Chương 17: Chapter 18: Contract

Korrien will never cease to amaze me. It's nestled back into the cliff face, closer to the ocean from where our Enclave is hidden. Many of the official buildings jut up to the stone of the mountain, carving rooms out inside of them. Imposing. They tower over the city, lending a backdrop to the rest of the buildings. A stately testament to the capital city of Arralesh. The streets are paved in cobbled stones that paint spiral patterns everywhere people walk.

Even the trash and wastewater are washed away into the catacombs below. I'll never forget the one field trip we took as Novices into the belly of the city. There are tall intricate spires, majestic and powerful, that throw shadows in the moonlight. These dwellings are for the Courts, for the ruling families, for the governing body of all of Arralesh. Every state sends their representatives. Every Order a chosen Prefect or Adept. They congregate, pass judgement, and rule.

Lamps in the city are lit with one of the remnants of the magical age. I can hear its humming in my head with a different tune to the earthen one I'm so used to. The buildings are hundreds of years old, molded out of stone in ages gone past. I want to know if that was magic too. As the architecture moves out into the city itself, the stone constructions dwarf the smaller houses. Two and three stories high, they scatter uniformly out from the back governing center of the city.

Inns and taverns, tailor and tanner shops, blacksmiths and engineers. Then there are the market stalls. There are bards, and musical instruments for sale, restaurants piggybacking off small food carts. The smells that assail my senses trigger my saliva glands. All I want to do is sit and eat something that can make me feel the way it smells. Maybe one day in the future, when I've finally settled my affairs, I can come here and enjoy this for what it is. Without ulterior motives.

Korrien is one of three port cities, although it doesn't involve itself in as much trade as Sorrishen and Larriath. Here, the docks are beneath the city, with massive sets of stairs carved into rock that allow us to reach the docking level. This whole time, I've kept my magic channel open. It allows me to be hyper-aware of my surroundings, to notice things I might otherwise not. The more I use it, the stronger I get. Except stronger still isn't strong enough. It helps me navigate the city.

To know how and when to avoid contact. Coming in the long way lends me a presence of having been here, of something that isn't new or out of place. Court structure is complex. Technically, one has to be born into it. Which is ludicrous, in my opinion. How would you know you'd be any good at it? But that's why it's only a technicality. Those with enough sway, enough pull, they can join the aristocracy that is the Courts. Money can buy titles, as can bribery.

Land and station are but a pittance for those with enough drive and few scruples to achieve what they want. Give me two dozen more contracts, and I could probably buy myself a small title. Not that I want one. But then there are those people who step on too many toes on their way up the ladder. They climb and they claw; they damage others in the process and forget where they come from. Never ideal. If you're not going to kill the people in your way, caution is important.

Which brings me to where I'm slinking through shadows as I make my way toward the city hall in the back center of Korrien. There is a meeting tonight. My target is one of the presenters. A Sir Jeshia. I don't think people are buying what he's selling anymore. The streets aren't as full as I'd expected. It's easier than usual to weave in and out of people, to go unseen. Spreading my awareness out is a conscious decision now.

Tapping into the ground beneath me, the air around me, anything that can feed me information. It makes me wonder if stones retain memories. Could I hear something from the past? In the dim light, I know each step I'm taking, three steps in advance. The lighting around the plaza in front of the town hall is brighter than expected. There's a fountain in front of it depicting a crowd listening to one man on a pedestal. It's a beautiful piece of artwork.

The water sparkles in the magic lights, appearing like gold and silver run through it. I circumnavigate the property and leverage myself up the side of the town hall. Right at the back where the structure begins to blend into the rock of the cliff face, there's a deeply shadowed corner. Perfect. It's more difficult to climb the stone, but my energies allow me to climb confidently by coaxing the stone into aiding my footholds. At least I think it does. The climb feels more secure. Maybe that's in my mind.

First rule of climbing: don't look down. It takes several seconds once I'm high up on the roof that butts up to the rock. Pushed back against the mountain is the entrance, the seams almost indiscernible. If I didn't know what I was looking for, I'd never find it. The fine crack looks like stone but allows me to leverage a small side panel that leads through to the underside of the eaves. I'm lucky I'm flexible. Folding my tall body into tight spaces can sometimes be hard.

This one is a squeeze, and I can't help thinking Minx or Farin would have been the better pick for this task. This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Once up and inside, I make my way delicately through the rafters. I've never seen the roof of a building made quite like this one. The wood and stone sing under my hands as I move, even through the gloves I'm wearing. Their eagerness takes me by surprise.

Since my use of these abilities, I can't shut off the noise I hear. It's all around me. Tuning it out is difficult. But I have to at least direct the noise to helping me complete my task. Use the tools at my disposal. And magic is a magnificent tool. I have to find the meeting hall. Placing my hand against the stone of the wall, I search. I'm still clumsy with the way I interact, but I know, since finding out Aarron and Farin are related, that this is my best option.

The map sketch they included in the contract information is rudimentary at best. I shouldn't have relied on it so completely. My mistake. Luckily, I have other skills. And I bend my concentration to seeking out the answers I need. The sounds I'm seeking filter through to me.

"... food went right through me…"

"... sick of these meetings…"

"... do you really think the Blood Sect…" I pause, not having found what I wanted yet intrigued all the same. Someone in here knows of the Blood Sect? From those golems we encountered to our ambushers, it might be time to stop being subtle about information gathering.

"... I hope Jeshia isn't as long winded as usual…" The last sounds gruff, perfect to follow. Even if the Blood Sect one is where I want to go. I store that away for later. There won't be a chance to pursue it tonight. Inching my way along, I take the high route through the massive town hall building. Offices, meeting rooms, map rooms, bathrooms… who knew so much of this was necessary to run a city? Focusing on that one voice, I hear it grow louder as I get closer.

Finally, I pinpoint the meeting room and lower myself down to the first landing. I'm grateful for my upper body strength. It's easier to be seen here, but they've kept the lights dim in the areas they're not using. Touching the outer wall to get a feel for the layout via the materials in the building, I realize I'm closer to my target than I thought. And I'm early. This particular contract requires the death to happen at a precise moment. Damn signees can be so pedantic.

About to lift my hand from the wall and follow the shadows down to my target, I hear a voice I didn't expect.

"... everything going according to plan?" Aarron's voice was the last I expected here. Although, if it's an important meeting, I can see that the Prefects and Order heads would be here. Even those of Nightshade and Bryony. Still…

"It should be," says the person I don't know. Aarron's sigh reverberates through the walls.

"Just keep the Blood Sect out of my territory in the future."

"It wasn't intentional." Now that voice sounds flustered, and my curiosity is doing backflips.

"Don't mess this up." Aarron is practically growling now. The connection breaks. I assume they move. Now I'm left with ten thousand more questions as I make my way down to the meeting hall. Who was Aarron speaking to and what do they know about the Blood Sect? My Prefect obviously knows more than he's shared with me. Why hasn't he told us or answered questions? Is it because I'm still an Initiate? My pride bristles. I push the plethora of questions aside. It's something I'll have to unpack later.

There isn't time for it right now. The meeting hall is a massive room with a high ceiling that takes up two whole stories and is visible from a balcony on the second. An indoor balcony that wraps around the outskirts of the entire room. Up here, it's shadowed, and I can see roaring flames in the huge fireplace off to my left, as well as tables with six to eight people around each of them. I spy Aarron in the back corner with a group of people and wish I had the time to eavesdrop. Had I known he'd be here…

A man I don't know gets up on the podium placed in front of the fireplace. Talk about a hotspot. He's not much taller than me, if I had to guess, has white hair and a frailty about his frame. His thick glasses make his eyes look rounder than they are, and he fiddles with the papers in his hands nervously as he clears his throat.

"We're all here tonight to continue the discussion about trade outside side of Arralesh's borders." There's a grumbling through the room, and I hunker back in my shadows, safe in my knowledge that I'm hidden from their eyes. Maybe this will even be interesting or enlightening. I pull out my pipe, preloaded back at the Enclave, and hold it gently, biding my time. Waiting for my cue.

"While the Court acknowledges that we're still dealing with the pros and cons such a trade contract offers, we're asking for speakers on either side to step up. Once we've heard from each side, the issue will be put to a vote." The man shuffles his papers, and I can see the sweat beading his brow. He must not deal well with ordering assassinations.

"Our first speaker against this trade deal is Sir Jeshia." The speaker steps back to the table closest to the podium, clapping his hands. I'm surprised that Sir Jeshia is a few inches shorter than me. He's got bright red hair and seems fairly young, as I can't glimpse any grey in it yet. Underneath that suit, he's obviously lean, and there's a flare of eagerness about him. A flash of evidence that he cares about this continent and its people.

He's too far away for me to interpret through the meager magic skills I've managed to hone. I wish I could see what he feels like. My stomach twists. I don't think this kill will let me rest well. But reneging on this contract isn't an option. Jeshia has notes in his hands and taps them on the lectern.

"Thanks, Ryan," he says softly as the former speaker hands off his position. Ryan looks up into the balcony as he leaves, sweat running down his forehead now. He doesn't see me; I've made sure of that. I focus on my target, raising my black pipe to my lips as I wait for the trigger words. It makes me wonder who got their hands on his speech so far ahead of time. Just why do they want him dead? That's such a precarious question for an assassin. His next words pull my attention where it should be.

"... the Blood Sect is real. It is here. And the more we deny it, the worse off we'll be. We cannot dive into trade relations with Diontiék while we still have to clean our own house." It feels like time has slowed. I have to physically stop myself from jumping over the railing and grabbing him by the shirt to ask what he knows about the Blood Sect. To ask the whole room why only a few of them reacted.

But despite wanting to know more about what he's saying, despite wishing I could pull him aside, I have a contract.

"… It is a disservice to all of us…" Just as he utters disservice, I let the dart fly, catching him just under the ear. Perfectly timed. Just like the customer ordered. He staggers for a moment, the shock of being shot hitting his system almost instantly. He clasps a hand over where the dart impacted his neck, but it's too late; the glass is already powder. His hands grip the lectern so hard his knuckles turn white. And that's when the secondary poison effect starts kicking in.

The veins running up the front his neck and down to his arms becomes so dark it looks like someone has painted lines on him. Disbelief is the only emotion running through his eyes right now. But in two seconds that'll change to pain, to agony. Soon he will thrash and wail. Bubble and bloat. The audience has noticed something is wrong, which is my cue to leave as the stillness below me is canceled out. I need to go back the way I came and escape as soon as I can.

The scream that echoes from the floor of the meeting room shoots straight through my heart.

"Jeshia, no!" It's a woman, and she's sobbing. I can't look back; I have to keep going. Footsteps thunder through the building, but I feel them through my connection more than I hear them directly.

"Lock it down! No one leaves!" My chest tightens and I push the wave of panic away. There's not time for that right now. I have to get out of here.