Page 7 of Null & Void

No answer. Instead, they stare up at me, still on their knees.

I sigh. Not at the girls but at the man trying to hobble away with my throwing knives still embedded in his leg. “I’ll be right back,” I reassure them as I jog after him.

He cries and tries to hobble faster once he realizes I’m heading after him. I catch up quickly and push the pathetic man over. He begins to plead with me, but I pull out my last two knives and then knock him out with a hilt to the temple.

I turn and almost burst into laughter. Either the guy with my knife in his chest isn’t dead, or these girls are just as vicious as I am. One is kicking the shit out of him, while the other goes to town on the guy whose shoulder I dislocated.

Confirming the man is not dead, I take back my knife.

“Do you girls need an escort somewhere or…”

They reply in unison. “Yes, please.”

By the time I walk them back to their family's caravans and return home, it’s well after midnight.

Who would have thought buying underwear would turn out to be such a fun excursion?

CHAPTER FOUR

“Your presence has been requested in the receiving hall.”

I narrow my eyes at the rather tall Mievaborn man who looks to be sweating profusely after his announcement, his pale cheeks flushed a deep pink. I’m already packed and ready to go, but I keep the door cracked open only a couple of inches so he can’t see in.

“They’re early,” comes my tart response.

The sweaty man opens his violet eyes in alarm—which, to be honest, is surprising in and of itself considering how wide open they already were—and takes a step back. Not that he’s looking me in the eye, thankfully. I don’t like the connection, the power in it. Having people avert their eyes first also gives me the opportunity to study them more easily.

An angry breath rushes from my nose, and I swing open the door all the way so the man can see my bags packed in a pile behind me, but he flinches. Having people afraid of me has its advantages, but today, it’s irritating me. Does this moron really think I’m going to assassinate him for delivering a message? It’s possible this man has no idea who I am, and his nervous demeanor has nothing to do with me. Still, I’m annoyed.

The man clears his throat. “Right. I’ll let the council know you’re on your way and have someone sent to collect your bags,” he squeaks.

He can’t get away fast enough and skids around the corner down the hall. I roll my eyes and slam the door as hard as I can so he hears it and hopefully shits his pants.

Still smirking at the thought, I quickly change into travel clothing and check the last of my belongings. Patrons of the Divine don’t usually stay past their coming-of-age; however, as a Null, I was given a permanent residence and a work detail in addition to being Jaena’s favorite assassin. I was afforded a small stipend for my work as a nanny in the children’s compound, which is nowhere near as much as I used to earn as the Silent Assassin, but even so, I rarely spent it on anything other than necessities or my weapons.

I try to pack most of my dried herbs and spice pouches, my jars of ferments and pastes, and bottles of extracts and essences, assuming we will be on horses the entire journey. I may be traveling, but I’ll be Divine-damned if my trail meals are going to be tasteless.

I’m bringing all of my weapons that can be worn on my person or packed into my bags. It’s probably not appropriate to bring my giant bo staff, my pair of ornate—but still deadly—single-bit hatchets, or the bow and arrows that are almost larger than me. Though, the latter is more because the bow was one of the only weapons I couldn’t master. This was amusing for all the weapons masters I worked with over the revs, considering Mievaborn usually have an affinity for archery. I’ll give them all to Leian.

One roll of throwing knives is wrapped low around my waist under my shirt, while the other is packed into one of my bags. I have knives hidden in my boots, strapped to my ankles, and up my sleeves. It took me a long time to create straps that would safely secure knives on me while also being practical when I needed them in a hurry. I’d be taking all my straps even if I couldn’t take the weapons.

I have a thin dagger sheathed around each thigh that I access through my pockets, my pants having been altered for this purpose. I leave my short sword attached to the belt and lean it against my bags, deciding against wearing it to the receiving hall to meet my new owners.

One of the hatchets slips over with a thud, and I pick up the familiar weight like an old friend. I don’t want to leave my stunning hatchets with beautifully crafted wooden handles behind. The bits have intricate swirls and geometric lines etched into them too. They may look decorative, but they’re amazing weapons to fight with. Well, they would be if I’d ever been able to use them outside of practice.

I admit, the woman who sold them to me had an easy job of it because I was in love the moment I saw them. They were the first weapons that I purchased myself almost a decade past. The heads are the size of my palm; each weapon is only the length of my forearm in its entirety. I’ve never once had to sharpen the bits, as the lady who sold them to me had promised. I wish I’d figured out a way to holster them. But I can’t without hurting myself, making them too cumbersome, or not easily accessible. Wrapping them in a thin piece of leather, I put them into one of my bags. I just can’t leave them behind.

I stand with my hands on my hips, surveying what has been my home for the last five revolutions. I thought I would live out my life here, or that’s what Jaena had led me to believe. The two bags at my feet make up the entirety of my existence in Osraed, and someone will move into this room and erase that I was ever here. Impulsively, I grab one of my knives and carve MIKA into the door frame. I grab the weapons for Leian and walk through the door for the last time.

I’m late, of course. I stride in with confidence even though Jaena is giving me a glare that would have the ability to light me on fire if that was her Gift. I swallow the smirk that tugs at the corner of my lips.

The receiving hall is enormous, unnecessarily so. Nothing much happens in this part of the compound except Patron sales. Osraed is full of old architecture, and it makes me wonder what this country looked like before the world split. This beautiful hall is clearly from before, and what a waste it is to use it for this purpose only. Tall ceilings, large slab concrete walls, and wooden balustrades circling above, as if this was once a place filled with so many people that they would spectate from above.

The air is crisp as no fire has been lit; a clear sign that this won’t take long. Standing tall with my arms behind my back, I nod a greeting at the three people who must be my escorts.

The first thing I notice is that while the two men are clearly Nemorisborn, an Erduborn woman is with them. All three are giants, although the woman looks a little short for Erduborn, who are usually at least six feet tall, even the women. But maybe it is because the Nemorisborn men are amusingly large.

Both the Erduborn woman and the larger of the two men are violet-eyed Patrons of the Divine. The other Nemorisborn man has regular, normal, green eyes of the forest. Eyes that keep stealing a look in my direction while he should be paying attention to the council president. He’s probably noticed the blooming bruise on my cheek from last night. Oops.

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