Agent of the Dragon

Hallyk’s face looked grim, and Jagun’s wasn’t any softer. Rhysa and her guests were seated in the living area behind the public room. Both men had remained silent while she told them what she’d discovered.

“No chance you misheard? Or misidentified the speaker?” Hallyk’s voice grated.

Jagun shook his head slightly, dismissing the possibility in his mind even before Rhysa spoke. “I doubt it. I saw no magic in operation at the time, though the possibility of a very tight magical disguise can’t be ruled out. Goodness knows I had to have one down south.” Rhysa paused and shook her head. “The cadence of her words and phrasing was too close. Remember, she helped me put myself back together after the riot. She knows me very well, but I know her, too. Apparently, not well enough, though.”

“What about this Rian?” Jagun’s voice was deep and hard as the roots of a granite mountain. “What is your impression of him?”

Rhysa looked at Jagun in the uniform of a royal bodyguard. Why had she ever been afraid of those disciplined sapphires? “He is an honorable person. He is loyal to his hire. As far as I can tell, the problem is his lack of care when accepting hire.”

“He is loyal to his hire,” mused Hallyk. “But what about to me and my parents? Would he betray his hire to follow up on a warrant?”

Rhysa closed her eyes to review what he’d said in The Sword and Flagon, and how he’d said it. “He might.” She opened her eyes. “If he were approached correctly. He is fundamentally a good person. Walking up to him and handing him a warrant would cause trouble, though. It would directly conflict with his hire, and therefore his immediate conscience. I’m not sure if his core or his professionalism would win, since they feed off each other. We’d have to get past his professionalism.”

“Could you do it?”

Rhysa hesitated, then nodded. “I think so. Or rather, I know what I need to do. What I need to think about is where and when.”

Jagun stood and began to pace. Hallyk rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, and propped his chin on his hands. Rhysa watched them for a second. “I’d like to move on this before she has her trap completely set up. Within the next day or two, by preference.”

The two men nodded their agreement. Hallyk stood. “I’ll have the warrant for you after your session with Venusia, tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

Jagun gave her a small smile, then turned and preceded Hallyk out of her apartments. Hallyk simply nodded a farewell and followed on Jagun’s heels.

Rhysa lay naked in a bed in Venusia’s house. One of Venusia’s top students lay next to her, his eyes half lidded and sated. Rhysa’s breathing quickly returned to normal.

This was the first time she’d actually succeeded in holding on to herself. It was like attaching wires and a metal rod to a house so lightning traveled around the building instead of through it. She reached up and brushed hair off the young man’s forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered.

His eyes unlidded a little. “Any time.”

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for a dressing gown. Her feet found the slippers Venusia had given her. Unlike before, she neither felt sated nor frustrated. She glowed slightly with triumph, and made her way to the room Venusia had set aside for them to speak in privacy.

Venusia looked up from a book she was reading when Rhysa entered. Rhysa noted she, too, wore a dressing gown. After a brief glance, Venusia beamed. “You succeeded.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“And Callim?”

Rhysa chuckled softly. “Sated and falling asleep.”

Venusia shook her head, but couldn’t hide the amusement in eyes and voice. “And he’s one of my best. Well. Let’s have something to eat.”

Rhysa nodded and Venusia left to ask her kitchen to prepare a light meal. While Rhysa waited, she basked in the warm glow of success. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d at last hit on the trick of not fighting the sensations. Instead she’d let them travel through her body and dissipate, while keeping the core of herself out of the flow.

The door opened and Venusia beckoned Rhysa over. “They’ll serve it in my rooms.”

When they reached Venusia’s rooms, Rhysa detected the faint scent of patchouli, clove, and neroli. Venusia was about to test Rhysa’s control. Already, she could feel parts of herself grow languid, and the food hadn’t even arrived. This would be as difficult as any sparring session she’d ever been through.

In the end, Rhysa lost herself in sensations primed by scent and food. She wasn’t particularly ashamed at having failed, Venusia was an expert in her field, after all; nevertheless, it was a little frustrating. As she lay panting in Venusia’s bed, she felt Venusia’s gentle touch.

“That was very well done.” Venusia’s voice was soft and warm, her caresses light. “I didn’t think you’d last so long before losing yourself.”

Rhysa managed to get her breathing under control. She let her body enjoy the touch, but kept her mind and emotions separate. She turned her head to look into the eyes a couple inches away. “I’m not sure what happened. It’s like I forgot why I was holding myself aside.”

Venusia nodded and waited for Rhysa to continue.

Rhysa swallowed, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sure I could have kept holding myself aside. It’s not as though I’d lost the ability. I guess it’s more like I’d just decided it wasn’t worth the effort.”

“It’s called pleasure hypnosis.” Venusia’s breath caressed Rhysa’s face as her hand continued to caress Rhysa’s arm. “Thought drops away. Nothing matters but the here and now. It’s why you never trust promises made in bed.”

“So how do you avoid it?”

Venusia shook her head. “You don’t. Everyone is affected by it. The only difference is how long a person lasts before falling prey.” Venusia smiled. “Even I lose myself to it occasionally.”

Rhysa smiled. “Lucky client.” She sighed and sat up. “It’s time for me to go.”

Venusia nodded. “I know. As I said, it took longer for you to lose yourself than I expected. I hope you didn’t have any appointments right after.”

“Hallyk said he’d have something for me afterward.”

“Hmm. Better not keep him waiting then. Take two days off. I’ll want Callim to test you again. If you succeed with him, we’ll see how long you last against pleasure hypnosis with me. From here on, extending control is just a matter of pushing your limits. You already know the techniques.”

“And after that?”

“We’ll start you on the more aggressive aspects of seduction.”

Rhysa smiled and got dressed.

Hallyk was very business-like when he handed the warrant to Rhysa. Jagun, at his shoulder, seemed unusually grim. Rhysa unrolled the warrant. It was for the death of Emylie Hermestus. Rhysa looked a question at her prince.

“She’s already a traitor, and likely a murderer. Conspiracy to murder is hardly less criminal. Even if she were brought to formal trial, there would be no doubt of the outcome and subsequent sentence. This way we can at least spare Bryn from having to suffer through it.”

Rhysa nodded. Bryn hadn’t looked well when she’d dined with him and Jayse. She doubted he’d gotten much better in the few days since. “Anything else?”

“We have a report from an Agent who managed to get close to The Primacy. Emylie’s trap comes down to brute strength. She plans to wear you down until you’re too tired to resist.”

“That’ll kill a lot of people and possibly drain several mages depending on their strength.”

Hallyk nodded agreement. “The sooner you move on this, the fewer mages she’ll have and the fewer casualties there will be.”

“Evening is when I last saw her at the warehouse. I’ll go tonight.”

“Good. Be careful, Rhysa. Ekrania has uncovered a couple pieces of evidence that one of the Agents is a part of The Primacy. It’s circumstantial, and we don’t know who it is, but we can’t ignore the possibility this report came from the traitor.”

Rhysa suppressed a smile. “I’ll be careful.”

Rhysa made her way through the streets of Mestin Reach with the surety of a longtime resident. Her clothing was loose, but tied to keep it out of the way while fighting. She wore an open-back bodysuit under her clothes, and she’d tied her hair back. Her sword swung on her hip as she made her way toward the warehouse, and she bristled with daggers. The warrant for the death of Emylie Hermestus was tucked behind her belt.

Since the major players knew about the trap, she decided not to sneak in. A bold approach might confuse them, or make them hesitate at a crucial moment in the fear there was something they didn’t know about. With luck, they wouldn’t realize she knew about the trap.

No one patrolled the outside of the warehouse when Rhysa arrived. There was a lit lantern above the side door. A brief moment of concentration activated Sight, then she approached the door and opened it.

As with the previous warehouses she’d checked, a wall to her right seemed to run the width of the warehouse. Unlike the other warehouses, this one was filled with crates--crates stacked floor to ceiling. Rhysa narrowed her eyes as she realized the crates were arranged to create a walkway leading away from the wall. The walkway was sufficiently wide to permit careful use of a short sword, but too narrow to allow any practical use of a longsword. She’d have to rely on daggers.

She glanced at the ceiling to see where the light sources were. To her surprise, the entire ceiling glowed to Sight. It appeared Emylie wanted no shadows for Rhysa to hide in. She pulled two daggers and started down the walkway.

Rhysa watched for traps as she made her way down the length of the warehouse. She reached the end of the wall of crates without incident, and saw the crate-wall continued the width of the warehouse. It seemed as though the warehouse had been set up as a spiral. With only two directions to go, she continued across the width of the warehouse, passing the huge loading doors on her left. When she got to the end of this crate-wall, she saw it wasn’t actually a spiral. Another crate-wall was placed so the walkway doubled back the way she’d just come.

She peered around the corner and saw movement as someone disappeared around the far corner. Keeping an eye above her, she hastened after the figure. At the corner, she crouched and peered around the edge to find the walkway doubled back again. This time the figure was at the far end, sword drawn, facing her.

Wary of an ambush from above, she approached the figure. When she was halfway across the width of the warehouse the figure spoke. “Crysta?” The voice was Rian’s, and he sounded very confused.

Rhysa stopped and shook her head slowly. When she spoke, her voice was soft and emotionless. “No, Rian. My name is Rhysa Kasteryn.” She saw him start. “The woman you killed was Elise ot Kasteryn, Amelia’s other protégé.”

The dawning horror on his face was obvious. Then he pulled himself together. “No. I don’t believe it. The dagger you were sharpening. It wasn’t good enough to have been owned by Lady Kasteryn’s protégé.”

Now that Rhysa had him talking, Rian had relaxed from his fighting stance. She sheathed her daggers and saw him relax even further. “You’re right. I bought it that day and wrapped it like my other weapons. Elise called your employer ‘Emylie’. Her full name is Emylie Hermestus.” Rhysa took a couple of steps towards Rian, then stopped before he got nervous again.

Rian jerked again. “Bryn Hermestus’ wife? I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.”

“Prove it.”

“You never described your employer to me. I’ll create an illusion of Emylie Hermestus. If they match, will you believe?”

“I might.” Doubt and suspicion made his voice heavy.

Rhysa tapped into the overlay and gathered light from around her, then she formed the image of Lady Hermestus. One look at Rian’s dumbfounded expression was all the confirmation she needed.

It took a couple wavering attempts to sheathe his sword. “I didn’t know.” His voice was soft.

Rhysa nodded. “I know. Elise was my friend, but I don’t blame you. You were only the tool of someone else. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you had to be the one to do it.” She pulled the warrant from her belt and held out the rolled parchment. “Here. Maybe if you help bring the one behind it to justice, you’ll learn to forgive yourself.”

Rian stepped forward and reached to take the warrant. Rhysa saw a peculiar deadness in his eyes. It was more than the deadness someone might feel after being told everything he’d believed was wrong. It was as though a piece of his soul was missing.

He unrolled the parchment and Rhysa saw those dead eyes widen in surprise. “She’s to be killed?”

“Yes. She’s a traitor and a murderer and who knows what else. She all but forced you to throw away your honor. Help me. Regain some of that honor.”

Rian nodded reluctant agreement, his face showed a deep regret. “One other thing. Can you prove you’re who you say you are?”

Rhysa had expected this; it’s why she’d put on an open backed bodysuit rather than her usual full bodysuit. She stepped back and turned around. She pulled off her shirt revealing the sigil of the House Head of House Kasteryn. Behind her she heard the swift intake of breath when Rian saw the mark. She was sure he hadn’t missed the crown over the sword.

A pause slightly too long was her first warning. The slithering of an unsheathing blade was her second. She didn’t stop to think, she let magic flow into her channels to enhance her speed and reactions.

Rhysa spun to the side, and as she came around to face Rian, she drew a dagger. To her enhanced vision, he moved in slow motion. He gaped in surprise.

She didn’t let him finish his expression, much less recover. She planted her dagger between his ribs, angled into his heart. She let the magic rush out of her channels...and time resumed its normal speed.

Rian sank to the floor, dying but not yet dead. Rhysa crouched by him, wary of the blade still in his hand. He started to speak, and blood flecked his lips. “Now, I believe.” He breathed in painfully. “I-I died last night. You only helped my body stop moving.”

Rhysa felt her face contort with confusion, but knew she didn’t have time. “Rest, warrior. I said I didn’t blame you, and I still don’t. Sleep well.” Rian mastered a spasm of pain, smiled at her, and died.

She did not have time for tears. Emylie hid somewhere in this building, and Rhysa had a job to do. Faintly, she heard the sound of the loading doors open, someone trying to open them without a sound. Rhysa decided to stop playing their game.

She stood upright and filled her channels. Magic flowed through her in torrents. She took a little part of that power to create a shield around herself; then she shaped the rest, and released it with a deafening roar.

The crates immediately around her disintegrated into a rain of splinters as the shockwave expanded. Others shattered and fell, crushing those who thought to sneak up behind her. A musical shimmering of sound let her know the windows had shattered. Splinters and pieces of crates bounced off her shield. When the air cleared, she could see from one side of the warehouse to the other and the entirety of its length.

In the shattered remnants of the door that used to separate the storage area from the living area stood Emylie, open mouthed at the abrupt destruction of her trap. Blood glistened behind the ripped cloth of Emylie’s clothes; blood streaked the woman’s face, unnoticed amidst the death of her plans to kill Rhysa.

Rhysa drew a couple of daggers, and started towards Emylie. Her enemy raised a length of wood. Rhysa threw herself to the side; something shivered the air where she’d been. Her shield protected her from wood and splinters, but she hit the floor amidst the shattered crates hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

Emylie called her name, but Rhysa remained still. The rustle and shifting of wood alerted Rhysa Emylie approached. It wouldn’t be long before Emylie was in position to use whatever that thing was again.

Rhysa reinforced her shield, then tapped into the overlay again. This time she created a maelstrom of wood slivers and broken crates.

Emylie shrieked as wood pierced her flesh and cut her body. She lashed out randomly with the wand. Careful to stay low, Rhysa crawled toward Emylie. The shrieks became more frantic as Rhysa increased the speed and ferocity of the maelstrom.

At last Rhysa reached a place where she could see Emylie. The woman was drenched in blood, trying to protect her head as much as possible. She turned in circles, blindly lashing out with the wand, bolts of black lightning shivered the air as Emylie tried to hit Rhysa.

When Emylie faced the opposite direction from Rhysa, Rhysa stopped the maelstrom abruptly and let the wood fall to the floor when Emylie lashed out yet again.

In the sudden silence, Emylie sobbed. She would never be beautiful again, even Bryn, were he so minded, couldn’t fix the damage Rhysa had done. Rhysa had no doubt the pain was incredible. A note of hysterical relief touched those sobs. The wand clattered to the floor as blood loss weakened Emylie. Emylie hardly noticed, she just stood and sobbed.

Now that it came to it, Rhysa had to remind herself of everything this woman had done. She’d killed Rhysa’s best friend. She’d betrayed Ellendahl. She’d tried to kill Rhysa. Against this, she weighed the woman who’d helped put her back together after being raped. She weighed the wife of one of her mentors and the grief he would suffer--and was suffering.

Rhysa stood. Her foot knocked a piece of wood, and Emylie spun, stumbling to keep her balance. Rhysa stepped face to face with this bloody wreck and looked into the peculiarly dead eyes she’d last seen in Rian.

Pieces snapped into place. Rhysa gasped. “My god. It wasn’t you. You’ve been dead a long time, or at least everything that made you you.”

Emylie stared back, growing weaker by the second. The Emylie Rhysa had known and loved was long dead. Rhysa drew a dagger, and stabbed the creature that had been Emylie. A shift in the creature’s eyes told Rhysa Emylie was back--for the few seconds it took to die. “Th-thank y--.” Emylie collapsed, dead before she hit the floor.

Rhysa stood over the body of her friend, at last free to let the tears come. For a little while, at least, she could let the tears flow. She had to let the Agents know what she’d figured out, but first she would mourn the death of Emylie Hermestus.

Rhysa looked down at Emylie. In silence, the glowing head of a magicked bolt erupted from her chest, interposing itself between Rhysa’s eyes and Emylie’s body.

Shock buffered the pain, and Rhysa stared at the bolt. Then the pain hit, and Rhysa sank to her knees beneath its weight. The bolt flared and was gone, like the key that had unlocked her manacles so many years ago. The bolt was gone, but the pain stayed, and Rhysa gradually succumbed to it, the world growing dark. She felt her body hit the ground, and just before all sensation left, she felt the spreading pool of her blood on her arms.

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