The Warlord and the Assassin: A Fantasy Romance Novella (4 page)

It was no wonder that the
ikana
trained for years to achieve that kind of poise.
 

She was thankful for the makeup that concealed her features, her face painted white like a porcelain doll. Atop her head sat an elaborate wig, decorated with fresh flowers and jewels.

Mistress Rial had gone all out to ensure she looked like the real thing.

They entered a small room that looked like some kind of office. In front of a high window was a desk with paperwork strewn across it. And seated at the desk was the Warlord himself.

Tarak Chul.

He lifted his head as they approached, raising a lazy eyebrow. But he did not stand.
 

It took all of Amina’s iron will to stop her
qwi
from escaping. This was the first time she’d truly seen the man. The last time, he’d been a colorless silhouette, outlined by faint moonlight.

“I understand your Mistress has sent you, ladies, but I’m afraid I have no time for your company.”
 
Tarak addressed the group, but his black eyes were fixed on Amina. She fought to keep her expression serene, mimicking the other two
ikana
. They were taught to act like living representations of the Goddess herself.
 

Framed by the morning light, Tarak was an imposing figure, even when seated.
 
His elegant, dark eyebrows were drawn together in irritation, his sensuous lips pressed into a taut line. Tarak was dressed simply, in a crisp, white shirt that contrasted sharply with his bronze skin. The top button was open, revealing the smooth, hard plane of his chest.

Amina’s throat went dry. In full color, the man was even more impressive. She had almost hoped the shadows of night offered an illusion, and that he would appear battle hardened and ugly in the light of day.

Tarak Chul was anything but ugly.
 

“Thank you for gracing me with your presence, ladies. Now please, return to your Mistress. Tell her I have considered her tribute and appreciated it from afar.” He began to scrawl something on parchment, ignoring them.
 

Arin and Talia stifled gasps as Amina stepped forward, placing her hands on Tarak’s desk. “Do you mean to say, Lord Chul, that you would refuse the attentions of not one, but three
ikana
? Ordinary men do not even dream of being in our presence. Lords and noblemen pay hundreds, even thousands of credits for our services. And you would dismiss us without a glance?”

Beside her, Arin and Talia froze. Amina could tell from the mingled threads of their
qwi
that they were terrified. Silence stretched out between them, as Tarak slowly raised his head. His expression was hard and calculating. “You two, leave. The short one stays.”

Arin and Talia couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
 

Amina bristled. Was that how he thought of her? As the “short one”? She thought she didn’t look half bad in this ridiculous costume.
 

As the door closed behind them, Tarak stood and circled the desk, so he was facing Amina. “Did you think you could hide from me under all that makeup, little Inue? This is the second time I’ve given you the chance to leave.”

“How did you know,
Katach
?”

“As I told you that night, you can’t hide from me. You look too fierce for an
ikana
, even with the makeup.”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered, or insulted.” Amina edged closer to Tarak, fingering the thick, jeweled rings on her fingers. One of them held a poisoned spike. All she had to do was lay a hand on him.
 

His sleeves were rolled up, revealing thick, bronzed forearms. In one swift movement, Amina took hold of his arm, striking like a viper. She straightened her fingers, pushing the spiked ring into his flesh.
 

“Bitch.” Too late, realization crept into Tarak’s dark gaze. He grabbed Amina’s hand, turning it over. The tiny, metal spike glistened with his blood. “What did you poison me with?”

“Black Bellflower.” Amina bent forward, wincing as Tarak gripped her hand, his fingers taut. “I told you,
Katach
, that your arrogance would be your undoing.”

To her surprise, Tarak smiled. It was the look of a man who had stared death in the face and never faltered. “That will not kill me, assassin.”

“The first symptoms of Bellflower poisoning are euphoria and detachment from reality.” Amina knew what happened next. The victim would start to feel ecstatic. The heart would race, the pupils dilating. A fine flush would spread over the victim’s features.

In Tarak Chul, it was hard to tell these things. His eyes were as dark as the endless night, his skin the color of burnt honey. She almost felt regret that this man would have to die.

But she had long ago learnt that in her line of work, such thinking meant death.

She had long ago learnt to find that still, quiet place in her mind where emotions did not dwell. It was how she survived, and lived with what she did.

Tarak's hand shot out, too fast for Amina to dodge. His fingers were warm and rough against the smooth skin of her neck. 

"Poison is such a dishonorable way to kill a man. But then again, you Inue dogs were never known for your honor."

"That's why we're so good at what we do," gasped Amina. She latched onto his arms, once again breaking the skin with the spiked ring, delivering him another dose of Black Bellflower.

But he held on. The man was inhumanly strong. 

The poison should have been in his system by now. He should have been weakening.

Tarak pushed back, until Amina was against the wall. He let out a low, bitter laugh. "Why are you so insistent upon my death, Inue? What have I done to your people? The Erateans have surrounded your village with their Empire, choking it slowly to death. They're felling the Arama forest from the north. Do you not stop to think when you take a job?"

"It's not my place to decide the right and wrong of it." Amina's voice was hoarse. She struggled for breath as Tarak bent down, his face almost touching hers. “If you know of the Inue,
Katach
, then you know I answer only to Imril himself. I don’t need to justify myself to you.” Amina made a silent plea to Imril, the Master of the Void and God of Death that her mind would stay clear.

It was becoming increasingly difficult with this man standing over her, so close she could almost taste him.

Something was wrong. He should have been paralyzed by now.
 

But he wasn’t feeling the effects of the poison as he should.
 

Tarak’s gaze travelled her face, then dropped down to her body, which was encased in the white, embroidered silk dress. Amina fought to control the flush that threatened to cross her cheeks. She was thankful for the makeup that hid her features.
 

“Last time, you were in disguise.” Tarak reduced the pressure of his hand, just a little. “The makeup doesn’t suit you, Inue. I want to see what you look like under all that face paint.”

“You’ll have to die wondering.” Amina gave up on trying to break Tarak’s grip. Perhaps the poison was taking longer to fell him because of his size.
 

The rough skin of Tarak’s hand was becoming warmer. Amina became acutely aware of the feeling of his bare skin against hers. It radiated heat. She fought to keep the rapid beat of her heart under control.
 

She struggled to find her calm centre.

“I told you, woman, your poison can’t kill me.”
 

“You’re delusional.” As Amina struggled, Tarak pulled her into a rough embrace. She froze as she found her face pressed against his broad chest, his nose buried in her hair.

“You still smell like night jasmine,” he murmured. “I realize now, it had nothing to do with the jasmine growing on the wall. This is your scent.”

Amina was about to bring her knee up into Tarak’s balls, but something made her hesitate. It was his heat, surrounding her, and his comforting, masculine scent. He was overwhelming and irresistible.
 

Amina had never been embraced by a man in the way Tarak held her now.

Under the long, silk dress, her loins filled with warmth.
 

This was outrageous.

The Black Bellflower was clearly taking hold of him now. Loss of inhibition was another effect. It was the only reason he dared to embrace her. She would usually never have tolerated this kind of thing.

But Amina couldn’t bring herself to pull away. She decided to let the man have his moment. If he was going to die, then let him die like this, not fighting.
 

“You know, little Inue, if you weren’t so bent on trying to kill me, we’d make good lovers.” Tarak tilted her chin upwards, his callused fingers stroking the side of her face.
 

A sensation like butterflies rippled in Amina’s stomach. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She searched Tarak’s face, amazed at the change in his expression. His features had softened, his depthless eyes filled with wonder.

She wondered how things might have been if they weren’t enemies.

Tarak’s hand traced down to her neck, coming to rest in the hollow of her throat, before tracing over the thin silk of her dress, cupping her breast. He felt the hardness of her nipple through the taut fabric, stroking it. Amina shuddered.
 

She needed to get out of his embrace, now. But she found herself unable to pull away. One would think she was the one who’d been dosed with poison.
 

She mentally slapped herself for her lack of discipline. Such thinking was going to get her killed. She needed to leave, now.

Tarak’s fingers moved down her taut abdomen, coming to rest on the area just above her sex. Amina’s senses were on fire now, and she felt wetness between her thighs. The Warlord bent down to whisper in her ear. “Do you like that, little Inue? I’m just trying to show you what you’re missing out on.”

“You’re poisoned,
Katach
,” she replied, as he worked his clever fingers between her thighs, teasing her sensitive pussy through the thin fabric of her dress. It was an effort for her to hold still. “It’s making you act out of character.”

“Are you sure this isn’t the real me, Inue?”

“The stories tell of a different Tarak Chul.”

“Oh?” His lips brushed against her earlobe, his breath a soft caress against her skin. “And who is this Tarak Chul the stories tell of?”

“He’s cruel and opportunistic, a bloodthirsty savage. He strikes fear into the hearts of men who oppose him in battle. And wherever he goes, Erateans die, and kingdoms fall. He does nothing by halves.”

“And now that you’ve met me, do you believe the stories, Inue?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re a dead man.”

“If you’re right and I’m dying, then you’d better run, Inue, because that means the Western Borderlands are about to fall, and the Empire of Eratea will sweep back with the fury of a scorned lover. You think your people are safe in the hidden village? It would only be a matter of time before the Erateans take everything from you. I’m the only thing holding back that tide.”

Tarak’s fingers remained between her thighs, but Amina had gone still. His words had stirred a deep, forbidden current within her.
 

He was challenging her to think.

It went against the code of the Inue assassin.

She was trained not to think about right and wrong. She was merely an executioner, another piece in the machine.
 

But here was the dying Tarak Chul, daring her to think for herself.

Amina couldn’t allow herself to do that. If she did, she might be forced to admit that this was a grave mistake.

Closing his eyes, Tarak took a deep breath. Against his dark skin, she could see that his eyelashes were long and elegant. It was a strange thing to notice on a man. Especially a hard looking man like him.
 

He started to tremble. Slowly, he dropped to his knees. Amina remained standing, staring down at his face. His lips were slightly parted, and she resisted the sudden urge to taste them. What was she thinking?
 

“I’m sorry,
Katach
.” Truly, it was a shame to let this man die. But Amina had no choice. Her own flesh and blood was in danger, and she would forever put family above the politics of a nation.

Tarak’s hand dropped away from his body, and he fell to the floor, landing on his side, breathing heavily. Amina stepped back, turning away.
 

For the briefest moment, Amina felt intense pressure. She felt it as an invisible force, surrounding her like a dark, wild current. Then, it was gone. It wasn’t like any
qwi
she had felt before.

For some reason, it pained her to see this man brought low. A tightness gripped her chest, and Amina looked away. Aside from her first kill, this was the first time a death had ever roused emotion in her. Unable to be near Tarak any longer, she started to walk away.

“I told you,” he rasped, as she reached the doorway. “That poison isn’t enough to kill me.”

Delusional, indeed. Amina shook her head and left him, struggling with a tangle of warring emotions. She would need to be quick now, to leave the fortress before any of Tarak’s guards discovered him lying on the floor.
 

As she slipped through the door of the office, she whispered a silent prayer to Imril, the God of Death, to grant Tarak Chul swift passage into the afterlife.

The world was sideways. Tarak stared at the doorway from where he lay on the floor. The Black Bellflower had entered his system, leaving him paralyzed. The Inue assassin was right. The poison had the strange effect of filling him with a sense of euphoria.
 

Everything looked clearer. The colors seemed brighter, the sun streaming through the windows feeling glorious on his cheek. He basked in its warmth.

He’d just been hit with a double dose of Black Bellflower, one of the deadliest poisons known to man, and he felt amazing. He had enough toxin in his system to kill a horse.