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Authors: T. L. Shreffler
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a ditch somewhere, cold and stiff after a night in the forest, perhaps gnawed by animals. It was not so uncommon. "I feel there might have been an accident...."
"Murder is never an accident," the man said harshly.
She opened her mouth to reply, but the door slammed in her face.
* * *
A thin smile spread across Volcrian's lips as he walked out of the manor. He passed scurrying servants and pockets of guests on his way to the spindly tree where he had tethered his horse. The rush of excitement kept his thoughts optimistic and clear. Viper had been here. He could smell the assassin on the Lord's body, on the blood spilled in the ballroom. Death always left a memory of the killer, after all.
And Viper is certainly a killer capable of this. An entire ballroom of guests convinced it was an accident? Surely the work of a master. And yet, not quite the perfect crime. A Lady was missing.
As Volcrian mounted his horse and turned toward the forest, he continued to ponder the strange situation. The girl had disappeared, but no body had been found. Had she gone with the assassin? The facts didn't add up. A creature like Viper was incapable of sparing life. He had no concept of innocence, of mercy. Lady Sora was most likely dead, her body stashed in a closet somewhere, to be discovered when the corpse began to rot.
He didn't feel sorry for the girl. Those who dealt with Viper could expect nothing less. If she had devised to murder her father—which was a common thing amongst the higher Tiers—then she deserved her own fate.
He had spoken to quite a few of the serfs mingling outside, and was all but convinced this was the case. There had been no love between father and daughter in the Fallcrest household. She was of questionable birth and had a decidedly stubborn demeanor. He could easily see the girl hiring an assassin as a last-ditch attempt to escape her nuptials. With a dead father and no husband, she would inherit the entire estate.
Volcrian clenched his fist suddenly—pain cramped his distorted muscles. His crippled hand convulsed, twitching in spasm. Just thinking of the girl's wickedness made his head throb. Killing her own father? With any luck, the assassin would use her and toss her to the roadside, a wasted shell of a woman. Better yet, the mage might stumble across her corpse within the next few days, perhaps while the blood was still fresh. Good enough to be used for his sorcery.
Volcrian shook his head slowly, leading his horse down the long gravel driveway toward the acres of fields and forest outside the gates. His own brother had been dead for two years now. Two years, and never a night's peace. Always nightmares and memories, shadows plaguing his dreams. He knew Etienne's spirit wouldn't rest until the assassin was dead. He knew, because in his dreams, that is what Etienne told him. Avenge me, his voice whispered. Finish this, and I will sleep.
At times, his brother told him other things, too...dark thoughts that played in his head, seethed within him, resurrected from beyond the grave. He had to push them away. He knew that his brother suffered, that his spirit writhed in the underworld. It followed him into the waking hours, drifting just beyond sight, the memory of those black dreams.
He finally passed through the wide iron gates and exited the Fallcrest manor. His nostrils flared, searching for a hint of a path. Now that he was certain of the assassin's presence, he knew what to look for. And he found it. The trail of a horse leaving the road, entering the tall grass. It was almost too easy.
Volcrian's smile stretched wide, his fangs gleaming in the light. Yes, Viper was in his grasp, only a day's ride away. Soon there would be justice. But Volcrian had been this close before; if he wasted too much time, the killer would slip through his fingers again. He needed to stall the travelers until he could catch up with them.
He wanted to feel Viper's blood running over his crippled hand. He needed to
"Murder is never an accident," the man said harshly.
She opened her mouth to reply, but the door slammed in her face.
* * *
A thin smile spread across Volcrian's lips as he walked out of the manor. He passed scurrying servants and pockets of guests on his way to the spindly tree where he had tethered his horse. The rush of excitement kept his thoughts optimistic and clear. Viper had been here. He could smell the assassin on the Lord's body, on the blood spilled in the ballroom. Death always left a memory of the killer, after all.
And Viper is certainly a killer capable of this. An entire ballroom of guests convinced it was an accident? Surely the work of a master. And yet, not quite the perfect crime. A Lady was missing.
As Volcrian mounted his horse and turned toward the forest, he continued to ponder the strange situation. The girl had disappeared, but no body had been found. Had she gone with the assassin? The facts didn't add up. A creature like Viper was incapable of sparing life. He had no concept of innocence, of mercy. Lady Sora was most likely dead, her body stashed in a closet somewhere, to be discovered when the corpse began to rot.
He didn't feel sorry for the girl. Those who dealt with Viper could expect nothing less. If she had devised to murder her father—which was a common thing amongst the higher Tiers—then she deserved her own fate.
He had spoken to quite a few of the serfs mingling outside, and was all but convinced this was the case. There had been no love between father and daughter in the Fallcrest household. She was of questionable birth and had a decidedly stubborn demeanor. He could easily see the girl hiring an assassin as a last-ditch attempt to escape her nuptials. With a dead father and no husband, she would inherit the entire estate.
Volcrian clenched his fist suddenly—pain cramped his distorted muscles. His crippled hand convulsed, twitching in spasm. Just thinking of the girl's wickedness made his head throb. Killing her own father? With any luck, the assassin would use her and toss her to the roadside, a wasted shell of a woman. Better yet, the mage might stumble across her corpse within the next few days, perhaps while the blood was still fresh. Good enough to be used for his sorcery.
Volcrian shook his head slowly, leading his horse down the long gravel driveway toward the acres of fields and forest outside the gates. His own brother had been dead for two years now. Two years, and never a night's peace. Always nightmares and memories, shadows plaguing his dreams. He knew Etienne's spirit wouldn't rest until the assassin was dead. He knew, because in his dreams, that is what Etienne told him. Avenge me, his voice whispered. Finish this, and I will sleep.
At times, his brother told him other things, too...dark thoughts that played in his head, seethed within him, resurrected from beyond the grave. He had to push them away. He knew that his brother suffered, that his spirit writhed in the underworld. It followed him into the waking hours, drifting just beyond sight, the memory of those black dreams.
He finally passed through the wide iron gates and exited the Fallcrest manor. His nostrils flared, searching for a hint of a path. Now that he was certain of the assassin's presence, he knew what to look for. And he found it. The trail of a horse leaving the road, entering the tall grass. It was almost too easy.
Volcrian's smile stretched wide, his fangs gleaming in the light. Yes, Viper was in his grasp, only a day's ride away. Soon there would be justice. But Volcrian had been this close before; if he wasted too much time, the killer would slip through his fingers again. He needed to stall the travelers until he could catch up with them.
He wanted to feel Viper's blood running over his crippled hand. He needed to
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