Page 6 of Shadows and Flames
My mark wasn’t even able to struggle in my grip before I slit their throat. Their blood was a curious, dark shade of green. Their gray skin was cooler than most other beings I had come into contact with, but they bled and died all the same.
They slumped against my hold as their life drained down their front, staining and saturating their simple yet neat clothing. A gurgling sound bubbled up as they tried to speak or breathe, but there was no use, of course. Before I let them fall to the ground, I snatched my proof of kill from their belt.
The little chittering creature that hired me for this particular contract had not paid all that much, but I was eager to take anything and everything to keep myself busy.
The bejeweled rapier I was instructed to bring back was very fine. If it had not been me, I was sure my mark would have gotten killed and robbed for it since they insisted carrying it around like this for all to see. The streets of Banfas were not dangerous, necessarily, but anyone with sense wouldn’t walkthese dark streets boasting a useless, expensive ornament like this.
I was beginning to think more and more that my employer had no other reason to wish this person dead aside from stealing the weapon and assuring they wouldn’t come looking for it. The hilt was obscene with gaudy rubies and gold pommel and cross-guard. It was almost embarrassing for me to carry it at all.
The rapier was an irritating weight in the long pack slung over my shoulders, but I would be rid of it come tomorrow. My mark, I left slumped against the stone wall of one of the buildings that made up the alley. Someone would find them in the morning soon enough.
I looked up to the sky and bent my neck from side to side, stretching it and waiting. A few Banfians passed by up ahead, and I waited in the shadows for an opportunity to slip out unseen. Not that I was that worried about being caught, but the caution was engrained in me.
When all was clear, I slunk out down pale paved streets. The air was blessedly warm and dry, and a large part of me felt easier here. It wasn’t Zonoras, but it was the closest I’d ever get.
The city was tremendously old, and the structures I passed had obviously weathered many sandstorms. They were spaced to maximize precious airflow, and while the pale stone blended with the sprawling desert just outside of the city, the Banfian people decorated their shopfronts, porches, and bodies with richly colored tapestries and fabrics. Oranges, reds, and purples brightened what would have been a dull sight as I made my way to our—my apartment.
It was far from the city center, but luckily my mark had been headed that way anyway. It was less busy here, away from the main markets and royal palace.
I slunk down another alleyway and entered the side door to the nondescript building. The ground floor held a vacantoffice space now, though businesses had cycled through over the centuries.
It was only three stories, and when I reached the top of the old steps, mine was the last of six doors in the corridor. The last person to rent a room had been a few decades ago, as far as I knew. My father had purchased the building before Leandro and I were born, and when they died, ownership transferred to me. I did not care to promote the vacancies, so I had the whole structure to myself these days. Not that I stayed here much.
Once inside, I began my routine of checking the lofted space, though I’d known I was alone when I’d entered the building.
When we’d been sworn in as Shadows, Leandro and I had chosen this apartment for the high ceiling and large window that overlooked the street. It wasn’t the most practical for a Shadow—we’d admittedly been too excited at the prospect of having our first space that wasoursand the idea of jumping from the upper level with our beds to the main floor below was too enticing to pass up.
Now, I threw my pack down on the long sofa that faced the wall of window. My father had insisted on purchasing and installing glass that would obstruct any outside view within while allowing a clear view from inside the apartment. And for our own short-sightedness, my father made us pay for the modification out of our first few contracts. That had taken at least a year, but we did not care.
When I’d arrived yesterday, I had to sweep and dust away about three years of no one entering the space at all, but I didn’t keep much in here anymore. The first time I’d drummed up the courage to return after Leandro and Papá were killed, I’d sold most of it and packed away the smaller things that held memories. They were now in a trunk that sat in the corner of the room, and I looked at it now as I flopped down on the sofa.
I didn’t bother lighting the hearth or the candles around the room, and there were no lamps or magic lights in here. We’d never needed them, and the moonlight and activity outside illuminated the space fine enough.
I sat there for a while, staring at the trunk, before shaking myself out of my rumination and retreating into the bathing room to wash. About two hundred years ago, we’d had it renovated to include a large tiled shower that was only slightly less expensive than the window. Luckily, we had more money to fund the project at that point.
The rust-colored tiles were cool under my feet, the water scalding, and I washed quickly, lest the thoughts come through as they always did in my idle moments. Once I emerged and dressed in loose undershorts, I brushed through my hair. Before I could avoid looking at myself in the mirror, I remarked how much I looked like my father this way. He had always worn his brown hair longer, well past his shoulders. Maybe that was why I had hesitated and given up each time I reached for shears to cut it.
I had kept the beds upstairs, where Leandro and I used to sleep when we stayed here, but nowadays I made do with the sofa. Reaching in my pack past the rapier I’d be rid of tomorrow, I retrieved a bundle of spiced, dried meat and my skin of water. Feeding had been one of my travel preparation tasks before leaving the Well one week ago so that I wouldn’t have to seek out blood while I was here.
The sun wouldn’t rise for some time. My mark had been laughably easy to find, and just to prolong the hunt, before I killed him, I’d diverted and tried to… look for her.
My punishment for killing Jones had ended six months ago, and though I’d given up for a short time, after starting up contracts, I could not help but try to seek her out everywhere I went. I tried to pick up her scent, to look down every street tocatch a glimpse. I lingered in the taverns and backrooms where we solicited work, willing for her to just walk through the door with her daggers on her thighs and her plaits trailing down her back.
But it never happened. I took contracts in a new city every time, sometimes traveling for weeks on end, but to no avail.
I tore through a piece of meat and chewed perfunctorily while mentally crossing Banfas off of my list. The water in the skin had warmed from being in my pack all day and night, but it helped clear the tough meat. And I couldn’t—I knew that I could not keep drinking to numb my mind. Though Tomás had belabored that point for weeks,months, I eventually came to the decision on my own.
Even when I passed out on my bed at the Well, body exhausted from constant training and stomach empty except for the sloshing liquid I’d been consuming since ending my duties for the day, thoughts of her never truly left. The disorientation just made it worse.
One night when I stumbled around my room, I’d thought for a moment that shewasthere. But I’d been in the half-asleep state, forgetting that I was dreaming, and when I did fully wake, I had descended into frustrated tears and shoved over my wardrobe until it crashed onto the floor. The next morning, when I was sober, I looked around at the mess I’d made and sighed in resignation.
No, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to continue on like that. The first few nights without ending my day in a drunken slumber were more difficult than I thought they would be. But… it did make me feel better. If at the very least because Tom and Noruh stopped looking at me with that frustrated pity. And the more I just accepted the thoughts and the pain, let them wash over me, it became easier to breathe.
I looked out on the outskirts of Banfas, and I thought of Mamá. She had not liked the bustling cities, but she took Leandro and me to Banfas sometimes for theatre performances, festivals, and to shop the markets. When Zonoras fell, Papá used the building for somewhere to stay when my brother and I longed for the dry desert heat. It was the closest we could lay our heads when we wanted to be close to her.
And now they were all gone.
The dried beef and water filled my stomach easily enough, and I felt my body request the rest of sleep. There was no doubt that I would dream of her. I had every night since leaving the witches’ cottage. Sometimes it was just her voice, sometimes the sensation of her Death curling around me, or it was swirling flashes of my memories with her.
