Heart of Ash (The Dark Arcane Series: Book 1)

Chapter Five

Ashyn crossed off another destroyed rune off of her map, standing up as she tucked the map away. She'd successfully targeted three tonight, a mere drop in the ocean of runes that guarded the streets. But still, it was three less that could prevent witches from taking the city, bringing her that much closer to the bloody emperor's death.

All she had between her and that was this last assignment. If her money lasted her that long here.

She tensed, thinking of the prince.

The prince dragged with him a hell of a lot of trouble, but first and foremost, beyond her selfishness, she was an obedient soldier. She knew her mentor would have advised her to take the job.

Stretching out her neck, she dredged up the reserves of her effort, and headed for what she remembered to be Isla's house, about ten minutes away.

She burst into the house—through the door this time, not the window—to find Isla heading up the stairs, holding a cup of something. When Isla made no comment and continued walking, Ashyn paused, and sharply scuffed her foot against the floor, making a satisfying skkktt.

The blonde haired woman turned around with surprise highlighting the arches of her eyebrows. "Oh, sorry Ashyn, I didn't hear you come in. Darius is through there. I'm just going to be upstairs should you need anything."

Ashyn made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement as she headed to the next room, to the prince, not really knowing how to respond to such a welcome.

Her footsteps were purposefully slow and casual, making a small echo in the bare house. As though if she walked slowly enough maybe she would never reach the door.

When Darius looked up from the table, he smiled politely, as if someone had fashioned him an expensive jacket but in entirely to wrong shade. "Good evening, Ashyn."

Ashyn's lip curled. "Hmm."

She cast a lazy eye across the table and the spread of miscellaneous papers. She hung by the doorway for a moment before entering; there was a lick of apprehension in the air, of unknowing, and she didn't like it one bit.

She couldn't help but notice how much like a prince he looked, with his cotton shirt again embroidered on the collar with the small symbol of House Ferl. And she hated how she knew it wasn't even a fake; that perfect complex shape could only be sewn by the most talented seamstress, up in the bloody castle. Mothers above, she wished he were someone—anyone—else.

She stood by the table at which he sat, opposite, not quite making eye contact; she already knew what his eyes looked like, why bother looking twice.

"You said you did research but this is... extensive."

It wasn't a lie. She couldn't help but be begrudgingly impressed at the amount of work he had collated. If only he could look less pleased about it.

"Thank you, I can't say it wasn't a lot of hard work." The prince smiled again, as he stood up. His face hardened slightly as he focused on the task.

"These"—he pointed to a pile of papers in one corner—"are the listings of the locations of the victims bodies, along with location details."

"And over here is all the information I could gather about the victims"—he gestured at the spread of papers in the centre"—and I have supposed eyewitness accounts over there. And crime reports over there."