This was the scene that haunted his mind. It echoed around, images flashed, unbidden from his memory, clear as though the day was still unfolding around him. The girls were sharing it, of course, their faces creasing with identical expressions.
He was a small boy, perhaps ten or eleven, and he sat, crying by a large bed, pleading with the occupant not to die, not to hand him to his fate.
There was no response from the ghostly pale figure. No matter how much the little boy begged and sobbed, not one word left the bluish lips, he did nothing more than breathe in and out. Eventually, even that stopped. That was the moment that Crown Prince Lagne Halai reluctantly became king of Galla.
The room flashed with light once. The light was green, alien in comparison to the sunlight that would stream in through the shutters in one hour. However, the girl curled up in the bed did not stir. Perhaps the light didn't filter through into her closed lids, or perhaps she was lost in a cloud of sleep, a sleep that was soon to become eternal.
The man who had arrived in the room with the incandescent light examined the bed carefully and also the man who lay asleep on the floor beside it. Green light flickered from his dark palm, making sharp shadows dart over the sleepers' faces.
It was an enticing opportunity. Oh, he knew she would curse him and scold him later, but what did that matter now, now when they were sleeping and would no longer pose a problem? He had been meaning to let them live, but he was tiring of them now. They weren't willing to play the game his way, which was imperative in his mind. So, they had to go.
"I hope you'll forgive me for tarnishing such perfection," he said, addressing them as he slid a silver object out of his belt.
It was, he reflected, mere minutes later, with slight reluctance that he positioned his hand, clenched tightly around the knife, over the girl's throat. "You won't feel a thing," he promised, and with a swift movement, cut a line in her throat that spilled over with crimson liquid. He slit deeper and deeper, before bestowing the same treatment upon her companion.
Satisfied with the completed mission, the murderer vanished with the same burst of bright colour, leaving Princess Kalasin of Conté and King Lagne Halai of Galla alone at last, surrounded by their own blood.
Dead.
The innkeeper hadn't seen the girl before. His eyes passed over her, interested, before lowering to examine what rooms were free. He lifted two keys off their hooks, and handed them to her, swallowing a gasp as her hood slipped back, and his brown gaze connected with her green one.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Thank you," she murmured in a low tone, sliding one of the keys into her pocket. Her mouth curved into a warm smile, before she turned. Greedily, his eyes devoured every movement she made. "Master Salmalín? Our rooms are ready."
Now the innkeeper was very interested, if also a little disappointed that she appeared to be taken. This must be the WildMage, the only female that Master Salmalín cared to be seen with these days. Only, he mused over a tankard of ale later that evening, she hadn't looked like the WildMage was said to. No savage claws or dripping saliva, for a start. Perhaps now Tortall's famed black-robed mage danced to a different tune.
"That man thinks that you're after my innocence," she told the Tyran in a low tone when certain they were out of earshot.
His lips parted in a grin. "Believe me, my – my lady, I wouldn't dare to try." He held open the door for her, and closed it behind himself. Suddenly, a judder of pain shook his whole body, and he gasped for breath. She was by his side in an instant, worry setting into her face.
"Master Salmalín?" she asked cautiously, careful not to touch him just yet, in case whatever hurt him passed to her.
His dark eyes found hers, wide with mixed emotions. "It has begun."
"It," I sang out happily, wiping the blade clean of blood, "has-"
A gloved hand muffled my next word. The owner pulled me into an alcove as my bloody handkerchief fluttered to the floor. I raised an eyebrow at the woman who had interrupted my happiness, wondering where best to plunge my dagger. I named myself a silly fool for not recognising her straight-away, but on closer inspection it became apparent why I hadn't. Her long brown hair had been hacked off, and now stuck out at odd angles, and thin red lines marked her heart shaped face. A beautifully soft mouth trembled with fear, but her eyes glittered in contrast with cold rage. Veralidaine Sarrasri. My stomach sank as I realised that he must have been to see her already. Wonderful. Now all the rats in the world would come and bite my toes off while I slept.
"He's back."
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to have concluded from those two words. Frankly, they just begged a lot of questions, questions that I didn't have time to ask. I had my own master to answer to, and couldn't waste time chatting with a commoner. Unfortunately, my shrugging her off didn't go as well as planned, because I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen when I tried to push past.
The brunette was having some trouble shaping the words of her fear. "He's back," she repeated, edging her blade away from my stomach. She took in a couple of shaky breaths. "This is your doing," she hissed, cold anger making her voice echo in my mind. "This is all your fault. If he kills, it will be your fault!"
I stepped back from her, pressing my back against the wall. She was so silly; did she think that her words would stop this? It was set in place, and nobody was going to stop it. Nobody was going to stop me. Least of all her. "No," I whispered, quashing all thoughts of rats. "It will be your fault, yours and everybody else who lives in this castle, for accepting a traitor into your midst! You can't tell an impostor from your own princess."
"Your poison means nothing to me," she rapped back, eyes flashing with fury. "You spout pretty venom, but it means nothing." Her hand shot out to fix around my throat, squeezing very slightly. I gasped for air. "You are going to tell me everything."
After I had, she drew back a little, but still managing to block my exit. "So," she said slowly, rubbing her hands together. I couldn't read her expression, which was contorted with emotions, and this irked me. I needed to know what she was going to do next, in order to plan my next move. "It has begun."
