The Assassin and the Spy

The ballroom was blasting with illumination. Billions of colors reflected off of the glass windows and mirrors. Beams of white light were dyed and multiplied through diamonds and rubies and emeralds flashing off of necklaces around women’s bare, pale necks and sparkling on large rings on every finger. Earrings glittered and white teeth were revealed in wide grins. Long, elegant skirts swished across the floor as highborn men twirled their dance partners around. Bright colors blinded the eye, and everywhere one looked there was a new shade to be seen.
Surprisingly, though, there was a figure wearing brown. It was a very soft brown, and within all the color not easy to spot. It blended with the wooden walls. The man was a wall-flower of sorts.
But not a flower. Definitely not a flower. No, more like a blade concealed in shadows, waiting to strike. Of course, that was exactly what he wanted. This man was no ordinary man. His life was a secret. He watched, he waited. He was a bit of a spy, but that was not his formal occupation.
He was an assassin.
He didn’t have a real name. Because he had no friends nor any family, he’d never needed one. A real name would only complicate matters. His name for this particular mission was Aislin Tory. He did not have a noticeable position, he was just there.
His mud-colored eyes lazily scanned the crowed as he ran a gloved hand through his hair. There was a scar on his right hand that would identify him, so he used it as the excuse to wear gloves. But it was not the true reason. There was a tattoo on the inside of his index finger of his left hand. But this was not any ordinary tattoo. It would mean treason in Giali, resulting in immediate death. The tattoo was a specific sword, whose point was at the tip of his finger with the hilt at the inside of the knuckle. Its name was Radiance, the sword of the AeaTr High King.
Giali’s arch-enemy.
His eyes rested on someone across the room. He frowned slightly. The woman was wearing a silky blue dress with a tight black vest. She, too, was wearing gloves. But they were not lace as some of the ladies were sporting. They were thick, tough black leather like her vest. Not unlike his own gloves, he reflected, except that his were brown.
She was strikingly beautiful. Golden hair with red highlights spilled down her shoulders. He could not see her eyes from this distance, but he was sure that they were the same light blue as the silk she wore. He could tell that her eyes were darting around the room, watching and catching every minute detail. Her pale, creamy skin matched the crowd’s.
That was his only problem. His skin was much darker than the peachy complexion of Giali. Before he left his room every morning, he used powder to lighten the color.
She was not paying much attention to the group of ladies she was presently in. They were probably gossiping about the handsomest and richest single men at the ball, but it was obvious that she had no intrest in the conversation.
She does not belong here, he thought to himself. She is not Gialian as she appears to be at first glance.
She was asked to dance many times, but she only accepted twice, and then it was only because of the pushes of her companions. She seemed distressed as she danced, and when she sat down and continued to watch the room wearily she calmed.
Then, he panicked. She spotted him briefly, frowned a bit, then reluctantly looked away.
She is not watching the men, he reflected. She is not dancing, or gossiping. She does not belong here.
He stepped out of the shadows and casually yet cautiously asked a lord standing nearby who she was.
"That woman there?" he confirmed. "The Lady Miranda, of course. The most beautiful woman at the ball, in my opinion."
Aislin’s eyebrows twitched. "Why does she wear gloves?"
"They were terribly burned in an explosion, goes her story," the lord answered. "She was shielding her face; apparently she lost her husband in the fire, and that’s why she dances so little."
Of course, it all made perfect sense. But it did not explain her attentive eyes.
He thanked the lord and sank back into the shadows.
Aislin watched Lady Miranda until the ball was over. She was one of the last to file out, making her observations.
He frowned as he walked up to his own room. She did not belong in Giali.

With a few carefully phrased questions and a bit of spying, Aislin discovered that Lady Miranda went riding out in the small bit of woodland just outside of Lydina every day. When he saw her start out toward them the next morning, he hurried to get ahead of her.
He cut off of the path she used until he was far enough in the lead that she could no longer see him. Then he returned to the path and led his mount through the woods a short distance. He turned the horse around and waited.
He did not have to wait long. She rode the horse through the trees and suddenly stopped on seeing him.
"Who are you?" she demanded coldly.
He smiled. Her eyes were ice blue, as he’d predicted. "No name have I, my Lady," he answered, "yet sure I am who I am you’ll know in a moment."
She frowned. "Explain yourself."
He nodded, still smiling. "You I noticed at the ball last night. You see, new here I am. So watched I did. And I noticed that one with the crowd you were not."
She stiffened visually.
"Aware you wear gloves I am. When I asked about them, the answer I received was that burned they are. But believe it I do not."
Her eyes narrowed. "Do you not? Then what do you believe?"
"I believe that the same are our reasons for covering our hands," he said, removing his left glove, "for work for the same employer we do."
Her eyes widened when he revealed the tattoo on his left index finger. But then they narrowed again.
"Only half correct, you are," she said, her eyes grinning. She removed her right glove to reveal a terribly burned hand.
He panicked. He’d been wrong. How could he possibly have been wrong? Now he’d have to kill her. He didn’t want to waste such beauty, but he had no other choice. . . .
The grin in her eyes spread to her lips when she saw him reach for the knife in his boot. "Listen well you do not," she chuckled, removing her left glove. "Half correct I said you were."
Then she revealed to him the tattoo on her left index finger. It was a strange sight. The entire hand was burned, as the other, except for the area around the tattoo, which had none of the blistering that was everywhere else.
He relaxed.
"And that," she laughed, in Katrian now, "is why I am a spy and you are not."
"Have you figured out what I am already?" he asked, not very surprised with the switch of dialect.
"Yes. Another reason." Her face was alight from her smile. "When you reached for your knife you gave yourself away. You’re an assassin."
He was impressed. "Very, very good. You’re skilled in your work."
"As are you," she said. "It was hard to spot you last night. Your colors blended easily into the background."
He nodded his head in thanks. "I know your name, Lady Miranda, or at least the one you currently use. Do you wish to know the name I use?"
"I already know it. You underestimate me, Aislin Tory," she said, her eyes laughing.
"Maybe because I’ve lived too long. But for their Majesties to recruit you, you have to be better than the best."
"As do you," she repeated.
They exchanged room numbers and made plans to meet in the woods every day. Then Miranda turned to leave.
"People need friends in a world full of enemies," she smiled. Then she let her horse take her away.
Aislin waited for a while, then returned to the castle.

That night he wrote a note to the Queen Adeline.

I have discovered a spy of our own within the walls of the Lydina castle. Be assured that I will protect her. She wears the sign of your trust.
We have made plans to meet secretly every day. Any information we acquire will be sent directly to you.

Your Own

He sent it with a carrier pigeon without hesitation.

"The servant assigned to my quarters has his suspicions. He will have to be taken care of."
"What aroused his suspicions?"
"I left a book out on the night-stand one day."
"So?"
"Women in Giali have little schooling, if any. Books are the last things expected in a Lady’s room. Remember, we are not in our home country." Miranda paused. "Can you do something?"
"About the servant?" A twist of his arm and a dagger was in his hand. "That’s my job. Besides, I promised the—her that I’d protect you."
She smiled a little. "I am not utterly helpless."
"Oh, forgive me; those were not good words. If you were, she’d not have hired you." Aislin grinned. "I don’t doubt that you have some sort of blade hidden in your clothes."
There was an unexpected tapping at his mind, a presence seeking entrance. He let down his tightly guarded barriers slightly.
:That’s not the only form of defense I have.:
She withdrew and his shields snapped back up. "Point taken," he said. Her smile grew.
After a while of silent riding through the woods, Aislin ventured cautiously, "I heard that you lost your husband in the fire that burned your hands."
"A lie," she replied shortly. Moments passed, and Aislin was beginning to wonder if she was going to elaborate when she went on. "My parents were going to sell me to him to be his wife. I would have none of it, and I lashed out with my untrained mind. He was angry, and he pulled me out of the house. Then he showed me he was a mage." A sharp intake of breath alerted Aislin that she was upset. "He set the house on fire and made me watch, then he threw me toward a bile of logs that was burning. My hands stopped me, and they were all that were burned." She was crying now. "My body was numb except for my hands, but my mind was out of control. Somehow I managed to pitch him into the fire using only my mental powers. He died. I lost my whole family in that fire, my whole life, my reason for living. . . ."
Aislin dismounted and helped her off of the horse before she fell. He took her over to a tree and they sat, leaning against it. She was trembling against him violently, sobbing and clutching his tunic. He rocked her gently and held her head.
A long time passed and Miranda’s tears had subsided. Suddenly she murmured, "I’d have never expected an assassin to hold a woman in his arms."
Aislin had no answer for that. He did know that the sun was dipping into the horizon, a subtle threat.
"We need to get back," he said, and realized that Miranda had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He sighed, but not remorsefully; then he picked her up, tied her horse to his own, mounted, and carried her to Lydina.

By the time they returned to the castle, night had descended and the halls were quiet. Aislin carried Miranda up to her room and, after much embarrassed searching threw her garments, opened the door with her key. They were splendid quarters; two separate rooms, a public room and a bedroom, lush sofas and pillows and rich wooden tables. Beautiful oil lamps lit the room. A room fit for a Lady, he thought, then continued into the bedroom.
The deep red velvet canopy bed was so plush looking that he felt it would swallow a per-son up. Aislin cautiously laid Miranda on it, then went to the washtub in the corner. He found a cloth and dipped it into the bucket of cold water that was sitting next to the tub. He wrung it out and brought it to the bedside. Sitting down carefully, he wiped the dust away from Miranda’s face tenderly and discovered that she, too, wore powder to hide her tan, Katrian complexion.
When he was done he tossed the wet cloth into the washtub and lifted her enough to pull back the covers. He removed her boots and her vest but refrained from undressing her further. He even left her gloves, not knowing what to do with them. Then Aislin pulled the covers around her.
He could not help but stare at her peaceful face. She hadn’t awakened even through all of the lifting and carrying he did. He sighed; she’d said earlier, half asleep, "I’d have never expected an assassin to hold a woman in his arms."
He’d never expected it, either. But Miranda was different. In a world full of beauty and glamour but no brains in women and only a lust for power in men, she’d brought back to him the importance of freedom and rights. Aislin no longer wanted to be in Giali. Before he had pitied it, like he would a lost puppy. But now he despised it. All he wanted was to return to AeaTr—and for Miranda to go with him.
But that was not possible. He was an assassin; the last thing he could have was Miranda.
He got up and left the room, shutting the door with a soft click. After turning down all of the lights, he could not resist sitting on the sofa. He was tired, too, and his feet ached. But as soon as he sat down, he fell asleep.

Aislin woke with a start. Someone was in the room. The door had just closed, waking him though it made little noise. The intruder shuffled around, going to the bedroom and entering. For all the noise he made, Aislin knew that the intruder was not skilled in his task.
Aislin was not going to hive him a chance to learn.
He rose silently just as he heard a mental scream. No longer worried about stealth, he ran into the room.
The would-be assassin stood next to the bed, a knife raised in his hand. Miranda was staring up at him, frozen in terror. Aislin reacted, and before the hitman had a chance to strike, he leaped and grabbed the knife from his hand. The intruder was so startled that Aislin had the knife to his neck with no trouble. It was about to bite the skin when Miranda gasped, "No!"
Aislin stared at her. He hadn’t heard her speak in Gialian for a long time. "Mean you what, no?"
"Not here. Show the blood will."
She was right. "Can you make him remain silent?"
Her eyes narrowed, and she nodded. "Go now."
He pulled the assassin out of the room and headed out of the castle. He did not have to leave castle grounds, though. Instead, he slit the man’s throat over the moat and pushed him, still gurgling. He dropped the knife in as well.
When Aislin returned to Miranda’s room, she was sitting on the edge of the couch, waiting for him. "Did you kill him?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Good." She rose and motioned him into the bedroom. "Safer in here it is," she explained.
When he followed she shut and locked the door tightly. "Now," she said, turning, speaking again in Katrian. "How did you get here so fast? And how did I get here in the first place? Last thing I remember was being in the forest."
"You fell asleep and I carried you back here," he replied, a bit uncomfortable. "I was going to leave, but I sat down and fell asleep myself on the couch."
"Ah, I see." She walked past him and sat on the bed, still in her riding clothes. "So it wasn’t because you were worried about the servant?"
He recoiled. "No! If anything, I was worried about you! You were upset! The servant was the least of my worries."
She stared at him in dismay. "Oh," she said softly, and turned away.
He sighed. "Miranda, I care about you, but I respect that you have your own space. Gialian women would need my protection; you do not, and I understand that."
She looked at him again, suddenly very, very still. "You—you—care about me?"
He froze. He’d told her. He hadn’t meant to, he just had. To make it worse he couldn’t read her expression.
He turned around abruptly, unable to face her gaze any longer. "Yes," he admitted, shamefully. "I do. But I can’t do anything about it, because we don’t even belong here. You’re a Gialian high born woman, and I’m practically a peasant. Where we come from it wouldn’t make any difference, but where we are it does. Besides, we’re on duty every sunmark of the dai."
Aislin didn’t even hear her move, but suddenly Miranda was beside him. An uncovered hand, hard and rough with scaring, came up to his cheek and turned his head so that he was looking at her. He realized in surprise that her eyes were bright.
"I don’t think a single night will hurt much," she whispered, "as long as you can sneak out unnoticed tomorrow morning
. . . ."
"I think I can manage," he grinned, and she smiled.

Miranda walked into the ballroom with practiced steps. Today the celebration was a masquerade, and everyone held masks up to their faces. She sighed. Her job tonight would be even more difficult to perform, for it was hard to discern just who was who.
She’d come in a little late, and there were already dancers on the floor. Women were wandering about as always, looking at men and gossiping.
Miranda came upon a group of ladies who were talking, but surprisingly not about the men at the ball. They were talking about her.
And she heard some very disturbing things.
They did not identify her, or they would have stopped. They were talking about a rumor that had apparently traveled around the entire castle by sixteen sunmarks. There had been a man in the Lady Miranda’s room late last night, and a servant had come in to put out the lights. He’d heard them talking, but it hadn’t been in Gialian. The servant hadn’t been able to tell what the language was, being uneducated, but it had sounded like Katrian.
Miranda moved away from the group of women as quickly as she could when she heard that.
She was stressed. They’d found her out. And if she was caught anywhere with Aislin, they’d know it was him, too. Suddenly she was very hot in the ballroom. It was too crowded, everyone was pushing against her. She didn’t know where she was. And then suddenly she felt a door. She pushed against it and was rewarded with a cool blast of fresh air.
She hurried to the edge of the balcony and leaned against the railing, trying to catch her breath. There were only a few other people on the balcony, and they were at the other end.
"Are you all right?" a low voice asked in her ear.
Miranda didn’t need to turn to know who it was. "No," she gasped, clutching at the rail. "No, but speak about it now I can’t. Tomorrow."
Aislin nodded silently. "Tomorrow, then." And then he was gone.
Miranda could barely stand any longer. Pulling herself up with an effort that hurt, she made it back to her quarters and did not emerge for the night.

"They’ve found me out," she gasped, hysterical. She was pacing around the forest floor, absorbed in her distress. "The women don’t talk to me, the men avoid me. The servants look at me funny. They’re too suspicious. They’re going to execute me!"
"Miranda," Aislin cried, "calm down!" He took hold of both of her arms and stared her in the face. "Nothing good can come of this. You go back, and I’ll send—her a note explaining the situation. She can’t blame you for going back."
"They won’t let me across the border," she wavered. "My leaving now would just prove them right."
"Yes, but you’ll be safe," he said, frowning. "That’s all that matters."
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with terror, and suddenly she hugged him tight. "Thanks, Aislin," she whispered.
His heart rate had risen tremendously, and he wished that the moment would last forever, but he still said, "Now, you go back to the castle, and I’ll follow, like always. But this time I’ll come in the back stables, okay?"
She nodded.
"When you get there, go straight to your room and don’t leave. Pack up, and tonight I’ll help you get out. Don’t worry, I’ll tie up any loose ends."
"You’re the best, you know that, don’t you?" Miranda smiled. Then, with a deep breath, she mounted her horse and rode off.
Aislin waited half of a sunmark, just to be safe. Then he rode back to Lydina.
He went the back way, just as he said he would, but he found it didn’t matter.
"Hey," one of the stableboys called. "Go the front. Inspecting everyone himself the king is."
"What?" he said, frowning. "Work here I do."
"King’s orders," the stableboy shook his head. Then he pointed toward the front of the castle.
Aislin was becoming very suspicious. Sure enough, at the front of the castle there was a huge crowd. He and his horse were ushered to the middle, where he found Miranda, still mounted. He was pushed up beside her.
"State your name," the caller beside the king yelled.
"Aislin Tory," he said, a little nervous.
"State your relation to the Lady Miranda."
:Say simple acquaintance,: sent the familiar mind-voice.
"Simple acquaintance," he said.
The king pushed the caller away. "Why do you wear gloves?" he boomed.
"Scars on my hands there are."
"Prove it. Both of you."
:What do we do?: Miranda gasped.
:Take off your glove,: he replied, and hoped she saw him remove his right glove.
She did. They held up their right hands, all the proof the king needed that they weren’t lying, yet not showing what he wanted to see.
The king frowned. He left them standing there with their right hands raised for a long time, then finally said, "Free to go you are."
Both Aislin and Miranda felt an overwhelming release, but they could not show it. Instead they pulled the gloves back over their hands, spurred their horses and parted, each going to a different stable.

Miranda ran around her quarters, looking for anything that would help her on her journey to AeaTr. She knew she couldn’t take much, only the most important items. She stuffed clothing and personal items into a saddlebag that sat on her bed. She grabbed two books and hid them in the bottom of the bags. After going to all of her hiding spots in the room, she pulled out seven different daggers, and hid them on her person. Finally, she changed into rough riding clothing and waited anxiously for Aislin, hoping that the day’s events hadn’t changed his mind in coming to help her out.
They hadn’t, but Miranda was fairly surprised to open the door and find Aislin standing there, with saddlebags of his own in his hands.
"Coming with you, I am," he said, startling her with the Gialian she heard him speak so rarely.
"Wise, I think it is," she replied. She grabbed her bags and joined him in the hallway, shutting the door to the fancy room without a second thought.
On their way out of the castle, they hid in the shadows and were more cautious than ever. As they stepped into another hallway, Miranda stopped suddenly. From a room a short ways down the corridor, she heard muffled conversation.
:Wait,: she sent to Aislin. She handed him her bags and said, :Hold these.:
She slipped out of her hard riding boots and crept toward the door to the room. She realized after a moment that it was the king himself and his son, Ynel, the heir to the throne, who were speaking.
"Only one clear area, there is," the king was saying. "Construct our path woods and forest do. Attack through Adonolya we will."
"But thick it is," Ynel protested. "Have a hard time the troops will."
"Be done it must. Expect it they won’t."
"Where in the forest?"
There was a short silence, and then the king replied, "Where Giali and Kora used to meet is where we’ll attack. Be ready the armies must be in thirty days."
They went on about other personal matters and Miranda retreated from the door. Aislin still stood where she’d left him, waited and obviously worried.
:I have new information,: Miranda smiled. :We must get back to tell their Majesties.:
They hurried through the rest of the palace.

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