Ace of Blades

Eight

Ra'soul woke an hour later, coughing and spluttering. Locklyn bolted upstairs as soon as he heard the noise, quickly followed by Farwyn. She gave a sigh of relief when she saw the director sitting upright and breathing normally again, and thanked whatever gods had listened. Locklyn immediately knelt down next to his master, taking his hands in his own and whispering words of comfort. Ra'soul said something in reply, though it was too quiet for Farwyn to hear.

"How are you feeling?" She asked as she approached him. Colour had returned to his cheeks, and his movements, although slow, were a lot more controlled than before. He looked almost as though he hadn't been thrashing about on the floor only an hour before.

"Terrible, to be honest," he answered before a coughing fit took him. Locklyn handed him a glass of water, which he drank greedily. "What happened?"

Farwyn quickly explained what had happened, going into great detail about how Erran had saved him.

"He thinks the poison was in the cakes," she finished.

Ra'soul nodded before he answered. "We have the how, but what about the who and the why?"

Farwyn shook her head and sat down on the chair next to the bed. "I have no idea. I'm sure there are more than a few people in this city who want you dead."

Ra'soul gave her a weak smile. "That is true. I've survived more than a few assassination attempts. No one has ever tried poison, though. I can't say—" He erupted into a fit of coughs, but waved Locklyn away when he offered him water. "I can't say I would want to try it again."

In any other circumstances, Farwyn might have smiled. But every wave of joy was washed away by the sight of Ra'soul lying there, thrashing and dying in her arms and her having no power to save him.

"I will have to think about this," Ra'soul said weakly. "Go home and return to me tomorrow. I have the both of you to thank for my life: you have more than earned my help." He coughed and waved them away. "Go and let me rest. Locklyn is perfectly capable of taking care of me."

Farwyn bowed as she left the room, and almost walked straight into Leif. She scowled.

"What are you doing up here?" She demanded. "You hardly flinched last night as he nearly died: why the sudden interest?"

Leif's lip curled slightly in what Farwyn hoped was annoyance. "I came to wish him well."

Farwyn raised a brow. "Really? I didn't take you for a well-wisher. What did you plan to do, heal him with your scowl?"

The man growled – actually growled – and shoved a hard hand against Farwyn's chest, forcing her against the wall. She struggled beneath his weight, but he was a lot stronger than her.

"I want to succeed in this just a much as you do," he hissed. "Just because you're Llavyn's favourite doesn't mean you're the only one who cares."

"So that's what this is about," Farwyn sneered. "Who gets to be Llavyn's lapdog?"

Leif growled again, and Farwyn took the oppurtunity to slide a dagger from her belt and slice it upwards, cutting through Leif's sleeve. He let go of her and cursed, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his arm. Farwyn hooked a leg behind his knees, pulling his own legs from beneath him. He landed with a thump on his front. Before he could stand, Farwyn had both her knees pinning his arms to the ground, her blade at his throat.

"See, this is why you're never at the top," she said, her voice threateningly low. "You're always too many steps behind." She removed the blade from his throat and, driving her knees once more into the back of his arms, stood. She sheathed the blade and walked away, barely glancing at the gaping Locklyn staring at her as she passed. Leif groaned behind her and she barely hid the smile that had forced its way onto her face. Damn, that felt good!