Treacherous Decisions

Part 1

There's some things I feel obligated to tell you. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to listen, but I must recant them to you regardless.

You should know that I will never forget the way Mother loved Father.

They didn't care much for us, but they adored each other.

I still remember the way Mother would always carefully set aside the largest chunks of meat just for him whenever she would cook venison because it was his favorite. She would wear cobalt blue because it was the color of his eyes and she wanted a piece of him with her at all times. I didn't remove their rings as a symbol of their love when they indeed made the journey beyond the grave.

They were like two souls intertwined with one another.

The guild wasn't my first choice of employment after their deaths, but I was what they call recruited. I guess my oddities were useful for something. I still have both of the cat skeletons I used to play with when we were children. Your eyes widened with horror when you saw me playing with them for the first time; you even threatened to tell Mother and Father.

I knew you'd never do it.

Our parents would have only added to the constellation of scars on my back and you would be the one bandaging me up afterwards; guilt-ridden and all for indirectly being the one who caused me the pain. But you were always so clever at nurturing the unseen wounds that would last far longer than the physical ones.

Deep down, I didn't want you to worry so I told you I got rid of the skeletons, but I simply couldn't bear it. I suppose I should also tell you that I didn't 'just find' one of the skeletons. Alas, that is neither here nor there.

I had always been drawn to the more morbid things in life.

You probably did not realize this, but I didn't have many friends growing up.

You were too busy trying to shield me from our parents' harsh proclivities (I have never gotten the chance to truly thank you for that) to truly be my companion. But death, death was my friend. Death was a comforting void that called to me relentlessly. It was the only thing for certain. That's why when Jacks died, I didn't feel perturbed. Watching our baby brother's tiny chest rise and fall as he struggled against death was something truly dreadful. Death is undefeated. I would like death to be on my side for when it is all said and done, death is all that's left. Death took Jacks. Like death will take us all.

Don't you think so, dear sister?

I'm sure you have many questions, and I will try my best to answer them. Please do not blame yourself if you find it tortuous how I turned out. You wouldn't notice my peculiarities because when our parents were taken by the plague, you felt it was your duty to make sure we made it through the first cold season (again, thank you). I don't think I ever told you, but you were truly the epitome of what a big sister should have been. You struggled so I didn't have to. You would fall into bed every night with exhaustion in your groans from working every array of odd jobs anyone would hire you for. You sacrificed what was left of your childhood for me and I am truly grateful for that, dear sister.

I suppose now is a good time to tell you our parents were not taken by the plague, though. I indeed ended their lives. Though, you shouldn't be alarmed. You were as well aware of their cruelties as I was. You shielded me from them, I know. Still, I would not drag you into my violent lifestyle. However, Marielle, the butcher's wife who always wears that dreadfully orange cloak, saw me handling the bodies. Instead of turning me in, I was recruited to the guild, the Black Dagger. The healer is in the guild and could corroborate my story if I chose to lie about our parents' untimely death. He declared our parents died of an illness I can't be bothered to try to pronounce.

This is the part where I must confess that it was a guild of mercenaries. Surely you picked up on this fact when I would come home with blood under my fingernails and the scent of death on my cloaks. Though, maybe not.

"Katrin, the blacksmith said that you stole some of his blades. Is that true?" You stood in the doorway of my room with your lips twisted with concern.

I did not stop writing when I replied, "He has no proof that I did anything."

You pinched the bridge of your nose like you always do whenever you are upset but don't want to say anything to hurt me. "Katrin, did you?"

I let the quill fall on the cherry oak desk. "Are you going to turn me in if I say I did?"

"Of course not. But you must return the items very soon." You turned to leave but then asked, "Why did you take them?"

"Because I could," I replied.

"That's ridiculous, Katrin."

"Are you telling me to stop?"

"I'm telling you not to get caught. I can't provide for you if I am behind bars."

"I would be the one locked up–"

"I would go in your place."

You didn't know this, but it was a turning point in our relationship. I knew I could trust you. I wanted to honor your words by never getting caught. The less you knew about my 'outings', the better. I got craftier at being discreet, though. More on that later.

When you told me you became a royal guard, I did, in fact, breathe in my tea. Though your reasoning was not as blatant as I assumed. I, too, wanted the better pay of working for the crown, but I didn't think you would go so far as to protect life. Truly disturbing.

The dichotomy of our positions was not lost on me.

Though, I could use your new position for my benefit.

And I did.

When you studied your rounds, so did I.

You would stay up late pacing around the fireplace, trying to use the last dying embers to illuminate the maps of the palace. Your diligence has always been your most useful asset. I even recognized this. I soon learned that if I parted my mouth slightly as I slumped in our singular chair and closed my eyes just so, you presumed me to be asleep. Because of my apparent dormant state, you would often recite things out loud for me to hear.

And I did hear.

I heard all of it, dear sister.

The guild used my knowledge like it was an oasis in the middle of the desert.

The guild itself is a fascinating place.

Some people sought us out to kill others. I used to keep a tally of how many lives of unfaithful spouses ended, but I lost track a while ago. But that was a minimal amount of work that we did. I would assume that there is a guild in every kingdom. Though we are only hushed whispers in the village, we very much exist. Most of our assignments directly challenged the king's authority in one way or another. We would strategically eliminate a diplomat or capture goods being imported.

Whether or not I agree with our king's authority wasn't my decision. I did what the guild told me to do. The mere idea of it being right or wrong was not something I was paid for.

Garrick made those decisions for me. You never met Garrick, but I think you two would have gotten along. He was orphaned like us, except he didn't do it. The king killed his parents on accusations of 'treachery'. Twenty years later, he built a guild of mercenaries and thieves and swindlers to prove to the king what real treachery was. At least, that's what he told me.

You two had this horrible disease where you both valued life.

It was on two different spectrums, though.

You protected life, he strategically snuffed it out.

You used weapons to protect the alleged innocent. I used blood and torture to paint the canvas of death. Truly an art, dear sister.

Until one of my more recent assignments.

Garrick had been planning it for months. Dark, purple crescents threaded under his eyes from lack of sleep for weeks leading up to it.

His voice quaked with undertones of joy whenever he spoke of who I was to kill.

This particular assignment was different because I simply could not just end my target's life in a way that pleased me most. No, I had to plan.