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

Gil had not lied. The narrow river was not far from the shack, but Thea still ached with exhaustion when they finally reached its banks. The sounds of the royal hounds never came closer, but they were always there, soft and haunting.

“We must cross,” Gil announced at the river’s edge. “It isn’t deep, but the water will mask our passage.”

Thea observed the current with a frown. It was sluggish to the eye, at least in the dark, but she did not doubt it would be enough to pull her off her feet. “I don’t think I can make it in a skirt.”

“Unfortunate that you didn’t finish your trousers, then. Shall I have to carry you?” The question was light, teasing, but a hint of reservation in the way he smiled told her he would not object to helping her across.

Thea objected enough on her own. She sat on the bank and reached into her basket. “I’ll finish them now.” Whatever she did in the dark wouldn’t be perfect, but it would hold together well enough for her to cross the river. Rough stitches could be picked out in the morning, when she could see to do a proper job.

She expected a protest, or at the very least a complaint. Instead, Gil merely turned to the river and crouched. The moon had risen high and the trees here were thick, but they had shed enough leaves that she could still make out shapes as he emptied his bag. The lack of visibility was a blessing, she decided when he sat a particularly large something aside. She didn’t want to see. She would have been happier to pretend it didn’t exist at all.

He leaned down to submerge his satchel in the river. “I’ll carry your basket when you’re finished. That way, your cloth will stay dry.”

“And my chalk won’t melt.”

“And your books will remain unwrinkled.”

Thea shook her head. “My books are in my bag.”

“Then you’d best put them in the basket, if you want them to stay dry.” He scrubbed his hands and arms with handfuls of sandy soil from the riverbank, then scrubbed the inside of his bag, too.

She worked her needle through the remaining pieces of her unfinished trousers as fast as she could. Magic would have to wait. Anything she worked into the cloth now would stay there and could interfere with anything else she tried to add later. “I don’t think you’ll be able to save that bag.”

“No, but this will make it harder to track us. The dogs rely on scent, and this has been dripping since we left the palace.” When the leather satchel met his expectations, he cleaned his tools and… the other thing he carried. From now on, Thea thought it might be easier if she pretended she didn’t know it accompanied them.

By the time he put everything away, she was tying a loose knot at the end of her messy stitches. “Don’t look while I’m changing.”

“I wouldn’t be able to see anything, anyway.”

She untied her boots and wiggled her feet out of them. Once free, she waited to be sure he wasn’t looking, then slid her improperly-made pants on beneath her skirt. She had them halfway up her thighs before a realization made her stomach sink.

She hadn’t chosen a separate skirt. She wore a dress, and she had no shirts among her things.

Well, there was only one solution for that. She squinted at him in the dark to be sure he still faced the other direction, then hiked up her pants the rest of her way. “Give me a knife.”

He raised both hands to show they were empty. “I understand your concerns, but I promise, you have nothing to fear from me.”

“I could probably argue, but I assure you that you misunderstand. My dressmaker’s shears would be too awkward for me to use behind my back. Give me a knife. The sharpest you have.” She gathered her skirt in one hand and tugged the fabric away from her body. Her other hand, she held out in clear expectation.

Gil finally glanced her way, examined the situation, and understood. He unsheathed a blade and stepped toward her. “Hold still.”

The dagger glinted in the moonlight and her heart skipped a beat. “I can do it myself.”

“A knife would be no easier to wield behind your back. I told you I mean you no harm, and I don’t intend to see you harm yourself, either. Whether or not you mean it.” He seized her skirt from her hand and plunged the knife through the fabric. The sound it made as it tore made her stomach lurch.

One step at a time, he circled around her, severing the skirt from the bodice of her dress. The fabric fell away in a heap at her feet.

“It’s as straight as I can cut it, though I doubt it will meet your expectations,” he said as he sliced the last few threads and stopped before her.

Her legs felt bare in her skirt’s absence and she crossed her ankles as if it might help her hide. “I’ll fix it. Somehow. But not tonight.”

He flipped the dagger in his hand and returned it to its sheath. “No. Tonight, we run for as long as we can. If we can wade along the river’s far edge for a time, it will help.”

“By hiding our scent?” She stepped out of the ring of fabric and bent to gather it. There was just enough space in her sewing basket to stuff it inside.

“By hiding signs of our passage. The hounds’ noses are too keen to be fooled by water. But the handlers, those are the weak point. If a handler cannot see where to guide their dogs, they’ll tire themselves out looking for somewhere to resume.” Gil took the basket from her hands before she was ready. She motioned for him to wait while she took her books and the paper-wrapped cake from her cloth satchel and added them to the basket’s load. Then she donned her boots.

“So that’s all we’re doing? Hoping to tire out the dogs?”

“For now, it’s all we can do. It should be easier for them to lose interest now that the path will not be so clear to the handlers, but it will only gain us so much time. The best way to escape is to finish preservation so we leave no blood trail, then find a city with a dense population where the dogs’ senses will be overwhelmed.” He checked his things to make sure all was in place, then raised the basket to shoulder level and stepped backwards into the river.

Thea hesitated at the edge. “I trust you know where that is.”

“I have a clear plan, yes. You were not a part of it, but the skills you bring are most welcome.” He offered his hand.

For a long moment, Thea considered telling him to continue on his own. If the hounds were after the scent of his bag, then perhaps she could escape by herself. But to where? It wasn’t as if she could turn around and make her way back to Samara. He was going to Ranor, and no matter how she turned the situation over in her head, escaping to the one country that did not like her kingdom seemed like the only chance she had.

She slid her hand into his and let him guide her into the water.

Bit by bit, he led her into the center of the river. It was no more than waist deep. “Move slowly. Search each step before you take it. Lean on me for balance if you must.” As if it weighed nothing, he kept the basket suspended beside his head. The same basket had planted what might be a permanent ache in her back and shoulders. How could she have ever thought to escape a man so strong?

“That’s it,” he reassured her as they crept up the riverbed. It was shallower in some places and deeper in others, but he guided her steadily north.

“Light’s mercy, but the water’s freezing.” She didn’t know what else to say, but she thought remaining silent would let fear get the best of her.

“You’d best get used to the cold, if you plan to settle in Ranor. The winters we know in Samara are mild compared to what they have each year.”

Her brow furrowed. “We?”

Gil answered first with a soft chuckle. “Does it surprise you that I’m Kentorian?”

Yes, she thought, but she kept her response more reserved. “I thought assassins most often came from enemies. And that might be why we move north.”

“You’d be surprised where assassins come from. And while Ranor may be a political antagonist, they’re a tiny, land-locked country. They wouldn’t dare challenge Kentoria. Not truly.”

Thea couldn’t help but sigh.

“Had you hoped for a different answer?” He sounded intrigued.

“No. Or, perhaps. I don’t know. By the Light, it shouldn’t be so easy to speak with you.”

“Is that so? Personally, I’d think it a good thing you find conversation easy. Imagine traveling all the way to another country with someone you found abhorrent.”

She should have found him abhorrent. He should have struck her as a monster. Instead, he was effortlessly charming, his words and voice both pleasant to the ear. Was this what he’d meant, about cordial assassins being more effective? Even knowing what he was, what he’d done, she found herself unconcerned about traipsing through a river with her hand in his.

“Ah,” he said.

Thea craned her neck to look at him, though his features were nothing but shadow. “What?”

“You do find me abhorrent.”

“No,” she said slowly. And perhaps that was the most abhorrent thing of all.

“Ah, don’t feel as if you must protect my feelings. No one could fault you.” He paused to guide her around a dip in the riverbed before he went on. “Selfishly, I’ll admit travel is easier with someone whose company you enjoy, but you are under no obligation to be polite.”

She considered correcting him, perhaps even sharing the strange revelation that she didn’t despise him, then chose to keep the thought to herself. It was too soon to reach such a conclusion. Not even a day had passed since their ill-fated meeting. Far too little time to decide what she thought of him, much less what she thought of the whole situation. At this point, none of it felt real, and she owed him nothing.

They traveled by river until it veered too far east to be of any use. Ranor was northwest, and they’d gone several miles before Gil snagged a tree branch and used it to drag both of them up the steep river bank. “That’ll leave a clear mark, but there are deer prints about. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll assume one of the deer fell in.”

“Will the deer confuse the dogs?” Thea asked.

All he did was grin.

The sound of the animals had long since disappeared, though she doubted they’d left them behind for good. The stars had begun to fade from the sky, and dogs could not work forever. At this point, it seemed a miracle the two of them were still standing. Going against the river’s current had been slow and difficult, even when its path widened and the water grew more shallow. Thea’s feet were numb when she stumbled into the grass. After two sloshing, squishing steps, she sat and undid her boots so she could dump out the water.

“Are we going to have to sleep in the open?” She hadn’t considered sleeping arrangements when she decided to go with him. There were worse things than sleeping under the stars, but they were near the end of autumn. The first snows would soon fall and there would be no comfort in camping then.

Gil emptied his boots, too. Even his socks were black. “There’s a city ahead. Not close, I’m afraid, but three or so hours of walking at a good pace. I have a contact there. We’ll be able to rest in his home.”

“Three hours?” Thea could have cried. She was bone-tired, cold, hungry, and the sun was already rising. How was she to trudge on for another three hours?

“Yes. Eight or nine miles.” He replaced his boots and stood with the sewing basket on his arm. It had never so much as brushed the water. Even now, he behaved as if it were empty instead of being packed with heavy fabrics. “But we should reach the city long before any search party does, even if we’re on foot. Kentoria has never been much for cavalry. The best they’ll muster is a few scouts who will carry word to whatever guard force may be waiting elsewhere. They will not linger.”

“And they won’t know our faces.” It was a small consolation. She waved him closer and pointed to the basket when he approached.

He lowered it with a frown, but his confusion shifted to intrigue when she retrieved and unwrapped the cake. “What is that?”

“My consolation cake.” Thea broke it in half and raised a piece in mock tribute. “To the headless king of Kentoria.” The other piece, she extended toward him. He’d eaten nothing along the way either. If she was starved, he had to be, too.

Gil regarded it with suspicion.

She pushed it toward his hand. “I highly doubt my cousin had the foresight to poison you with a cake she purchased for me.” As if to emphasize her point, she took as big a bite as her mouth could hold.

Slowly, he opened his hand to accept it. “This is what you were eating?”

“Made with the finest maple sugar last year’s sap run had to offer.” The sticky sweetness meant it was hard to swallow without something to drink, too. She licked her lips several times. “I don’t suppose you know of a water source cleaner than the river? I feel as if I’ll die if I don’t get a drink.”

Without a word, he unfastened something from his belt and passed it to her.

A water skin.

She stared at it in the growing light. Had he carried that the whole time?

“You could have asked,” he said simply as he bit into his half of the cake.

Half of her wanted to chastise him, but the promise of water was too much to ignore. She crammed the rest of her cake into her mouth to free up her hands, then unfastened the stopper and drank. It was as cold as the river had been, but blessedly clean. She gulped down what had to be half its contents before she shoved it back into his grasp and glared. “How was I to know you had that all night? Were you hiding it?”

“Saving it, more like.”

“Weren’t you thirsty?”

He raised the water skin in salute and then drank his share. “I’ve trained a long time in preparation for this night. Mere thirst is unlikely to stop me.” Then his face softened. “But I failed to consider the same was not true of you. I am sorry.”

The gentle, earnest statement took her off guard and for a moment, she could do nothing but stare.

If he noticed, he didn’t show it. In a few bites, his portion of the cake was gone, and then so was his water. “Come. We’ve dallied long enough. Our clothes will have to dry as we walk.”

Thea wasn’t sure her hasty stitches would last a whole nine miles, but there were few other options. Her bag held clean undergarments, but no other dresses or skirts. “Will we have time for me to stop and sew?”

“You can resume threadmancy when we reach our destination.” There was no road, nor even a path, but he headed northwest with absolute certainty.

Seeing an argument would get her nowhere, Thea chose to remain silent.

That silence persisted for what became most of the journey.

Eventually, the grassy hills and scattered groves gave way to tidy farm plots and a well-maintained road. Travel was easier on the packed earth, but Thea glanced over her shoulder every so often, unable to relax, and Gil said nothing to settle her.

The transition from farms to city was so gradual that she didn’t realize they’d made it until rows of storefronts rose before her.

“There’s no wall?” She looked back twice, afraid she might have missed it. Only farmsteads and scattered houses lay behind them.

“Few cities wall off more than the resident lord’s home.” Gil had pulled the green fabric from the basket and draped it around himself again. The cut part of it dangled down his back like a cape and she frowned every time it caught her eye. It would serve him right if she turned that into his cloak and made him wear it with that slice visible forever. Perhaps she would.

The streets were not crowded, but they were busy enough that the two of them were not out of place. The sewing basket on Gil’s arm made him less threatening, and the makeshift cloak hung down far enough to hide most of his knives. By comparison, Thea felt naked. She tugged the bodice of her severed dress down around her hips, but there was no hiding their curves.

“Where did you say we were heading?” she asked. Few people looked at her, but the sooner she had a chance to sew herself a proper tunic, the better.

He did not answer. Instead, he crossed the wide street toward a tall stone building. A hanging plaque declared it an inn.

“I thought we were going to your friend’s house,” Thea said.

Gil adjusted his temporary hood before he opened the door and pointed inside. His silence was irritating, but perhaps there was a reason. She hadn’t seen any guards, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Maybe the less said, the better.

“You’re too late for breakfast,” a man called from across the sunny room. “And noon’s not for a few hours yet.”

“But it’s never too early for bed,” Gil replied.

The man swore and hurried out from behind the reception counter. “You made it. I didn’t think—who’s this?”

Thea drew back a step, but Gil shut the door firmly behind them so she couldn’t escape.

“A complication.” His voice held none of the amicable nonchalance it had through the rest of their travels, but it wasn’t threatening, either. Just flat.

The innkeeper swore again.

“Mind your tongue, Jaret. We are in a lady’s presence.” Gil motioned toward her, as if she could have been missed. As if they hadn’t just spoken of her.

The displeasure that twisted Jaret’s mouth indicated he didn’t appreciate the prompt. “Light scorch your chivalry, G—ah, does she…?” His eyes flicked to Thea’s face.

She raised an eyebrow. “Gil has introduced himself.”

For an instant, Jaret looked surprised. Then his scowl grew deeper and his attention swept back to Gil. “You’re a madman. You know you are. I never should have let you tangle me in this.”

“But you owed me, and after this, your debt will be repaid.” A broad smile cracked Gil’s face. “Give us a room. We need rest, and my Threadmancer here has a task to complete.”

Jaret’s brows shot halfway up his forehead. “A Threadmancer? You don’t mean—”

“I do, and I would appreciate a room so we can complete the project in peace.”

Thea tried to offer a smile of her own, but it was tight, strained.

The innkeeper considered her for no more than a second, speculation thick in his dark eyes. “One?”

“Do not question me,” Gil said, the edge in his voice a harsh reminder of the way he’d spoken to Thea as they fled the palace. How had that contrast already become jarring?

Jaret made a noise that was either dismissal or disagreement, but he strode around them to lock the door and then jerked his head toward the back. “Come with me.”

They followed him to the stairwell nestled between the front room and a private dining area. Upstairs, most doors in the long hallway stood partway open. The innkeeper gestured for them to go ahead. “Pick one.”

Gil swept ahead, his boots strangely silent on the hardwood floor. He stopped halfway down the hall and slid into a room. “Thea.”

She twitched at her name and shuffled along behind him. The room he’d chosen was airy and bright, with a small table and a cozy-looking narrow bed. She eyed that for a long time.

“You may leave us,” Gil said to Jaret as he unwound the green fabric from his shoulders. He put down the sewing basket and draped the cloth across it. “I will be down to speak with you after we’ve had a chance to rest.”

“And when Samara’s finest guards come knocking at my door?” Jaret asked flatly.

“Then you greet them with surprise and disbelief and answer them as honestly as you dare.” Gil smirked and shut the door in the man’s face. The moment it was closed, he exhaled and seemed to deflate. For the first time since their escape began, he struck Thea as weary.

She glanced toward her basket of sewing supplies. “Should I—”

“You should rest. We cannot stay here more than a day. By the time the sun rises tomorrow, we must be moving again.” He plucked a dagger from its sheath at his waist and wedged its tip between the window and its sill, then closed the curtains.

Slowly, Thea sank onto the bed. It was worn, but as soft as her mattress back home. She willed herself not to think of the large bed she’d never sleep in again as she wiggled her feet out of her boots. Her socks were still wet, her toes shriveled. She peeled the woolen socks off her feet and draped them across the footboard of the bed.

Gil pulled the lone chair from the table and spun it to wedge the back beneath the doorknob. Then he shed his own boots and lowered himself to the floor.

She leaned forward, peering at him. “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. As I suggest you do.”

“On the floor?”

“That Jaret gave us a room here, where they all hold one bed fit for a single sleeper, was a statement on his part. We are not welcome, and we will leave as soon as we are able.” He settled on his side with his bent arm as a pillow.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” She didn’t know why she asked. If he was willing to give her the bed, she wasn’t about to trade.

He chuckled. “I’ve slept in worse conditions. But also far better. Right now, all that matters is sleep.”

Thea stared at his back until the pattern of his breathing changed. She sank into the bed and pulled the blanket over her shoulders and hips, leaving the damp lower legs of her shoddily-sewn trousers exposed.

There he was, a murderer who should have terrified her, a man on the run after shattering her life and dragging her down with him. He was a monster, but one who feared little, for he lay with his back turned to her and slept soundly despite all he’d done. Yet in the face of all those things, all she could think about was the richness of his voice and the strange kindness in his smile. She’d heard stories of assassins and met cruel men, and when she compared thoughts of them to the man on the floor beside her, she realized there was something wrong—though she could hardly imagine what.

Unsettled, she shut her eyes and tried to sleep.