Entangled (Cursed Magic Series, Book 2.5), Page 3

  After a brief ascent, Farron hoisted himself up next to the left window, using the open shutters for balance. He edged closer to the warm glow and peeked in— and then he cursed again silently. It was a woman— and not a particularly good looking one at that— half undressed. He turned and started to make his way towards the other window, and then he froze. Footsteps sounded from below. He glanced down as a guard came around the corner. Farron remained motionless, waiting for the man to pass by underneath, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. He’d been careless. This guard had escaped his earlier count.

  His hands gripped the shutter as he tried to press his body further to the wall. The moon was hidden behind a cloud, shrouding him in darkness for the moment, but it would soon pass and he’d be as visible. His best hope was that the guard was patrolling in a bored daze, as many of them did from too many uneventful nights. The footsteps were about to pass him by when debris from the ledge he was standing on came loose and fell to the grass with a soft thud.

  Farron held his breath, listening. Keep walking, he thought. But the man didn’t. The guard stopped and turned, his eyes scanning the yard. He walked closer, and soon those eyes would glance up and discover the peeper hanging off the shutters. Farron had to do something— and fast. Before the whole guard was roused.

  As the guard bent to inspect the debris, Farron dropped from the wall, crashing onto the man below. He clamped a hand over the man’s mouth before he could make too much noise, then wound his other arm around his throat and began to squeeze. He struggled, but Farron tightened his hold on him, restricting his air even more. The guard sagged, yielding.

  “Scream and you die,” he said menacingly in a low voice. The man tensed underneath him. He wasn’t really going to kill him, but he couldn’t have him causing any trouble either. The man nodded slowly.

  “Where’s your guest?” he whispered into the guard’s ear. He slid his hand from the man’s mouth so he could answer, but grasped his neck tighter so all he could do was whisper.

  “I don’t kno—”

  “Don’t be foolish!” he hissed, anger creeping into his voice. This was already taking too long. “I will kill you if you don’t answer me.” He dug his knee into the man’s spine, causing him to whimper.

  “B-back corner,” the guard rasped.

  It was enough. Farron tightened his arm around his throat and squeezed. The man bucked beneath him, but after several moments stilled. He was out, but not for long. Farron rose off the guard and dragged the guard’s limp form into the shadow of some bushes. The moon finally peeked out from behind the clouds, giving him a glimpse of the guard’s face. He was young. Probably his first position. At least he’ll have a story to tell over drinks now, Farron thought.

  Farron hurried to the corner of the house and spied the rear guard. He stood at attention, guarding the rear entrance, unaware of the danger right behind him. And Farron hoped it stayed that way. He had already been too careless tonight.

  A few trees dotted the yard, giving him at least a little cover. Quickly, he darted from one to the other until he reached the window the guard had told him about. Only this façade was smooth, making it impossible to climb without a rope. Quickly, he turned to a tree and began to climb. Perhaps he could at least get a glimpse of his target from here. That was all he needed.

  His boots slipped as he climbed. Dress shoes weren’t meant for this sort of work. He should have gone back to his inn and changed, but in the state he was currently in, the thought had somehow escaped him. He was almost at the top of the tree when he finally came even with the window, and he could feel it sway a bit underneath him. He had to stifle a laugh. If the king could see him now, up a tree and swaying gently in the breeze like a fool, he’d have second thoughts about sending him out on another mission ever again. Mother would surely be proud, he thought with a quiet laugh, but it was for her that he had started doing all this in the first place.

  Movement in the window caught his attention. Farron narrowed his eyes, sobering up slightly. An elderly man in long robes paced the room, a scroll in his hand. His hair was graying, his skin wrinkled, back hunched, and he definitely wasn’t the man he was looking for. A sigh escaped his lips, the sound a little too loud. Of course he wouldn’t be that lucky. He would be stuck in this town for a while longer, it seemed. On the bright side, he wouldn’t be killing anyone tonight. His conscience could rest easy for the time being, or at least, easier.

  He began his descent. On the last branch, his boot slipped and he lost his grip. He fell to the ground onto his back with a loud thump. All of the air was knocked out of him and it took him a second to learn how to breathe again. Footsteps and shouts rang out, drawing closer. He waited for the guard to come. There was no avoiding it now.

  Farron rose slowly to his feet, his body sore from the fall, as the first guards appeared. There were two of them. The one from the rear gate and the one he thought he’d disposed of earlier. The latter had a sour look on his face. If he had to guess, he’d say he wasn’t happy with him. Not that he could really blame the man. They pointed their spears at him.

  “Don’t move,” the rear guard said. Middle aged with graying blonde hair, his voice was gravelly and he had a no-nonsense air about him.

  Farron raised his hands up as he studied them. The old man he could take. He was experienced, but slow. He favored his left leg, leaning a bit to the side. The other one was still trying to shake off his stupor. The spear shook in his hand. Still green around the ears. Too easy. Either Lord Linos was oblivious to the kind of men he had hired, or he was too cheap to employ better guards.

  “Now, now fellows,” Farron said, grinning. “We can end this easily. You let me walk and I’ll let you keep your pride.”

  “Don’t think so,” the older one said. He thrust his spear at Farron, causing him to jump back.

  Farron was aware of a presence behind him then. “Sintae,” he cursed, turning. He wasn’t sharp enough tonight. He stopped short when he spotted the new guard, his eyes going up, then up some more. The man was tall and built like a bull, thick and well-muscled. Farron definitely hadn’t seen this one earlier. Perhaps this was where Lord Linos’ money was really going.

  “Wait—”

  The big guard punched him in the stomach. Farron doubled over, gasping. It felt like being kicked by a horse. The bull-man grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him up. He brought his fist back and punched Farron in the jaw, sending him tumbling to the ground.

  Farron rolled over onto his back. He tasted blood in his mouth. That would leave a mark. Any more of this and the servant girl wouldn’t even want to sleep with him anymore. She’d run far away, as she should have in the first place. Laughter bubbled up from deep inside him. He wasn’t able to control it. There was nothing funny, really. No, it wasn’t that at all. It was the laughter of a madman.

  The guards paused, giving him wary looks.

  The laughter started to abate. He needed to get ahold of himself, and fast. Before they summoned the town guard. He couldn’t very well complete his mission behind bars.

  The two normal-sized guards lowered their spears at Farron, training the sharp tips on his face.

  “Not so cocky now, are ya?” the older man said. He smirked.

  Farron frowned. “I prefer charming, personally.”

  “You won’t be so charming once I cut your throat, boy.”

  “I think that it could help improve your appearance, though.”

  “You’re not in any position to make threats, are ya now?”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “What—”

  Farron grabbed the old man’s spear and kicked out at the younger guard’s legs. The younger man stumbled, the tip of his spear digging into the ground inches from Farron’s neck. He breathed a quick sigh of relief before pulling on the old guard’s spear. The older man’s hands fumbled and Farron was able to pull the weapon from the man’s grip. He rolled away and got to his feet quickly. The younger man, havi
ng pulled his spear free from the dirt, charged after him, followed by the bull-man.

  Definitely green — the young man left himself wide open. Farron lowered the spear, dipping below the man’s defense, before bringing it back up and rapping his knuckles with it. The young man screamed and dropped his spear. He shook his hand frantically, sending red droplets through the air. The hefty man didn’t stop. Farron whirled the spear around and struck the man across the head with the butt of it. Payback for earlier. He then drove the end of the spear into his gut, causing him to double over. Farron dropped down low and swung the spear out to strike the bull-man’s knees. The man crashed to the ground, his hands gripping his stomach.

  Then it was the older guard’s turn again. He drew a sword at his waist and ran toward Farron. He swung at Farron but was blocked by his own spear. He swung again and Farron dodged out of the way.

  Fury showed clear on the man’s face. He was an emotional fighter. He grew clumsier by the second. “Why you—!”

  Farron struck out at him, an easy move to block, driving the man back. Farron struck again, then again, making the man angrier. Farron grinned, and that sent him over the edge. He charged at him, but Farron knocked his sword to the side easily and brought the sharp tip of the spear up to the man’s throat. The old guard froze, his eyes going wide.

  “Eh-eh,” Farron warned. “Unless you want a new smile, drop it.” He poked the man with the spearhead and he dropped his sword.

  Shouts sounded from the front yard. Time to go. He swung the spear around in a blur and struck the old man on the side of the head. He crumpled heavily to the ground. Farron dropped the spear and ran toward the back gate just as the other guards came around the corner. A few members of the town guard were with them.

  Farron ran out the back entrance and toward the water. He needed to disappear before he woke the whole district. He jumped a low fence down to the docks and ran past the boats toward the end jutting out into the bay. The shouts followed him. He’d really blown it this time. In the end, he had only made his mission harder to complete. He’d have to truly become the Sin de Reine now.

  When he reached the end of the dock, Farron dove into the water. It hit him like a wall of ice, sobering him up instantly. He took a deep breath and plunged under the surface as a spear whizzed by. Then he swam.

  He needed to get out, to end this way of life, but he couldn’t. He was trapped.

  Crowds filled the town square at midday. Stall owners called out their wares while farmers set up their carts in the center of the market. Claire slipped quietly through the throngs of people. The hustle and bustle always gave her energy, a feeling of excitement. Stockton may have been small, but during midday at the market, it was as busy as any city— that was what she’d always heard, anyway. Traders from distant lands would stop along their routes and set up shop. Those were always her favorite; though she wasn’t always able to afford their wares. Once, she had saved up money for three months to buy a set of lavender scented soaps all the way from the port city of Alexos.

  She stopped at a stall selling metal ware and eyed a pearl inlaid comb. A basket swung from her arm, filled with produce and salted pork for tonight’s meal. The man behind the table watched her carefully, his eyes wandering down her body— to her pants. He tried to cover up the disapproving scowl, probably in an effort to not scare away a potential customer. Claire grinned slightly. He must be new here. Most of the regular shop owners were used to her by now. She was one of the few women in town that actually wore pants out in public, a habit she’d gotten from her mother. At first, Mother was the only woman in town who did it, but the trend was slowly spreading and becoming more accepted— by some people, anyway. Many townspeople still disapproved, silently or otherwise, but that could be because of her occupation more than anything that she wore.

  Claire smiled politely at the stall owner before going on her way. She didn’t have the money for it anyway. She pushed back into the throng and headed towards the next stall. Ribbons and cloth were displayed in a colorful array. Another thing she couldn’t quite afford at the moment, but it was nice to look anyway. She meandered along the side table, letting her eyes drift over the spools of ribbon. She’d reached the end of the table and was about to turn the corner when she saw him, the handsome young guard that had helped her and her mother in the tavern a few nights ago. Dressed in the light brown leather guard armor with a spear in hand, he looked to be on duty.

  She eyed him for a few moments. Strange. He must be new, at least to this area. She didn’t recall ever seeing him in the market before unless she had just been oblivious, though it would have been hard to forget a face like his. Without a helmet, his sandy blonde hair glinted in the sun, cut shorter and neater than the last time she had seen him. A blush crept up her cheeks. He looked even better than she remembered. His eyes scanned the crowd. Her pulse speeding up, Claire turned back to the stall before he spotted her. It was silly, she knew, but she wasn’t certain how to act around him now. Not after he had played through her thoughts constantly these past few days, and nights— especially the nights.

  “The green one,” said a male voice beside her.

  Claire stiffened, her blush growing deeper. It couldn’t be. She must be delusional, the voice all too familiar. It also had been running through her mind these past few days. She risked a glance in his direction to confirm and met his eyes, as green as she recalled, looking right at her.

  “I mean, I just think that that color would suit you best,” he said, looking down. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. Sweat glistened on his forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude or anything.”

  “N-no, it’s fine,” she reassured him quickly. Her mouth felt dry so suddenly. “Thank you, but I can’t afford it right now anyway.” She could see the shop owner frown out of the corner of her eye. Claire stepped away from the stall before she could embarrass herself any further.

  The young guard followed her into the crowd. “Wait, I didn’t catch your name!”

  She slowed her pace so he could catch up. “I-it’s Claire.” She peered up at him. “Claire Tanith.”

  “It’s nice to meet you again, Miss Tanith.” He bowed slightly, the movement a little awkward in his armor. “In better circumstances than the last time our paths crossed. I am Jerrod Wyard, or Jerry, if you’d like.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too, Jerry.” She blushed saying his name, especially one so familiar. But he had said she could use it.

  “That man hasn’t come back to bother you anymore, has he?”

  She shook her head. “No. Thank you again for your help.” They stopped by one of the farmer’s carts set up in the middle of the plaza, out of the way of the crowds. A mixture of giddy excitement mixed with nerves inside her. Was he really talking to her? Of course, he was just being polite. There was no way he could possibly be interested in her. She was just a tavern maid, so there was no need to get too excited, but still…

  “I hardly did a thing. Your mother did all the hard work for us, really.” He smiled at her. “I would hate to get on her bad side.”

  Claire laughed, feeling somewhat more relaxed. “I’ve been, and it is as miserable as it seems.”

  “Does that sort of thing happen often?” he asked, his expression sobering. “The men, I mean, coming to harass you in the middle of the night?”

  “More often than I care for.” It was her turn to look down in embarrassment. “But we’ve grown used to it, in a way.”

  “If you want,” he said, his voice unsure, “I could ask the captain to send someone to keep an eye on you…”

  She looked up at him, a little shocked. Why would he go out of his way like that?

  “I mean—” His face flushed and he looked everywhere but at her. “If you want, your tavern, I could…”

  Claire couldn’t help but smile— not that she found his inability to talk at the moment funny— but it was the first time in a while a sober man was actually flirt
ing with her. Besides, he looked particularly cute when he was embarrassed.

  “That would be kind of you,” she said, deciding to end his torment, though she didn’t think it would help. Captain Rinald had known of their plight for some time now and he had yet to do anything about it. Guards only came when they really needed help, or after Mother had already dealt with the offending man. But that could be due to the kindness of the many squadron members that frequently came into their tavern more than any orders from their captain.

  A loud clang filled the air as the bell in the clock tower struck once, then again as it announced the time. It was later than she thought. She still had to go home, do chores, and prepare the tavern to open. She looked up at Jerrod and gave him an apologetic smile. “I have to go.”

  “Of course,” he said, smiling back, though he looked a bit disappointed.

  Claire started to turn but stopped. “Maybe I’ll see you again sometime, Mr. Wyard.” With that, Claire plunged into the crowds once more and headed for home.

  “And call me Jerry!” she heard him shout after her.

  She blushed again, giddy as a young girl. Finally, someone was actually interested in her, and he wasn’t a drunken sot or twice her age. He actually seemed… nice. But as elated as she felt at the moment, deep down fear started to grow inside her, afraid that he wouldn’t like what he saw once he got to know her.

  Lord Riald Kasían was a noble from the capital, Derenan, earning his riches in the spice and oils trade. Farron had met him once at one of the many balls he was forced to attend at the palace. A friend of the Council and ardent supporter of his half-brother, King Líadan, Lord Kasían seemed like any other noble he’d met, putting on a pleasant face while hiding his true agenda. A skill that Farron himself had to learn over the years, though he’d never quite mastered the fake smile and friendly expression. He didn’t really need to, however. It wasn’t him people were trying to impress. Most people were afraid of him, and that was the way he preferred things.