He darted down the hall toward his consort’s chamber. Two knights of Naldira’s branch stood outside. He batted away the blade’s shadows, sheathed it, and approached, his breath heavy.
“Check inside,” he ordered.
Xotar, the elder of the two, knocked softly and Noula, Ryldia’s servant, appeared.
“Is the matron safe?” Xotar asked.
“Yes, she is resting,” Noula answered, her face shifting to concern.
“Don’t worry,” Taul said, “but let our knights know the least concern you have.”
She nodded and closed the door. The bolts slid into place.
Taul glanced at the alarm glyphs. Balniss had set them, but how strong they were, or what they did, was always a mystery. A strong enough mind could get past them. His brother’s power would have to do, though.
His head ached as he walked the halls, unable to rest himself.
A shadow warbled at the end of the hall, and he unsheathed the blade again. Darkness rose around him as his heart thumped in terror. Terror not for himself, but for his duty. For his love. He dashed toward the intruder and slowed as he reached the bend in the curving hall. He held the dagger blade to his chest, as if to salute the goddess. The shell trembled and darkened, struggling to siphon zaeress from his body.
He inched around the inside of the curve, pressed to the wall. The other side of the hall was empty. His nerves settled again. Through the window slits, guards walked the perimeter, and stood watch on the estate walls. He was being foolish. If anyone saw him so terrified, they’d laugh. He stilled himself so the shell died down. To be in fear was a sure way to die, the master of Isilmyr had said to his cohort one day, before Maunyn’s time as master. The goddess can’t help the fearful for long. That is why Mornae killed quickly and with all their strength. Do not allow time for fear, for doubt. It will sap you of what strength you have.
His limbs were sluggish and longed for the orchard, for the warmth of its dark embrace. He entered his chamber and glanced at the bed. He should rest.
“You have nice moves on you,” a voice said from behind. “For a merchant.”
Taul turned to the corner behind him. He’d not bothered to check.
“Ah, ah,” the intruder said. “Stay put or you’ll force me to gut you. And I haven’t come for that.”
Taul held his hands away from his body, fingers open.
“Good, that’s good,” the intruder said. “You’re a smart one.”
“You’re quite skilled yourself, for an assassin,” Taul said through gritted teeth. “Ren, is it?”
“Ah, did you really say that?” Ren asked, poking Taul’s back with a dagger. “I’m just trying to make a living. How’d you learn my name? Seems we both know a little too much about each other.”
“Perhaps it’s fate,” Taul said, his eyes stinging. The shell didn’t rise, only a shadowy itch across his skin. The last defense of a Mornae, the heritage of even the least of them. Sufficient for a nomad’s weapon, for the first strike at least.
Ren chuckled. “Funny you say that. Fate’s been unkind to me lately.”
“And to Deedra Lor’Briznil as well,” Taul said.
Ren jabbed him again. Taul winced at the sting.
“Why do you have to say it that way?” Ren asked.
“I should slay you here and now!”
“You can try, milord.”
Nervous sweat trickled down Taul’s temples and his skin stung. At any moment, this assassin would tire of him and pierce his back. The tip had already settled between two ribs. This rogue knew his business.
Ren sighed. “It was an accident. I never meant to do that. I thought it was you. Didn’t think I saw you sneaking about?”
Taul bowed his head.
“Ah, I see you feel guilty for her, too,” Ren said. “Good, because you share at least half the blame.”
Taul scowled and turned his head to spew a curse at Ren’s face. The knife slid across the back of his tunic, cutting through the cloth.
“Stay put, milord,” Ren said.
“I’m no lord, and you know it.”
“Who is then? Not me, surely.”
“Your master?”
“Ah, there you go again,” Ren complained, “making this harder and harder.”
“If you’re here to kill me, why draw it out? Just leave the Naukvyrae symbol and be done with it.”
“What do they have to do with anything?” Ren asked.
His voice was strained now. Taul had to be careful.
“They know about you,” he said.
