King of the Seditious
Wildling's Failure

“Your shoulder.” An assassin pointed as Savage’s skin seamed together over the wound. Overlapping the blood inside and then sealing over it. “How-Savage-You just-”

“How did you do that?” Wildling was unsettled. “That is devil magic!”

“Dread magic!” Another assassin whispered in a hushed voice.

“That’s how he does it.” Someone else said conspiratorially.

There were awestruck gasps, and everyone was staring.

Savage didn’t glance at it. Didn’t blink.

“I can do a lot more.” He confided. Cracking his neck ominously.

Wildling glared at him a moment, face jerking, before striding from Winter Haven on thudding boots.

“You’re just going to let him go?” Dimurah cried. Lunging against Phalanx’s strong arms as she shouted at Savage. Her voice cracking in betrayal.

Savage skid a blue-eyed gaze at her over his shoulder.

There’ll be no consoling her. He knew.

Patience woman.

“Jax!” She wailed.

He walked over to her and when he stood next to her, he gave her a long look. “Have a mite bit of faith in me.”

But even as he said it, he knew damn well that’d be impossible for her.

The next afternoon, Dimurah entered Winter Haven slowly. Walking in the back door, she strode to the front to open it for Markus. Her face still puffy from crying all night. Her hands shook. And just before she flipped the lock on the door she sniffled and rubbed them across her face to hide that she’d been crying.

As the door swung open and Markus stepped in the foyer, his brows shot up and jaw gaped. He stood frozen.

“What?” She rounded to follow their gaze to the high wooden chandelier. Shocked to see the severed head of Wildling perched where one of the candles should be. Facing the doorway.

“Savage Jack.” Dimurah said breathlessly.

“Yea?” He queried from where he sat in the dark of the back booth. Feet propped on a chair he’d drug next to the table. He was leaned back in the booth with his fingers interlinked over his flat middle. Answering what he’d presumed was a question.

Her eyes flew to him, watered with unspent emotion.

“How’d you get in here?” Markus asked quickly.

In the roof flap I built, and down through the rafters. He shrugged. Unwilling to divulge to the man hired to keep him away from her.

“You did this?” Dimurah asked.

Giving her a blank stare, he nodded slowly.

Markus shifted behind her. Clearly discomforted by Savage’s quiet demeanor.

I alarm him.

I do most people. He snorted in his own inner amusement.

“Why?” She whispered.

Why did I do it? He lifted a blonde brow.

Because it’s the vengeance you needed.

But saying so would make him look weak to the men with her.

And to those that heard of it.

“Because he disrespected me in my Guild. It’s a warning to others.” He said flatly.

Her eyes narrowed and he knew she was aware it wasn’t the real reason.

You know me too well. His gaze fell to his thumbs rotating each other above his stomach. As he let the truth sink in for her.

“What are you doing here?” It was a soft question. Her acid tone had tamed, and this sounded almost more like an invitation.

Her amends.

“Waiting for some Dream Duster.” He levelled his blue eyes on her.

You’re damn atrocious tea.

In truth, it was the last thing he wanted. But it was every bit as much of a peace offering as her words.

The hint of a smile eased the corner of her lips. She gave a slight nod and headed for the counter.

Dear God, now I’m going to have to actually drink it. He groaned inwardly. Twisting to sit up to the table and letting his feet thunk to the floor as he watched her go.

Markus hesitantly stepped to the other side of the alehouse to watch him warily.

Nervous as all hell that his head might be next on her chandelier.

Watch away. Savage couldn’t have cared less.

Dimurah was going to join him for some much-needed conversation and some ease to the tension between them.

Grier Citadel, Grier Country

KING OCNOMAD

A rider, an Ocnomad messenger, was wildly heeling his mount as he flattened against its back.

King Nial Ocnomad, a short balding man received the report of his return and ordered the gates open.

In minutes, the breathless messenger rushed in. Dropping to a knee and leaning to catch his breath.

“Tell me!” The King ordered.

“He killed him.” The messenger weakly stood.

“Which killed which?” Ocnomad’s hands were white knuckled on the arm rests of his fur-coated throne.

“The King of Assassins killed Wildling!”

“What?” The king leapt to his feet. “How?” He paced.

The queen came rushing in. Graying brown hair sweeping the floor as she entered the room, clutching her skirts.

“You!” Ocnomad turned on her. “This is all your fault.”

“Is there word of him?” She turned to the messenger. Ignoring the king.

“He’s still alive. He killed our assassin.” The messenger grumbled.

“Thank the Heavens.” She put a hand to her heart.

Ocnomad walked over and soundly backhanded her. “Back to your chambers!” He pointed.

Breathing heavily in relief she turned. Clutching her stinging cheek, she obeyed the command to go back to her rooms.

King Ocnomad paced restlessly. “Dammit! Dammit! That boy has been the bane of my life! He’s nearly indestructible. Every time I try to kill him, he emerges unscathed! What’s it going to take?” He was impossibly frustrated.

“Tonius!” He shouted for his Commander.

Tonius, the head of the Grier Guard, entered the room. Helmet cradled under his arm. “Liege.” He dropped to a knee.

“Post that I’m putting a 1,000 coin on the Barter Queen’s Head.”

“My Liege! You’re certain? Such an exorbitant rate…For a woman?”

“I am!”

“I thought you wanted the King of Assassins?”

“Well, I’ve recently gotten word from a good friend that sometimes taking out the queen can have more impact than heading straight for the King.”