Mia
This was unacceptable.
Mia had long been used to her talents being ignored, so it had felt like a long-awaited blessing to be given an honest-to-goodness mission. She was only sixteen, so by all accounts, it was still much too soon for her to be doing what she was, but she wasn’t one to get in her own way. She had only been preparing for this day since she had first strung together a coherent sentence.
Mia was going to kill someone tonight.
She had been aching for the chance without realizing it for nearly her entire life. Her adoptive mother had explained that she had experienced a gruesome tragedy when she was too young to remember.
Either that, or she had blocked it out. Regardless, she was led to understand that the shadow of death had forever infected her. So she had always been eager to engage in the craft of Dinorah Winstrom and her Scarlet Starling clan.
After all, it seemed so natural to her. That the unjust slayings of her birth family should have pushed her onto the doorstep of a deadly avenger was only too perfect in her mind. She may never feel the pleasure of putting a bullet or blade into the flesh of the people responsible for the loss of her birth family, but she would damn well be there for the next girl to suffer such a fate.
But this mission flew in the face of everything she had known about the Scarlet Starlings, whose credo was to hide in plain sight in order to punish the wicked who lurked freely in public. Try as she might, she could not find anything wicked about her target. Johnny Clark shared the same surname as Queen Penelope, but even his potentially royal blood could not explain why this bumbling drunk needed to die.
He did not seem to owe anyone any money. He was open and generous with his wealth, which would have been dangerous should anyone in particular covet it. He seemed to spend more than most people would on his favorite brand of glacial plum wine, but he did so with a jovial air which suggested that all was right with the world. This wasn’t to be true in his case for much longer, but why?
Perhaps he just has a nasty enemy, Mia thought as she stalked him through the twilight streets of Beldor in the guise of a student visiting from the nearby Hem Academy. Whatever the reason, he was still going to die. In her mind, failing Dinorah was the worst thing she could imagine. It was likely that the guild had a perfectly good reason for wanting this target dead and knowing whatever it was would not stop her from proving her worth to the Starlings.
Therefore, with a sense of unease, she followed the drunk through the city’s central park, watching with growing adrenaline as he flicked a tiny flask at another alcoholic-- this one seemingly homeless. The other man raised a shaking hand to wave at the prey. “Thanks Johnny!”
There it was. He was enabling the self-destructive habits of other people. He had to go. Mia sighed in spite of herself, unsatisfied with any answer that she had come up with to her question. As far as she could tell, Johnny Clark had been a cheerful, generous man. Sure, he had just earlier destroyed a perfectly good sky rug with a boisterous explosion of wine-filled discharge, but then he had simply wiped his mouth and shoved a fistful of gold at the owner before carrying on in his drunken stupor.
This had to be some cruel trick of her stepmother’s. The Starlings had never so much as blinked at batterers unless their victims could pay to have them sent to The Forge, but here was a relatively innocent man taking his last wobbling stroll. Whether it be some game or test of loyalty, Mia resolved to follow her orders and stopped in a public restroom to do an inventory. Keeping an eye on the distant and aimless wandering of her prey, she emptied the contents of her backpack, both a useful prop for her disguise and a convenient container for her supplies.
She started by shoving aside her prop textbooks and arranged her murderous tools on the counter in front of her. She began to curse herself for her obvious lack of discretion, but calmed down as she reasoned that no one was around to disturb her. She started by uncoiling a length of thick wire that she had practiced using as a garrote. She shook her head and decided to save that one. It was likely that her first target would have little trouble overpowering her if she used it carelessly.
She also carried a small black handgun, the same model that the Royal Army used for a sidearm. She recalled how she had been required to steal it from a soldier during her training with a smile.
Unfortunately, her second weapon was a loud one. She had heard that the Galeans to the southwest used a spell that could silence their weapons in their rare times of war, but sadly there was no overlap between the cultures who desired a quiet gun and one with stopping power, so this was a weapon to be used only when discretion was no longer possible.
Next was her knife, a curved dagger with a fine edge on the outer side of the blade and saw-like teeth on the inside. Now here was a solid candidate for the weapon with which she would draw blood for the first time. The only limit to this weapon’s utility was her imagination, which had already lovingly conjured scores of different ways to maim her prey. The only problem was that she had a sacred bond with this knife; a promise to use it only for her most passionate projects. Without any clear reason to see this man dead, Mia didn’t think she wanted to savor her first quite that much.
This left only a small vial of a syrupy violet fluid. Poison, what else? This was the kindest way to do it, she supposed. As heavily as the man had been drinking, it would be easy too. This venom of sylph thorn would be nearly impossible to detect and the symptoms it caused would be hard to distinguish from the alcohol poisoning Johnny seemed so determined to attain. She scoffed grimly to herself. What an insulting mission, she thought. The way he’s going, I might not have to do anything.
But do something, she must. So, with her venomous vial in hand, she left the restroom and wandered back into the park. This time, she made no effort to blend in to her surroundings. The sun had since vanished over the horizon and most had already gone home for the night. The conditions were nearly perfect, but she would still need to be smart about her approach. She found her prey loitering on a bench close to the winding road which led back to First Street. Conveniently enough, First Street would lead her through the city’s north gate toward Hem Academy. She needn’t go that way, but it would be useful for her cover.
As she strolled casually along the solitary road, Johnny whistled to Mia, beckoning her with an air of drunken insistence. Of course he’s a lech. I can’t very have this be too difficult. Mia built her best innocent gesture in response, so very contrary to her nature. Her thin eyebrows rose and her eyes widened slightly. She supposed that perhaps she was playing up the naiveté of her character a little too much as she approached, but Johnny seemed beyond caring.
“How’re you doin’ tonight, missh?” he slurred as politely as one can.
“I’m doing well,” Mia said warily. She completed the look with a sour expression as the stale alcohol smell assaulted her senses. It was a fine addition to the act to be sure, but completely involuntary, which somehow made it better.
In any case, the target had failed to notice the look. “I haven’t seen you around here before, but you look ravishing in those school robes. You wouldn’t happen to be an upperclassman would you?”
Mia stifled a chuckle as she responded, “No, sorry.”
“It should be a crime for young things like you to be so pretty,” Johnny rambled. “If you were a little older, I could show you some things. A prince like me naturally has a lot to show a woman.”
The young huntress swallowed her disgust and replied, “But a prince should be entitled to do whatever he likes, shouldn’t he?”
Johnny roared with laughter as he replied, “Sure, but try telling my sister that! Only thing that trumps a prince is the queen, right?”
Mia smirked and inched closer. “The queen is very far away from here.”
“Good point, that! How ‘bout a drink, then? I’ve got the last bottle of Glacial wine here until the plums are back in season. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a tashte!”
Now, now. Behave yourself. “I’m afraid I shouldn’t. I’m due back at the Academy.”
Johnny shook his head with a hint of frustration. “Don’t be cheeky or I’ll have to insist. You said yourself that a prince should be able to do whatever he wants.”
Well, he’s about as trapped as he’s going to get. Seeing no need to resist much longer, she sighed. “I suppose I could get away with one drink, but then I really must get back to school before they lock the tower.”
Johnny gave an appreciative whoop as he wasted no time popping the cork on the bottle. “That’s the ticket! What’s your name, darling?”
Mia took a seat on the bench and replied, “My name is Amelia Desmond.”
The prey’s eyes widened appreciatively. “Ah! A Desmond! I guess we should all be expecting great things of you!”
Mia knew that her false name would get a favorable reaction from the prey. Through her studies, she knew that the Desmonds were a clan native to the mountains at the far north of Resta’s territory. In her trade, the name Desmond was an easy ticket to positive attention, owing to their reputation for great deeds, but would also deflect any questions since that reputation was earned solely by the isolated few who ever left their native lands. No one even seemed to know how many there were.
“I don’t know about that,” Mia uttered humbly. “I think most people overestimate my family. I have an aunt who’s no more than a simple reporter after all.”
Everyone knew that there was a Desmond working at the Restan Star, but Johnny wouldn’t live long enough to discover she’d been lying about the relation. This is taking too long. Mia had never had the patience for long conversations, even knowing that they were often useful. Still, things were going smoothly. One would think a prince would know better than to be so careless; he drank his wine straight from the bottle before offering Mia a taste. She tried to take a small sip, but Johnny tipped the bottle back, causing her to swallow more than she had intended. Damn him!
“There you go, love! How’s it taste?”
Awful. “It’s exquisite! It reminds me of the Winter Festival.” In summer, no less. What a waste of money.
As quickly as she could, she poured the entire contents of her vial into the wine, unseen by the royal. As he took the bottle and downed another deep gulp, Mia smiled. It should only take a few seconds. But, as Mia counted the seconds with bated breath, Johnny began to frown. He threw his wine to the ground with a grunt and the bottle shattered, leaking the dark blue draft over the cobblestone.
“I hate to waste good wine, but you’re daft if you think you’re the first to try to poison me with sylph thorn,” he growled, all traces of his drunken slur seemingly vanished. “Who are you?”
How could Mia be so stupid? Of course he’d be immune to sylph thorn venom! It made sense when she considered the bloody history of Resta’s throne. Since the last Maloran king abdicated his rule to the Blackstones a century ago, everyone who had ever worn Resta’s crown had been targeted at some point. A royal would need to be prepared for an assassination attempt. She had thought that her choice of poison would be perfect for an alcoholic, but it was too perfect.
“No matter,” Johnny growled as he stood up and quickly pushed Mia to the ground. Standing over her, he pressed his worn boots to her chest. “You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your short, short life. Guards!”
Seemingly out of nowhere, two men garbed in thick, mail armor appeared. They bore cherry wood badges and were armed with gleaming steel long swords. The guards slowly advanced upon Mia as Johnny looked down on her in disgust.
“My sister and I may not love each other as most siblings do, but even she would be a fool to let me wander around without protection. And if there’s one thing an assassin fears, it’s a spellwarrior!” Johnny declared with a triumphant glare. He pointed toward Mia and barked, “Arrest her!”
Dinorah was not going to be happy.
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