The Scarlet Assassin

Chapter Thirty-One

The window's latch clicked open after I applied the right pressure. Slowly, I pushed the windowsill up and felt a draft push against me as I slid my lock pick into my boot. My body froze, listening for movement, making sure no one was close, but the house on the other side was dark and still as the inhabitants slept soundly.

I slipped inside, my foot touching carpet. Carefully, I pulled the window down, letting it close with a soft thud. Looking around, I confirmed that I was in a study. There was a desk engulfed with an endless stack of papers and an oil lamp that was nearly burnt to a stub. On the wall, there was a portrait of a stout man framed in gold. I recognized him as Lord Wailish.

Of course he had a lifesize painting of himself. And just when I thought he couldn't get more full of himself.

Moving across the room, I took a knife from my hip and clutched it in my hand. From the time Sorin and I had spent staking out the place, we had concluded the guards shifted every hour. Of course, that was only in the daytime, so we didn't know if the same hourly shift consisted of the night. We also were unsure of where the guards were posted, because we didn't want to risk being seen during the day; I knew the usual spots though, so as I exited the office, I was on high alert.

It was currently 1:05. The guards should've already moved, but as I entered the hallway, I saw no one and heard nothing except for my own breathing. I exhaled.

We knew Lord Wailish's room was more than likely on the second floor as most lords were, so I walked through the corridors until I found the grand staircase. There was a guard pacing the front door. I flattened myself against the wall so he wouldn't see me.

But as the seconds ticked by, it became apparent that there was no way I could get by him without him seeing me. I turned and tiptoed back down the hallway until I found the dining room and eventually, the kitchen. Usually, there was a second, more secluded staircase in the kitchen where the servants could move in and out. This manor was no exception.

I found the small, wooden staircase and ascended it slowly. It creaked and groaned, but I heard nobody stir.

Once on the second floor, I slipped door to door, cracking every one open until I found the lord's bedroom. It was larger than I expected with a grand four-poster bed--I saw the shape of two bodies--two desks--one dainty one for the lady and another larger one for the lord--a door for the bathroom, one to lady's closet, one to the lord's, a vanity, two window sills, bookshelves, a full living space, a fireplace, and a balcony.

I stepped in and shut the door quietly, moving swiftly to the already cracked closet door. Thankfully, it was Lord Wailish's.

Using a large, emptied pack, I grabbed an entire outfit consisting of a velvet robe trimmed with fur, velvet trousers, boots, an expensive feeling tunic, and a few not so fancy items of jewelry. The last thing I wanted to happen was for Lord Wailish to wake up and find his finest pieces of jewelry and best clothes missing. As much as I wanted to take everything the man was worth, I hadn't completely lost it yet.

When I was done, I cinched the bag and stood, carefully shutting the closet door. I turned and--despite my more rational side screaming at me to stop--stalked over to Lord Wailish's side of the bed. He was sleeping in a nightcap, his hair whiter than last time I'd seen him. With a clenched jaw, I watched him sleep.

Do you remember? I thought. Do you remember what you said to me that day? Or did you just come home and sleep next to your wife? 

I remember. I still bear the scars. "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you," you told me, eyes raking over me, my body, brandy in your hand. "Why don't you come back to my room, and I can make a woman out of you?" I refused. You called me a whore. You had me whipped.