The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams) (56 page)

Fabian frowned; his black gaze
searching her face before finally settling on her eyes, ‘No.  But I hate
the idea of you feeling forced into something you don’t want –’

‘You know I just want you. 
What could be more of an incentive?’ 

Fabian abruptly burst out
laughing.

‘What’s so funny?’  Mistral
demanded.

‘You.’  Fabian said, smiling
softly at her.  ‘Your gift would bring you money, power, all the trappings
of fame, yet you just want a worthless rogue like me.’

‘No.’  Mistral shook her
head.  ‘Not
like
you.  I want you.’

They had reached the tent. 
Grendel had gone and there was no sign of the twins.  Mistral glanced
quickly at the horse enclosure and saw their horses and Cirrus grazing with the
rest.  They had come back and tactfully gone inside the tent, no doubt to
mutter warning to Saul. 

While Fabian turned Spirit out
Mistral unstrapped her swords and dropped them on the ground.  She rolled
her shoulders, easing the ache from the day.  The fire had burned
low.  She kicked the embers to coax them back into life then threw another
log on.  Prospero wagged his tail appreciatively and dropped onto his
belly before collapsing over onto his side with a contented groan.  She
smiled at her dog then looked around for her saddlebag.  Phantasm had been
carrying it and she hoped he’d left it out for her.  She’d packed food for
the journey that she could offer Fabian.  He looked like he hadn’t eaten
since leaving to for France.  Her eyes fell on the tatty leather bag
resting by the closed entrance to the tent.  She walked quietly over and
bent to pick it up, the top was undone with the parcel of food placed carefully
on top to prevent it from becoming squashed.  Mistral smiled. 
Phantasm thought of everything. 

‘Will you tell me about the
Contract now?’  she asked Fabian when he returned from settling Spirit.

‘Of course.’ he dropped down
beside the fire and pulled her to sit between his knees.  ‘But it wasn’t
quite what I expected.’

‘He is dead isn’t he?’ 
Mistral asked quickly, tilting her head back to look up at him.

Fabian stared into the fire, his
expression almost disappointed, ‘Oh yes.  But he was dead before I even
arrived.’

Instead of being relieved at the
news that Fabian had been saved from fulfilling an assassination Contract,
Mistral felt only irritation that they had been separated for no reason at all.

‘Oh for crying out loud! 
Who killed him?  Did Golden get too energetic?’ 

‘No Mistral.  The Rochfortes
killed Putreo.  They still bore a long-standing grudge for his betrayal of
their name and he had outlived his usefulness.’  Fabian paused and
shrugged lightly.  ‘I suppose it was their justice to administer, however,
I’m sure you can appreciate that I didn’t take their word for the truth.’

Mistral frowned, not
understanding his meaning.  Her gaze was on his hands, the long pale
fingers curled protectively around hers.  She suddenly noticed half-moons
of dirt beneath each nail and gasped.

‘You dug him up?’ 

‘Yes.  I did.’ 

What was there to say in response
to that?  Nothing.  So Mistral fell silent, staring down at the hands
that held hers.  Fabian followed her gaze and held them up to inspect them
more closely.  The flickering firelight revealed more black dirt trapped
in the creases of his palms.  He gave a short laugh.

‘I suppose we should be grateful
that the Rochfortes don’t follow the tradition of burning their dead, or I may
be a little singed instead of just dirty.’

Mistral found herself laughing
with him, her black horror giving way to relief.  Putreo was finally out
of their lives for ever.  A frightening thought occurred to her, abruptly
stopping her laughter. 

‘Are you sure it as really
him?  Only he fooled me with all those illusions of you.  He could
have cast the same spell to trick you!’

‘Quite sure.  Illusions
don’t smell like two week old corpses.’  

Fabian let his hands fall back
into her lap.  Mistral immediately took hold of them, determined to show
him that she wasn’t deterred by what he’d done to secure their future.

‘And Golden?’ 

‘Now Etienne’s lover.  I’m
sorry Mistral, but she’s out of our reach, for now.’

Mistral scowled, ‘Damn!  She
moves fast!’ 

‘She has a strong sense of
self-preservation and no morals.  It’s a powerful combination.  We
may have to be patient.’  Fabian warned quietly.

‘I think I’m learning all about
patience don’t you?’  Mistral muttered.  ‘But her day will come, I
swear it!’

‘I don’t doubt it.  However,
I am more concerned with the immediate problem of Columbine.’

Mistral made an irritated noise and
reached for the parcel of food, ‘Don’t waste energy worrying about her! 
The next time we meet will be the last.’

‘Enough talk of retributions.’
 Fabian banded his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.  ‘Tell
me all about your resounding victory in the horse race.’

‘Oh, Cirrus was amazing!’ 
Mistral sighed happily and leaned back against him to relive the race. 
They talked, sharing the food and occasionally throwing some to Prospero when
his whining grew too loud to ignore.  With silken-voiced skills a Council
interrogator would have been proud to possess, Fabian teased from her the rest
of the festival’s events; her meeting with Imperato, the feast, Columbine’s
attack.  He questioned her endlessly on the twins’ conversation with the
elves, but Mistral’s recollections were hazy, prompting Fabian to make noises
about having a word with Samson about his failure to restrain her drinking
habits.  To avoid having another guard dog on her tail, Mistral quickly
distracted him with tales of Grendel’s unexpected success with the nymphs,
Xerxes’ jealousy and Hermes’ unwilling antics with the amazon.  He laughed
and so did she, all the time acutely aware of the one subject they were
steadfastly avoiding.

Saul. 

Mistral desperately wanted Fabian
to promise not to do something he might not regret, but she would.  She
didn’t want Saul, but she didn’t want to see him hurt, either by her lack of
feelings for him or by Fabian’s sword.  She truly feared for her brother’s
life, but she kept quiet, utterly unwilling to do anything to fracture her
moment of happiness.  Fabian was here.  Nothing else mattered. 
Feeling guilty and selfish, she curled up in his arms and listened to the sound
of his voice murmuring softly to her, justifying her denial.

The first pale fingers of dawn
were reaching across the eastern sky when Mistral eventually drifted into a
deep and dreamless sleep wrapped in Fabian’s arms.  She was still sound
asleep when the twins emerged from the tent, tousle-haired and blinking in the
bright morning sunlight.

‘Good morning Mage De Winter.’
 Phantasm greeted Fabian solicitously, as though his presence were
entirely normal.

‘Morning.’  Phantom added
with a yawn and looked down at Mistral, dead to the world, wrapped in Fabian’s
travelling cloak with Prospero stretched out beside her.    

Fabian nodded politely to them
both and returned his attention to sharpening his dagger. 

‘Are you going to let her sleep
through the morning’s event?’  Phantom asked, eyeing her dubiously. 
‘She’ll be furious.’

‘I would rather face Mistral’s
temper than watch her compete in an armed melee.’  Fabian replied tersely.

‘Fair point.’  Phantom
conceded with another yawn.  ‘I think it’s going to be pretty messy. 
It’s meant to be unbladed weapons only, but from what I’ve seen so far cheating
seems to be an accepted part of this tournament.’

‘Which is precisely why I would
appreciate you keeping your voice down and letting her sleep.’

‘Oh, right – sorry.  I’ll
ask the others to keep it down.’  Phantom disappeared back into the tent
leaving his brother alone with Fabian.

‘Mage De Winter.  I –’
Phantasm launched into what was obviously a prepared speech but was cut short
by a black stare from Fabian.

‘You have nothing to apologise
for.  Quite the opposite.  I am deeply grateful for your efforts to
protect Mistral.’

Phantasm frowned, ‘Well, we
weren’t entirely successful actually –’

‘I am fully aware of all the
recent events.’  Fabian snapped, returning his attention to his dagger.

Phantasm was silent for a moment. 
The sounds of urgently whispered conversations inside the tent were clearly
audible.

‘Saul –’ Phantasm began in a low
voice.

‘Is a lovesick fool.  But he
does not deserve to die for it.’  Fabian said shortly. 

Phantasm exhaled in relief.

‘However.’  Fabian
continued, looking at Phantasm with cold eyes.  ‘That was the last time he
propositions my wife.’

Phantasm nodded slowly, the
meaning in Fabian’s words were clear.  If Saul put a foot wrong again he
would die for it.

‘Now.  If you would be so
generous as to reprise your watch duties for a while longer, I will leave you
all to have breakfast.  There are a few people I need to see.’
 Fabian stood up and brushed his hands against his trousers.  He
glanced at his hands and frowned.  ‘And perhaps a wash wouldn’t go amiss.’

Phantasm watched his dark figure
striding along the avenue of tents, apparently oblivious to the hostile looks
he attracted from the few Arcanes already up and about. 

‘He’s gone.’  Phantasm called
softly once Fabian was safely out of sight. 

‘You sure?’  Phantom asked,
poking his head out of the tent flap.

‘Yes, but for pity’s sake keep it
down!  If you wake Mistral up she’ll want to compete and he’s not around
to stop her!’

Phantom scowled and ducked back
inside the tent to pass on the news.  They all quickly filed out, looking
around cautiously.

‘How angry was he?’  Cain
asked quietly.

‘He wasn’t too bad actually.’
 Phantasm shrugged then dropped his voice.  ‘But he did hint that
this was Saul’s last warning.’

‘He knows it.’  Cain glanced
over to where Saul was lacing his boots, his face white and drawn.

Phantasm frowned, ‘You know him
better than any of us Cain.  Tell me this is over between them now. 
Only I wouldn’t cross Mage De Winter again.  I’ve seen him kill a man for
less.’

Cain looked up, his blue eyes
guilty, ‘I blame myself.  We all had manticore potion before the race
yesterday.  I think it gave him foolish ideas.’

Phantasm shook his head sharply,
‘Manticore potion or not, she’s never going to be his!  What does he think
he’s risking his life for?’ 

‘Don’t ask me, she’s a
nightmare!’ 

Phantasm looked down at the
sleeping Mistral and hid a fond smile, ‘Yes, she can be … sometimes.’

‘So!’  Xerxes demanded in a
stage whisper, flourishing his tatty piece of parchment in the air. 
‘Who’s going to win this one then?’

The flatly chorused reply was
unanimous.

‘Grendel.’

‘Damn him!’  Xerxes
scratched his name down on the parchment then looked up with a frown. 
‘Where is he anyway?’ 

Brutus smirked, ‘Three guesses.’
 

Xerxes scowled darkly and bent
his head over the piece of parchment again.

‘It’s unbladed today.  What
weapons are you all taking?’  Cain asked conversationally while he
secreted the small pair of knives up his sleeves once again.

‘Officially?’  Brutus asked,
sliding a knife down the inside of his boot.

Cain looked up with a grin, ‘And
unofficially.’

‘Right, well, I thought escrima
sticks for the official weapons, with a dagger in each boot for the unofficial,
oh and I bought some knuckle dusters yesterday from this great stall.  I
thought I’d try them out too.’

‘Nice!’ said Cain, admiring the
brutal looking implements on Brutus’ hands.

‘How about you?’  Brutus
enquired.

‘Quarter staff.’  Cain
replied, twirling the short, heavy staff with one hand.  ‘And two daggers,
one on each wrist.  Oh, and I’ve got armour on under my shirt.’

‘Good idea!  Back in a
minute!’  Brutus vanished back into the tent, swiftly followed by his
brother.

‘Saul?’  Cain enquired
lightly.  ‘What are you taking?’

‘Me.’

Cain rolled his eyes, ‘It’s a
tournament brother, not a suicide mission.’

‘I have nothing to live for.’

‘I don’t believe I’m hearing
this!  What did you expect?  They’re
Bonded
Saul!  It’s not
like she even has a choice about how she feels!  And she certainly
couldn’t just switch all that weird joined-soul stuff to you simply because her
Mage wasn’t around!’

‘She’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

Cain stared at him in frank
disbelief, ‘Mistral?  Are you joking?’

‘No.’

‘Oh brother!  Please don’t
be so ridiculous!  Come with me to the nymph tent later and I’ll show you
something with a nice body and a smile to go with it!  You’ll get over
her!  Wait, let me re-phrase that.  You
have
to get over
her!  It’s only because you can’t have her that you want her so much!’

Saul shook his head stubbornly,
‘You don’t understand.’

‘No, I don’t think I do!’ 
Cain said angrily.  ‘Her Mage will
kill
you if you so much as look
at her the wrong way again!  Don’t waste your life over an obsession!’

Saul spun round, his usually
gentle gaze angry, ‘It’s not an obsession Cain!  From the moment I met her
I felt like I’d always known her.  I
know
she feels the same about
me –’

‘Don’t be stupid!’  Cain
hissed.  ‘What you feel is just the Ri brother-sister bond.  We all
feel it!  But we don’t proposition each other at every opportunity!’

Saul’s eyes flashed, ‘Don’t laugh
at me Cain!  I know he’ll let her down.  It’s Mage De Winter for
crying out loud!  Sometime he’ll get his comeuppance for all the lives
he’s taken and I’ll be there –’

‘And you think she’ll want to
begin some happy new life with you after she’s lost her Mage do you Saul? 
Then think again, because I’ve seen her when she’s been facing the prospect of
him dying and all she wanted to do was drink the contents of my potion
kit!  She doesn’t want you.  Just face the truth and get on with your
life.’

‘She is my life.’

‘Then get another one!’

Saul and Cain glared at each
other across the glowing embers of the camp fire.

‘Ready to go brothers?’ 

Xerxes strode out of the tent
buttoning up his shirt to hide the chest plate of his armour and looked from
Cain to Saul with an enquiring expression.

Saul broke eye contact with Cain
and nodded tersely, abruptly striding away down the avenue of tents towards the
arena.

‘Right, whatever strategies you
had in place are now null and void.’  Xerxes said quietly, watching Saul
stalking away.  ‘We protect our brother – agreed?’

‘Agreed.’  Cain threw a
brief glance in the twins’ direction before hurrying after Saul.

‘Ready brother?’  Xerxes
asked when Brutus appeared from the tent, tugging his trouser leg down to hide
the hilt of his dagger.

‘Born ready!’  he grinned
and slapped Xerxes on the back.

Xerxes waited until Brutus had
moved out of earshot before turning to the twins, ‘You will protect Saul? 
In any way you can?’

Phantom and Phantasm nodded as
one, ‘We will.’

Xerxes’ voice dropped to a hard
whisper, ‘Never repeat this conversation!  What I’m asking you to do would
get the Ri disqualified from the festival!  There’s cheating, then there’s
a step beyond.  And using your gift is definitely that.’  

‘Our lips are sealed.’
 Phantasm murmured.

Xerxes continued to hold his gaze
then left, striding quickly after his brother.

The twins glanced down at the
sleeping Mistral and then at each other, sharing a resigned look.

‘Asleep, and still causing
trouble.’  Phantom muttered incredulously.

Phantasm sighed, ‘It’s a gift.’
 

They busied themselves with preparing
breakfast while Mistral slept on, talking quietly between themselves until
Fabian returned.

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly and
gazed at them expressionlessly until the twins realised they were being
dismissed.

‘Charming!’  Phantom
grumbled under his breath while they walked along the avenue of tents.

‘Come on brother, would you
really want to be around when Mistral wakes up and realises that she’s missed
the melee event?’

Phantom pursed his lips
thoughtfully, ‘Not within striking range, but I’d like to hear some of the
names she calls her Mage for letting her sleep through it.’

Phantasm smiled grimly, ‘I’m sure
the air will be blue.  However, as Xerxes pointed out, our gift is
required to prevent Saul from martyring himself in the cause of unrequited love
this morning.’

‘Another Mistral related crisis
to deal with.  How refreshing.’ 

Fabian watched the twins hurry
away.  When they were gone from sight he turned to look down at
Mistral.  She was still deeply asleep, her dark hair fanned out on the saddlebag
she was using as a pillow.  He knelt and gently stroked a finger down her
cheek.  She sighed and stirred, the slightest touch from him waking her
more easily than any of the morning’s noise.

‘Good morning.’  Fabian
smiled at her sleepy expression.

‘Oh!  You are here!  I
didn’t dream it after all!’  she smiled happily and stretched. 
Pushing his heavy cloak off she sat up and yawned, then looked around with a
puzzled expression.  ‘Where is everyone?’

Fabian sat down beside her and
passed her a plate of cold meat.  Taking a piece for himself he chewed on
it thoughtfully before answering.

‘Not here.’

‘I can see that.’  Mistral
frowned, ignoring the food in front of her.  ‘Where are my brothers
Fabian?’

‘The melee,’ he said simply,
avoiding her gaze and tossing a piece of cold rabbit to Prospero.

‘Oh, of course.’  Mistral
picked up a piece of meat.  ‘I’d forgotten that was this morning.’

Fabian glanced at her, ‘Don’t you
want to compete?’

‘Not in the mood.’  Mistral
shrugged then gave him a long look from under her eyelashes.  ‘I’d rather
spend the time with you.’

‘Good.’  Fabian smiled, his
eyes roving over her sleep dishevelled hair and crumpled shirt.  ‘But I
think you should change before our first appointment of the day.’

‘Sorry.  Have I missed something
here?’  Mistral frowned sharply.  ‘Only I already have a full
schedule of fun weapons-related stuff, not dull sounding “appointments”!’

‘Imperato is not dull Mistral.’
 Fabian reproached, reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair off her
face.

‘Imperato?’  Mistral echoed
flatly.  ‘You’ve arranged for me to meet Imperato?  You come back in
the middle of the night and re-organise me without even asking?’ 

‘Yes.’  Fabian smiled when
her eyes widened in fury. 

‘You –’

He quickly bent his head and kissed
her, silencing the angry tirade before it began.  

‘One day you will no longer have
that effect on me, and I will stay angry with you for longer than five
seconds.’  Mistral warned, somewhat breathlessly.

May that day be a long time
coming.’  Fabian murmured, tracing the blush that had flared in her
cheeks.   

After breakfast and a change of
clothes, Mistral and Fabian left the tent and walked hand-in-hand along the
avenue.  It was eerily deserted.  Everyone was down by the Arena,
either competing or supporting their champions, their joined voices a distant
roar.  By the time they reached the crowded arena their shouted
encouragements had grown to become a deafening cacophony.  Mistral glanced
wistfully at the Arena while Fabian pulled her past.  She could just make
out Grendel’s distinctive bulk in the middle of the broiling mass of fighting
bodies.  He seemed to be struggling with a swarm of goblins armed with
what looked like a large net.

‘Looks like a good event.’  Mistral
sighed, resisting Fabian’s iron grip on her hand to stop and watch. 

‘Hmm.’  Fabian didn’t look
over and moved her on with a sharp tug.  ‘However, I feel it would be rude
to keep Imperato waiting.’

Mistral tossed her head, pulling
back again, ‘Time is irrelevant to centaurs Fabian!  Imperato told you
that himself.  You just don’t want me competing in the event!’