Yet there was nothing to be done about it, at least not until he had a better sense of what was coming. As they walked back toward the Swallow’s Nest, Cadel found himself scanning the city streets for signs of trouble, one hand drifting time and again to the handle of his dagger.
Dario didn’t appear to notice. “We sounded good, don’t you think?” he said, a broad grin on his boyish face. “I bet there were people in Kentigern who heard those cheers.”
“Your timing is still all wrong in the threnody, and the Caerissan folk songs are far too ragged in the refrains.”
Cadel winced at what he heard in his own voice, and the smile vanished from the lutenist’s face, leaving a hard, bitter look.
“We’re so close to having it all just right,” the singer began again a moment later. “We just need a bit more work.”
Dario nodded, but said nothing.
He couldn’t say why he treated the younger man this way. There remained much about their playing that bothered Cadel, and though they had practiced every song more times that he cared to count, Dario’s playing had changed little. Nearly every compromise had come from Cadel, either with a specific change in his singing style, or a silent acquiescence to another of Dario’s poor habits. But while Cadel found this exasperating, disagreements over their music hardly explained these outbursts of anger, which, at times, caught even him unaware. It almost seemed that he was directing at Dario all his lingering rage at having lost Jedrek.
“We won’t practice very long,” he said, trying once more to soothe the other man’s anger. “Just once through the threnody and the folk songs ought to do it.” I need this, he almost said. I need to sing in order to keep my mind off of everything else.
Dario gave no reply, and they walked the rest of the way to the inn without speaking a word.
They played the songs quickly and flawlessly, though without any of the feeling that usually marked their performances. The lutenist stared at his hands the entire time, as if refusing to look at Cadel.
If I’m not careful, I’ll destroy this partnership before our first kill.
“That sounded good,” he said when they had finished the last song. “All of them did.”
“So that’s what you want?” Dario asked, his voice as flat as his playing had just been.
“Well, that’s the right pacing. As for the rest, we just finished a performance. We’re both tired.”
“So we’re done here?”
Cadel nodded. “I think so.”
Dario stood, wrapping his lute in its cloth, and stepping to the door.
“Where are you going?”
The lutenist shrugged, keeping his back to Cadel. “Away from here. That’s all that matters.”
“We still have a good deal to plan for Pitch Night.”
Dario did turn at that. “You make the plans. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. That’s what you expect, isn’t it?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Pulling the door open, he walked out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him. If the younger man hadn’t left his lute on the other bed, Cadel would have wondered if he intended to return.
For a long time the singer merely sat and thought, trying to determine if he was angry with the lutenist or just weary of him. He needed someone to guard his back. He had been saying so for years. The truth was, however, he had always preferred working alone. Even when Jed was still alive, he had savored those kills he completed by himself. On a few occasions Jedrek had managed to warn him of danger. Perhaps he had even kept Cadel from being captured or killed. And though Jedrek died trying to protect him while Cadel rode to Kentigern, the singer couldn’t ignore the possibility that Jed had delayed the Qirsi enough to save his life this one last time. Still, Cadel had to admit that he kept Jedrek around not for protection, but rather for the man’s company during the many turns each year when they had no jobs, and all they had to do was wander the land and sing.
He could get by alone if he needed to. There were risks to working without a partner, but he was an assassin and risks came with the profession. Even with the added dangers, working alone had to be better than this. He had grown tired of fighting with the lutenist all the time, of working so hard to accommodate a man whose lute playing was so undisciplined and whose skill with a blade remained so uncertain.
Oddly, considering how much gold he had earned with his dagger, all that had stopped him from ending their partnership before now was his reluctance to kill the lutenist. Dario knew too much about Cadel and his work for the singer to let him live. If he wanted to work alone, he would have to kill his partner, and despite all his misgivings about working and singing with the man, Cadel wasn’t certain he could bring himself to do it.
He shook his head, as if to clear his mind, and stood, stretching his legs and back. He heard the prior’s bells ringing from the city gates, and he cursed himself for wasting so much time. More than half the day was gone-the sun would be setting in just a couple of hours-and he had yet to make his way to the castle. Playing in the city streets had seemed such a fine idea a few days before. Now it was a bother, one more obstacle keeping him from planning Shurik’s murder. He had befriended a few of the castle guards, and had learned much from them about the Qirsi and the fortress itself. But what good were the guards if he found no time to speak with them? Cadel crossed to the door, pulled it open, and stepped into the corridor.
Instinct. There was no other way to explain how he managed to have his dagger in his hand so quickly. It almost seemed that he knew the attack was coming even before he saw the shadow spring at him from the corner of the dark corridor. Still, even with his blade ready, he could do little to defend himself. The attacker caught him off balance, crashing into Cadel’s side and knocking the assassin to the floor. Cadel tried to stand again, but instantly the shadow pounced on him, pinning the singer’s blade hand beneath his body. He tried to free his weapon, at the same time struggling to throw the attacker off of him. His assailant was strong, but not very big, and as they grappled on the wood floor, Cadel sensed that the stranger had little experience with such fights.
It didn’t take the assassin long to loose his blade arm and he struck at the body on top of his, intending to plunge his dagger into the attacker’s back. Just as he did, however, the stranger lashed out with his left arm, catching Cadel full on the wrist, so that his weapon flew from his hand, clattering harmlessly against the wall.
The assassin tried to reach for it, but in the next moment, he felt the cold edge of a blade pressed against the side of his neck.
“Don’t move!” A man’s voice, young and unsteady.
“What is it you want with me?” Cadel asked, his left hand snaking down toward the second dagger he always kept strapped to his calf.
“Vengeance. You took my queen, my title, my life. You’re going to die for that.”
One motion. That was all it would take. A simple arch of his back to throw the man off of him, then, using the force of that first move, he would roll onto the man, second dagger in hand and ready for the killing blow.
Even as the last word passed the attacker’s lips, Cadel had braced one foot against the floor. Before he could move, though, a brilliant white light filled the corridor.
“Tavis, no!” came a voice from near the stairs.
Cadel froze, staring up at the scarred face looming above his own. He wouldn’t have recognized the boy on his own, but there could be no mistaking those eyes, and the noble mouth and nose. This was Tavis of Curgh, one slash of his blade away from avenging Bnenne’s murder. Just as the girl’s spirit had warned on Bian’s Night in Solkara.