Entangled (Cursed Magic Series, Book 2.5), Page 2

  “Do you know the hour, you fool?” Mother said, giving him a whack with the broom.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “I wrote you a song, my fair lady with hair of fire.”

  Claire stifled a laugh. And what a wonderful song it was, she thought.

  “Flowers and sweets would be much better than your sorry verse,” Mother said.

  “So that’s what you like, is it?”

  “You wouldn’t know what a woman likes if it bit you on the arse,” she said. “Now off with you.” Mother gave the man another whack with the broom.

  The man’s temperament turned almost instantaneously then. One second he was smiling, and the next he wore an angry scowl, his cheeks turning red. He grabbed the broom handle and pushed her mother backward into the room.

  Claire shrieked, pulling the chair off the table. She held it in front of her, took a few unsteady steps, and swung it at the man— but she missed.

  “Claire, don’t!” Mother yelled as she struggled with the man, the broom handle wedged between them. “Call for the guard!”

  Claire hesitated for a moment, about to turn toward the door and go for help, but she stopped. She couldn’t leave her mother here alone with the man. Who knew what he could do to her. Her mother was strong, but the man was stronger, standing half a head taller than her. His body— although softened with age and a few too many ales in his day— was still thick and solid.

  “My Marion,” he growled, grabbing at her mother. A loud tear sounded through the room as he ripped her shirt open, revealing her undergarments.

  “Please stop!” Claire yelled and swung the chair again, this time striking the man on the back of his legs. “Just leave us alone!”

  He stumbled, letting go of her mother. Marion yanked the broom handle out of the man’s grasp and struck him hard upside the head. The man staggered, swaying on his feet. Mother threw the broom aside, drew her knee back, and with all her force, drove it into the man’s precious parts. The big brute doubled over and fell to the floor, cursing, his face red and seething.

  “Is everythin’ alright?” came a voice from the front door.

  Claire spun around, her body shaking, and breathed a sigh of relief. Samson, a member of the town’s defense squadron and one of their regulars, stood in the doorway, dressed in uniform, spear in hand. “Please help,” she breathed. Her heart still pounded in her chest. None of the drunken men in the past had ever gone so far as to attack them.

  Samson, seeing the brute, hurried into the room, fixing the point of his spear on the offender. He was followed by another guard, a younger man Claire didn’t recognize.

  “What happened ‘ere?” Samson asked. He was one of the older men on the guard, his hair entirely gray, and wrinkles in full bloom on his face. Too old, Claire thought at times, though he’d proven time and again that he could wield a spear with the best of them.

  “Just a little scuffle,” her mother said a bit too matter of factly.

  Still frightened from what had just happened, Claire looked at her mother in disbelief. Marion looked calm and composed. She’d handled the man with surprising deftness.

  “Are you all right, Miss?”

  Claire turned her attention to the other guard, really looking at him for the first time. He was young, in his early twenties perhaps. And handsome. Sandy blonde hair covered his head in an uneven mop in a sort of charming way. Dark green eyes peered down at her, questioning.

  She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks in a sudden rush. “Y-yes,” she stuttered.

  He smiled then, dimples framing his mouth. “That’s a relief, then.”

  “What would you like to do with ‘im?” Samson asked.

  Claire tore her attention away from the handsome young man and looked at her mother.

  “Perhaps a night or two behind bars will teach him a lesson in manners,” she said, grinning.

  “I’ll be sure to give 'em a lesson or two,” Samson said. “Come on, you heard the lady, on your feet.”

  Slowly, the man rose to his knees, cursing under his breath. But before he could get to his feet, Mother grabbed his chin and yanked his face up to look at her.

  “If you ever come near me or my daughter again, I’ll slip a blade between your ribs, you hear?”

  The glare her mother gave him sent shivers down Claire’s spine. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead right then and there on their floorboards. The man remained silent, his adulation of her mother now gone.

  “Come on, then.” Samson prodded the man with the butt of his spear. When the brute was finally on his feet, the older man trained his spear on him and began to lead him out of the room.

  “It was nice meeting you, Miss,” the younger man said, bowing to Claire.

  She flushed wildly and did a quick curtsey in return.

  A few moments later, the door was shut and locked, and everything was quiet once more. Just like nothing had ever happened. Though she wasn’t sure she could look at her mother the same way ever again.

  Farron sat on the edge of the bed and slipped one of his boots on, tucking his pants into it.

  The girl lay back on the bed, dozing under the plush red covers.

  He thought, momentarily, about staying. Wondered what it would be like to spend the entire night in the arms of a woman he cared about. Of a woman who cared about him. He shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind. Love. He didn’t need it. It served no use for his job, his way of life. It wasn’t good in a fight. But still. There were times he wondered what it would be like, to truly fall in love, to live a normal life…

  He shoved his bare foot into his other boot. “A normal life,” he whispered, a sharp laugh escaping him before he could stop it.

  The woman stirred next to him. “Leavin’ so soon?”

  He looked back over his shoulder at her as he slipped his shirt back on and grinned. “My services don’t come cheap, my lady.”

  The woman rose to her knees, the blankets falling to reveal her nude body, and crawled across the bed to run her hands over his shoulders. “Is that so?” she asked with a teasing quality to her voice. “And what, if I may ask, would your services cost me?”

  She placed a light kiss on the back of his neck, making it hard to concentrate. “I’m looking for someone,” he said. He began working on the buttons to his shirt. “A man, Lord Kasían. Though I do not think he would use his real name here.”

  “Why, is he an evil man on the run?”

  “Something like that.” He didn’t want to go into the details with the servant girl. The less she knew, the better.

  The woman leaned back, the mood broken. She got off the bed and bent to pick up her dress from the floor, a simple deep brown affair that hid two of her best attributes. He was saddened to see her don the thing again.

  “One of the girls did say somethin’,” she said. She stood in front of Farron, her back to him so he could tie the lacings to her bodice. “As we were prepping for the gala earlier. One of Lord Linos’ girls, if I’m rememberin’ right. She said somethin’ about a strange man she had to attend to these past few nights.”

  His interest piqued, he found it hard to focus on the lacings. He’d never really had patience for them anyway.

  “Of course there’s no tellin he’s your man,” she said. “Lots of people come this time of year.”

  It was true. Aloniki sat along the coast, just north of the major port city of Soliniki. Its smaller size and more favorable location made it a popular retreat for many of the country’s wealthier citizens. He sighed, tying off the woman’s dress. He knew this mission wouldn’t be easy. Half the people downstairs had come from out of town to partake in one of the spring season’s many dances. The only reason he’d attended was in the hope of gleaning some sort of information, met with a modicum success. But perhaps the servant girl could help. If there was one thing servants knew how to do well, it was gossip.

  “I could, I suppose, do some listenin’ on your behalf,” she pur
red, turning around to face him. She ran a finger along his jaw. “In return for your services, of course.”

  His grin returned. “You drive a hard bargain, my lady.”

  “Tell me, what does this man look like?” She sat on his lap and threw her arms around his neck. “I at least have to know that if I am to find him, no?”

  Farron hesitated for a moment, unsure enlisting this woman’s help was in his best interest. There was no telling where her loyalties lie— though considering where they were at the moment, she couldn’t think too highly of her master and his like. No, this girl could be his best shot at finding his target. “He is tall, fair-haired, and thinks himself quite the ladies man.”

  “Why, it seems you speak of yourself.” She giggled.

  “My lady, I am quite charming, I assure you.”

  “More than most, I suppose,” the woman admitted. “Certainly more than most of the lords I’ve come across. They’ll pinch your behind one second, then scold you the next.”

  Even better, the girl appeared to be rather embittered by society’s higher class of men. She could prove to be quite the ally indeed. “He is an older man, in his fifties. And he has a scar along his left cheek. That is all I can recall, however. I’ve only ever seen the man once, I’m afraid.”

  “How will you know you’ve got the right man then if even you don’t know exactly what he looks like?”

  “I’ll know,” he said, a somber note to his voice. He had yet to kill the wrong man on any of his missions. It was what he was trained to do; however, it wasn’t what he was led to believe growing up. He had killed other men besides his targets, surely, but they had earned those deaths one way or another.

  The woman was quiet for a moment as she studied him. Perhaps wondering just who she had trusted to enter her bed. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d scared away a woman with what he did for a living.

  “Then it’s a deal, then,” she said, hopping to her feet smiling. She drew him up by the hands and led him to the door. “Meet me here in four days. Milord will be out of town. Perhaps then I’ll have been able to gather tidin’s on your evil man. Just remember to bring your payment.”

  “Until then, my lady.” Farron bowed, took the girl’s hand and laid a light kiss on it.

  With that, he slipped out the door, down the stairs, and back into the dark alley, quiet as the King’s shadow itself.

  Mother hummed as she combed Claire’s wet hair, the same tune she’d sung to Claire since she’d been a young girl. Claire sat on the floor of her room between her mother’s knees, fresh from a long, warm bath. It was late into the night and an oil lamp glowed dimly from the table next to Claire’s narrow bed, which her mother sat upon.

  Claire closed her eyes, letting her mother’s voice sooth her like it always had. But every time she felt almost at ease, the scene from earlier entered her mind. How the man had forced his way into their home, the way her hands shook— but what still shocked her more than anything was how her mother had disposed of the man so easily. She’d never seen her do anything like it before. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t too surprising. Her mother had lived another life before she had adopted Claire. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched to assume that her mother had learned how to protect herself then.

  She scratched her right arm. It had started to itch after the fight, almost unbearably so. Nerves, she told herself. She’d hoped the bath would have soothed it away.

  “Do you think,” Claire began, opening her eyes, “that you could teach me how to do that?”

  “Do what, my dear?”

  “How to fight like you did.”

  Marion stopped combing. “I was only defending myself, Claire. I’d hardly call it fighting.”

  Claire turned to look up at her mother. “Then teach me how to do that.” Perhaps if she knew how to defend herself, at least a little bit, she would have been able to better help her mother, and be less afraid of the drunken men who came calling after hours.

  Mother’s face softened and she smiled. Claire was always amazed by how beautiful her mother was, how stunning her facial features were: full pouty lips, strong nose, arched eyebrows, the beauty mark just to the left of her chin, her fiery red hair. And then she’d be saddened, knowing she’d never inherit any of those qualities, nor her mother’s confidence and courage.

  “That’s why you have me to protect you,” her mother said. Her expression hardened as she grabbed Claire by the chin. “And I don’t want you to do anything so foolish ever again, you hear me?”

  Claire gulped. Marion didn’t even need to know how to fight with the kinds of looks she was able to give. “Yes, Mother,” she whispered. She knew better than to argue. Her mother was more stubborn than she was. She rested her chin on her mother’s knee. “Mr. Farthis came in again tonight.”

  “I saw. He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?”

  “Of course not. Though he dashed my dream of waiting for a prince to come.”

  Mother chuckled. “Well now, that wasn’t very nice of him. He should know that I don’t expect anything less for my daughter.” She tapped a finger on Claire’s nose. “And neither should you. Even if he is not truly a prince in name, he should at least possess princely qualities. If I ever see you with a man that frequents the tavern, I’ll string you both up by your necks to teach you a lesson.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Claire’s mouth. “Speaking of, do you know who that boy was that came with Samson? He was very handsome.” She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks just thinking about him.

  “Someone I’ll have to keep my eye on for now on, that’s who.” She brushed Claire’s hair back out of her face.

  Claire sighed. Sometimes Mother’s overprotectiveness was frustrating. And the older she grew, the worse it became. “He could be nice, you know. He is in the town guard.” She looked down at the floor to avoid her mother’s keen eyes, her embarrassment growing. “He even asked how I was.” Not many men asked that. Most didn’t even seem to care.

  “He seemed nice, alright,” Mother said, smoothing down Claire’s hair. “But it’s always the nice ones you have to watch out for.” Her voice held a nostalgic tone. One that spoke of past heartbreak, though that tale remained unknown to Claire. “Now, my dear, I’m afraid it’s time for bed,” she said, stirring. She stood up and stretched. “These old bones need more rest than they used to.”

  Claire didn’t feel tired in the least. Her mind was still too busy thinking of the earlier events.

  “Try to get some sleep, Claire,” Mother said. “And try not to worry about those fools anymore. I’ll always be here to protect you.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before quietly leaving Claire’s room.

  Claire remained on the floor, staring off into nothing. She believed her mother’s words, but it wasn’t the drunken fool she couldn’t get out of her mind. No, the man she thought about now was much more pleasant, one with dimples and sandy blonde hair.

  Farron looked up at the two storied manse situated along the bay. He could smell the salt from the water on the air, it was so thick. The building was the usual southern Étruson style: square and imposing, and so many carvings and embellishments it bordered on gaudy. Lord Linos was quite the wealthy man, making his fortune in shipping— though there was no accounting for taste.

  After he had left the ball, he’d done some asking around. Lips loosened with a bit of silver, and even more so with a bit of alcohol. He’d been able to gather some information on this Lord Linos from the locals at a hole-in-the-wall tavern. They’d been leery of trusting him at first, but that changed quickly when he’d bought the first round. It usually did.

  He took a swig of the dark wine still in his hand, the bottle half gone, and looked through the bars of the fence to the house. Linos sounded like the usual rich lord. Nothing too bad, nothing too good either. The man the girl spoke of probably wasn’t Kasían, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure. If he could end this mission earlier than
he expected, the better.

  Clouds drifted intermittently in front of a half moon, providing decent cover. He set the bottle on the ground and rolled up his sleeves. He’d given his jacket to one of the drunkards in the tavern. He wouldn’t be needing it again.

  The grounds had a light guard. Two in the front by the gate, and one in the back. He’d dealt with worse. Lord Linos slept comfortably at night. With so few guards, apparently he hadn’t made many enemies yet. Good for him. Farron had met lords that regularly employed small armies to keep them safe. Not that they had stopped him…

  He picked the wine bottle back up and took a long swig. His head swam a little. He probably shouldn’t be doing this now, should wait until he sobered up a bit, but he wanted to get this over with. Besides, it helped take the sting off of what he would have to do, helped to dull the guilt. He circled around to the back corner of the property where a tree grew over the fence. An oversight by the head guard, perhaps. It made it almost too easy.

  Farron set the bottle down again and walked up to the fence. He gripped the bars and hoisted himself up, being careful to avoid the spikes at the top. He leaned too far over as he tried to get footing at the top and one of the spikes nicked his arm.

  Haggah, he cursed silently. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to get rid of his jacket so early. Slowly, he regained his balance along the top, taking far longer and much more concentration than it should have. When he felt steady enough, he jumped to a low hanging branch of the tree and climbed toward the trunk. The leaves were thick, giving ample coverage. He waited quietly for a few moments for any guards to come. When they didn’t, he dropped to the ground.

  He peeked around the trunk to the house. Where would a guest stay? A few windows were lit, one on the ground floor and two on the second. Guest rooms were usually on the second floors in the Étruson style. So up it was then. With another quick glance to make sure no one was coming, he darted out toward the house. He may not have liked the style, but at least the carvings and statues made it easier to climb.