The Assassin’s Bride: A Fantasy Romance Tale (Artisan Magic Book 1)
The Assassin’s Bride: Chapter 8

Over the days of travel, there was little to do but talk. Though part of Thea longed for more information, most conversation was light, and she was delicate about what she used to probe.

“Were you a soldier?” she asked one afternoon as they waded through knee-high grasses. They tangled around her feet and hindered her passage, though they seemed to part easily for Gil.

He considered the question for a while before he answered. “I have some military experience. I would not call myself a soldier.”

“What would you call yourself, then?”

“Trained.”

For a role as an assassin, she had no doubt. There was more she wanted to know about that, but his hesitance to answer a question he could easily dismiss let her know any inquiries on that subject would not get far. She chose to focus on connections instead. “Is that training how you know Jaret?”

This time, he looked at her from the corner of his eye. Studying, or perhaps appraising. “What gave you that notion?”

“The way you parted.” She put her hands together in a clumsy mimicry of the arm-grasp they’d shared. “I’ve seen that before. From soldiers.”

A hint of a smile curved his lips. A genuine smile, peeking through the illusion she’d crafted—though barely. It was only clear when she looked close. “I suppose I should not be surprised by your attention to detail, given your profession.”

She allowed herself to smile back. “So the two of you trained together?”

“Not so much together, but at the same time. Circumstances forced us to work together at one point. But I’m afraid that assignment was what drove him from the army, and I believe he blames me for the atrocities he suffered.”

Not a story of a friend he might care to recount, then. She retreated to an earlier subject. “Did you enjoy training with the king’s army?”

The corners of his eyes tightened. “No.”

With that, she knew he would tell her no more. The rest of the afternoon passed with little talk, and the quiet tension that question put in him did not fade the following day.

They stopped rarely during the day, and never long enough for her to pull anything from the sewing basket to work. She’d anticipated being able to sew in the evenings, but it was dark every time they halted to make camp, and Gil never lit a fire. Better that they go undetected, he told her, even if it delayed her work. For now, he seemed satisfied with the cloak.

It would not satisfy him for long.

“We’ll need to replace somewhere to stay,” Gil announced when a sizable city at the foot of the mountains came into view.

“No friends in this city?” she teased.

“No friends in the previous city, either,” he said grimly.

The sewing basket bounced against her legs. They’d taken turns carrying it, though Gil had done most of the work. His arms never seemed to tire, but her stubborn pride demanded she share the burden. She hefted it higher, so the handle hung from her elbow. “Where are we, anyway?”

“The very edge of Kentoria. Heartroot is our largest settlement against the border. Ranor holds the mountains on the other side. The mountains have always forced a stalemate. They’re why Kentoria never conquered Ranor, and also why Ranor never impressed us enough to become proper allies.”

“Because we couldn’t get across the mountain?” She squinted at the peaks. The range wasn’t as impressive as she’d imagined, though it was pretty, covered in bright foliage.

“And neither could they. Having the mountains at their backs would give them an advantage, if they just had the strength to bring an army across them. Instead, the mountains became a stumbling block for us both. The advantage the mountain range grants the Ranorsh army keeps us from reaching the other side, but the difficulty of crossing means they aren’t able to chase us away from the foothills.” He shook his head with a smirk, as if it were funny.

“And then we settled and named the city Heartroot,” Thea said. “A better name for Samara, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “The reason for naming Samara seems obvious enough when you consider our primary trade. Our founders could have departed from the tree concept, but most cities adhere to that convention. I suppose at this point, it’s sort of our thing.”

“Our thing,” she repeated thoughtfully. “You always speak fondly of Kentoria. Even in discussing its shortcomings.”

His good humor faded. “It’s a complicated relationship between us. Kentoria and myself.”

“The country trained you.” It wasn’t a question.

“For better or worse, Kentoria made me what I am. Now she’ll learn which it is. Better, or worse.”

Thea cleared her throat. “Do you want my opinion on that?”

The glance he sent her was startled, but followed by a laugh. “No,” he said. “I don’t believe I do.”

With some sense of amicable comfort restored, they continued to the city. It was small, smaller than whatever city held Jaret’s inn, but it struck her as better suited for receiving travelers. There were houses, but shops belonging to merchants and craftsmen and women of every sort lined the streets.

“This is the only point of trade between Ranor and Kentoria,” Gil told her as they passed shop after shop. “All goods imported from Ranor pass through this city. Virtually anything you could want, you can replace here.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“I’ve been to every city in Kentoria. And many outside Kentoria, too. Heartroot hosts an office for imports and taxes, and one for passports as well. My contact in Ranor provided mine during a previous expedition, but we still need to do something about yours.” Gil adjusted his cloak, a tiny gesture that might have meant nothing, but she suspected it betrayed uncertainty. Over replaceing his contact when he was in disguise? Or over seeking a passport for a woman who was now a wanted criminal?

“Why don’t we just go around the city and cross through the mountains?” she suggested. “From what you’ve told me, it’s not as if either country will have guards along the border.”

Gil cast her a speculative frown and for a moment, she missed the expressive gray of his natural eyes. “If your goal is to start a new life in Ranor, that’s the last thing we should do. They’re a small country, and that allows them to be very particular. If you’re going to Ranor, you will need paperwork, and to arrive without it would guarantee your ejection from the country.”

“Is the passport office where we’re headed now?” Thea asked.

“Right now, we’re going to stop somewhere to rest and eat. We will sleep here tonight. I need time to notify my contact in Ranor of our impending arrival.”

Which meant he’d be seeking a courier. For a single, fleeting moment, Thea considered sending a letter to her cousin. An apology for vanishing, for leaving her home and responsibilities behind. There would be garments due. Elia was a capable seamstress, but she was no Threadmancer, and the clientele expecting magic-imbued garments would not settle for less. There was not enough money in her store’s till to reimburse every disappointed client. A problem Elia would have to solve alone.

“You’re worried about something,” Gil said.

“My cousin. I’ve left her a large burden.”

“If she’s as determined as you, I suspect she’ll be fine.” He offered a slight smile.

The sewing basket bumped her knees. She hadn’t realized she’d let it drop. “I’m not sure I’d describe myself that way.”

“Are you not? I know very few women who would trek halfway across a country with nothing but clean undergarments in their bag, on the way to start a new life in a completely foreign place when something outside their power goes wrong.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “I also have books.”

“Ah, how foolish of me. The fact you’re accompanied by literature changes everything.” For a single instant, a sparkle lit his eyes through the illusion.

Her chest tightened. After so many days with him traveling under his new disguise, why should she wish to see the face she’d been so willing to help him cover?

“My lady, our destination.” He pushed open the door to an inn and motioned for her to enter.

Unlike Jaret’s establishment when they’d visited, this one was busy. Travelers sat about numerous tables, drinking from dark wooden mugs and gesturing over wide maps. The reception counter was just inside the door, and a tired-looking man lounged against it.

“Meal or drinks?” the innkeeper asked.

Gil shut the door behind them, dulling the light. “A room, if you have it to spare. Two beds.”

The innkeeper frowned. “Two beds?”

Was that suspicious? Thea supposed they didn’t look alike enough to claim relation. Perhaps two rooms would have been better, but she had no way to pay for her own.

Gil raised his brows and leaned against the counter to share a conspiratorial but optimistic whisper. “Do you think she’d let me get away with one?”

The man snorted. He scratched something into his ledger, marked a diagram on a wax slate, and reached for something beneath the counter. “Best hope she will, if the two of you are headed north.”

A sense of uneasiness washed through Thea’s limbs, prickling like her magic. “What do you mean?”

“Problems in Samara. Surprised you haven’t heard. Ranor’s already caught wind of it. They don’t want trouble, so they’re only allowing citizens and their immediate family.” He gave Gil a strange look and raised both eyebrows. A hint?

“This is the first I’ve heard of this,” Gil lied smoothly. “Kentoria isn’t staging another attack against Ranor?”

The innkeeper shook his head. “People have been headed north for weeks. Didn’t know why before now. Ranor started turning them back after the news. But I’ve said enough. I don’t care about your business, but she’s obviously Kentorian. Best have all your paperwork ready when you head through, or they’ll send her packing for home.” He slid a key across the counter, then pointed toward the stairs.

Gil took it with a frown. “Thank you. I suspect we’ll be fine.”

Thea held her tongue until they’d climbed the stairs and passed safely out of earshot. “What’s he talking about?”

“A problem,” he grumbled.

She leaned close as he unlocked their assigned door. “Why doesn’t he think you’re Kentorian? Your accent is the same as mine.”

“Because you gave me Ranorsh coloration, and I’m wearing Ranorsh boots.” This time, he entered the room first. It was dark, and he slid in with one hand on a dagger.

Thea hadn’t even considered coloration when she stitched her illusions. “Boots are enough to convince someone you’re from another country?”

He deemed the room safe, for he returned to the door to close it behind her. “They are when they’re Ranorsh. Everyone knows Kentoria’s leatherworkers are superior. We have more fields, more livestock, and therefore more practice with the material. But we first learned the skills from Ranorsh immigrants, and they’re bitter that we surpassed them. People born and raised in Ranor refuse to wear anything but work by their own craftsmen.”

“Why do you wear Ranorsh boots, then?”

“Because they’re comfortable.” He opened the curtains. “Now, we have a problem to solve.”

Because Ranorsh officials would let him in, but she had no reason to enter their country. “Maybe when we get my passport—”

“This goes beyond a passport, Thea. I am not exaggerating when I say you cannot start there without documentation. I fully believe my contact has the authority needed to help a Kentorian woman settle in Ranor, but we need documentation to even reach him. If they’ll turn us back, then what?” Gil shook his head and paced, the restless way he’d paced the tiny wood shed where she’d first agreed to accompany him.

She felt just as trapped now. Already, she saw the ways this could spiral out of control. To be deported from Ranor meant she’d be handed over to Kentorian officials. How hard would it be for them to discover her identity and connect her to the king’s death? She’d had an appointment that day, at that exact time, and that she’d lost the letter with that information during the skirmish in the castle proved she’d been there. There was no way Samara’s capital didn’t know she was involved. Her throat tightened and she sank to sit on a bed. “Then what do we do?”

Gil raked his fingers through his hair. The illusion faltered around his hand, leaving an odd shimmer behind. “I don’t know. We could—” He stopped short and turned to look at her.

The intensity in his eyes made her cold.

“What?” She fought an unexpected surge of panic. “We could what?”

He raised a finger. “Wait here.”

Before she had a chance to protest, he slid from the room and left her alone.

This time, the lock snapped shut.