She turned back, staring at Gunnar. He was alone against four men. With two fingers he pulled the fabric down that had hidden his nose and mouth. Run, he mouthed to her. She hesitated. What if she ran and he didn’t catch up? What if these guards overpowered him and he was sent back to the pits and the cell she had found him in?
The guards picked up their pace.
Gunnar held his ground.
Hessa turned her back on him and did as he had told her to do. She ran from the place of her birth, the sordid, whore-ridden city of Bisura, and she sprinted through the fields toward a black tower jutting up from the ground far in the distance.
Chapter Six
She was too frightened to look back. Hessa raced through the jindi fields, flat leaves slapping at her legs and tugging at her skirt. All the while she ran, she heard Gunnar’s voice tempting the wind. She reached a brick road that wound its way to the tower’s mouth. The entrance was ornate, with vines and a trellis, and even ornamental flowers at the border edges. But none of that mattered. She ran through and into the unknown, hopeful for sanctuary.
“Hold there,” a woman’s voice said. Garbed in a shroud and hidden by the fabric but for her dark eyes through its netting, a yeinei servant came forward. “What business do you have here?” She sounded angry, and her hand strayed to a dagger at her belt.
“Please, help us,” Hessa begged. “My…man and I are journeying to the forestlands. But they want him for the pits.”
The yeinei bypassed Hessa and set her hand across her forehead to peer at the scene unfolding near the city gates. “My master is no longer of the trade.”
“What?”
The yeinei took a few more steps in the direction of the city, her attention set on the ensuing battle. “My master is no longer an assassin. He is not for hire, if that’s the kind of help you need.”
“We just want to leave the city.” Her voice sounded meek, insignificant. “We want our freedom.” Hessa stared in the direction of Bisura, but she had come too far to see anything of what had become of Gunnar. The city gates were hardly visible, and she listened, but couldn’t hear his windsong.
“You desire freedom,” the yeinei said under her breath. “It is a noble cause, but to bring down the wrath of the guilds on my master’s house is not something I want to face up to. He would not forgive me for that. Your pit fighter must stay where they have charged him.”
“Freedom is not a popular right in Bisura.” This time a man spoke. He came up behind Hessa, his footsteps soundless, his face half scarred, much like hers. The yeinei gave him a short bow.
“What is your name, dark one?” he asked.
“Hessa.” She glanced at the belt of blades about his waist, and was well aware of the richness of his clothes. This man had the look of danger in his eyes and a serious expression on his battle worn face. He stared hard at her, awaiting the rest of her name.
When she did not answer, he stepped forward and touched the ruined side of her face. “We look of the same ilk,” he said, for his cheek seemed to match hers with its scars. He pushed down the neckline of her dress to expose the brand that had been burned into her skin as a child. “Hessa Omi,” he said and nodded in understanding. “How did you manage to come this far from the holdings of your masters?”
She wrung her hands together, frowning. “My lover…and I…”
One of his eyebrows arched in question. A muscle in his cheek tensed. “Yes?”
“We…escaped.” She knew he would be well within his rights to tie her up and drag her back to the city. Omi House would likely reward him for doing so.
“Mm.” The man bypassed Hessa and the yeinei. He paced a moment, his thumb and forefinger pinching at his chin. After a time, he whistled through his teeth, a shrill noise that echoed in the charmed wind. A horse nickered somewhere in the distance before it galloped toward the estate. When the black animal reached him, he climbed atop its bare back and nodded at Hessa. “Come with me. We will settle this matter.”
She took a step back, afraid. He would take her back to Omi House now. Gunnar would be punished if he had not managed to escape the guards, and so would she.
“Come,” he said again, and held out his hand.
She shot a worried look at the servant, but the yeinei only spoke to her master. “My Lord, see how the winds have changed. I can smell the magic of the seas in the very air. The islander from the pits must be fighting again.”
He nodded. “I will not hurt you, dark one.”
Hessa gave in and placed her hand and her life in the palm of the strange man. “Are you Lord Brenin?” She looked up into his eyes and saw a small white light there, glittery and mysterious.
“I am.” His fingers closed tight. He hoisted her up in front of him and braced her waist with one arm. “You will do well to hold your tongue about what happens this day. It is not something I do at all.”
She clenched her teeth, unsure what to think.
With a nudge, the horse started into a gallop, bringing her back the way she had come. Hessa shivered and kept thinking that at least she had been held by Gunnar, at least she had experienced a small moment of happiness, of passion and a connection she didn’t think possible. Their time together had made her attempted escape worth the risk.
The man at her back leaned forward, forcing her to lower herself closer to the horse. He clucked his tongue. The animal responded, increasing its pace. They tore through the jindi field. Clods of earth and ruined plant parts sprayed in their wake.
At the city gates, which were now partially closed, three of the four men who had confronted Hessa lay wounded on the ground. Gunnar had vanished. Blood stained the earth.
“Lord Brenin!” a man shouted. “One of the pit fighters has escaped. There’s a high price on his head should you see him.”
“The islander?”
“Yes, Lord.”
Brenin’s horse circled the guard. “I will keep an eye out for him. He shouldn’t be hard to miss. I’ve seen him fight many times over.”
Soon after, Brenin rode to the main servant quarters in the Omi holdings, and dismounted. He helped Hessa down and held her wrist as he led her through the main entrance of the building.
At the counter, the wrinkled man in charge raised his balding head to regard them. “Can I help you?”
“Omi Master, I wish to purchase this woman.” Brenin tugged Hessa up to the counter. He kept a tight grip on her so that she couldn’t run. But his words served to confuse her even more. She had expected to be turned in, not this. Why would he want to buy her? What could his motive be? He didn’t know her, didn’t have need of anything. He was Brenin Drake, the highest paid and mostly deadly assassin known to the city. But his yeinei had said he was no longer an assassin; that comment puzzled Hessa.
“Ah. Lord Brenin.” The old man smirked. “There are other, more attractive, women available. Are you certain this is the one you want?”
“Yes.” He sighed and offered a grim look of disdain. “I have a woman to warm my bed. This one will have other tasks. How much for her?”
The master reached across and touched Hessa’s scarred cheek. “I know this girl. She has no guild traits. Not desirable as a brothel ward. Only good for hard labor.” He pulled his hand away. “Basic laborers are ten.”
Brenin reached into his purse and counted out the coins. “I want the Omi mark burned out.”