Page 60 of The Dragon King's Assassin

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I took another carriage across the city to the Shrieking Ghost. Or rather, to Bracken Road, where the driver refused to go any further since it was after dark. Then I walked to the Ghost.

In the back of the Ghost's main room, partially hidden by one of the privacy curtains, a Raltven sat with his back against the wall. He was solid, his sharp, brown eyes tracking me as I made my way to him. He smirked when I sat down.

“Locrian Mahvis, what has brought you to my table?”

“The Dragon King.”

Fahar grunted. “I heard about your new . . . position.”

“Prince Racmar of Zaru is here.” I ignored his insinuation. Mainly because it was true. “There's a problem with the dead in his kingdom.”

“All right, I'll bite, even though this feels like the set up of a joke. What's wrong with the dead?”

I took great pleasure in using the Prince's line, “They won't stay dead.”

“Ah. That is a problem.”

“They've tried an Eljaffna necromancer with no success.”

He snorted. “An Eljaffna? Of course, they failed. Eljaffna necros have no finesse; they rely too heavily on blood.”

“I thought this would be a good opportunity for Daha. No sense in having the King's ear if I can't use it to help out my old friends.”

Fahar grinned. “And look good in the process.”

“Of course.” I grinned back. “What do you think? Can Daha do it?”

“Daha can find out what's raising the dead; that's a certainty. Whether he can lay them all to rest and stop more from rising, I can't answer. It depends on what he has to work with and what's animating those bodies.”

“Fair enough. Think about it. Talk to him. When you decide, send word to me at the palace.”

“Shall I address it to the King's Assassin?”

“Yes.”

He burst out laughing. “An assassin whose identity is known is fucked.”

He was right, but I couldn't help arguing, “Not necessarily. I just can't take credit for my kills.”

“And what's the point of killing, if you can't take credit?”

“The point is, I get to live.” I turned, waved at one of the barmaids, then asked him, “Another drink?”

“No, thank you.” He stood up and shot the rest of his drink. “Daha is here. I'll have an answer for you in a few minutes.”

With that, Fahar slipped around the hanging partition and disappeared.

I ordered a drink for myself and sipped it as I waited. I was halfway through when Fahar returned with Daha. The Raltven necromancer was slender to the point of delicacy and his features refined. Yasima would have been thrilled if he applied for a job with her. He was the kind of man who attracted the attention of other men, even those who aren't aroused by men, and I'd envied him for it once. The way he moved so gracefully, how his shoulder-length hair fell in thick swaths just where it should, and how his lips constantly looked ready to suck cock. But then I learned that envy is useless and so is mimicry. It's always better to be exactly who you are.

“Lock,” Daha said in greeting as he took the seat beside mine.

Even the sound of his voice was perfect, not too deep but not feminine either. He had the dark hair and pale skin of his people—the Raltven were not sun-worshipers—but his eyes were a strange, silvery gray, as if his ability to work with the dead had marked him. Those eyes startled many people but the only time I found them unsettling was when he was raising the dead.

“Hello, Daha. How are you?”

“I'm well. Fahar says that you've brought me a job. Thank you for thinking of me. Especially since the customer is a prince. Fahar and I agree that this would be beneficial to the Wraiths in many ways. Perhaps even the Raltven race as a whole.”

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