King of the Seditious

Blue Lark Guild, Dread Hideout

A woman entered the Blue Lark looking to hire an assassin.

She’d passed the tower guards, passed the Courtyard Guards, and made it right in the front door of his fortress, and straight into the Winter Haven Alehouse for just that purpose.

But Savage Jaxson saw her clearly for what she was. Royalty. His study zeroed in on her from across the room. Watching the way, she swept her cape and how carefully she stepped over a spilled drink.

He glimpsed her hand as she gripped the hem of her cape. Not old. Not young. He caught a wisping curl of hair moving beyond the hood as she breathed.

Dark brown. Female. Middle-aged royalty. In the Blue Lark to hire an assassin.

He drew closer, watching her profile peer from under the red hood. Spotting a particularly weaselly man across the room.

The Death Dealer. Though he didn’t look like much, he was a skilled killer. Not particular in whether he murdered women or children.

“What are you looking at?” Dimurah whispered over the counter. “The one wanting to hire?”

“The woman wanting to hire.” He corrected absentmindedly. Not looking away from his target. But inhaling slowly to take in Dimurah’s womanly scent. Causing an immediate reaction in his body which he currently dismissed. Focusing on the interchange unraveling before him.

Dimurah leaned further across the counter for a better look. “’Tis a woman? How can you tell?”

“I’m good at spotting women.” He gave her a pointed glance. Before averting his attention back to the woman sitting with the Death Dealer.

“I was only a girl at the time.”

Contempt surged through Savage at the memory. “One dressing as a boy.”

“It kept me safe.”

His eyes flicked sideways to her doubting that she’d been whole when he’d gotten to her.

“What keeps you safe now?”

“You know full well.” She spat. Refusing to admit knowing it was him.

“Yes. But I want to hear you say it.” He felt her glare boreing into him.

“Why are you so intent on their conversation?” She queried.

“No such admonition then. Fine. I’ll allow you to change the subject.

She was silent. Lips tight.

“It’s who she’s hiring.”

“Why?” Dimurah peered at him curiously.

“There’s two kinds of assassins here. Ones that have no aim to hurt women or children.” He leaned an elbow on the counter to be closer to her. Twisting enough to point to the far corner where a lumbering redheaded man sat pounding down as much drink as his decorative alehorn could hold. RedBayne.

“Despite his rough exterior, you’ll never persuade him to kill a woman or child. Not for any amount of coin. In-fact, he may kill you just for asking.” He added. “But that one…” He twisted to point at the Death Dealer seated across from the royalty. “He doesn’t discriminate.”

Dimurah frowned. Eyeing the Death Dealer as she took in his words.

“She likely has a sister or daughter she wants dead. Possibly an unlucky lover”

“What does it matter to you?” Dimurah asked.

“Curiosity.” He straightened off the serving counter.

“Oh, no.” She lunged over the counter and swiped twice at the back of his padded leather tunic trying to get ahold of him. “Savage Jack! No.” But her fingers only drew over the back. Unable to find a hold.

It was too late. He crossed the room to stand near the mystery woman’s shoulder. Glaring down at her like an impending thunderstorm.

She looked up at him, startled.

“Who are you?” He barked.

“I’m only here doing business.” She lifted her hands supplicatingly.

“You’ve no business here!” He said violently. “Which realm are you with?”

“I-I’m I’m not!” She gestured helplessly across the table.

“She was agreeing on an amount of coin.” The Death Dealer whined in her defense.

Savage swatted back her hood and revealed a pile of twining dark curls and large brown eyes.

She fumbled under her cape and he shook his head slowly in warning. When she pulled a knife shorter than his finger, he glowered at her.

“With that? Truly?”

She made a jutting motion, and he caught her wrist and twisted until the sad little knife slipped from her fingers. He swept it up with his other palm and put the point to the soft spot under her jaw. Slowly pressing.

“No!” She leaned up, thudding the bench as she tried to escape that pointed tip.

He guided her up until she stood. Withering beneath his wrathful glower.

“I’m sorry! I meant nothing by it!” She cried.

“What. Are you. Here. For?” He enunciated through gritted teeth.

“To hire a killer.”

“Is that so? Who do you wish to kill?”

“The Princess of Nightway. She wants to have me killed.”

Savage’s mouth jerked in derision. “You’re lying. If a princess had been here, I’d know.”

She flinched but went silence. She panted in terror. Brown eyes rolling fearfully.

“So, it’s to be a race then, to see whom murders whom first?” He dropped the knife and tossed it under the table at her feet. Making her scramble to pick it up.

The Death Dealer grunted in objection of the disruption of his potential earnings.

“Best get to it then.” Savage shot over his shoulder.

“Will you do it?” Her voice was high. Pierced with anxiety as she begged the Death Dealer.

“Yes.”

Coin jangled as it was exchanged behind Savage.

He returned to the counter. Slapping it for a tankard.

Dimurah returned to hiss something scathing. Upset he’d once more not listened to her.

“Calm yourself, Woman.” He averted his attention to the angry beauty pointedly pouring ale from wooden pitchers for everyone but him.

He slammed his tankard down rudely. “Come here!” He roared for Dimurah.

“No!”

“No? Here.” He slapped the top of the counter. “Or in my tent later. Your choice…”