshall’s family. His father would call the
events of this night a lesson, and Marshall’s family would
understand it as a warning, no matter how it was covered up.

Any attempt on the life of the Hanover
children had to be met with brutal retaliation. There could be no
mixed messages, no mercy, if Arthur was to preserve his family name
and assume his father’s place one day. What happened then, he had
not yet determined, except it would involve becoming the man Warner
believed him to be.

“You are so much better than this,” Warner
retorted stubbornly.

“I do not expect you to understand why I
must do this, Warner.”

“But you
will
do this?”

“Yes.”

Warner searched his features. “Then let me
accompany you. I am your sworn guardian, the greatest warrior the
Shield has produced in two generations, since my grandfather last
held the distinction.”

“No,” Arthur said with rare firmness. “If
anything goes wrong, I need you to protect my sister.”

“Marshall is taking three men with him.”

“And how many times have I defeated him
during mock battles? You train with me. I am second only to you in
skill. If you truly feared I could not handle him, you would be on
your horse, prepared to follow me to battle, not trying to convince
me to stay. You know what this is.” It would have been easy to
order Warner to stay, but Arthur cared too much for how his lover
felt, so he reiterated the truth both of them knew.

Warner stewed silently.

Arthur finished checking the gelding’s girth
and turned to face his unhappy friend. “If I do not return by dawn,
you know what you are to do.”

“Return to the city and your sister.”

“Good.”

“But I will search for you first.”

“No, Warner.” It was Arthur’s turn to sigh.
“You do not understand how vulnerable my sister can be. She knows
nothing of the world outside our home. If anything should happen to
me, it will only expedite the plans others may have for her demise.
Without any heirs, my father’s position will become unstable
quickly.”

“You ask me to rebel against my better
judgment.”

“If you care for me, you will do this.”

Warner blew out a breath of air. “You know I
do. You know I will always do as you ask as much as it displeases
me.”

“Thank you, Warner.”

Warner walked away. Arthur did not pursue
him. He trusted no one more than Warner to ensure Tiana was safe
and to protect her secret, if discovered. As angry as Warner was,
he would always do what was just and right.

Unlike me.
Arthur had been raised to survive the political
world his family inhabited where one’s standing was as fragile as
the ice on a pond on a warm spring day. One day, he might be able
to escape with Warner somewhere like the Free Lands. But in the
meantime, he had to play the role of his father’s heir.

Mounting his horse, Arthur guided it towards
the four men waiting for him at the edge of the clearing.

After leaving the city, the hunting party
had stuck to the forest as they headed northeast, skirting
unfriendly native villages and tracking their game as they rode.
The herds of buffalo whose tracks they trailed were less than a day
away. The first kill was always granted to the ranking member of
the hunting party, accompanied by a select few, and usually
occurred at dawn, before the official hunting began. Arthur’s
request for a night hunt held special meaning for the man he
requested to accompany him, who had reluctantly accepted, with the
understanding accompanying Arthur for the first kill was not the
honor it was made out to be.