Chương 4: 3. Assassin

Tavian pushed open the door to his chambers. They weren't anything special, just an antechamber for receiving visitors, a bedroom, a washroom, and a closet. But they were his, and after so long away from home, he was happy to see them again. He passed through to his bed chamber and flopped down on his bed, sighing contentedly. He'd stayed at the party late into the night, outlasting most of the nobles. Ilara had not come back, and Lord Anarvia had seemed flustered all evening.

Only Anax had seemed unbothered, preening, strutting, and generally making a nuisance of himself. They were going to have to figure out a better hiding place for the kingdom core. Master Jarden was going to come looking for it in the morning. It wouldn't be hard to find, standing in Calli's closet. But, as Calli was fond of saying: that was a tomorrow problem. Today, the only remaining problem for Tavian was whether to change out of his clothes before going to sleep.

Unfortunately, the stiff, somewhat ill-fitting uniform was going to have to go. He tossed his sword and belt aside. Sitting up on the edge of his bed, he pulled off one boot and dropped it to the floor. Someone knocked lightly on his door. Tavian groaned. Then he yawned. He ignored the knock, and took his other boot off. He was half way out of his shirt when the antechamber door opened. He could have sworn he'd locked it.

Springing to his stockinged feet, Tavian crossed the room to the antechamber in two quick strides. He caught Ilara standing there, halfway inside his antechamber. She stared at him like a doe that had scented a wolf; eyes wide, body frozen. Tavian closed the bedroom door behind him and folded his arms, glaring.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, stepping fully into the antechamber. She carried a basket in her hands, covered with a violet cloth. Her dress was different; she'd changed into a simpler, cream colored slip.

"I'm sorry I ran off like that," she said.

"I was just bringing a few things—I thought you were asleep and I was just going to leave—""I'm not asleep," Tavian said, feeling naked with his shirt untucked and his boots off.

"I thought we should get to know each other better. In private, I mean," she said, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind her.

"Because… you know…"

"You mean…" Tavian said.

"Not like that," Ilara said. She blushed and stared at the ground, her long lashes fluttering.

"Just, it's hard to talk in public." Tavian's heart raced, his body responding to being alone with a woman. He could be polite, but he didn't want to do this right now.

"I brought you something that I thought you might like." She shook the basket.

"A gift."

"Thank you," he said.

"Leave it on the table." She crossed the room, her low cut dress flowing down and swirling around her ankles. Her earlier nervousness had faded; perhaps the party really had flustered her.

"I heard you like gobo berry wine," she said, setting the basket down on the table and removing the cloth. A bottle sat in the basket, along with two glasses. He'd already drunk enough tonight.

"Thank you again," Tavian said. He didn't move. His hand was still on the door handle to his bed chamber. He'd been away from court too long, and this kind of situation wasn't exactly covered in the rules of etiquette. She reached into the basket and withdrew a corkscrew, which she began twisting into the cork.

"I want to hear about your voyage. It must have been exciting." Tavian crossed the room to her, and placed a hand atop hers, stopping the cork screw. He tried to take the bottle from her.

"I appreciate the gesture," he said.

"But I'm a little too tired for drinking tonight." Her hand was warm and soft, and her grip on the bottle was strong—surprisingly strong. Class-enhanced-level strong. She released the bottle to him and he set it on the table. She turned her face up toward his. He took a half step back.

"Maybe tomorrow," he said, his mouth oddly dry.

"That's alright," she said, leaning back on the table. Her stance was open, encouraging even. A challenge simmered in her eyes.

"What was Endara like? I've always wanted to go there, but you know, father would never…" Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Tavian assessed her intentions. She could be here innocently, a young woman interested in the outside world, curious about the man betrothed to her. But nothing in court politics was ever as it appeared, and his mind was too clouded by exhaustion and drink for subtlety and machinations.

He needed to end the encounter before he blundered badly. He gestured toward the door.

"It was quite an adventure," he said, "and I'm looking forward to sharing it with you. Tomorrow."

"Tell me about the relics you brought back." Tavian's breath caught. Did she know about the Core? She had the air of someone waiting for something. Stalling…

"I'll show them to you, when they're in the Temple of Ishtoran." A pout of the lips, and a faint crease on her perfect brow expressed her displeasure. Here was a girl not accustomed to being told no. She would be dangerous as his wife, but with the right handling…

"Won't you talk with me at all?"

"You want to talk?" Tavian asked.

"Fine, then. Why did you lie to me about your Class?" Ilara's eyes flicked toward the door.

"Lie?" she asked. For someone so eager to talk, she seemed uninterested now.

"You know what I mean," he said.

"I had Calli check. You don't have a Class listed." But she did have a Class. Somehow. It was there, in the way she moved. Nobody could move like that without enhancements.

"Oh," she said, as though it was no big deal.

"It's something to do with the Core. Father said that the reduction of the kingdom tier was supposed to help with that, but…"

"A glitch?" Tavian asked.

"A glitch is hiding your Class?"

"I'm not a coresmith," she said, with a helpless shrug.

"You should leave," Tavian said.

"Now." A look of distress crossed her face for an instant before she controlled it and gave him a languid smile. Tavian's eyes narrowed.

"Wait. There is something else." Ilara reached into the basket. A muscle in her shoulder quivered as it tensed up. Tavian's enhanced perception pushed him into motion before his mind understood what he'd seen. As her hand emerged from the basket, silver blade in hand, he lunged across the room and lowered his shoulder in a grappler's tackle. Ilara brought the knife around, moving with enhanced dexterity, but she was too slow.

He struck her in the side, wrapping his arms around her slender waist and slamming her into the table. She gasped, and tried jabbing the knife at him. It ripped through his untucked tunic, tearing at the fabric. Tavian twisted out of the way, but slipped on the floor, pulling her down on top of him. Ilara pulled her arm free and aimed a blow at his chest. He caught her forearm and she pressed the knife down toward his chest, once more showing her strength. But he was bigger than her.

With one hand tight around her knife wrist, he rolled, pushing her off him with his other hand. She jerked back, pulling him off balance and nearly breaking free. He squeezed, digging his nails into her flesh and Ilara yelped as the knife dropped from her hand. He kicked it and it slid under the table. Ilara flailed, trying to catch the blade.

"What are you doing?" Tavian grunted, grabbing her other wrist and twisting, trying to restrain her. She was too strong; she spun around and kicked him in the chest, which sent her sliding across the floor.

"Where did you hide the Core?" Ilara hissed, pushing a stray strand of hair out of her face and watching him with grim determination. Tavian twisted his mouth, a chill running down his spine. She glanced at the door, like she might try to run. Tavian shifted his weight. He wasn't about to just let her go, not now. He recognized the irony in that. Ilara dove for the knife. He caught her by the ankle, and she lashed out, kicking him in the face with her hard soled heel.

He cursed, seeing stars as he yanked her back toward him and threw a punch. She deflected his attack. A clatter and thud sounded from the hall outside.

"Stop!" Tavian commanded, but she broke free and sprang to her feet, throwing a punch of her own. He managed to get his hands up and partially block the strike, tasting blood in his mouth. She kicked again, and he jumped back too far, hitting the table behind him. The wine bottle toppled over and smashed on the floor. Tavian should have been able to subdue a girl smaller than himself. She'd been enhanced. She had a Class, but somehow they'd managed to mask it in the system.

"Guards!" he yelled, then remembered that nearly every soldier he'd seen in the fortress that night had been Anarvian. The door started to open, and Tavian threw his weight against it, turning the key in the lock. Ilara attacked, throwing out a flurry of rapid punches. Tavian blocked, but something—sweat, or blood—was dripping into his eye, and he didn't see the hook. The blow knocked him to his knees, and for a brief second, he thought he was going to die. Ilara shoved him aside and went for the knife anew.

Tavian grabbed at her, but she slid past him through the expanding puddle of gobo wine. Someone pounded on the door. Tavian dove on top of her, grabbing a handful of hair and jerking it back. She cried out in pain, reaching for the knife. Tavian reached over her and grabbed the handle of the knife. She grabbed his arm and pulled it toward her. They both rolled together, and Tavian pulled the knife toward him. The blade caught on her face, cutting toward her eye but turning on her cheek bone.

Ilara screamed and clapped her hands to the bloody wound. Dark wine stained the front of her ivory dress and makeup ran down her sweat-streaked face. For the first time, she looked truly afraid. Ilara was trembling now, her whole body shaking.

"I'm dead," she said, looking at the blood on her hands.

"You killed me. It's in my blood." Tavian looked down at the knife he still held, and, beneath the thin line of Ilara's blood, saw the oily sheen clinging to the silver. Poison. He touched the hole cut in his tunic, felt his side to make sure the blade hadn't scratched him. A cold sweat broke out on his neck as he realized how close he'd just come to dying. The pity he felt vanished. His gaze hardened as he glared down at the would-be assassin.

"You tried to poison me," he gasped.

"You die by your own hand." Tavian turned away from her and threw the door open. An Anarvian man-at-arms stumbled in, and Tavian rammed the poisoned dagger into his chest. Ilara spluttered as the man crumpled to the ground. Tavian leaped into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him. He panted, then used his key to lock the door. The hall had been empty earlier, but now three bodies lay there; Two Anarvian soldiers, and one man in Verosian green. Tavian knew the man.

"Harlan. Thank you." A quiet rage stormed in the back of his mind. Lord Anarvia would pay for this. He had blood on his hands. Or was it wine? He didn't think he'd been cut by the poisoned knife, but he should find a doctor to be sure. A shockwave rocked the fortress. His body got heavier. The torchlight dulled, and his movements felt like he was swimming in molasses. His heart pounded in his chest, a raw anxiety filling him to the brim. He checked his system interface. It wasn't there.