Amaskan's Blood by Raven Oak (the best e book reader .TXT) 📗

travel bags for color coordination. Outside her door was the promised guard, awake and alert. He twitched when he saw her, but Adelei ignored him as she stepped foot outside. She stifled a laugh when he scrambled to catch up to her.

“Is there something you need?” he asked. He leapt in front of her, his boot kicking hers. “Food,” she answered, sidestepping him to continue on her path. He accepted her comment for the moment and trotted along behind her. Like a giant puppy. A giant, annoying puppy. She grimaced as he tripped over a rock in the path. It was necessary, but there was nothing she hated more than being babysat.

The dining hall itself was larger on the inside than it looked and filled with dozens of benches and tables, each squeezed close together to maximize the available space. The sun having risen hours before, the dining hall lay mostly empty.

Adelei was used to small spaces, but she didn’t relish the idea of being packed in among so many who hated or feared her and was thankful most were already gone. She’d have to get used to it if she would be in the capital city for this job, especially if she were dining with the royal family.

She would rather move around unnoticed, but that would be difficult in such crowds. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time. A few people lounged, plates mostly empty as they chatted while savoring what few crumbs remained.

A table as long as the wall lay in front of her. No servers stood near the table, not that she’d expected any. Most garrisons were of the self-serve variety. Closer inspection showed typical military grade food—good tasting only if one didn’t pay serious attention to what one was eating. And safe enough not to give a soldier the trots.

Her stomach rumbled audibly, and she picked a few pieces of rabbit out at random before adding some dried fruit and bread to her plate. It would all taste the damned same anyhow. Her mouth watered just the same. While not picky on the food, she did choose her seat carefully—far enough away from those who remained to be left alone, yet close enough to invite conversation if one were so inclined.

Their conversation ceased as she took her seat, and two left the dining hall before her backside hit the wooden stool beneath her. Of the two remaining, the woman flicked a crumb across the table. Her history and familiarity with combat was written across her body by way of scars and old wounds, while the man seemed as green as the rest of the soldiers she’d seen.

After a moment, he, too, found reason to flee the hall, leaving the two women alone. The Alexandrian was old enough to be Adelei’s mother, and her hair held more grey than black. Amazing that she’s survived this long. Don’t see many her age still in this line of work.

Adelei tore off a hunk of bread. The silence was now covered by the sounds of chewing and interrupted only by the occasional clank of a cutting knife. When the sound ceased, a shadow moved across the floor and then across her food. Without looking up, she nodded at the table. “Have a seat,” she said between bites.

Several minutes passed before a choked, bitter voice broke the silence. “So you’re a member of the Order.”

It was a statement rather than a question. “No,” she said, and at the woman’s raised brow, she added, “Former.” I don’t know why I’m being honest with her—maybe because she’s not running away scared.

“Former? No such thing. Like a guard. Once a guard, always a guard.”

Adelei waited for the warrior to continue and chewed a hunk of rabbit with the purposeful slowness of a slug. The warrior wore the same standard blue tunic and pants as the men in the garrison and the same leather mail over the top, but the insignia at her collarbone was unlike any Adelei knew from her studies. The two horizontal circles overlapped to create a sideways eight. Some kind of dignitary? Special service to the King maybe?

The words interrupted Adelei’s thoughts and were achingly slow, as if the act of speech caused the warrior pain. “Killed a lot of people in my time.”

Adelei leaned closer to her meal, and thus closer to the warrior woman. A thin scar ran horizontally across the warrior’s throat, from ear to ear. How she had survived a wound like that, only the Gods knew.

“Never seen an assassin as young as you. The name’s Ida. Captain Ida Warhammer, Sepier to the King.” Strong fingers stretched out to shake Adelei’s own, the first genuine greeting she’d received.

Sepier? Nothing popped in her Alexandrian vocabulary or Sadain. “Ili—Adelei of Sadai.” The moment the beginning of the name spilled out, she cursed under her breath. It’d slipped out of her mouth like it was natural to call herself such. Damned country. One day inside the border, and she was already making every rookie mistake she had made at twelve.

Ida rose to fetch herself another drink, and Adelei suppressed a whistle. The woman was tall enough to stare at the top of Master Bredych’s bald head, and he was quite imposing with his six-foot lithe frame. When Ida returned, she claimed a seat much closer to Adelei with a thump. “How’d ya get into the Order so young? Kill someone in the cradle?” Ida let loose a hearty laugh and sloshed her watered down ale when she slapped the table.

“Not quite. I was raised by a member of the Order.”

Ida nodded. “Ah, that explains it. Makes sense, I say. Get ’em young and train ’em is the best way to ensure they’re good at their job, eh? Unlike here, where I’m surrounded by the greenest grass.”

It was Adelei’s turn to laugh. “What’s the story with that? I’d figure a kingdom like Alexander would’ve secured better troops in the years since the war.”

“Know about that, do ya?” Ida took a sip