Book 1: Prints in the Snow

Chapter XIX • In A Night's Work

Lyon was extremely aware she was handling the situation like a petulant child, but her anger had blossomed rather quick- quicker than she had. After Jory's death, she found herself with a tear-stained pillow, each night bringing a new bout of sobs that wracked her to the core. Her bed sheets held his faint scent, and that was enough to turn her into a sobbing mess. She was sure the guards outside could hear her, but a certain point came and passed where she failed to care any longer who heard her. It was hard enough having to wake up every morning to face the day, let alone hide the pain.

Several days had passed. Despite her anger toward her containment in the keep, she could hardly bring herself to leave. Often a thought would rise about her "assignment", but her exhaustion would take her in its grasp faster than she was able to plot. Raphael would be getting impatient soon. Whether she liked it or not, Lyon would have to find a way out of the keep without drawing attention to herself. And without using the front door.

She kept her distance from her bed, knowing that even the slightest reminder of Jory would be her downfall. A clear head was what she needed, and she hadn't yet begun to cry that night. There was still hope that she could find her target and do away with him that night. If she could get outside.

Lyon tried her room's door, finding the two guards standing alert nearby. As she walked, they began to follow. For several minutes she pretended that she hadn't noticed, but they were soon close enough to truly be noticed. She wondered how to lose them. Turning around and simply asking would be a fruitless endeavor, no doubt. Losing them around a corner- perhaps? The oldest trick in the book but it had proven reliable to her before.

They kept behind her as Lyon seemingly made to stretch her legs. She didn't acknowledge, which typically would be unusual behavior, but the guards doing their rounds heard her at night. A depression had sunk its way into Lyon's chest.

The guards watched her as she went, and followed. They were still several paces away from her when she turned a corner and was briefly torn from their watchful eyes. She remained absent even as they turned the corner. They uttered instructions to each other and split up, one going another way than the other until neither stood before the closet door just around the corner. When their footsteps faded from earshot, the closet door slid ajar, and Lyon slipped out. She hurried from the Keep, ducking into the shadows as guards would pass or come near. None seemed to notice her as she swept past, into the kitchen, and out the door that led into the courtyards. She took a running leap at the wall surrounding the keep, vaulted over and landed in her freedom. Then, she began to hunt.

Raphael hadn't named the brothel, but the man's name was enough. And by the sound of him, Lyon would hardly need anything more than the dagger concealed within her boot. Albeit a dress was hardly proper attire to go murdering in, it was all she had at the moment, and it hid her weapon wonderfully. She only hoped the hem didn't catch at her feet. At least her gown wasn't so extravagant that passerby pegged her for someone of importance. Unfortunately, she was a familiar face. That would have to change.

The streets were filled with beggars and scoundrel. Some women, some men, many of them only children.  They paid her little mind other than a few wide-eyed stares. One of them Lyon approached, letting her face become obscure in the darkness.

"I'm looking for a man. Rolan Drumm. You know him?"

The beggar, a scruffy man who seemed in his forties although Lyon couldn't be sure, eyes her from head to toe. He squinted her face, trying to make out her features in the dark. She rustled a coin purse, distracting his curious gaze from recognizing her features.

"I'll pay you handsomely whether or not you know. Just tell me the truth. If you lie to me, I'll know." She dropped the purse in his hands and folded her arms.