Page 120 of A Crown of Lies

He frowned and turned her face back to him. “Mercia… Think about who I am. Where I came from, what I’m trained to do. My mistress sent me to seduce men and women regularly. I’m no stranger to either, and perfectly capable of not letting sex color my working relationships. I would not have been a very effective assassin otherwise.” He took her hands again. “If you want this, then do it. Pursue Saya if you wish while we’re here. But… we have to agree to some rules.”

TheyarrivedattheWolfheart clan house a short while later. It was a grandiose, modernized clan house with fresh paint and a lovely flower garden out front. Paper lanterns hung over the gate, which Saya opened herself.

She bowed. “Welcome! Thank you for coming,” she said, rising. “I’m so glad you’re finally both here.”

They were being greeted by the lady of the house? That was unusual. Usually, slaves would walk them to the great hall where the lady would be waiting, but as Aryn looked around, he didn’t spot many slaves moving about. Odd, since they definitely owned some.

She hooked an arm around Mercia and started walking with her. “I apologize that my husband isn’t here to greet you. He planned to be here, but he must’ve gotten distracted.”

As they moved deeper into the compound, music rose on the air. It was faint, as if it were behind several doors, but Aryn stopped in place when he heard the soft strings being played.

“The obata,” said Saya.

Aryn opened his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them.

Saya smiled at him. “Do you know it?”

“Yes,” Aryn said. “Though it’s been… some time since I’ve heard one.” Decades. Not since his training days with the Shikami.

Saya nodded. “I’d never heard one before I came here. Apparently, it’s quite a popular instrument to learn in some houses. Unfortunately, I don’t have the talent, but Niro’s quite good. It seems his muse has distracted him at the most inopportune time. I’ll send someone to get him.” She turned, searching for someone to summon.

“Actually, would you mind terribly if I went?” Aryn said. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen one, let alone heard it.”

“Oh, do you play too?” Saya’s eyes lit up. “Niro will be thrilled. I can have someone escort you to…”

“No need.” He held up a hand. “If you’re all right with me going into your private courtyard?”

Saya debated only for a moment before she smiled. “He’ll be by the pond.” She tightened her arm around Mercia’s arm. “Come, Mercia. Let me give you the tour while the men talk.”

Mercia turned to look at him, but it was with a smile. She’d be all right. She’d survived him, after all.

There were guards at the gate leading into the private courtyard, but they opened the gate for him at his approach. The private courtyard in the Wolfheart Clan House was smaller than the public courtyard, but it was even more beautiful. Another cherry tree stood as the centerpiece, a small brook flowing just beneath its boughs. The brook followed into a rectangular fishpond with several stone benches set up on either side.

Niro had neglected the benches in favor of sitting cross-legged in the dirt, the long, wooden obata in his lap. He plucked the strings and slid his fingers up and down the length of them. He didn’t seem to notice Aryn’s presence, too absorbed in playing.

Aryn waited far enough away that he wouldn’t disturb Niro as he worked his way through the bars of a song he’d never heard before. Perhaps it was an original composition.

The last time he’d heard an obata had been the day he left the Shikami for his long assignment. Hislastassignment. Many of them practiced an instrument, since musicians were often granted access to exclusive places. Yet it was more than that. Music taught patience and discipline. The obata was especially difficult to learn, more so for assassins. It required deft fingers and precision that few had. Those who pursued it did so with the same passion that he had poured into learning to wield his daggers, for music was a weapon all its own.

Was it chance that Niro would play the obata tonight? A clever manipulation tactic meant to make Aryn think of those days? Was it a message? Did Niro somehow have intimate knowledge of how the Shikami trained? Of Aryn’s past?

It almost didn’t even matter. Niro was good, as good as any of the Shikami Aryn had known. Whatever the song was, it was beautiful and sad. It was as if Niro had somehow plucked the emotion of yearning from the ether and brought it to life on those strings.

Niro stopped playing suddenly, only halfway through a bar, fingers resting on the strings. His mouth turned up in a smile. “I’m late, aren’t I? Saya sent you?” He turned to look at Aryn.

“She said you must’ve gotten distracted,” Aryn replied. “Though she was giving Mercia a tour, so perhaps not as late as it seems.”

“And she’s right. Absolutely right.” He set the obata aside, but didn’t rise. “Easy to do. Forgive me, I’ve been working on that piece all day, and I’m not sure I can stand until I’ve gotten a little feeling back in my feet. Feel free to join me.” He gestured to a nearby bench.

Aryn didn’t want to seem rude, so he strolled closer. “It’s funny. I haven’t heard an obata in lifetimes, it seems. And I have to say, you didn’t strike me as a player when we met in the Assembly Hall.”

“No?” He chuckled. “Believe it or not, I have hobbies outside of running the circus that is our government. Slap me and I feel pain, cut me and I bleed, poison me and I die. But the government lives on, an immortal beating heart for better or worse.” He patted the obata. “Do you play?”

Aryn shook his head. “Never had the patience to learn.”

“Perhaps you’re more of a taarasin player.” He reached behind him, lifting a smaller stringed instrument. Unlike the obata, the taarasin had only three strings and was played with a small wooden paddle rather than picks or fingers. He held the instrument out to Aryn, smiling.

Aryn hesitated. He hadn’t picked up a taarasin in nearly a decade. Not since he’d posed in a brothel on a job.

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