Bourne’s
location at last, she hoped to strangle the truth into silence.
A knock at the door pulled her from her grim
reverie. She called out as she wiped all trace of emotion from her
face. Shade stepped inside, drifting gracefully down the aisle
toward the dais. Deborah watched her approach with wistful
silence.
Tall for a woman, Shade stood at least six
feet. Beneath the distorting bulk of the hardened leather plates
sewn into the midnight black of her outfit, she was lean and wiry
with muscle. Her hair cut to the scalp beneath the mask she wore,
Deborah could see nothing but the shimmering blue of her eyes that
peered from the narrow slits cut into the mask. She strode to the
stairs and bowed deep, the swords hung at her hips curving out and
away as if they were the twin tails of a dark scorpion. She rose to
meet Deborah’s gaze, her arms at rest behind her back.
“ Welcome, Shade. I have a mission for
you.”
Shade nodded, the blackness of her mask
giving away none of the expressions beneath.
“ Please, remove the mask. I would see
the face of those to whom I speak.”
“ Of course.” Shade reached up and
pulled her covering aside with efficient ease, her arm settling
once more behind her.
Deborah smiled as she gazed at her assassin.
A face so rarely seen, the White Witch had nearly forgotten what
lay beneath the concealing cloth. Fiery stubble sat atop her head,
the hair of her eyebrows long by comparison. Beneath the cold stare
of her eyes was a face that might once have been considered pretty,
but the patchwork of puckered scars raised across its pale surface
obliterated any comparison to true beauty. Shade’s nose, the
cartilage whittled down nearly to the bone, was little more than a
round dot above her thin lips. Her cheeks stood out prominently
with puckered flesh, adding a superficial thickness to what had
once been a narrow countenance.
Deborah stared a moment at the ruin of
Shade’s face, before remembering her manners and bringing her gaze
up to meet the assassin’s. Shade seemed not to care.
“ There has been news of Elizabeth
Bourne,” Deborah said, motioning Shade up to the top of the dais.
Once she was there, the White Witch continued. “I would have you
confirm whether the information is true or false. Should it be
proven true, my wish is that you put Elizabeth to the fire.” She
clasped her hands, her knuckles turning white. “I want her dead.
It’s as simple as that. I don’t care how you accomplish it, be it
quick or cruel, but bring me her lifeless head.”
Shade’s lips peeled back into a horrific
semblance of a smile. “I understand.” Her voice flowed out smooth,
melodic even, a sharp counterpoint to the damage that marred the
woman’s appearance.
The White Witch met the assassin’s smile
with her own. “Succeed in this and great will be your reward. You
might just find yourself with a seat upon the High Council when all
is said and done.”
Baring her teeth, Shade’s smile turned into
a hideous grin. “That would be wonderful, indeed.” She bowed and
slid her mask over her head, hiding her features once more. “I’ll
send word soon.” She straightened and left the room without waiting
to be dismissed.
Deborah watched as the assassin left, the
image of the woman’s face etched upon her mind’s eye. For all her
pity for the ruin of Shade’s appearance, beneath the scarred
exterior was a woman forged in the finest of steels. Deborah could
have chosen no better weapon.
She eased back into the throne, its seat
comfortable at last. If Elizabeth had truly been found, it would
only be a matter of time before Shade fell upon her and brought the
last nineteen years of uncertainty to a close.
She could not wish for a happier ending.
Eight
The sun had crept high in the sky by the
time Darius slowed to let Sebastian catch up. The heat of the day
penetrated the canopy in a shower of golden lines, which warmed his
skin, as he passed beneath.
He came alongside
location at last, she hoped to strangle the truth into silence.
A knock at the door pulled her from her grim
reverie. She called out as she wiped all trace of emotion from her
face. Shade stepped inside, drifting gracefully down the aisle
toward the dais. Deborah watched her approach with wistful
silence.
Tall for a woman, Shade stood at least six
feet. Beneath the distorting bulk of the hardened leather plates
sewn into the midnight black of her outfit, she was lean and wiry
with muscle. Her hair cut to the scalp beneath the mask she wore,
Deborah could see nothing but the shimmering blue of her eyes that
peered from the narrow slits cut into the mask. She strode to the
stairs and bowed deep, the swords hung at her hips curving out and
away as if they were the twin tails of a dark scorpion. She rose to
meet Deborah’s gaze, her arms at rest behind her back.
“ Welcome, Shade. I have a mission for
you.”
Shade nodded, the blackness of her mask
giving away none of the expressions beneath.
“ Please, remove the mask. I would see
the face of those to whom I speak.”
“ Of course.” Shade reached up and
pulled her covering aside with efficient ease, her arm settling
once more behind her.
Deborah smiled as she gazed at her assassin.
A face so rarely seen, the White Witch had nearly forgotten what
lay beneath the concealing cloth. Fiery stubble sat atop her head,
the hair of her eyebrows long by comparison. Beneath the cold stare
of her eyes was a face that might once have been considered pretty,
but the patchwork of puckered scars raised across its pale surface
obliterated any comparison to true beauty. Shade’s nose, the
cartilage whittled down nearly to the bone, was little more than a
round dot above her thin lips. Her cheeks stood out prominently
with puckered flesh, adding a superficial thickness to what had
once been a narrow countenance.
Deborah stared a moment at the ruin of
Shade’s face, before remembering her manners and bringing her gaze
up to meet the assassin’s. Shade seemed not to care.
“ There has been news of Elizabeth
Bourne,” Deborah said, motioning Shade up to the top of the dais.
Once she was there, the White Witch continued. “I would have you
confirm whether the information is true or false. Should it be
proven true, my wish is that you put Elizabeth to the fire.” She
clasped her hands, her knuckles turning white. “I want her dead.
It’s as simple as that. I don’t care how you accomplish it, be it
quick or cruel, but bring me her lifeless head.”
Shade’s lips peeled back into a horrific
semblance of a smile. “I understand.” Her voice flowed out smooth,
melodic even, a sharp counterpoint to the damage that marred the
woman’s appearance.
The White Witch met the assassin’s smile
with her own. “Succeed in this and great will be your reward. You
might just find yourself with a seat upon the High Council when all
is said and done.”
Baring her teeth, Shade’s smile turned into
a hideous grin. “That would be wonderful, indeed.” She bowed and
slid her mask over her head, hiding her features once more. “I’ll
send word soon.” She straightened and left the room without waiting
to be dismissed.
Deborah watched as the assassin left, the
image of the woman’s face etched upon her mind’s eye. For all her
pity for the ruin of Shade’s appearance, beneath the scarred
exterior was a woman forged in the finest of steels. Deborah could
have chosen no better weapon.
She eased back into the throne, its seat
comfortable at last. If Elizabeth had truly been found, it would
only be a matter of time before Shade fell upon her and brought the
last nineteen years of uncertainty to a close.
She could not wish for a happier ending.
Eight
The sun had crept high in the sky by the
time Darius slowed to let Sebastian catch up. The heat of the day
penetrated the canopy in a shower of golden lines, which warmed his
skin, as he passed beneath.
He came alongside
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