SIX MONTHS EARLIER

The Magister opened the door to his office. Almost immediately he lay eyes on the figure clothed in black that was seated at his desk. He wanted to turn away from the sight, to close the door and go somewhere where he could be alone with his thoughts, where he could take a break from all the scheming for just a few moments and rest. Alas, he was the one spearheading the entire movement, and he had no such luxury as relaxation. Talking with the assassin was the last thing he wanted to do, but he put on a honey-slathered smile.

"Magister," the figure greeted the head-priest once the door closed.

The Magister lowered his head in respect, trying to disguise the disgust shining in his eyes. "Shade. What can I do to help you?" he managed to drag the words out of his throat, even sounding civil as he spoke.

The assassin shrugged. "I thought I'd come see how things are going. It's been a long time since you've contacted me. I thought you had forgotten."

"Is there a problem with the payments?" the Magister asked, pallid-faced. "Did you not get them?"

"The payments..." Shade drew out the word, pulling at it and stretching it into silence. He could hear the Magister's betraying heartbeat from across the room. Shade smiled, fully aware that it was one of his most unnerving qualities. "No, everything is in order with the payments. I came for personal reasons."

"Personal reasons?" The Magister frowned. “I wasn't aware that you could have 'personal reasons.’ Is your kind not supposed to only do what your masters tell you?"

"Exactly that. You've put your finger right on the problem." Shade said.

"I don't understand."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

Restraining his temper, the Magister held his hands up in a placating manner. "What... sort of problem is it? I don't understand, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try everything in my power to fix it." Posturing himself in such a weak, docile manner made his blood boil. It was embarrassing and it was defacing. It repulsed him to even think of acting in such a way, no less actually acting like that. But, he needed Shade’s particular set of skills, and so he had to ensure that the assassin didn't feel too slighted. Even with his reputation of brutally getting back at those that spurned him, there was no shortage of available jobs. The Magister didn’t want to end up like the others that hadn’t understood this simple fact, yet he still added, "As long as it's within reason, of course."

"It's about the short leash you've been keeping me on," Shade spat, suddenly losing his temper. He jumped out of the chair, vaulted over the desk, and started pacing.

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"The leash?" the Magister asked, trying to lock his knees to stop them from trembling. He'd never thought the day would come when he'd be glad that the long robes that came with his office hid, but it came. It repulsed him that it had even come. It also sickened him that he was so afraid in the first place. He wanted to lash out, to put the assassin in his place - he, he was the boss, the one calling the shots, not Shade. 'The ice underneath is thin,’ the Magister thought to himself. ‘I must tread carefully.’

"Yes, the leash, of course the leash! Don't act stupid. I don't work for idiots, and I'm never wrong about my first impressions." Shade pointed to his cheek, reminding the Magister of the thin scar that came out of their first meeting.

The Magister gulped. "Very well. Yes. I've been keeping you on a short leash, as you call it."

"Why? You're not just keeping me on a short leash; I'm not doing anything. I'm losing my touch." They both knew that was a lie, but neither felt inclined to acknowledge it. "I'm not even allowed to go near the royal family! Oh, don't look so surprised. Why would you hire me if you weren’t planning to have me assassinate them? Regardless, you have those dimwits keeping an eye on them. They just scream obvious. It won't be long until they’ll have drawn too much suspicion onto themselves and someone will find them."

"You have a problem with whom I use?"

"Yes. They're amateurs. I could do all of their jobs better than them, but I'm not even allowed to do one job. Why?"

"Not all places are in position yet," the Magister sighed. He hadn’t wanted to disclose the information, but he had a hunch that Shade already knew there was an... unforeseen delay. It would only do more harm to act like he intended to keep him in the dark.

"The mole?" Shade scoffed, proving the Magister's suspicion right yet also showing how much even that underestimated him.

"There is just a delay," the Magister said tersely. "It doesn't concern you. It shall be resolved shortly."

"And how are you going to solve that particular dilemma?"

Ignoring Shade's snide remark, the priest motioned to the door, some of his temper slipping around his control. "I thought you would have appreciated the opportunity to enjoy yourself."

Shade interrupted, smiling, "My dear Magister, how could you assume that I don't enjoy my work? It's an artform like any other."

That smile was unnerving but he managed to keep the repulsed, horrified shudder from showing. "If you so wish, I can have something for you to do. I'll have the instructions sent to your room," the Magister said, pointing to the door.

Shade looked as if he wanted to say something else, to argue, but he silently went past the Magister, hurtling the door open and leaving.

The Magister's knees finally gave out and he crumpled, holding onto the door for support, his breath coming out in short gasps. ‘I’m too old for this,’ he thought, breathing heavily.

One of the mercenaries standing guard at the end of the hallway ran in at sound. "My lord Magister! What happened? Are you okay?" he asked.

The Magister pushed himself up, brushing aside the mercenary's concerns and help. "I'll be fine," he gasped, staggering to his desk and collapsing in the chair. He waved his hand. "Bring me a glass of water."

The mercenary left. Still breathing heavily, the elderly priest took a clean sheet of paper. "I'll be fine," he muttered again, grabbing a quill and dipping it in a jar of ink. His hand shook so badly that ink dropped onto the white paper, marring it. Swearing, he crumpled the piece of paper and took another. "I'll be just fine once he's far, far away," he repeated to himself as he started writing.