CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE ASSASSIN
There can be no second chances.
And yet I had let one slip past me.
I threw my saddlebag against the wall. My loftmate had taken the mattress in the opposite corner. At least the space was ample. He was raising my hackles already, a country clod who, with two drinks, had foolishly set his sights on a princess. I knew the type. A mistake to befriend him, but regardless, there were no more rooms in the inn, so I likely would have ended up sharing the loft with him anyway.
The accommodations were sparse. Only a roof over our heads, and thin bare mattresses we had to hoist up from a storage room ourselves, but at least the barn didn’t stink—yet. I had to concede too that the food at the inn was a far better option than a bony squirrel roasted on a stick over an open fire, and I was tired of filling my bota from gritty streams.
I hope dark ciders are to your liking.
They were. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t her. I rubbed my ribs beneath my shirt, remembering the numerous beatings, years past now, but each lash still fresh in my mind. The royals I had known were made of cowardice and greed, and she showed no measure of either. She stood her ground with that soldier, defending her friend like a whole army stood behind her. She was frightened. I saw the mugs tremble in her hand, but her fear didn’t hold her back.
Still, a royal was a royal, and her haughty arrogance proved her roots. I’d remember that when her time came, but there was no reason I couldn’t enjoy the comforts of the inn and other pleasures as well for a few more days before I finished my business. There was plenty of time for that. Griz and the others wouldn’t be joining up with me for another month. I didn’t have to spend it alone in a wasteland eating rodents when I could stay here. I’d get the job done when the time was right. The Komizar had always been able to count on me, and this time would be no different.
I pulled off my boots and blew out the lantern, sliding my knife just below the mattress edge at hand’s reach. How many times had I slashed it across anonymous throats? But this time I knew the name of my victim, at least the assumed one she was using. Lia. A very unroyal name. I wondered why she chose it.
Lia. Like a whisper on the wind.