Rose of Sithis
Summery: The Black Hand had given her the Rose of Sithis, a sacred arrow blessed by their Unholy Matron. This arrow was meant to kill it's mark within seconds, but it would not be the one to kill Adamus Phillida. She had other plans.
It had taken her months to work on the cover story. She had formed the right papers, the forged background. She knew her fake family like the back of her hand, even though she, supposedly, only spoke with half of them. Her cover image, her false identity, had been perfectly set in place. In fact, she had lived in the Imperial City for most of the time just to set it in place. Should he ever ask, the lovely Rozzin Imbernox was real.
She was a Breton of twenty seven, going by the name of Rose. Young, to attract his attention, but not too young to lose the desired appeal. Nor was she old, as she knew the man was bound to be weak to the forbidden allure of a young woman in his bed. She was a mage in training, not yet having received the proper recommendations for the Arcane University. She loved books, and quiet evenings on walks. Much of the information was familiar, it was the family background that was a bit trickier.
Her mother, widowed, lives in Anvil. She is a seamstress, unknown to most, but talented in what she did. She lives in a small shack by the sea. Her father was obviously dead, but had been an adventurer, always seeking his fortune in Aylied Ruins. She had no brothers, or sisters, but had three Aunts- all living in High Rock. She had been alone in the world, but struck her fortune where her father had not, and sold whatever she found in order to reach her desired wealth.
She spoke to Adamus Phillida on occasions, never more than a few words, but spoke to him in length while he was on break in a bar. She explained that someone had planned on meeting her there, but never showed. Of course there was no one, but she was an excellent liar. She kindly asked if the great Adamus Phillida would accompany a young girl for one night, so she knew she would be safe from the thieving ways of normal men.
Adamus, flattered in every way, of course agreed with the promise of her name.
"Rozzin Imbernox, but please, call me Rose."
"Ah, a lovely name for a lovely woman." She flushed, appearing very flattered, and entertained Adamus Phillida for the rest of the night.
She had studied him for some time. Her family had asked that she perform this quickly, and rid the world of Adamus Phillida in one swift stroke. She had not agreed, of course. And begged her sister to allow her some time. If one was to rid the world of Adamus Phillida, they had to do it right. It would take care, and delicate planning. She studied him during her months there, followed his schedule, learned his every like and dislike, his skills, his hobbies, everything. She knew the time he went to bed and the time he awoke, knew his every pattern. She knew him like she knew herself.
Entertaining him had been easy. All she had to do was subtly quote his favorite books, a few of his favorite plays, and discuss politics with him. He was wrapped around her finger by the first hour. Truly, he adored her. He had begged her company the next evening, as he was hosting a small party for the watch captains. As much as she wanted to accept, she did not. She avoided him for the next three days.
After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder. It was obvious that the next moment she saw him, which had appeared to be a coincidence, but was precisely planned, that he had missed her a great deal. He called to her, and introduced her to the guards surrounding him. One was nameless, but the other was Hieronymus Lex, the man who was fanatically after the Thieves Guild and the Gray Fox.
"So this is the beauty you raved about," Lex said politely. He dipped his head, smiling slightly. "Ma'am, he truly could not stop speaking about you."
"It's true," the other added. "He told us of how a wonderful rose had grown in his heart."
Rose smiled, flushing slightly. "I had not known you were a poet, monsieur," she said in the language of High Rock. Adamus Phillida laughed joyfully and said,
"Only when there is proper inspiration, my dear. Now really, I beg you to see the new play in town. The Captains and I would love for you to come."
"Please do," Lex insisted. "It is truly a miracle when one can put up with Adamus." Adamus chuckled lightly.
"If you so insist," Rose said politely. "I will come."
"Please, allow me to escort you! Where do you live?"
"In the Talos Plaza District," Rose answered. "The third house in the central area."
Adamus bowed his head. "I shall pick you up at eight, then. Good bye, my wonderful Rose." He kissed her hand. Rose flushed, and soon walked away.
And so it went for six months. She wasn't whiled by his charms, or his attempts in seducing her. She remained sweet and demure, but she did allow slips of interest to show. Her eyes would always flicker to Adamus at all the right times, blushing and smiling, and especially in the right company. The others, she would hear, told him just how much she adored him, as if she worshiped the ground he walked on. He would always ask her on dates, and she would accept every so often or so, and never went so far as a kiss on the cheek. But in his mind, she loved him, and would always remain his.
She allowed him to believe this. Allowed him to see things that weren't there. It was a part of the plan. She remained detached, impassive in truth. She did everything for the Unholy Matron she called 'Mother', everything in Sithis' name.
When it came to Adamus' retirement, and how he invited her to spend it with him in Leyawiin, she knew everything was in place. She planned an evening one night, where she would confess her unholy feelings, where she would proclaim false lies of love. She had planned it, and everything was perfect. Everything was in place. And when she said those three words, he believed her, and took her to his bed.
It wasn't a momentous occasion. She's certainly had better. But it must be done, in order for her to achieve her goal. In order for his life to be taken. She did everything for that one simple goal.
He slept beside her, his head buried in between her breasts. She breathed easily, grabbing the dagger laced with the finest poison. A simple cut would do the job. In one swift movement, she stabbed him in the back of the skull, instantly killing him.
She moved the body and dressed, leaving the place forever.
She ignored the tears as they fell. Ignored her anguish, her pain. She had killed the only men she ever loved. He had been to old for her, yes, but he was still the man of her heart.
In those months of planning, she grew to admire him. His strength, his courage, his determination. She grew to love everything about him. And she had killed him.
She was welcomed home with open arms.
She celebrated with them. They knew not of her pain.
They never would.