Rising Flames | Throne of Glass

10

Something went wrong.

His silver eyes snapped open, and met those of wide emerald.

He grabbed her wrist, forcing Lysandra's hand back, and she dropped the knife. It fell, inaudible, wrapped in the bed sheets.

'Trying to kill me?' Arobynn purred.

Lysandra said nothing. Her fingers slowly snaked through the bed sheets, searching for the knife.

Slowly, he shifted till he was positioned over her, leaning in until her back met the mattress once more, until their faces were so close they shared the same breath.

'You're a curious woman,' he murmured, tilting his head.

'There's a lot you don't know about me,' Lysandra whispered.

She finally found the hilt of the knife, and without a second thought, flipped it and drove the blade towards his ribs.

Arobynn didn't even look as he grabbed her forearm. 'You-'

He even didn't to finish the sentence. His eyes suddenly flashed in surprise. Blood dribbled from his mouth, onto Lysandra's cheek.

Arobynn Hamel had the pleasure of seeing his own rotten heart before he died.

And those silver eyes went grey and dull.

A shadow yanked the dagger from Arobynn's back, and the body slumped. An arm caught and shoved it away from collapsing onto Lysandra. 'Are you okay?' the shell-shocked courtesan was asked.

The shadow wore a hood so Lysandra couldn't see the face which belonged to that soft, feminine voice.

'When I am gone, I want you to scream. Scream loud. We'll take care of the rest. Deny any questions they ask.'

And with that, the shadow plucked the knife from Lysandra's fingers, tucking the knife covered in still-warm blood within her tunic. Then slipped into the night without another sound.

Lysandra began screaming.

~

Sam Cortland stalked up the steps of to the Assassin's Guild, cloak billowing like dark mist behind him. Word had arrived that Arobynn Hamel had been found dead beside a terrified Lysandra. His heart had been laid between their bodies on the white bed sheets.

It seemed Enya had had her fun.

Sam slammed open the door, careful to keep his face expressionless, eyes icy and cold.

Tern, Mullin and Harding were in the sitting room, and stood immediately upon seeing him. Shock, as if they weren't expecting him, followed by wariness, flashed across their faces.

'What happened.' He kept his face perfectly neutral - the ice to Celaena's fire. The assassins of the Guild knew better than to challenge him, even with his usually-calm demeanour.

Tern, the ringleader of the pathetic trio, jerked his chin at Lysandra, covered in blood, sat beside a red-eyed Clarisse. 'Ask her,' he said. The young courtesan looked up, and Sam almost forgot to stay glaring as he saw her face all puffed and splotchy. Lysandra was certainly capable of putting up a show.

He walked over. Let his apparent facade fade, voice adopting a gentler tone. 'Would you please tell me everything?'

Lysandra shook her head, and blew her nose on a lace handkerchief.

'Tell me.'

She refused again. Sam grabbed her chin, the mask of compassion falling, too, and snarled. 'Rutting bitch.' Clarisse gasped as he shoved hard, Lysandra's head snapping back.

Muffled sobs erupted. Sam would've hugged Lysandra if he could.

But he looked at the three men watching keenly. 'You.' He addressed Mullin as if he were no more than a piece of dirt. 'Where did you find Arobynn.'

'She claimed,' the man said, jabbing a thumb at Lysandra once again, 'she'd woken up in the middle of the night to find Arobynn dead beside her. The body was cold by the time we got there, so he must have been killed early in the night.' He gave Lysandra a skeptical look.

'Why would she bother to kill the very man who offers her money?' Sam scoffed.

The three men blanched in turn as he raked his gaze over them.

'Where is he now.' Sam didn't bother to ask for anything - rather, demanded it.

He had to appear to know less in order to avoid arousing suspicion.

Tern muttered after giving him a long look, 'His body is in the dungeons.'

'You moved it before I could examine the scene myself?' At his quiet, deadly-soft voice, the men seemed to shrink away. 'Take me to where you found him.'

They walked silently up the marble staircase, and when Tern grunted, and swung open the door, Sam could've smiled.

Enya was utterly brilliant.

No blood stained the floor, no sign of locks prised, no boot marks or out-of-place items.

Quick, neat, lethal.

Much like her twin. Perhaps not the quick part, though; he knew Celaena enjoyed dragging the pain out of her victims.

A deep red patch stained the sheets some distance from the rest of the crimson splotches - the report hadn't exaggerated, then. Arobynn's heart had really lain there.

How had Enya managed to gut Arobynn that quickly?

'Check the locks and the windows,' Sam ordered, even though he already knew the answer.

'We have,' Harding replied. 'Nothing is amiss. The killer was skilled.'

Sam noticed they didn't call Arobynn's killer an assassin. How humiliating and ironic it must have been that the King of the Assassins was murdered by his very own kind.

Returning to the sitting room, he had been about to order the blubbering courtesans out when Clarisse had asked meekly, 'If you would allow it, the Master of the Bank will be here soon to read Arobynn's will.'

Disgust threatened to twist his face, but he simply cocked his head, letting her continue. The perfect portrait of grief, Clarisse dabbed at her eyes with the edge of a handkerchief before saying, 'Arobynn informed me that we were named. We would like to remain until it has been read.'

'You seem eager,' Sam murmured, 'considering Arobynn's blood has hardly dried yet. Perhaps I dismissed you to be a suspect too quickly.'

The madam's face paled, and he felt a rush of evil satisfaction from her fear and show of greed and cowardice. Courtesans he could accept, but the mention, let alone have one blubbering before him, of Brothel Madams almost made him sick.

Lysandra let out a gasp that turned into a fresh round of sobs. 'Please, Sam. I- I wouldn't-'

There was a knock on the front door.

He smiled humorlessly. 'Would you look at that. What perfect timing.'

~

Sam refrained the urge to yawn as the Master jabbered list after list of jargon and condolences, trailing his gaze round the room once more from his position by the entrance. The Master sat behind the small desk by the large windows, Clarisse and the three assassins staring at the documents like vultures. Lysandra was clutching her handkerchief with shaking fingers, and white knuckles.

Further proving her avarice, Clarisse dared accept the Master's words. And finally, after a seeming eternity of patter, several sheets were drawn from a sealed envelope, and so the reciting of Arobynn's assets began.

Clarisse's eyes were gleaming like diamonds as the Master finally read, 'It is my will that the sole beneficiary of all my fortune, assets, and holdings should be my Second, Sam Cortland.'

There was a heartbeat of silence.