32

Two Years Later

The last words she'd spoken to Hawke often rang in her ears. Especially late at night, when her lovers had left, and she was alone. Isabela feared that the look on Hawke's face would haunt her forever. Sometimes, on the worst nights, she'd rustle through her bedside drawer until she found the Rivaini talisman that Hawke had given her, and grip it tightly until she fell asleep.

She knew what she'd said, and she knew why she'd said it, but it didn't make her regret it any less. She just hoped that the words had given Hawke the freedom that she had wanted to give her, and that the mage had been able to move on.

In her three years away, she had served on half a dozen ships, working as a smuggler, an assassin, a mercenary. She had seen most of Thedas that way, plying her trades for months at a time in Ferelden, Rivain, Tevinter, Nevarra, Orlais. She found a certain satisfaction in the life. Every cache of illegal arms that she smuggled across a border, every mark whose life she successfully took, every fight that was won because her skills tipped the balance, it all brought her back to who she really was.

She spent her coin on whiskey and knives, never having anyone to remind her to be responsible and save. She brought countless men and women back to her bed, never having to worry about a bruise or a scratch being visible the next day. She picked pockets and started bar fights, never having anybody to hold her back and remind her of the innocent victims. Life was as it should be. Every day that she spent living her life as a free woman, was a day further away from the time she'd spent shackled to Hawke in Kirkwall.

Nuncio threw a parchment that was covered with a map and description onto the desk in front of her. "Isabela, I know you have your reasons for avoiding the Free Marches, and I know that I promised not to pry, but this contract is too lucrative to say no to, and I need to send my best."

Nuncio, her current boss, was a bit rough around the edges, but he was clever, and handsome enough. He'd earned his place at the head of the Orlesian arm of the Crows by being the most cunning, most successful, most vicious assassin on the west coast of Thedas. Isabela had made more coin in six months of working for him, then she'd made in the last three years combined.

She let her eyes wander up at down him before picking the parchment up. He was just her type. She would've bedded him on first sight, but she'd learned a painful lesson three years earlier, and now knew better than to mix business with pleasure.

"And what exactly has Comte Guilliaume De Launcet done to earn such ire from the Crows?" Isabela asked, briefly reading the contract.

"Isabela, you've been working for us long enough to know the most important rule. We don't ask questions. He has angered the Orlesian nobility enough that they are going to pay us 100 gold sovereigns for his head. That's all we need to know."

She scanned the document again. Mostly small print financial details, a physical description, and an address. Hightown, Kirkwall. She threw the parchment back.

"No. I won't do it" she said, crossing her arms and leaning back in the rich leather seat.

Nuncio scratched his head in frustration. "Isabela, you must. There is simply nobody else I trust with this hit. It must be you, and it must be soon."

"I told you the first day I met you, there is one city, in all of Thedas, that I won't go to. Get someone else to do it, do it yourself, or tell them no. I don't really care, as long as you don't bore me with it again."

Nuncio wasn't famous for his patience, and at her refusal, he slammed his fist into the wooden desk and gritted his teeth. "I don't care what Kirkwall boy broke your heart, Isabela. You will complete this hit, or you will be out of a job. And there is no such thing as retiring from the Crows, if you get my drift..."

She met his gaze, infuriated by the threat. Nuncio respected strength, and there was no way she was going to bow to him. She leaned forward. "Go on then, draw your blade and retire me."

He eyed her off, before exhaling loudly. "No, Isabela. I don't like killing women, especially pretty ones. How about I sweeten the deal? 30 gold sovereigns. That's double what any Crows assassin has ever earned for a single hit."

Isabela thought for a moment. "Going back to Kirkwall? It will need to be 70 sovereigns. Up front."

The guild leader glared at her. "50. That's my final offer."

She nodded, and took the parchment back from him, rolling it up tightly and sliding it into her cleavage. He watched the movement and unconsciously licked his lower lip. It was a rare person who survived threatening her life, and an even rarer one who got to bed her afterwards. Nuncio was not that special, so she turned on her heel and left. She would book passage to Kirkwall in the morning, and if she was lucky, she could get in and out, without any of her former companions ever knowing.