chapter forty-four

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height


-44- 


Elle could barely bring herself to rise the following morning. She remained in bed, curled in a foetal position, too bone-tired to do so much as move. Her lungs ached with every breath but the pain numbed itself into nothingness as the hours ticked by. She refused to take her meds. She deserved to be in pain.

Did Jax have anyone at home who would miss him? Someone who would fall to the floor sobbing upon the news of his death? Elle made a promise that she would find out when they returned. Coming back into Eryan with one agent less.

The bustling medics had tried to persuade her to eat a morsel of nutritious slop. After a few attempts they sighed and left it on her nightstand. There it remained, untouched.

Any triumph she had felt from her victories against Tan and Rand had blown away with one of DETRA's cold drafts.

Tonight would be the heir's ball: an occasion to reward those who had made it into the ranks.

That very morning a medic had arrived with a wrapped parcel and placed it on the end of her bed. Elle smoothed her messy hair back, lifting her cheek from the pillow. "Who's it from?" She croaked.

"I'm not sure, dear." The red-cheeked woman offered her a sympathetic smile before moving onto the next patient, drawing the curtain to give her a little privacy.

Feeling a bit like a child on her birthday, Elle propped herself up, pulling the package towards her. It was fairly large and soft. She ran her hands over the brown paper, before tearing it open.

She gasped at the sight of the dress, holding it up to get a better look. It was gorgeous: layers of cobalt blue chiffon and satin, falling in great waves; bejewelled with sparkling crystals. The assassin buried her face in the fabric for a moment, breathing in the distant smells of fragrance.

It seemed like she wouldn't have to use one of the hired dresses tonight.

Along with the dress came a note. She recognised the neat printed writing.

My Vhiena,

I hope you will do me the honour of wearing this gift tonight. I look forward to seeing you there.

Yours,

-C

Smiling, she carefully draped the garment over the chair to her left. Patting the soft fabric, she admired the exquisite handiwork. The thought of the night to come made her feel a bit queazy.

She had barely drifted back off to a restless sleep before she was notified that someone had come to pay a visit. A part of her hoped it was Cerid, before her mind reminded her of the horrors they would commit that night. Thankfully, it was Tristan whose dark hair peeked around the curtain.

"I thought I'd drop by since I was getting some pain relief." He blurted out.

Groggily, she patted the bed. Neither of them said anything for a moment, until Elle rasped into the silence. "I'm sorry...about Jax. I know you two were close."

"We trained together for a year before the team was formed." He responded flatly. "I just knew the stubborn bastard would wind up doing his own thing in the end."

Tristan was grieving in his own way.

Another life on her hands. Jax had thrown his life away. Cerid's life would soon be snatched. It was almost as if Tristan could read her thoughts because he placed his hand over her left one. "Jax's murder isn't your fault. Nor is it mine. The sole party responsible for his cruel end is DETRA. Don't you forget that we are not the villains." His reminder was quiet but firm.

"Are you certain?" White hot anger flashed. "Because to me it seems that we've sentenced a kind, trustworthy, good man to die!" She hissed, ignoring the stabbing pain in her chest.

Tristan realised she wasn't talking of Jax anymore. "You knew this would happen. It is our sworn duty to complete this mission. That includes killing the Imperial Heir." He lowered his voice, pausing. "You really love him?"

His words shocked her. Did she love him? It was a long time before she answered. "I don't think I know what real love feels like."

Tristan rubbed his nose and sighed. "There's no happy ending to this, Elle. Either he dies...or we do. You both can't live. And we cannot return home without the item the High Council has ordered us to retrieve."

Screwing her eyes up tight, she pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. This is why I shouldn't have become attached. It does no one any good and forces my hand. A battle of loyalties. Tristan continued to talk, placing his hand on her arm in comfort. "It'll get easier. All you have to do is trust us, or if anything, trust me."

"You know I've lived in Eryan for most of my life."

Her sudden change in subject didn't seem to surprise Tristan. He stayed silent, allowing her to continue. "I relied on two people: my brothers, not by blood. Trusted them, loved them. I learnt the consequences of being so blindsided soon after."

"What happened?" Tristan prompted.

"We were finishing up a mission busting a new drug being made in Myndor. Hateful concoction. Lannis. A maddening drug, addictive. It warped the mind. Also, as it happened, highly flammable. We set fire to the catacombs where the concoctions were being made."

She had turned every damned seller against the product, buying out the goods with stolen coin, killing the ringleaders and suppliers and had blown the entire system up into ash.

"How old were you?"

"Almost seventeen. Kade and I were betrayed," she said coldly. Tristan raised his brows at the Higher's name, but didn't comment on it. "Raf joined DETRA, but I've sworn it to myself that I will kill him. Do you know the rhyme of the City of Smoke?" She looked up at him.

Tristan readjusted his position on the bed, shaking his head.

"Be wary of all—those you trust no more than those you don't. This is the law of the City of Smoke."

She recalled children singing it as they wrung out laundry, or splashing in rhythm in puddles. The one law she had tried to live by but kept failing.

"You're not in the City of Smoke anymore."

The assassin didn't reply to that. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his fingers lingering there for a moment before he stood. "I mean it. Tonight, draw Cerid up into his rooms and find the dragonstone safe. We'll sneak out behind you and follow. Just—find the safe, alright?"

Her mind whirred like a series of cogs as Tristan left without another word. Elle shot a lasting glance at the beautiful gown beside her bed, its crystals twinkling before turning away and screwing her eyes shut.

In her dreams she could hear the music from the ball floating about her in her flowing dress. Only when she looked down her dress was splattered with blood. Blood-stained Ravaryn clutched in her hand. Her heart thrummed faster.

The sweet melody from the string quartet warped into something slower, more sinister—a funeral march. And all Elle could see was Cerid's body, sprawled out just in front of her pristine white heels. 

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net