The Assassin's Blade (2 page)

He looked down at her in surprise but stepped back a little. “Watch my feet. It’s really very simple. You are far too graceful not to catch on quickly.”

She found to her relief that he had not understated the situation. The steps were quite easy to pick up and within a few minutes she relaxed, gliding easily along with him. As if he sensed her comfort level had risen, he pulled her snugly against him once more. The brush of her breasts against his chest with each movement of the dance sent a wave of heat through her and an uncomfortable tension began to build low in her belly. She looked up at him disapprovingly.

He grinned unrepentantly. “Is that why you refused my request for a dance?”

“If it pleases you to think so,” Faylyn murmured, finding she was growing more uncomfortable by the moment—strangely breathless and warm, though the exercise was quite moderate.

He looked disconcerted. “The truth would please me more.”

“I find you….”

“Attractive?” he queried hopefully.

She smiled in spite of herself but shook her head.

“Charming?”

The word surprised a chuckle out of her. “Annoyingly persistent,” she corrected him.

“It is one of my greatest virtues,” he responded complacently.

She rolled her eyes. “A pity.”

“How so?”

“That you can only claim being pig-headed as your greatest virtue.”

He shrugged. “An ugly man must be persistent.”

She looked up at him in surprise. She could see nothing of his face but his eyes--a glorious shade of green dark enough to be called emerald, surrounded by thick, dark lashes--and his jaw and chin, but she had the impression that he was a remarkably handsome man. “You do not strike me as an … uh … ugly man.”

A faint smile curled his lips. “That’s because you find me as intriguing as I do you.”

Faylyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s because I find it hard to believe any man could be as cocky as you are and not also handsome.”

He gave her a smoldering look, his lips curling faintly. “Perhaps it’s my prowess that makes me cocky?”

To her annoyance, Faylyn found herself blushing again. “Alas, I shall never know,” she said sarcastically.

“I’d be happy to prove it to you.”

“You’re too kind!”

“Not at all!”

“I’m overwhelmed by your offer, but I fear I must decline.”

“It’s no trouble at all, I assure you.”

She gave him a look.

He grinned, but said nothing else for several moments.

Faylyn had just begun to relax again when he spoke once more.

“I’d promised myself that I would practice subtlety, but I’ll admit I am curious.”

Faylyn looked at him suspiciously.

“About the legend.”

She was in no doubt of what legend he spoke of. She had, in fact, suspected as much from his dogged, amorous pursuit. She had no idea where the legend had begun, that blues were the best of lovers, but she certainly had no intention of bedding him merely because he was curious. In point of fact, since she, herself, had not even experienced her awakening, she seriously doubted he would be impressed with her abilities in the bedroom. “As devastating as it must be for you, I’m of no mind to appease your curiosity.”

He didn’t look put off in the least. “You had no intention of dancing with me either.”

The remark, thankfully, hailed the end of the song. She smiled up at him. “Thank you. I enjoyed the dance. Now, if you’ll excuse me….”

“But, you must practice now that you’ve learned the steps!”

“Unfortunately, I expect the next dance will be something more lively … and I’m of no mind to learn yet another dance.”

“In that case, I’ll insist that the musicians play only the waltz.”

To her surprise and not a little consternation, the musicians began yet another waltz. Without a word, her partner pulled her close once more and began to move, sweeping away any chance for further protest.

“It would please me greatly if you would give me your name,” he said pensively after a few moments.

“I live to please you, of course,” Faylyn said dryly. “But I can’t imagine why it would be of any importance.”

His lips tightened fractionally. “A token of peace? A crumb to appease my wounded vanity?”

Despite the playful delivery of his remarks, Faylyn saw with more than a little surprise that she had, undoubtedly, pierced his thick hide. And having gained her aim, she felt more than a little uncomfortable at her pettiness. In truth, he was a charming rogue—clumsy, having obviously imbibed a little too freely, but charming regardless and sincerely interested in her.

“You are a stranger here. I would like to think you will not vanish forever at the close of the evening. I would like to know you.”

Faylyn glanced at him. The flippancy had vanished from his voice, leaving her in no doubt that he was completely serious in pursuing more than a light flirtation. She was more disturbed, however, by his first remark. “As you do not know me, you cannot know that I am a stranger.”

“I would have noticed you.”

“Because I’m a blue? Are there no others here, then?”

He shook his head. “There are others in the city, but none as lovely as you.”

Faylyn bit her lip, trying to repress a smile. “You cannot see my face. How do you know I am lovely? Or even passable? I might be a wrinkled old crone.”

“Your … eyes are beautiful.”

“Why do I have the impression that you were about to say something else?”

He looked surprised, but amusement lurked in his eyes. “I’ve no idea.”

She gave him a look of skepticism.

His lips twisted in a wry smile. “You are quite determined not to be easily wooed.”

“Quite.”

“I have my heart set on winning you to my bed this night.”

“Alas, you are doomed to disappointment.”

“A wager then.”

She gave him a look. “I seem witless to you?”

“Nay! Your wit is what I find so challenging … so stimulating!”

“And I thought it was my … lovely eyes,” Faylyn said dryly. “In any case, I’m not likely to succumb when a wager is in the offing! You did not, perchance, mean to offer insult?”

“Implying you might have a price? You misjudge me!”

“Have I?” she demanded frigidly.

“Do you?” he asked, intrigued.

Her eyes narrowed.

“I thought not,” he said pensively.

“But it was worth a try.”

She gaped at him speechlessly. One moment he was the sincere suitor, the next the clumsy seducer and she wasn’t certain whether she was more annoyed or more intrigued by the sharp inconsistencies in the man. It was patently obvious that he was accustomed to achieving his goal without the need for a great deal of charm or finesse at any time. It was obvious also

that while his speech was not slurred, nor his dexterity greatly hampered, he had imbibed to the point of relaxation where brutal honesty was more likely to trip from his tongue than clever repartee.

Unfortunately, his current state was dangerous. He was observant enough to realize she was a stranger and all too likely to recall more than she would like about her come tomorrow when the deed was done.

It was time to call a halt to the flirtation.

Fortunately, the dance wound to a close only moments later.

“Alas, all good things…. If you’ll excuse me, now. I must find the lady’s retiring room and freshen up.”

He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “I know the way. I’ll show you.”

Faylyn frowned, but as anxious as she had become to shake the man, she had no desire to draw unwelcome attention to herself by clobbering him. With as much grace as she could muster, she allowed him to escort her up the stairs to the lady’s retiring room on the mezzanine she’d so lately left. She paused at the doorway. “It was a pleasure meeting you. Thank you for the dance,” she said dismissively.

“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you,” he said, bowing gallantly.

Faylyn smiled faintly and went into the lady’s room. It was crowded, but she was in no hurry. Taking up a position near one wall, she propped a shoulder against it and watched the parade of women in and out of the door to the necessary room. There was a window in the main part of the lounge but far too many witnesses for any possibility of using it as an exit. A half a dozen women were seated in the chairs before the mirrored vanity.

When Faylyn decided she’d out-waited her persistent admirer, she stood away from the wall and moved toward the door to the necessary room. The rotation of women in front of the vanity, and in and out of the necessary room seemed to indicate little chance that anyone would notice she went into, but did not come out of, the necessary.

She joined the parade into the necessary and took up a stance near the single window in the room, waiting patiently for a pause in the traffic. When all of the stalls were occupied and the outer room empty, she pushed the window up, hefted herself onto the sill and from there onto the ledge outside, stepping quickly out of view of anyone who might enter the room or exit one of the stalls.

The palace, she saw, crowded the very lip of the mountain it was built upon at this point. Several stories below her the stone of the palace walls gave way to rocky outcroppings, then sheered away to nothingness before touching the valley floor far below.

A sharp gust of wind shook her from her contemplation of the breathtaking view, and she turned and made her way quickly along the ledge to the first window. Without surprise, she discovered it unlatched. There was little need for the staff to concern themselves with the windows that looked out over the valley below. The outcropping of rock at the base of the palace made the cliff face virtually unscalable for would be attackers.

Bending her knees slightly, Faylyn grasped the window and pulled the lower sash upwards. Without a sound, she slipped inside and dropped to the floor. Heavy velvet drapes created a narrow alcove. She paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness and found the part between the curtains, pulling it back only enough to allow her a glimpse of the room beyond.

She found, to her disappointment, that she had gained the hallway just outside the lady’s room. She saw no sign of her persistent admirer, however —no sign of anyone for the moment.

She stepped through, glanced down to make certain her clothing was still presentable, and strode purposefully down the corridor.

Her hand was grasped as she passed one pillar. Her captor gave her a hard yank that snatched her off her feet. She came up against his chest—hard, melded against him from breast to thigh.

Her blade was in her hand and resting lightly against his throat even before she caught her breath.

“Lose your way?” he asked pleasantly, apparently not the least disconcerted by the knife in her hand.

Faylyn felt the tension leave her. Annoyance took its place. “As a matter of fact….”

She had no idea what lie would have poured forth from her lips, but she was not given the chance to utter it in any case.

Behind her, she heard the approach of a heavy tread, which broke abruptly into a run. “Assassin!” someone behind them yelled. “To arms! Protect your Emperor!”

Faylyn’s eyes widened, but it had nothing to do with the stampede of heavy footsteps behind them. She met the gaze of the man holding her, the same who’d followed her faithfully throughout the evening despite her best attempts to dissuade him. The man clutching her wrist in a steely grip was looking at her in a wholly different way, his eyes narrowed and speculative.

She was grasped from behind and slammed back against the wall of the corridor.

“Easy!” the man who’d held her ordered—her mark—the Emperor, Talor Sylvanos.

Despite his command, she was pinned to the wall by a hard arm across her throat, felt hands pulling at her as the Emperor’s guard disarmed her. Sparks swam before her eyes like annoying insects, but she was only barely aware of the pain that exploded in her head. The arm pressed against her throat made breathing impossible. Within seconds she was struggling to drag air into lungs that labored for naught.

“Who sent you?” the man who had his forearm pressed against her throat growled.

She would not have answered if she’d been able to speak, if she had not been struggling to drag air into her burning lungs. She could scarcely hear him for the ringing in her ears in any case.

“Before I’m done you’ll be singing,” the guard growled, his hot, moist breath blasting the skin of her face in a stinging wave. “Take her to the dungeon!”

“Hold!” Talor Sylvanos commanded.

It was the last voice she heard before unconsciousness swam up to greet her with soothing arms.

* * * *

“Your grace! She’s a Kilrathi assassin! She bears the mark!”

“I saw.”

“But ... but, Sire! You are not safe alone with her!”

“She’s been disarmed.”

“Which counts for nothing! She’s a Kilrathi assassin … trained in the death arts. She will find a way!”