Faded Lights: A Collection of Short Pieces

Deadly Returns

TW: Includes mentions of death. 

No one ever warned her that assassins get homesick. Sylvana missed everything from the frogs' croaks on summer days to the hours of studying various plants and weapons. Most of all, she missed her mother's gumbo. She could almost taste it now, juicy shrimp popping in her mouth with each bite. It wouldn't be long before she was back in Tiautan with Abel's cornet playing alongside red-shouldered hawks cries.

Today marked the duke's wedding and the day she'd return home after 12 long months.

Massive stone ovens crackled and sent warmth and spice through the kitchens.

"Appetizer 500 delivered!" Adrian entered the servant's quarter. "They're slowing down out there." Sylvana cheered with the rest of the kitchen.

"You know what that means, don't you?" She nudged the head chef who spread red sauce across the lamb. Iris took her time ensuring everything was perfect on the duke's platter.

Laugh lines creased Iris' olive-toned skin. "Leftovers?"

"Exactly!" She shouted and the whole kitchen cheered again.

Iris stepped back from her art piece, admiring its perfection. Adrian whistled and the other kitchen staff applauded. "It's in your hands now Angelica."

"Not one leaf will be out of place upon delivery." Sylvana picked up the platter. Her coworkers brushed her arms, wishing her luck before she moved down the servant's hallway.

She made a small pit stop. She could leave no room for error. Once finished, the lamb chops were laced with pokeweed berries. The berries would lower the duke's blood pressure, while the ricin in the fava beans would stop his breathing. And then, there was thallium in his wine. With its odorless and colorless nature, it was an ideal back up plan. If all else failed, the gelsemium in the wild greens would serve to paralyze his spinal cord.

The colorful fabric of hundreds of extravagant saree and dhoti swirled in the air while the guests danced. Sylvana wanted to be taken by the jovial spirit and forget her duty. Her back itched when her tattoo flared up. Green vines twirled around a dagger spanning her spine with the phrase weeping willows protect their bark. It was the symbol of her people. The symbol of home.

She passed the musicians brightening the room with notes from an oud, mandolin, and lyra. The lyra rested on the chin of an older man like an extended beard while the pegs poked into his chest. The pear-shaped instrument, made from olive trees from the duke's grove, sang when he ran a bow over the three strings. It was beautiful. Perhaps the duchess would hire the same band for the funeral in the days to come.

The duke and newly wedded duchess sat above the guests. He gripped his cane and tapped his leg to the beat. She knew he wanted to join the guests but couldn't. It wasn't his place. For the third time that day, she wondered if she really had to kill him.

No one told her it'd be easy, but she never expected it to be so difficult. Since she came, the duke served the poor, gave up his home to refugees, and openly talked to his staff. Despite it all, she was about to serve him his final dinner.

Similarly in households across the country, her fellow trainees were doing the same. Emiliana was charged with killing the king, a position all trainees competed for. While Sylvana didn't score at the top of her class, killing a duke was still significant. She'd complete her right of passage tonight and be accepted as a true assassin. Once the clock strikes midnight, every major governmental figure in Badiana should be dead.

She ascended the stairs to the duke's perch. The duchess laughed and the duke cradled her in his arms. Perhaps, she could slip up the stairs and spill the food. Weeping willows protect their bark. She shook the idea from her head. It didn't matter if he wasn't a bad person, he voted for the destruction of her people. She discarded the memories of the past year and placed the food before him.

"Thank you, Angelica." He smiled, picking up his wine glass first.

"It's a pleasure to serve you." Sylvana bowed to him and his wife. Part of her hoped the duchess would eat the food as well. In too many ways, being a widow was worse than death. She timed her steps accordingly to not look rushed but move down the stairs with speed and ease.

"A toast!" The duke stood at the edge of the railing, wine glass in hand. "To my beautiful wife and all of you amazing people."

She passed the musicians once more, not looking back. The guests cheered, picking up their glasses one by one. She entered the servant's quarters, but instead of going to the cheering kitchen, she went to the back door. Would Iris and Adrian still eat leftovers? Would the staff be happy even after the duke's death? The music got further and further away.

She shed her servant's clothes, exiting the manor in black to match the night. Sylvana thought of her mother's gumbo and the frogs croaking. She hoped the nostalgia would calm her racing mind. Her coworkers—ex-coworkers—didn't matter. The duke didn't matter. Nothing in this country mattered.

She was going home.

When she returned, she'd be an adult and assassin. She wouldn't have classes anymore and would get her next assignment within a week. Assassins don't rest for long. Weeping willows protect their bark.

Tears wet her cheeks when the first scream shattered the air. 

Note: This story is about a country in the world of Echeron. It's an unpolished attempt of a 500 word flash piece that I enjoyed the idea of. I never returned to it so I thought I'd put it on here in case it's interesting to others. If you want to learn more about this world, please visit my website at rosemarryauthor.com