Page 22 of Heir of Illusion

It’s not a lie—I prefer not to have witnesses. My fingers deftly remove my sword from its sheath, still keeping it hidden within the cloak. Because of its size and weight, it’s not the most convenient weapon to carry around, but it’s necessary for what I must do.

“It’s my lucky night then.” He rubs his palms together as he moves close enough for me to smell the stench of sweat and alcohol.

“No, Lynal.” I shake my head. “I don’t think it is.”

As he reaches out to touch me, my sword cuts through the air, coming down on his wrist. His severed hand smacks against the ground with a wet thud, a pool of red forming around it. The metallic scent of his blood floats in the air, pushing me to make the final blow.

For a moment, there’s silence. His eyes pinch in confusion as he stares at the bloody stump, his mind unable to process what’s just happened. His gaze falls to the severed limb as understanding dawns, followed quickly by pain.

Lynal sinks to his knees, instinctively covering the gushing wound with his right hand to try to stop the bleeding. His mouth opens on a scream, but it fades into a shocked moan as I grab a fistful of his hair and force him to look at me.

“You will be dead in the next five minutes, Lynal.” My sword rests against his throat. “If you try to scream again, I’ll make them the most painful minutes of your life. Understand?”

He blinks rapidly as his mouth opens and closes, trying to form words.

“W-Why?” he manages to stutter.

Bending down, I rip free the coin purse tied around his belt, impressed by its weight.

“Heavy.” I toss the bag up into the air and catch it. “But you should know better than to brag about silver in a place like this. It puts a target on your back.”

“It’s yours!” he offers, his eyes wide and pleading. “Take it!”

“I will, thank you.” I smile at his generosity as I slip it into my pocket. “Tell me, Lynal, how did you acquire such a large sum?”

His gaze shifts back and forth, searching the alley for the right answer. “I found it.”

“My, how lucky you are,” I pause, bringing my free hand to my chin as my brow furrows. “Now, was that before or after you sold your daughter to a wealthy lord this afternoon?”

His eyes widen comically as he shakes his head back and forth. “No! No, I didn?—”

“Don’t lie to me, Lynal.” The blade digs into his neck, nicking his flesh.

“Please, don’t,” he begs, his jaw quivering as he weeps.

“You might be interested to know that your daughter never made it to Lord Ruston’s estate. Unfortunately, their carriage was intercepted by bandits,” I tell him, leaving out the fact that those “bandits” work for Della. “You can’t be too careful these days.”

His face drains of what little color it has left.

“Mer-mercy,” he pleads. “Please, have mercy.”

My head tilts to the side, as I pat his ruddy cheek.

“This is mercy, Lynal. Just not for you.”

A burst of fury blazes behind his eyes as he realizes I have no intention of letting him go.

“You filthy bitch!” he spits the words at me. “You whore! I will fucking kill?—”

“Your five minutes are up,” I say, cutting off his tirade as I swing my blade.

Twisting at the waist, I rely on the strength from my core to help me slice through his neck and tendons. His head tumbles across the ground, landing face up with his hateful eyes staring at the night sky. As always, I force myself to memorize his face. A small punishment for my crime. There’s no use waiting for the guilt to overwhelm me. I know from experience that it won’t.

Not that I don’t have more than my fair share of remorse, I simply prefer to reserve it for my regrets.

Dipping a finger into the pool of warm blood, I drag it across the wall like paint. The swooping red letters create a haunting mural against the dark stone. Once I’m finished, I step back, admiring the message I’ve written.

One word.

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