A scene from a much larger book

A scene from a much larger book

Lady Zafron’s husband, Lord Free was a plump red faced stump of a man. Never known to hold a weapon him self, he hired an assassin known as Misfortune to work his blade across her neck. His wife that is.
He was selected due to the nature of his assassinations: brutal, swift, and silent. Lord Free her husband of nearly 2 decades.. wanted to marry her aunt, who was 10 year his wife’s senior. Lady Zafron was only 35 but already had her suspicions. The lingering looks, extra touches, and laughing at jokes that hadn’t been funny since they were first told.
Lady Zafron had been secretly training with the blade under the strict instruction of her bodyguard, Sarge, who was also known to brutalize his foes. Sarge had trained her for these exact nights. He also is the reason she’s aware of this little plot against her life. “That ape wants my head so she can shine his own. Vile”
Rain was pouring, and the carriage was shaking like a shivering dog. That didn’t change Lady Zafron’s mind, not one bit.
“If I’m to make my plea to King Isaac, I must do it tonight, before he takes off on that damn bird, lion, or lizard monstrosity he gave a name. Had it been up to me, I’d have had Isabis chop it up with his light sword the moment it squared its way into the honorable Ibori Palace.”
Lady Zafron grabbed her flask off the small table in the center of the carriage. Next to it was her cane, lined with golden roses and inscribed with the name of her house before marriage.
“Seamark.”
“What am I even thinking about? I couldn’t care less about Isaac or his griffin. Still, it pains me to think about my own issues. With my own beast, my own husband.”
Lady Zafron poured herself a glass of wine and sat back in her cushioned seats, the kind only nobility could have commissioned.
“Lord Free. Such an ironic name for such a suffocating man. I’m sure he thinks he can keep me tied to that meager castle, along with his meager servants, to go with his meager stature. Men often confuse patience with distress; he’s no different.
Thinking I wouldn’t notice the lingering glares at my aunt and the fondness they seem to share for one another. Pathetic, the both of them. Oh, how it will make my skin glow to watch their heads roll off their lying necks and onto spikes—”
A man garbed in a black hooded cloak suddenly burst through the doors of the carriage. Beneath the hood was a plague doctor mask, his eyes glowing like miniature suns.
“Sorry to bust up your party, my lady, but I’m going to be taking that wine.”
He dropped the blade hidden inside his sleeve into his left palm and gripped it firmly.
“And that life of yours? That’ll be mine too. Now just sit sti—”
The sound of an unsheathing blade unsettled the doctor assassin.
Lady Zafron stood, sword to breast, knees bent, feet facing forward, and eyes sharper than the steel she bore.
“Come, peasant. I’ve been waiting for you.”
The cane doubled as a sword. Lady Zafron had developed hip issues a few years back from riding, so her bodyguard thought it wise for the sword and cane to have the same design for this exact purpose.
“Hmm. Is it proper for a lady to be holding such a dangerous tool? Where’s your protector? Or husband?”
The doctor assassin jerked his torso and knees suddenly toward the floor of the carriage before launching himself at Lady Zafron. His movements were closer to a frog’s than a man’s.
His dagger met the silk of her finely woven dress. Although the cut was shallow, he succeeded in separating a piece of the collar from her neck.
They were merely inches apart, so close they could feel the heat emitting from each other’s bodies.
Lady Zafron kept her composure. Attempting to gain distance in a carriage with nowhere near enough space for combat, she circled back toward the entrance, where she could see her driver’s body—a bloodied mess.
She also noticed the carriage was soon to tumble downhill.
“If I can survive this brute, I can make it to Isaac and seek asylum within the Ibori manor. But for now—”
The assault continued. No longer aiming for her neck, the doctor assassin stabbed toward Lady Zafron’s chest three times, all attempts repelled with the flat of her sword.
Growing frustrated, the doctor reached into his cloak, manifested a knife, and placed the top of said knife between the tips of his index finger and thumb. The metal began to glow, bright as his eyes, but searing red rather than yellow.
Knowing Chion of the 9, Lady Zafron knew what was coming next.
“Damn heat control. If he doesn’t hit me with the knife, he’ll use his hands as daggers next. I have to distract him and get out of here before we both die.”
Lady Zafron swung her sword wide, wild, and aimless.
Predictably, her assassin dodged to close the gap and finish her with the knife. She danced around the assassin, grazing the walls, nearly tripping over the tables, and spinning her body as well as the bottle of wine into the assassin’s face.
He replied with the dagger, causing glass shards, wine, and steaming mist to explode everywhere.
The lady could have simply rolled beneath her doctor assassin, but she wanted him to remember her.
Misty as a foggy night, she closed the distance between herself and the doctor before he finished rubbing his eyes.
Instantly, she sliced his left hand off while rolling through his legs and slipping out of the carriage, all the while thinking:
“Being small does have its advantages.”
But before she completely slipped out of the cabin, she heard a terrifying cracking sound.
She had heard it once before, when her son, Jace, fell from his horse.
She turned to see her smoking hand impaled by a glowing red dagger.
She wailed and tensed her stomach.
Falling from the carriage, Lady Zafron managed to snag herself on a branch, breaking her fall. Merely miles away from the Ibori Palace, she planned to hobble the rest of the way.
Sword in hand