Jayne Castle [Jayne Ann Krentz]

By

Jayne Ann Krentz

ONE

Itwas understood throughout the great Northern Continent of Zantalia that assassins were invariably

male.

Clutching the marriage contract in one hand, Kalena stood on the wide threshold of the Traders' Guild

Hall and considered what it meant to be an exception to that rule. She had been waiting since the summer

of her twelfth year to carry out the lethal task that would set her free. Now she was finally on the brink of

a future she had only been able to dream of in hazy images; a future as a freewoman with obligations to

no one but herself.

She gazed in wonder at the noisy, bustling activity going on inside the wide hall. She had arrived in the

thriving town ofCrosspurposes only a day earlier, but already her life back home in the farming town

ofInterlock seemed very distant. That was fine with Kalena. She had no intention of ever going back to

the rich, fertile fields of the Interlock valley with its prim, conservative farmers and villagers. Nor did she

have any desire to return ever to the harsh, bitter company of her aunt. The marriage contract she held in

her hand was her ticket out of bucolic boredom and the stifling demands of her aunt. But for Kalena, the

contract was more important as her first step toward freedom.

Still, Kalena wasn't yet completely free of the past. There was a price on all things, and she still had to

pay for her ticket to a new life. The packet of poison she carried sewn into her journey bag was the

means by which she would fulfill her final duty to the House of the Ice Harvest.

Kalena, the last daughter of the Great House of the Ice Harvest, had been sent to Crosspurposes to

avenge her devastated clan. The mandate had been handed down from the last Lady of the House, her

father's sister, Olara. Olara knew as well as anyone that entrusting a mission of vengeance to a woman

was a risky thing to do, but there was no choice. Olara and Kalena were the only members of the House

of the Ice Harvest left. Kalena's mother had died shortly after learning of the deaths of her husband and

her son. Olara herself was a Healer, and so could not kill. That left only Kalena.

Kalena had known for some time that Olara wasn't particularly satisfied with her niece as a potential

assassin, but neither she nor her aunt had any choice. Someone hadto carry out the task of assassinating

the man responsible for the deaths of men of the House of the Ice Harvest. More than murder hadbeen

done. An entire Great House had been terminated with the deaths of the men of the clan. Such an act

required the most extreme form of vengeance, and if there was only a woman left to mete out justice then

so be it. Olara had made her plans accordingly. What Olara didn't know was that Kalena had a plan of

her own.

Kalena gazed at the colorful scene before her and tasted the first, heady essence of freedom. She would

do her duty as honor demanded. There was no question of that. Kalena had been taught the importance

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of one's responsibility to one's honor before she could walk. But she hoped to buymore than vengeance

with her victim's death. She intended to use his death to buy a new future for herself, the kind of unlimited

future most women on the Northern Continent never knew.

She had been working on her plan to accomplish these two goals since the summer of her twelfth year.

Never for a moment had Aunt Olara allowed her to forget her destiny. But once she had recovered from

the shock of the death of her family and accepted her dangerous task, Kalena had begun to dream her

own dreams.

So be it. Life was Spectrum. For every action there was another, opposing action that would ensure an

ultimate balance. Kalena understood that fundamental philosophical principle. She might have been raised

in a farming town since the fall of her House, but she'd had an excellent education. Aunt Olara had seen

to it that the last daughter of the House had been brought up in accordance with the high standards that

befitted her heritage. The works of Zantalia's most influential polarity philosophers had been available for

her to read. Kalena had studied well.

Now she looked up at the second tier of offices that ringed the large Guild hall. She couldn't help being

impressed by the elaborate architecture. There was nothing quite like this back home inInterlockValley .

The building was two stories high with massive, arched windows lining the ground floor, and flooding the

open central hall with light. The second floor was lined with small rooms on all four sides. Every facet of

construction, from the elaborately inlaid floor to the heavily carved pillars of expensive moonwood,

served to emphasize the wealth that the business of trade brought to Crosspurposes.

Overhead several people were lounging against the upper railing watching the crowds down on the main

floor. Kalena wondered which, if any, of those strange faces belonged to the man whose name was on

the marriage contract alongside her own.

A trio of laughing, joking men arrived in the open doorway behind Kalena. Their lanti skin boots were

caked with dried mud and their trousers and wide-sleeved shirts were dusty from travel. Kalena guessed

that they were traders returning from a venture and she stepped out of their way. As they went past two

of them hailed a friend they spotted in the crowd. The third man turned his head and saw Kalena standing

in the shadow of the arched doorway. He grinned wickedly and started to say something toher. But

before he could speak another group of males sauntered through the door, providing a shield for Kalena.

She used the small distraction to slip into the crowd.

Moving through the busy hall, she searched for someone who looked as if he or she would be willing to

take a minute to help her. Most of the people she passed seemed noisily intent on business and

boisterous conversation.

As Kalena made her way through the large, two-tiered hall she surreptitiously observed the clothing of

the few women present in the crowd. The first thing she noticed was that the colorful tunics they wore

over their narrow trousers were much shorter, almost knee length, and slit far higher up the side than her

own. Earlier, she had noted the same type of clothing on women she had passed in the street.

Town fashion was obviously a great deal more daring than the styles favored in the Interlock valley.

Kalena made a mental note to make some changes in her own wardrobe as soon as possible. She would

have to do something about her hair, too. The women here in town all seemed to wear theirs quite short

in back, with chin-length ringlets of curls framing their faces. Kalena felt distinctly old-fashioned with her

own thick mass of golden red curls held back from her face by a wide, embroidered band.

One of the women she was studying turned suddenly and Kalena's eyes collided with the stranger's.

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Embarrassed for having been caught staring, she started to turn aside and then changed her mind. It

would be easier to ask another woman for directions than to try to get the attention of one of the rough

and burly male traders. Tentatively, Kalena smiled.

"Could you help me, please? I'm trying to find someone. I was told he would probably be here in the

Guild hall at this time of day"

The other woman eyed her intently for a moment, taking in her obviously provincial appearance. She

apparently decided to take pity on the young woman, and asked in a kind voice, "Who is it you're trying

to find?" She stepped closer to Kalena so they would be able to converse above the din.

"A man named Ridge. I don't know the name of his House. He works for the Trade Baron Quintel of the

House of the Gliding Fallon."

The woman's eyebrows rose and she pursed her lips for a few seconds. "You have business with the

Fire Whip?"

Kalena shook her head. "No, Ridge is his name. I'm quite sure of it. It's written here on the contract."

Curiously, the woman glanced at the folded document in Kalena's hand. "Contract? What sort of

contract do you have with Quintel's Fire Whip?"

"A trade marriage agreement." Kalena felt quite daring as she said the words aloud. Trade marriages

might be legal, but they were hardly respectable. She had a hunch the woman in front of her knew all

about trade marriages. "And I've explained, it's not with someone called Whip. It's with a man named

Ridge."

"The Ridge who works for Quintel is known as the Fire Whip," the woman explained impatiently. "Here,

let me see that contract. I can't believe you've really got a trade marriage arrangement with him. He's not

a regular trader. He's Quintel's private weapon. Quintel uses him the way another man uses a sintar."

"I see,"Kalena said, although she didn't. "Is . . . is Fire Whip the House name of this man, Ridge?"

The other woman laughed as if Kalena's question was genuinely funny. "Hardly. Ridge has no House.

He's a bastard. In more ways than one, some people say. Has a temper that can make—" She broke off

at the sight of Kalena's chagrined expression. "Never mind. Let's just say that wise folks do not go out of

their way to provoke him."

"If he works for Quintel, then he's the man I seek," Kalena said quietly. The other woman didn't

understand, Kalena realized. She wasn't upset because her future husband had a reputedly fiery temper;

Kalena didn't expect to be around this Ridge person long enough to provoke him. Rather, she was

startled to learn that she was signing a marriage contract—even something as straightforward as atrade

marriage contract—with a man who could claim no House at all, not even a small one. Olara hadn't

warned her about that aspect of the situation.

Kalena hesitated, then handed over the trade marriage agreement, watching closely as her new

acquaintance scanned the legal document. She was fascinated by her first encounter with what appeared

to be a freewoman who made her own living and her own decisions. With a little luck and a little

successful vengeance, Kalena herself might be joining the ranks of such free females.

The woman in front of her was a few years older than Kalena. She had a strong, full-figured body and

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carried herself with an almost aggressive air. Her hair was dark and done in the town fashion, the long

side curls framing a handsome face and challenging eyes. She wore no House band on her wrist, which

was not surprising. Only members of the Great Houses wore such symbols of rank and recognition. The

families that comprised the vast majority of less important Houses were not entitled to wear them.

Under most circumstances, no female member of a Great House would have been allowed to involve

herself in trade or any other similar business. Kalena's ability to do so was only one of the many

exceptional circumstances of her life. Her own House band was hidden away in her travel bag along with

her father's jeweled sintar and the packet of poison. She had not been allowed to use her real House

name since the summer of her twelfth year. Olara had forbidden it in an effort to hide her niece's identity.

Kalena had grown accustomed to introducing herself as a daughter of a small House called the Summer

Wind. But in her heart she was always conscious of her rightful name and heritage.

But what fascinated Kalena about her new friend was not so much her lack of a Great House band as it

was her lack of a man's lock and key around her throat. In Kalena's experience, females who had

reached this woman's age were invariably married. At least that was the case in the Interlock valley.

Kalena was somewhat taken aback by this first tangible proof of the kind of freedom that was really

possible. Until now Kalena's imagination had been able to conjure up only vague, uncertain images of

what it meant to be a freewoman; she was quickly realizing a whole new way of life truly did wait for her.

Her dreams could more than come true. She couldn't wait.

The woman looked up abruptly, her eyes minoring a kind of wry amazement. "By the Stones, you're

telling the truth, aren't you? You truly do have a trade marriage contract with Quintel's Fire Whip. And