King of the Seditious
Histories

She nestled in, rolled over to scoot back against him and tugged his arms tight around her.

He was quiet. Deathly still. Holding her. Listening until her shuddering sobs stopped and she subsided in slumber. He took in the scent of her. Her smell, the texture of her hair and skin. Lightly caressing his fingertips over her shoulder and down her arm.

After a time, she rolled over to snuggle against him. Wiggling her hips and arms in until she was cuddled against his middle.

Once she was still, he slid back enough to see her face. Caressing her cheek and outlining her brows and the slope of her nose with a reverent fingertip. Moving to the sharp lines of her defined cheekbones.

I’m going to miss her face.

He couldn’t imagine the Blue Lark, nor Winter Haven without her. Her vibrant red hair and fiery nature made this place feel alive.

Makes me feel alive.

He’d always had her here, ever since he’d first gotten her off that ship and brought her back, she’d never left.

Never wanted to.

He remembered those first days as clearly as if they were last week.

He kept her hidden away in his hut, knowing what the other assassins would try if they took one look at the little spitfire.

She’d seemed fine with that.

As he moved around the hut, she’d moved with him, ensuring she was on the opposite side.

He’d treated her very much like a wild cat those first days. Paying her no mind. Reading as he saw fit, studying his poisons and quietly looking over maps of Ardae.

Trying to figure out what, who, Radix already owned in the

country.

His eyes would continually return to those taverns.

Without realizing it his fingers would trace over them. Going from one to another.

He heard her approaching behind him and readied himself for a blade. But he never heard the whisper of her dress or the slight scrape of a blade that would indicate she was armed.

So, he’d let her hover behind him.

“Why are you so interested in the taverns?” She queried.

“They’re one of the main power hubs for the land.”

“How so?”

“Everyone goes there. They get drinks, they get drunk, and they share information. Information which, if you’re wise enough to collect, you can glean all the secrets of Ardae. There also a main resource to hold other goods and to have stops along any route you’d take.”

He skimmed his finger over the thick parchment showing her a particular route that traversed along the NetherRunnel which cut across the country from high in the Meadow Mountains. His finger pausing on each tavern along the way.

“You want them?” She put a hand on his shoulder to peer down at the map.

He ensured he didn’t move at the small touch.

“I do.”

“Do you usually get things you want?” She asked softly.

She already knows the answer, or she wouldn’t ask like that.

“I generally replace a way.”

She was small, barely more than a girl and she had endured a cruel life. One he had no intention of exploiting. So, he kept his distance from her. Letting her sleep in the room while he slept on furs before the fire.

She’d come out once and tried to huddle behind him, but he’d sent her back to her room.

“I was cold.” She explained. Clearly wounded by the slight.

I don’t want you to think I brought you here for that.

At that point he’d had no interest in her, other than to keep her away from the clawing hands that would tear at her.

When he returned the next eve, he found that many of his things had been moved. He looked around a bit anxiously. He liked things to be where he’d left them.

“What did you do with everything?”

“I moved it. So, it would be put away.”

“Everything had a place.” He objected. Ensuring he didn’t raise his voice.

“Well, now they have a new one.” Her chin lifted. “I can’t leave this hut, so I have to have something to do.”

That’s why she rearranged it. She’s bored.

His annoyance dissipated the moment he understood.

He too had not had a place of his own for a long time and once he’d built one, he’d been quick to arrange it to his liking. A way of asserting his independence from Radix.

And even Chavias.

He eyed her thoughtfully. She’s asserting hers now.

Good.

That gave him some satisfaction. Though he wasn’t sure why.

Weeks had gone by before she complained she was bored.

“What would you like to do.”

“Teach me a game.”

“A game?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

“So, he’d taught her the greatest game of warfare ever made.”

“I don’t like chess.” She grumbled after the first few hours.

“That’s because you keep losing.”

“I’d rather be winning.”

“Then you lose until you learn how to win.”

She did.

Over time she became quite good. And he became more eager to get back to his hut and check on her.

All the while he’d been building his empire of assassins.

He’d met RedBayne when the man had been hired to kill him and quickly learned he could not. Earning his respect.

He’d met The Nauvree one night as they’d shared a table in companionable discussion. Finding they both thought much alike, and even rather looked alike.

Both assassins had earned Savage’s respect and he favored them above the others.

Because they have honor.

He’d begun bringing books back with him from his ventures and taught her to read.

Dimurah grew. And became more volatile.

Sometimes throwing the books in her frustration. Her explosions of passion were rather amusing to him.

Because I have so little.

And Chavias had none.

Where Savage was cold and flat. She was fury and heat.

Several years went by and she was demanding that he take her out in the Blue Lark.

“Fine.” He warned. “But you wear my old cloak.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t. I will kill a man.”

“Which man?” She asked, puzzled.

“I don’t know yet.”