65. The Laughing Killer

Night over Redcliffe was beautiful in its own way, she supposed. The lake shimmered in the darkness, and the lanterns across the village below flickered with a sort of charm not unlike fireflies. She could not get used to the blocky stone, though, nor the presence of so many shemlen.

Humans, Meila chided herself. Humans. If one of them had the nobility to give her own life for kin and clan, it was the least Meila could do to respect them for that capacity.

She perched on a small bridge between the castle and the town, the waterfall above her sending soothing sprays across her back as she looked out over the village and the lake. The white wolf sat beside her, and she wondered what it saw as it looked over the village. Territory? A rival pack? What could a white wolf that may or may not have been Witherfang possibly think of these strange situations?

Meila did not think it her place to pry, even if she thought she could. It was enough, for her, that the wolf continued to deem them worthy of protection. If that protection did not extend to the interiors of stone buildings, she couldn't say she blamed the noble beast. The only reason she herself tolerated such places was because they were so dear to her lethallinen.

And there was one of them now. Her eyes narrowed as she heard his voice, and she leaned over the bridge banister to try to catch sight of him. Sure enough, he and the din'tu-samahl—the laughing killer—were hopping between the rooftops below. Tonight, it seemed they were engaged in a game of agility.

Finian's figure leapt lightly across a gap in the rooftops, and he slid down to the eaves before he caught himself, laughing. The assassin followed suit, his voice low and purring—probably saying something deliberately provocative.

Meila did not trust the assassin. She did not trust his too-easy laugh. She did not trust his quiet way of walking. And she especially did not trust the way he clung onto Finian like a wolf guarding its meal. If Finian himself were not so adamant about the usefulness of such a being, Meila and Kazar both would have killed the man days ago.

Then again, the young mage was another concern of hers. Ever since the mage's trip to the Fade the previous night, Kazar had been acting strangely. He was jumpy and snappish, more prickly and prone to temper than usual. Yet, at the same time, there was a strange shine in his eyes. As if the boy were immensely satisfied with something.

Any questions, of course, were immediately met with a flare of temper. Jowan had nearly lost his hair because of that. Still, Jowan was proving exceptionally adept at soothing the younger mage's temper... a skill, it seemed, that had been honed over many years of practice.

The blood mage was another perplexing puzzle. Meila had been given to understand that all blood mages were like Zathrian… scheming and twisted by their magics. Yet Jowan was… not. He was bumbling and, if anything, too gentle, to the point of being gullible. He had poisoned Eamon, true, but because he had been tricked with promises of civic duty and return to a quiet life in a gilded cage.

The assassin teased the blood mage incessantly about being tricked into working for the 'obvious villain.' However, it was obvious the assassin did not believe in such labels himself: it was clear to her that this Zevran Arainai's morality was strictly based on personal gain.

She heard the pair approaching now, and smoothly slipped off the bridge, secreting herself in the recess under it. Fang silently followed suit.

"…so I joined her in the carriage for the night and left the next morning."

Finian's laughter rang through the night. "And she didn't try to kill you?"

"Well, yes. Twice, actually," the assassin said gaily. "Then she decided to try and use me instead."

Two sets of light leather boots passed above her, and then continued on up toward the castle. She waited for a moment, then climbed back up to the path and silently fell into step some distance behind them.

"The woman had actually convinced me to speak to the Crows on her behalf… what can I say? I was young and foolish at the time. Then, as I was kissing her goodbye to return to Antiva City, she slipped on the threshold and fell backwards out of the carriage. Broke her neck." The assassin's shoulders rose in a shrug. "Shame, really, but at least it happened quickly."

"So… you didn't actually kill her." Meila was alarmed to hear only amusement in Fin's voice, not chastisement.

"Not as such, no. Ah, but as it turned out this was a stroke of luck on my part. I later found out she had told the driver to take her to Genellan Island instead. She had planned to lose me in the provinces. I would have looked very foolish to the Crows." They passed through the portcullis into the castle, and Meila stopped underneath it, slipping into a shadow. "As it was, my master was very impressed that I had done such a fine job making it look like an accident. The Circle of Magi was unaware of foul play, and everyone was happier all around."

"Another stunning victory for the the great Zevran Arainai," Fin laughed. "Does that sort of thing happen a lot?"

"You mean being spared by a benevolent mark who then helps me escape from the Crows?" The assassin elbowed the pickpocket playfully, and Fin laughed again. "Yes, it does seem to happen now and again, doesn't it?" The pair stopped walking outside the castle side entrance that both seemed to favor over the main one. Apparently, neither wanted to go inside just yet. "It was after that when I learned that one needn't let a pretty face go to one's head. Professionalism is key. That's my moral of the day, you see."

"Right, you're nothing if not professional," Fin deadpanned.

"Ah, what can I say…" The assassin leaned close to Finian, and Meila frowned. "…I am known to break my own morals, from time to time. Then again, this exception to the rule did not come easily; you did have to capture me and tie me up first." He leaned in closer, so that Meila could barely see his grin. "Now that I've mentioned tying me up in that context, do we have any extra rope about?"

Finian stepped back quickly, though his face showed nothing but amusement. "I'd better get inside. You know how the others worry about you corrupting me."

"And with good reason… I would indeed enjoy corrupting you. Sleep well, my dear Warden. I know I will, with dreams full of you!"

Finian laughed once more and ducked into the side entrance. Once it shut, the assassin let out a dark chuckle and stretched like a cat.

"It is not polite, you know, to eavesdrop on private conversations," the assassin purred to the night sky. "Though I admit, I do not see why he seems so interested in my various adventures. I would hardly accuse you of the same, my beautiful Dalish maiden."

Seeing no point in hiding from a quarry who knew she was there, she stalked forward. He didn't even flinch as she grabbed him by the front of his vest and pressed her hunting knife to his throat… even then, he wore that same crooked grin.

"Ah, this is the part where you demand to know my intentions with your fellow Warden, yes?"

"I know perfectly well what you intend," Meila informed him. "You claim you spent a short time among the Dalish, so you know how important kin are to us." She leaned in threateningly. "I consider Finian to be my kin. If you hurt him, in any way, I will hunt you with such singlemindedness that you will throw yourself at your Crows just to escape me."

She didn't let him answer, swiping a thin line of blood pointedly across his throat. He still didn't flinch, but the smile did drop off his face. His eyes were half-lidded, calculating, as she walked away.