The Elder Blood Chronicles Bk 1 In Shades of Grey (29 page)

The figure wore a long dark grey cloak with
its hood pulled forward shrouding his face from sight. If it was a
he, Shade reasoned. The figure’s posture was bent slightly over the
table with elbows resting to either side. They held a battered mug
in one hand, and he watched as the figure took a drink. From the
way the cloak draped, and the gloved hands, he could see nothing to
give him an indication of who was waiting on him.

“If you like we can talk across this
distance, Shade, but I’d prefer a quieter word. I’m afraid I’ll
have to kill the woman if she overhears too much,” a familiar voice
called to him. Though loud enough to be heard across the room, the
speaker had a knack for making every word seem a whisper. His voice
was soft as silk and cold as ice. It was a voice one didn’t forget,
partly from the tones of it, but mostly because it belonged to
Hemlock, the leader of Sanctuary’s Assassins guild.

Shade moved quietly to the table. He had
relaxed a bit when he heard the voice. It wasn’t that Hemlock was a
friend, or that he trusted the man. It was the simple fact if
Hemlock had a contract to kill him, Shade would never have known he
was there. He took a seat opposite Hemlock and raised an eyebrow at
the man. No one should have known him in this form. His hair was
different, he appeared older, he had scars, and more importantly,
he looked mortal and showed no trace of Elder Blood. The fact that
Hemlock had known him did not surprise him at all, though. A man
like Hemlock had to know everything or he didn’t last long. “So,
what is it you wish to speak of, Hemlock?” Shade asked, his voice
soft.

“Your new kitten, actually,” Hemlock replied
in his cold dead voice. He sat the mug down between them and pushed
it slightly toward Shade. “Beer?” He offered.

Shade eyed the glass for a bare second before
shaking his head in refusal. It was rumored Hemlock added his
namesake to everything he drank or ate. As far as Shade was
concerned, that could remain a rumor. He had no desire to seek the
truth of it.

Hemlock gave a mirthless chuckle and pulled
the mug back over to rest in front of him. “Suit yourself,” he said
quietly.

“Why do you wish to know about Jala?” Shade
asked. He tried to keep the concern out of his voice. It would
never do to have a man like Hemlock knowing how much the girl meant
to him. He had barely known her three months. If he played his
cards right, it would be reasonable for others to accept she meant
little to him.

“Because others want her dead and I want to
know what I’m killing before I kill it,” Hemlock answered in a tone
that suggested he might have been commenting on the price of
salt.

Shade kept his face a blank mask. “That would
inconvenience me, Hemlock, because she is under the protection of
my house, and to have her die in my care would look quite bad on my
part,” he returned, his voice equally uncaring. There were times
when he thought lying was the best honed skill of all of the High
Lords. His acting right now was proving that thought quite
accurately.

“You really are quite good,” Hemlock said
after a moment. “Your eyes don’t dilate, you don’t sweat. You are a
very good liar, Shade. I dare say it would upset you a great deal,
no matter how uncaring you act.”

Shade leaned back in his seat and lit a
cigarette. He took a long drag to buy himself time to think. He had
never heard any rumors about Hemlock having mind magics, but then
one never knew. And the assassin’s words echoed too closely to what
he had been thinking for him to feel comfortable. He blew the smoke
out slowly and watched it curl toward the ceiling. “She is a Temple
orphan, Hemlock, and her parents were farmers. The only reason
anyone would want her dead would be to hurt me,” he answered
finally. “In truth, I’d rather you take the contract on me. She is
innocent, and you and I both know how rare that particular trait
is.”

“See, there is the problem with a good liar,
I’ll just have to guess on whether you are telling the truth or
not.” There was a faint hint of amusement in the Assassin’s
voice.

“You don’t have to guess, you know I am,”
Shade returned calmly. He took another drag on his cigarette and
signaled Sadie to bring him a beer. The woman gave a hesitant nod
obviously not wanting to approach the table. Shade looked back at
Hemlock. “I know you won’t tell me who has asked for her death, but
if you will tell me the price I’ll double it to keep you from
taking the contract.” It was a slim hope and he knew it. Men like
Hemlock didn’t thrive for being sentimental. Of course, it was also
rare for them arrange such meetings.

“Do you know how many times I’ve been offered
contracts on you, Shade?” Hemlock asked, once Sadie had set the
beer down on the table and hurried away. He watched her go as he
spoke and slowly turned back toward Shade for the answer.

“I’ve no idea. I can’t imagine I’d be sitting
here if it were many,” Shade replied. He raised the mug and took a
long drink of the dark bitter brew, and continued to pretend he was
at ease. He’d only met Hemlock on a couple of occasions - once on a
darkened roof chance meet, another time at a card game. He had
never gotten a good look at the man, for Hemlock always seemed to
be swathed from head to toe in cloaks the color of shadows. Both
times had left him unsettled, and this time was proving no
different. There were few men alive that had the same presence as
Hemlock. You couldn’t disregard this man, no matter what station
you held.

“Twenty-three,” Hemlock said. He ran a gloved
finger down the handle of his beer mug while Shade sat reeling from
the figure. After a long moment’s silence, he leaned back. “Now,
ask me why I’ve never taken the contracts.”

Shade let out a breath he hadn’t realized he
had been holding and flicked the ash of his cigarette onto the
floor. “Well, that is a question I’d like answered, for I’m rather
curious. Apparently I’m doing something right, and I’d like to know
what to continue doing.” His voice did have a bit of a tremor in it
now despite his efforts to control it.

“You are not a typical High Lord. I’ve seen
what you do for the people of Sanctuary. You actually care about
the commons,” Hemlock answered, his voice not quite as cold as
normal.

“I actually prefer them,” Shade admitted. It
was the honest truth, he realized. It was easier to find simple
happiness on these excursions as Chris. He found it hard to
believe, however, that the leader of the Assassin’s guild had any
true compassion for the commons. “I’d rather have an old worn woman
speak truth to me, than have a beautiful young High Lady lie in my
face. These people are real while the High Lords are all actors.
They never say what they mean, and they are always waiting for an
opportunity to stab you in the back.” He regretted his choice of
words the moment they left his mouth. No doubt Hemlock was fond of
stabbing people in the back, if he took offense though he gave no
sign.

“You don’t belong with them, nor do you
belong in the Academy, for you have a way about the Shadows. Join
the guild and I’ll see that you learn what you need to know,”
Hemlock said.

Shade sat silent, repeating the words in his
mind. He had never thought of himself as an Assassin, but an offer
like that from this man couldn’t simply be thrown off. Hemlock was
arguably one of the most powerful men in the world, despite his
lack of a House. He took another sip of his beer.
To never be
Christian Morcaillo again
. The thought was sweeter than he had
ever imagined it could be. He looked back up to find Hemlock
watching him, and wished, for what seemed to be the hundredth time
that night he could see his face, for you could tell so much from a
man’s eyes.

“I’ll let you think on it Shade. Such a
decision should not be done lightly,” Hemlock said as he rose
smoothly from the table.

“Wait, what about Jala?” Shade asked
hurriedly before the man could move a single step.

“You will know soon enough on that. If she
isn’t dead in a week, I didn’t take the contract,” Hemlock replied
and turned without another word for the door. Shade watched him go
and took another sip from his beer. If he joined the guild, he
could possibly stop Hemlock from moving against Jala. He stared
down at his beer and began to weigh seriously the options, for this
was a choice that required heavy thought.

She stood on a black, wasted field. Ashes
swirled around her feet. She turned slowly, looking around her. As
far as she could see, the landscape was ruined and the sky was dark
with storm clouds. Lightning flashed above her. The thunder that
followed seemed to shake the entire earth.

“
Find me. Why won’t you find me?”
A
voice called in whispery tones, repeating the phrase over and over
again. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. One
time it was her father’s voice, the next Father Belson’s, once it
had even sounded vaguely like Shade.

“
Find me
,” it demanded.
“I came
when you called, but you were not here
,” it hissed as if right
behind her.

She whirled, stirring ash with her feet. The
air behind her was empty, as she had known it would be. Her heart
raced and the panic rising in her chest was making her skittish.
She knew this waste, once there had been a Jimpa tree here right
beside a small brook. To her north was a hill where her father had
died trying to reach her. Perhaps those I should have died with are
haunting me, Jala reasoned.

“
FIND ME!”
the voice bellowed, its
tone no longer familiar. The air around her swirled with sudden
wind, and she could feel the desperation and fury of the voice
filling it.
“I came to you, and you hide from me,”
the voice
growled, its words barely comprehensible.

The air moved to her left then back behind
her. She shifted her feet, unsure of where to go. She felt stalked
and pressed from all sides like a doe among a pack of wolves. “I
don’t know you,” she whispered. She could feel eyes upon her, but
she couldn’t tell where from.

“
You must. You called me,”
the voice
replied, now seeming to come from her right.
“NOW FIND ME!”
It roared a last time as something large broke from the darkness
coming right at her.

“I don’t know where you are!” she called
desperately as she scrambled up from her tangled blankets. She
crouched there breathing heavily with her brow covered with a
slight film of sweat.

“I’m here, my love,” Madren’s voice whispered
from nearby. He stood then and started to move toward her, yet she
could barely make out his form in the darkness of her room.

“What are you doing in my bloody rooms?” She
demanded, and fell back off the other side of her bed. She stood
quickly and smoothed her nightgown before fumbling on a robe.

“I was watching you sleep,” Madren answered
as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “And I drew you.
You look like an angel when you sleep,” he added proudly and held
up a small drawing book for her to see.

With a snarl, she crossed the room and
snatched the book from his hands. She looked down at it and felt
her anger surge again. “Why am I naked?” she demanded, her eyes
still locked on his drawing.

“I used my imagination for that part,” he
replied meekly before looking up at her hopefully. “Is it close to
accurate?” he asked.

She threw the book down onto the side table
and glared at him. “I do not have a tattoo, and if I did, it would
not be your name,” she growled and pushed past him angrily. She had
been dealing with Madren’s affections since the day she had
arrived, but enough was enough. This could not be ignored. She knew
she had locked her door, yet he had broken in and been watching her
sleep. She shivered slightly and realized he was following her.
“You stay right here, do not follow me,” she commanded in a voice
that would brook no argument. He stopped in his tracks at her
words, and to her annoyance seemed happy. She moved into the hall,
her fury propelling her feet to a pace that was scarcely dignified.
She didn’t even knock as she pushed her way into Shade’s room.

“I’ve had it!” she began as she stepped into
the room, and then realized abruptly it was empty. Her mouth closed
and she looked around the room in surprise. Perhaps it wasn’t as
late, and he was still in the sitting room with the others, she
thought to herself as she moved back into the hall and closed the
door softly behind her. She heard noises coming from Leah’s room
then, a soft thumping noise followed by muffled moans. Her face
reddened as she realized what she was hearing and her jaw dropped a
bit. She flicked her gaze back to Shade’s empty room and tried not
to draw conclusions.

With a heavy swallow, she moved to Lex’s
room, her shock quickly giving way to anger once more. She pushed
the heavy door open and stormed inside. Lex sprang up at the
intrusion, and his sword was halfway from its scabbard before he
realized who was in his room. She wasn’t looking at his sword
though. He stood half naked in just silk pants, and her eyes were
locked on his left arm, where several tattoos twined around his
wrist, just as her father’s had. Lex followed her gaze to his arm
and then looked back at her forcing her eyes to meet his. His
expression was controlled, but she could see caution in his gold
eyes even from across the room.

“May I ask why you stormed in here?” He spoke
quietly.

“It’s Madren. Shade and Leah are apparently
occupied tonight, and someone has to do something about him because
he was watching me sleep.” The anger was no longer in her voice and
she was having trouble keeping her eyes from the tattoos.

Lex nodded and pulled on his shirt with a
sigh. “He’s an idiot,” he muttered as he leaned his sword back
against the wall by his bed and moved past her. She followed him
silently with the desire to ask him if he knew Havoc or Victory,
but biting her tongue. Better to ask him another time and let him
just deal with Madren for now.