Game of Souls (The Quintessence Cycle Book 1)

Chapter 1

                                                       The Blade and the Temptress

A gold bit in hand, Tharkensen considered what it would be like to kill a legend. Challenging for sure. And oh, so satisfying. He inhaled deeply, savoring the thought. The feat meant as much to him as a drink did to a man dying from thirst. The pay was simply a bonus.

Tharkensen rolled the coin across the top of his calloused hand from his pointer to little finger and back again. Sunlight played off the count’s face imprinted upon its surface. Whether as a single gilded coin or broken down into ten silver monarchs or a thousand silver bits, it was a small fortune. He had killed for less. Much less.

“Do you accept the contract?” The man in the chair opposite Thar licked his lips, hands fidgeting on the tabletop. He wore homespun linen, a moth-eaten mantle, its collar pulled high to hide his neck, and he slouched down under the brim of his grease-stained hat. One could easily mistake him for a step above a commoner.

But not Thar.

Not a speck of dirt showed under the man’s nails. And none who claimed to be a blacksmith ever had hands so smooth. Then there was his scent: as clean as a babe soaped and washed fresh by his mother.  Besides, Thar never forgot a face.

“Yes,” Thar answered, “I accept.” What business was it of his if King Jemare chose to send one of his servants to broker a kill?

“Good.” The servant produced a piece of paper and slid it across the table. “I shall take my leave now. May the Dominion shine on you.” He stood, bowed, and hurried away.

With a shake of his head, Thar watched him leave, waiting for the click of the door lock before he began his meal. When he heard the footsteps retreating down the inn’s stairs, he picked up his spoon, scooped up a helping of pickled eggs, and stopped, his attention drifting to the paper on the tabletop.

It was an artist’s rendering of the raven-haired woman, her angular jaw a tad short of masculine. Beyond eyes like amber gemstones, Elysse the Temptress didn’t look like much. Thar dropped his spoon onto his plate, the food’s mouthwatering scents no longer so appealing.

He still found it hard to fathom that this woman had killed King Jemare’s son, Joaquin, the heir to the Kasinian throne. Even if the boy thought more with his prick than with his head. Someone must have helped her slay Joaquin’s guards. How else to explain their defeat despite the training I gave them?And yet, if she'd accomplished the feat alone ... Taking a deep breath, he stopped himself from becoming ecstatic.

Through a slit in the tavern’s window, he gazed down onto Kasandar’s main thoroughfare where it passed by the Smear. The sun’s first lances reflected like golden jewels from the huddled mass of signs and windowpanes. Merchants who rose with the dawn hurried along, their guards’ hands on sword hilts, wary gazes locked on the Smear’s narrow alleys where fingers of daylight fought a losing battle. The marching boots of the nightwatch’s last patrol drifted nearby in odd counterpoint to the wagon wheels mourning on cobbles.

He wondered if it was worth it to take on this adversary or if he would again be wasting his time. The coin, which was ten times what he normally charged, gave him a measure of hope. In small bursts, like miniature lightning bolts, tingles eased up his arms and face. Perhaps things would be different this time. Perhaps he might actually be risking his life. Perhaps he would find one worthy of their name. He could hope, couldn’t he? After all, what was life without a challenge?

The thoughts sobered his enthusiasm. They didn’t call him the Lightning Blade for nothing. Only the most lethal of his number ever earned their true name. As good as his target was supposed to be, she would never see him coming. The certainty in his own skill, and the ensuing result, saddened him.