The Assassin's Blood

Chapter One

Once again seated in the Assassins' council room, Rose Marr leaned back in her chair impatiently waiting for the guild leader, Robyn Hamlet, "It's almost five in the morning," She said smoothing her night gown, which almost looked like her day wardrobe, and cost nearly as much. "this had better important, or there will be consequences."
"Maybe, for a change, you shouldn't be up all night reading those books." Said a young man across table, which she ignored. She studied the other five men gathered in the underground keep.
All men, far older than she, and all refusing to meet her stare, such as frighten cowards would. A chill that didn't have anything to do with the drafty room, ran down her spine. Picking at her manicured nails, Rose had always checked her beauty. Six of Robyn Hamlet's most trusted and valued assassins were at the gathering table-including herself.
This meeting was no doubt important. She had knew that from the second the maid started pounding on the door, insisting she come downstairs without being dressed properly. If Robyn Hamlet summons you, you do not want to keep him waiting. Luckily, you can hardly tell apart Rose's night wardrobe from her day wardrobe. On the other hand, being sixteen in a room with other males, made it the neckline. Her beauty was a weapon- once she kept it honed- but it could also be a vulnerability.
Now that Robyn was seated and lounged at the head of the table. His auburn hair shining from the lights of the chandelier above the table. His silver eyes met hers, and frowned. She knew her mentor had been paler than usual. Her stomach twisted.
"They've captured McCormick," Robyn finally said. So this is what they've been gathered here for? Rose didn't like McCormick that much. When she was ten, she fed his horse a bag of candy, he threw a dagger at her head. Of course, she caught it and gave a return throw. Ever since he has had a scar on his cheek, or ever spoke to Rose.
"Just send an assistant and put a pick in his food." Jon Cordial, the young man seated left of Robyn, said. He was in Ben's seat- Robyn's second-in command assassin- Rose knew exactly what Jon thought of her, and it wasn't to good. Still, he was a year older than her, and he has never forgot he was second best. Robyn himself declared her- not him- his heir and protégée. That didn't stop Jon's determination to get Rose at every turn.
She bristled at the sight of him in Ben's seat. He would probably throttle Jon for it when he arrived. Or she could save him the effort and do it herself.
"It's not that easy, Jon. Since McCormick had been led into a trap, and Ben," Rose looked over at Robyn.
"Ben? Where is Ben? It was McCormick's mission!" At this point, Rose's hands were clenched on the arms of the chair.
"Rose," Robyn hesitated, "Ben is dead." Rose didn't know what to do, but she had to see him.
"Where is his body?" Rose stood up quickly. "Where is it?" She screamed, she was light-headed. She trembled at the fact that her lifelong best friend, mentor, and the loyalist person she'd ever met, was dead. She lowered her head, fists still clenched, as one tear rolled down her cheek . She had never cried in front of anyone. The room fell to a dead silence.
"That's enough, Rose." Robyn said, breaking the silence. Rose knew he felt exactly what she was feeling. "It's behind the castle gates." He said.
"Which is surrounded by guards, they'll catch you." Jon snapped. Rose looked up with no more tears on her face.
"We are assassins, we aren't supposed to heard or seen." She was sick of his mouth. "I'm retrieving Ben's body, forget McCormick." Rose pushed back the chair and headed for the upstairs door.
"McCormick is just as important as you, Rose." Jon said, Rose stopped before touching the door, she reached for her dagger, and pointed it at Jon's throat.
"Enough!" Robyn stood to his feet, knocking his chair over. Everyone reversed their attention back to Robyn, " She may go retrieve to body, but she is correct about McCormick, we have to leave him, the dungeons are swarming with guards." He stopped and looked at Jon," He will have to be killed in the morning." He was speaking to everyone, and all of them knew that. Rose's dagger was still at Jon's throat. One flick of her wrist and his neck would spout blood. "Rose," Robyn said, "enough blood has been spilled tonight." He said in grief.
"I'm done." She said, lowering the dagger and swished her cloak out the door.
Never again would she bump into him in the Keeps' hallways. Or set her injuries with his cold hands, or never coax a laugh with her.
Fifteen minutes later, she walked through the dead, silent streets, and through the gates, she slipped in.