Agent of the Dragon
Chapter 37

The note with breakfast the following day read: “Venusia is expecting you at nine this morning. Hallyk.” Rhysa shrugged and held it in a candle flame until the note turned to ash. It was habit, more than a conscious desire to destroy her trail. She sat and ate her breakfast quickly, her mind on the possibilities Venusia might have in store.

By the time she finished breakfast, she didn’t have time to workout and get clean again before she had to leave for Venusia’s. Instead, she decided to continue looking through Elise’s room. She’d found the note Bryn had sent Elise, which Bryn confirmed as his own at dinner last night. Rhysa felt a little odd going through Elise’s things. They hadn’t had many secrets from each other, but each had maintained a personal space the other had respected. She hoped Elise would forgive the intrusion.

Elise’s sword and daggers were missing, of course. The usual oils were lined up on the vanity. Clothes were neatly hung in the wardrobe, or folded and put into drawers. Rhysa spent some time going through the clothes to try to determine what Elise had been wearing. She decided Elise had worn a full body suit that covered her from shoulders to feet, a blouse of bleached-white muslin, grey skirts divided for riding or running, and flat bottomed shoes with grooves cut in the soles for traction. A leather thong for holding hair back was also missing from the vanity. Now that she had an idea of what Elise had been wearing, she closed the wardrobe firmly and turned her efforts to other parts of the room.

She found two books near Elise’s bed: a history of Mestin Reach and a romance of the type Elise enjoyed. She took the romance, held it, stroked it--as if touching it would summon her friend. She sighed and put the romance down, then took up the book on Mestin Reach. A brief thumbing revealed a bookmark in the section about the previous coup. Something the previous searchers missed? Or had they bothered to check Elise’s room? She took the book and put it beside the chair in the reading area. It was time to head to Venusia’s house.

Venusia set down her cup of tea and looked at Rhysa. She’d led Rhysa to a private receiving room, and they’d talked of inconsequentials while tea was being poured and enjoyed. The click of cup on saucer sounded too much like the booming of prison doors to comfort Rhysa’s mind.

“So. It happened.” Venusia’s voice was ordinary, nothing to let Rhysa judge what Venusia was thinking.

“What happened?”

Venusia gave Rhysa a direct look and it was Rhysa who looked away, blushing. “Yes.” Rhysa returned her gaze to Venusia. “How did you know?”

“Sex is my business, child. You show the signs. So. Did you enjoy it? Was it what you expected?”

Rhysa’s blush returned when she thought about that night with Camyrn. “Yes, I enjoyed it. But it wasn’t what I expected. It was stronger than I expected. I-I lost control.”

“Tell me.”

Rhysa began with the conversation with Camyrn where they planned how to keep people from replaceing out. She talked about shopping for oils, Camyrn’s arrival, and the dancing. As she described that night, her breath quickened. And when her story reached the room, Rhysa felt a warm flutter behind her belly.

Under Venusia’s compassionate but unwavering gaze, the story came out. As it progressed, Rhysa felt herself responding in ways echoing the initial experience. By the time Rhysa finished the story, she was breathing heavily, if raggedly.

Venusia sat silently, letting Rhysa recover. When Rhysa’s breathing had calmed Venusia spoke. “You did very well for a first time. Better than I did, in fact. I lost control when the first shirt came off.” She took a deep breath. “Since we don’t know how soon you’ll need it again, pleasure control is the first thing we’ll tackle. I laid some preliminary work before your assignment. We’ll add to that.”

Rhysa was exhausted, when she left Venusia’s house mid-afternoon, and oddly satiated and frustrated. Venusia had told her to come back tomorrow at the same time; Rhysa had the impression she’d better get used to feeling this way for the foreseeable future. This was the only area of her training she didn’t embrace unreservedly. All the other areas focused on physical and mental abilities. Seduction, pleasure control in this case, focused almost entirely on emotion, and she wasn’t sure she could handle the balancing act it required.

She set her training problems aside, and focused on replaceing Elise. There were probably several things she’d missed in Elise’s room. She also thought of the book on the history of Mestin Reach. Maybe there was something in there that would help.

The book was still by the chair where she’d put it before leaving for Venusia’s house. Of course it was. What made her think it wouldn’t be?

She stopped and looked around very carefully. She didn’t see anything out of place here. The public room also showed no clues. Then she saw it; out of the corner of her eye she saw it. She went to the door to Elise’s room and looked to be sure. The wardrobe door was slightly open.

Rhysa held her breath for a slow count of twenty, but heard nothing. She tapped into the overlay, searched for magical residue. Nothing. No sign of who might have searched Elise’s wardrobe.

Whoever it was had been and gone long ago. She’d have to establish the tracking field she’d used in the Kasteryn manor when she’d thought someone was going through her things. The field had never had a chance to be useful--the manor had been blown up later the same day. Now, someone had come in and searched Elise’s room, and maybe more of the apartment.

She examined the wardrobe carefully before opening it. If there was anything attached, a spring-loaded dart, for instance, she didn’t want to trigger it. She didn’t see anything; she didn’t hear anything; she didn’t smell anything; nevertheless, she stood outside the room and used magic to open the wardrobe.

Nothing happened. Berating herself for feeling foolish, she went to look in the wardrobe. Someone who had hidden his presence so well in the other areas of the apartment would hardly have made such a basic mistake as leaving the door to a piece of furniture open. It hinted there might be two involved...or a single person so distracted by something found inside, he simply didn’t notice the door failed to latch firmly.

She pushed the slightly disordered, fabric-draped hangers to one side, and looked closely at the back of the wardrobe. Nothing was obvious. She switched to Sight and sent micropulses through the overlay. There! Most of the pulses reflected off the walls of the wardrobe, but one of them disappeared. With Sight and experimentation, it didn’t take long for her to open the concealed compartment. She mentally kicked herself for not looking for secret compartments before. Whatever had been hidden there was gone.

Another search failed to reveal any more hidden stashes. Someone had been through her office, but was apparently interrupted...whoever it was had failed to cover his tracks this time. If she was lucky he’d be back to finish the job. It might behoove her to make sure the mysterious person had plenty of opportunities.

She snorted to herself. For the foreseeable future, she would reliably be gone for five or six hours each day. This search had come during that time. Another would fall during the same period.

If they came back tomorrow, what would they expect to see? Rhysa decided whoever it was would expect the office to be straightened. After determining nothing was missing, she re-filed everything that was out of place. Once the office was clean, she went back to Elise’s room and made sure the wardrobe looked exactly the way she’d found it. She didn’t want the intruder’s subconscious to think she’d noticed the mistake. When the rooms were adjusted the way she wanted, Rhysa left for the armsmaster’s arena.

A wall of sound greeted her when she entered the arena, the buzz of conversation accentuated by the staccato of clashing weapons. There were perhaps thirty people in the observation areas, and another five pairs on the training floor.

Rhysa found Kiinzhal with a group of four people. She caught his eye. “What’s going on?”

Kiinzhal shrugged uncomfortably. “A couple of lesser nobles got drunk last night and wagered on their personal guards. They insisted on using my arena as a tournament site. Neither of them had the sense to back out, and their hirelings dare not protest too much.” He looked over his shoulder at the four he’d been waiting with. “Those are the last of the four, and they’re waiting for their turn.”

Rhysa grunted with disgust; lesser nobility, of course. They had bodyguards, but weren’t experienced enough to keep their guards’ abilities hidden. Even so, most lesser nobility had the sense not to put their bodyguards’ talents on display for anyone who happened by. “So much for getting a workout. I guess I’ll watch.”

“If you want. Why don’t you watch from here? I don’t think anyone will mistake you for a competitor.”

Rhysa smiled. “Thank you. I don’t suppose they will.” She walked over to lean against a wall from which she could see the entire floor. A few of the competitors were very good, but most of them were merely decent. She watched a very unequal pairing as one man in an awful orange and silver uniform toyed with another man in an eye-blinding purple and brown uniform. The man in purple and brown eventually realized he was being humiliated, and tried to end the match by charging with a flurry of uncontrolled swings. The man in orange and silver dodged, only bothering to parry the strikes that came within six inches of him. Then, as the man in purple and brown passed him, the man in orange and silver hooked his foot in front of one of purple-and-brown’s feet. When purple-and-brown began to stumble, orange-and-silver tapped him gently on the back of the head with a pommel, and sent purple-and-brown sprawling.

Rhysa snorted softly, and was about to turn her attention to another pair when the dagger the man in orange and silver used caught her eye. There was something familiar about it. She walked up to him, using her body to portray admiration and a little shyness. “E-excuse me.”

The man turned and looked down at her. “Yes?” His voice, rough with excitement, seemed warm enough.

“I got here just in time to see you lay out that other man. It was like you barely had to do anything. Amazing!”

The man smiled. “Thank you. He wasn’t that good, and when he pulled that last stunt, I decided to end it before he hurt himself.”

Rhysa smiled to herself, as he tried to preen without appearing to preen. “That was an interesting move.” She imitated it, making her movements clumsy. “And that’s an amazing looking dagger.”

The man’s eyes flicked over her and she saw him take note of her sword and daggers on her belt. She was glad Jayse had insisted she always have the best weapons she could get, but also insisted the weapons appear to be average at best. The man would only see plain-wrapped hilts and ordinary pommels. She hoped she looked like a young woman looking for an idol to worship.

Evidently the man concluded she was harmless. His smile returned. “It is a nice one. A friend of mine gave it to me.”

“Do you--do you mind if I look at it?”

He looked her over again, and slowly handed her the dagger. It probably seemed to him as though she took it reverently. Her actual intention was to test its balance, and look for a couple of identifying marks. She hefted it slightly. Yes, the balance was right. She examined the hilt between the wrapping and the crossguard. There was the maker’s mark. She smiled and returned the dagger. As he took it, she casually caressed the pommel. And there was the nearly invisible dent received after a particularly violent disarm. This was Elise’s dagger.

“Where did your friend get it? I might like something like that eventually.” It was an effort to keep her voice brainless.

“He said he picked it up during a job. No doubt it’s from someone who tried to attack his charge.”

“Very likely.” There was no doubt in Rhysa’s mind--Elise wouldn’t go down without trying to take as many as she could with her. “He must have been very good.”

“My friend? He is.”

Rhysa laughed. “Him, too. I meant the man this dagger belonged to. He had to have been to earn enough to afford something of that quality. Especially if there was a matching sword.”

“I don’t know if there was or not.” He paused for a second as he eyed her again. She smiled coyly. He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you what. I need to get cleaned up and changed. I think my friend is in the audience somewhere. Why don’t we meet you at, uh, The Sword and Flagon in about an hour?”

She took his hand in both of hers and smiled up at him. “Promise you’ll be there?” His breath quickened slightly.

“I’ll be there. I’m sure I can get my friend there, too.”

She released his hands, and he made his way to someone in the crowd. The man he talked to glanced in her direction and nodded. Having received agreement, the man she’d talked with left the training arena. The man he’d spoken to left shortly after.

“Well, my girl, it looks like you made a conquest today, after all.” Kiinzhal stepped next to her.

“I suppose so.”

Something in her voice caught his attention, and he looked at her closely. “You’re up to something. I hope you know what you’re doing. The prince would be mighty annoyed if anything happened to you.”

Rhysa laughed softly. “I think the prince would understand if anything did happen.” She kissed his cheek, and left to get ready to meet that man and his friend.

She didn’t even know the man’s name. She’d also have to choose another alias, Rhysa would be too well known by anyone associated with the nobility, and Mieryth was just as bad if they happened to be associated with The Primacy. She pondered as she walked to her apartments.

Rhysa decided to use ‘Crysta’ as her name for this venture. It was a common name; she’d known a Crysta when she was a slave, and had befriended another while working for House Bandar. She decided ‘Crysta’ was niece to a housekeeper in the palace. Searching through her wardrobe, she found trousers and a tunic nice enough to be used for going out, but not nice enough to proclaim a higher station than her cover. She belted on her sword and daggers, then decided on a way to enhance her disguise as an imitator. She removed one of her belt daggers from its sheath, and set the blade on her dresser.

What she needed was an average blade--nothing cheap, certainly, but of a sufficiently low quality to allay suspicions she was anything other than a poseur. She found what she needed quickly enough in the open market. She bought the dagger and enough leather thong to wrap the hilt.

The Sword and Flagon was moderately busy, though not crowded; it reminded her of The Dancing Maid, but marketed to soldiers and fighters. Rhysa had managed to arrive before the other two, and she chose a table visible from the door. She ordered a mug of small ale, and while she waited, she wrapped the hilt of the new dagger. When the wrapping was finished, she took out a whetstone and meticulously began to sharpen the edge with long, slow strokes. Her stage was set.

A few minutes later the door opened and two men stepped through. Rhysa paused her sharpening and took a gulp from her mug, using the movement to make sure they were who she was waiting for. They caught her movement and came to stand by the table.

She beamed up at the men, paying special attention to the one she’d approached at the training arena. Now that the orange and silver uniform wasn’t distracting her, she saw he was fairly handsome. He had the square build usually associated with formation fighters, his hair was the color of polished cedar and his eyes were mossy green. His grin was warm and friendly.

“Hi!” She gestured to the seat next to her with an empty hand.

His friend grinned at him. “You’re right, Bryan, she’s a charming one.”

Rhysa forced a blush to her cheeks and looked at Bryan’s friend. He was taller than Bryan; tall and lithe. His hair was sandy blond and his eyes were grey. She extended a hand. “I’m Crysta.”

“Rian.” He pronounced it “Ree ahn”. She offered him a seat across from her. He sat and looked at the dagger she’d been sharpening. She could see he didn’t think much of the quality, though she doubted even Bryan could read him that closely.

“I’m sorry. I was just sharpening my dagger.” She grabbed the whetstone and put it in her belt pouch. Bryan picked up the dagger and tried to sound impressed. Rhysa took the dagger. “Don’t be silly, Bryan. It’s just a basic dagger, better than some, worse than most.”

Bryan flushed at being caught out and Rian began to laugh. “Well, my friend, at least she knows the quality of what she has.”

Rhysa surreptitiously edged her chair a little closer to Bryan’s and leaned towards him slightly. “Did you think my praise of your dagger was empty?”

Bryan coughed. “Sort of. It is a good dagger, but I thought you’d say anything to butter me up.”

Rhysa pretended to ponder this for a few seconds. “Fair enough. I imagine you’ve seen that before.”

Rian snickered and Bryan shrugged. “Not as much as you might think.”

“Oh? You’re certainly good enough to attract attention.” She looked him over to give her statement a few extra meanings.

Rian choked on his own laughter. Bryan signaled a server, covering his bashfulness. While the two men ordered, Rhysa sheathed her dagger and took another swig from her mug.

#