No one wants to get their hands dirty, but everyone’s happy to make a mess. It’s why Kal had better job security than the taxman. Court intrigue never went out of style.
Come to think of it, he’d had one or two things to do with the last taxman’s demise. But that was neither here, nor there. No, what struck Kal as far more relevant today was the likelihood that his employer was not long for this world. There had been one too many lingering glances the man’s way in the last month or so. And in the court, lingering glances were only ever good if planned for. Unfortunately, his liege did not have such foresight. Which meant Kal would be under a new master any day now. Regrettable, but nothing he hadn’t been through before, nothing he would let spoil his hard-earned lunch.
Kal’s feet swung against the stone stoney palace wall, with little regard for the craftsmanship of the gargoyle or its perch. Sven, a name Kal had given the beast as an untamable youth, was his favorite perch. Sven provided company, a view, and a chance to spy on the goings on below.
Unfortunately, Kal’s master had skin thinner than the apple Kal was currently pairing with his favorite throwing knife. Oh yes, his blade master had tried fruitlessly many a time to train him out of such a disreputable. “A blade is only as sharp as its master’s wit,” was often quoted to Kal by the withering old man.
An inane quote, really. What did the stickiness of fruit have to do with Kal’s wit. He thought himself quite quick with words, if he were honest. And he’d never had any complaints about his blades from his targets. So he would do with his blades as he so wished.
On the cobblestone path below, the crown prince and his favorite guard appeared on their way to the gardens. Perfect. Lunch was over, and now it was time for a little fun.
Kal hopped down from his little perch and landed squarely on the royal crest emblazoned on the front of the palace. His knees didn’t thank him any, but they rarely agreed with him. He had somewhere to be and he would get there quickly, gravity be damned.
Waiting for the crown prince and Rutherford (with a name like that the man really had no choice but to be a guard) to stroll into his path was quite a tiresome affair, and Kal found himself examining the immaculately manicured plumrose bushes for thorns. The second prince, you see, had, since his adulthood, demanded all thorns be shorn off any and all roses within the palace walls. A tawdry affair with some tragic back story no doubt. Regardless, Kal enjoyed waisting his time searching for any stragglers determined to survive. And sometimes, making a ruckus for the groundskeeper should he find one.
Today he was unlucky enough to find the little bastard through a prick of blood. Growling at the thing, he plucked the stem and threatened to turn it into a lovely poisonous tea, should it continue to act so unrefined in his presence. The fragrant plumrose, did not in fact, seem to care one way or the other as it hung limply from his fingers.
“Kal,” a gruff, Lowland voice called jovially down the path. “Don’t you have some spiderweb to crawl back into, what are you doing out in the sunlight? Showing off your new hair color?”
“I believe,” a voice filled with rounded edges and rustling papers interjected, “he’s making a nuisance of himself to the groundskeep. The violet does suit you splendidly, though”
With a Cheshire smile Kal hid the thorny rose behind his slim back. “Why, I’m sure I’ve no idea what you could mean, Prince Schiro.”
Rutherford gave a heartfelt scoff. “No doubt Barell’s Blade has only innocent intentions with your roses, my lord.”
A small crease formed in the princes brow. “Yes, well, I’m sure my brother’s roses are as happy for the company, as I.” The prince turned to his righthand man with a faux frown. “You can be awfully stiff company at times, my dear Rutherford.”
Rutherford, taking no offense at this, almost seemed to preen as he bowed his head. “Of course, milord.”
“Well then,” Kal beamed, “shall we find somewhere more suitable to my pallid disposition?”
The first smile of the day crept onto the princes face. “Indeed.”
“Lovely. Rutherford, if you wouldn’t mind finding a vase for this fellow,” Kal said, sticking the pilfered rose in the man’s shoulder-plate armor, laughing.
****
Time passes and all things wither, but love
she blooms with unending grace.
****
The languid afternoon stroll with the prince was cut short by Kal’s ever-needful master, Barell. Poor timing, but not all together unexpected. Rutherford had not been exaggerating Kal’s proclivity for the shadows. As, he assumed, was the case with most court assassins, though he’d only had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting two others. Each a memorable occasion to be sure.
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So Kal slinked through the shadowy halls of the palace’s first floor. These halls were always dark, despite the light of day abounding outside. Servants were meant to appear and disappear on a moments notice, which meant many a twisted passage branching off from the more auspicious, and well lit, halls shown to guests. It made Kal’s work significantly easier. Very thoughtful of the three different architects in charge of the palace. Though you did sometimes find yourself stuck at a dead-end where, presumably, the kitchen might have been, as it seemed none of the three men actually talked to one another when they were working on the thing.
Barell had sent a message via flustered courier that he would be back within the palace walls come sundown. And Kal was to be dressed and ready to receive his orders when he returned. Barell wasn’t a particularly well-liked man, though not as badly disliked as Kal’s first master. A man few had had the pleasure of avoiding. Powerful men with poor temperaments always seemed to be everywhere all at once.
No, Barell was really just a little slime of a man. Like cottage cheese, only not nearly so well paired with jelly and crackers. He’d had made his wealth through the ancient art of inheritance. His great-grandfather had been some sort of indigo merchant way back. Something rather mundane within the borders of Inish Kaen, but apparently exceedingly rare and ridiculously expensive outside of the Heather Mountains. And now his family controlled a blushingly large portion of the indigo exports to Sciladel and Harenbour. Which meant he had only a small complex around the other lords and ladies of Inish Kaen.
But luckily for Kal, and his belly, the man had an inordinate number of perceived enemies. It was steady work spying on the rich. And despite popular belief, that was mostly what Kal’s work consisted of. An unfair number of mysterious court deaths had been attributed to his name. Not that he was complaining. It helped to have an aura of foreboding in this business.
It did mean, however, that there was another shadow slinking around these halls, relieving people of their lives.
Kal threw his second favorite knife at his master’s bedpost nearly as soon as he entered the room. It wobbled with a satisfying hum as it hit home.
“Goddess’s bones, Kal!” The crown prince shot out from beside the heavy summer curtains Barell favored for his bedroom window. “You scared the ever loving beast out of me.”
Kal lovingly plucked his second favorite blade from the scarred bedpost, and turned to Schiro, a terribly satisfied smile on his face. “You shouldn’t go around sneaking into other lords’ bedrooms, prince.”
“Other lords shouldn’t go stealing you away mid stroll, especially when he’s not even on the grounds yet.” The prince sniffed, dusting off his immaculate attire. “Tell me, does the man ever allow the servants to dust in this cave of a bedroom?”
“ ‘Fraid not. He thinks they’re all spies sent to dispatch him of his wealth.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re the only spy worth a damn in this place.”
Kal hummed, the other shadow still on his mind. “What brings you to such an uninhabitable room, prince?”
Schiro seemed to narrow his eyes for a moment, but remarked on nothing. “I had something to discuss with you away from Rutherford’s well-meaning ears.”
“And what ear’s they are.”
The prince made a face at the dusty curtains and leaned against the mantle-place. “There have been stirrings,” he said with a meaningful look Kal’s way.
“Schiro, I’m brilliant I know, but I cannot read minds.”
Schiro rolled his eyes. “Stirrings within the royal family. It is believed my father is going to abdicate before the year’s end.”
That was not so much a stirring, as a tidal wave. Kal tried to think through and analyze every interaction he’d had or observed of the king in the last months. There was nothing to indicate poor health. And he was sure Schiro would’ve told him if that had been a concern. Then why? Blackmail? But who would have the power to blackmail a king and not simply find themselves beheaded come morning?
“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”
“I doubt you know.” Kal started twirling his first favorite blade in his left hand. A bad habit he’d picked up when training himself into flawless ambidextrousness. It was a tick, he knew, but it had also saved his life one or two times he could remember.
Schiro scoffed. “Fair, but I might have an idea who’s been encouraging him.”
Kal raised an inquiring brow.
“Yua.” Yua, the second oldest child of the king, and a viper with legs. She would never be in contention for the throne unless her three younger siblings all died without heirs. An unlikely feat, considering Rhain was already married to an aspiring duchess. And despite Yua’s cunning desires, she was unlikely to participate in wholesale slaughter of her family. A saving grace for her personality, really.
“Why? She won’t benefit from this.”
“No, but Lilian might.” Lilian was the youngest daughter and only two years older than Schiro. She wasn’t seen around the palace much, preferring to spend her time on goodwill tours around the countrysides. And, were you to believe some of the more unsavory rumors about her, to stoke the flames of rebellion should her brother Schiro take power.
“And Yua would do almost anything for Lilian, especially if it screwed you over in the meantime.” Kal gave a grumble of a sigh and strode over to Schiro. “I think, perhaps it’s time you face facts: Your family hates you, and you are not safe here if your father is being pushed into abdication.”
Schiro brushed him off and walked back to the window, peering through the slit. “Don’t be dramatic, Kal. They’re far more likely to out my bastardom than to slit my throat. Far too much cleanup.”
Kal wasn’t exactly sure how solid that logic was when the prince’s murder wouldn’t tarnish the family name the same way his lineage would.
“I believe your mealticket has arrived. And I must be off, princely things to do and all.” Schiro pealed away from the window and tapped Kal’s shoulders with patronizing affection. “Have fun explaining that gash to Barell,” he said pointing to the new hole in Barell’s bedpost.
Kal, with his sharp wit, stuck his tongue out at the man.