Page 2 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

As if lured by his words, my hand immediately reaches back to the place on my neck that often burns when I use my Divinity. It’s smooth to the touch, save for the sliver of a scar where the brimstone remains that Ophelia embedded within me when she took me on as an apprentice and created the contract brand.

“You’re practically a Guild servant in name only,” Regis continues. “If anything, I think Ophelia is looking to you as a potential heir to the Guild.”

I snort at that. “The only reason I’m treated so well is because I’ve proved myself and I’m more valuable this way. Ophelia is an investor and I’m her product.” Just like him—except with far fewer options. “Besides, she has a son,” I remind him.

“Carcel?” Regis rolls his eyes. “He’s not nearly as good as you or I. He’s definitely not Guild Master material.”

A ruddy-faced barmaid approaches, interrupting any comment from me. “What can I get for you fine gentlemen?” she asks.

I move further back into my cloak, pulling it across my chest. When I was younger, I’d found it insulting to be mistaken for a man. Now, though, I recognize that it’s more helpful than anything else, and besides, I am dressed like one. Quirk of the job. It’s easier to go around killing people in trousers than dress skirts.

As if he can sense my thoughts, Regis shoots me a bemused glance before he turns his pearly whites on her and orders for us. He sticks up two fingers. “Two ales, if you please, my lady.”

The barmaid blushes a little at the appeasing lady comment. I don’t even bother to resist the eye roll that overtakes me. “Is that all you’d like?” she asks, reaching back and tucking a stray strand of mousy brown hair behind her ear. The innuendo is not lost on Regis.

“For now,” he hedges, his grin never ceasing.

She nods and scampers away, and once more, I’m alone with the womanizer. “Was that really necessary?” I ask.

He turns big, round eyes on me and blinks in pseudo-innocence. “Whatever could you mean, dear Kiera?”

I cough into my fist, adding a clear insult to the fake noise. “Lecher.”

Regis laughs and shakes his head. “Jealous?” he taunts. “Because I could satisfy her, but you … well, you’re not exactly equipped, good sir.”

With a bored look, I lift one hand out from my cloak and stick my middle finger straight to the sky, earning yet another laugh from him. “You can take your equipment and fuck right off, Regis,” I comment dryly.

“Oh, but if I do that, then how will you ever get any information on the next job Ophelia has lined up for you?” he replies. “I promise you, it pays handsomely.”

I arch a brow. “Ophelia knows good and well who’s the more professional of us. If I miss out on a job, she’ll know that it was never a result of my incompetence.”

He releases a mock gasp and leans back. “Are you insinuating that I am incompetent?” he asks.

I blink back at him. “If you think I’m insinuating versus saying it outright, then I suppose the description fits better than I anticipated.”

Regis shakes his head as the barmaid returns with two pints of ale. She slaps mine down haphazardly and the foam at the top spills over the rim, dripping down the semi-rusted metal exterior. Regis’ drink, however, is gently placed before him as she bends over in front of him. She sucks in a quick breath, drawing it in so sharply that her breasts push tight against the neckline of her already low-cut dress. “If there’s anything else I can get you, do let me know.” She puts emphasis on ‘anything.’

Regis smiles kindly. “Of course, darling,” he replies. “I’d never leave a lady such as yourself wondering. Perhaps if you're not working later—” He doesn’t even need to finish.

“I get off around midnight,” she says quickly.

With a groan, I lift the mug of ale to my lips and drink. I gulp back mouthful after mouthful, half convinced that I’ll be done with it by the time the barmaid twitters away from my companion. Regis turns and watches her go—or rather, he watches her ass sway back and forth as she walks away.

Had I called him a lecher? I’d been wrong; he’s a downright pig. Unfortunately, though, he’s a pig with connections and a damn good throwing arm. That and the fact that he’s been the only other assassin even remotely close in age to me when we’d grown up together, is really the only reason I call him my friend.

“Disgusting,” I mutter, setting my ale back down.

Regis shrugs and turns back to his own mug. “You have to take your pleasures where you can get them in this life, Kiera,” he replies. “We could all die tomorrow.”

“My pleasures are found in work and making money,” I snap. “Now, stop messing around and give me the information I came here for.”

With a pathetic little huff, Regis sets his mug down and finally reaches into his worn leather satchel. He withdraws a small slip of yellowed paper barely the length of my longest finger and places it before me on the edge of the dirty table. Eyeing him with suspicion, I pick it up and unravel it to read the contents.

The paper is short and the lines even shorter to fit into the space. In Ophelia’s messy scrawl are the basics of my next job.

God City of Riviere. MGA. Extended contract. Target: Unknown.

The lack of a target name or identification should be an immediate warning, but just as I read it and scan below to check the compensation for the job, my mouth drops open. When I read the number written under the payment, my eyes bulge.

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