Page 13 of A Serenade To The Elf Queen
He prowls towards me, the massive metallic claws from his elongated arms dragging on the floor. Such body modification is not rare in the fractured region. Any advantage could be the difference between life and death.
My hand inches to the blade strapped to my thigh. Long Hand merely snickers over the small movement. I can tell he relishes in bringing fear and pain to his opponent. The pounding in my chest picks up its pace.
Leather-gloved hands suddenly pin the deformed Grimsbane’s head to the wall. I wince at the sound of Long Hand’s skull cracking under the force of that grip.
“Let go of me,” the assassin screams to the tall grey-haired male.
Any crumb of relief in my heart falters the moment I see the same half mask over my savior’s face.
Another Grimsbane. Now there’s two of them.
The grey-haired male’s mask is generic and worn out as if he couldn’t be bothered with his appearance. If he’s willing to hurt his ally, the odds are he won’t hesitate to do the same to me. Istudy the arsenal of weapons across his chest and the two blades strapped to his back. I wonder which one he will use first.
“Apologize,” the new arrival commands.
“Fuck you—”
The grey-haired stranger smashes him into the wall again. I suppress a gasp at the sudden violence. The Grimsbane are soldiers without a moral compass. No mercy is granted, not even to his fellow friend. Their fealty lies in those who can pay the steep price their guild demands.
“I’m sorry!” Long Hand cries out loud.
“To her. Not me.” His voice is firm and serves its purpose. Obey or be killed.
“Forgive me, please,” the Grimsbane pleads to me.
“The Queen of Aelfheim demands your name,” I say to the intruders, masking my fear with a perfect High Elf eloquence.
The grey-haired male’s dull eyes narrow on me. There’s something about the easy danger he emanates that makes me fear him more than Long Hand.
“Shade,” he answers with ease, releasing Long Hand from his grasp. “And this one is Carver. Your uncle calls for you.”
“My uncle?” I crane my neck to look at him.
“He is our Silverra,” he says blandly.
The one with coins.
A title awarded by the assassin’s guild to their benefactor. Rainer hired these mercenaries?
Shade gestures for me to follow them to the courtyard. I stare at him for several seconds, at the scar over his right eye, at the no-nonsense, dull look in his eyes before finally taking a step towards him.
“Walk first,” he says to Carver. “She doesn’t want you tailing her.”
Nothing fills the air but the sound of their boots beating against the marble floor. Anxiety curdles in my stomach over thepresence of my two companions. They could be leading me to my death for all I know.
But Shade was right. Walking behind them does give me a small sense of security. The three of us travel to the pathway linking the palace to one of the Wiolant’s safe houses without words. Rainer and I rarely visit the main estate anymore after the Theign massacre.
The lavish mansion was built to resemble the designs of the residences back home in Völundr. Carver’s eyes wander hungrily over the wall at the array of golden frames and decoration inside. At least the deformed Grimsbane is easy to read. The male named Shade reveals no emotion. He seems vacant, like he’s not even there.
A wraith.
His skin is so pale he might actually be one. He flips open a small notepad with a doodle of a map.
“Turn here,” Shade mutters, a little bored. I bet he has that same look while killing his victims.
“I know the way,” I say quietly. It’s my own house.
“Do you think the Silverra will notice if I steal one of these?” Carver says, eagerly eyeing one of the weapons on the wall.
