Chapter 29. Monster

itaje opened the ledger on the lacquered table before her, dipping his brush in the moistened ink tablet as he found the place where Uriel had signed.  She had watched him meticulously count out the platinum bars, 123 of them in total.  With a graceful flip of the brush he wrote a string of strange glyphs which she assumed recorded the payment of her debt.

She swallowed, staring at the funds that could have fulfilled her dying master’s last wishes.  Never before had she seen so much platinum gathered in one place and part of her imagined the luxuries she could have enjoyed with it.  Since her misfortunes in Orr, wealth had eluded her and it seemed this would continue to be her lot.

More than money, however, she wanted her freedom.  She thought of the secretive plans she had made in Tyria, that she, Lemony and Morisedd would pool their funds and found a guild and build a modest hall in which to dwell.  And perhaps finally she would marry poor Morisedd and raise the family both of them had dreamed of in the beginning when their love had been pure and bright.

The assassin finished writing and withdrew a thin amber wand from his belt.  Though she tried to hide her emotions, Uriel felt tears coursing down her cheeks as he grasped her left hand and drew her arm toward him.  He touched the wand to the bangle nearest her elbow and it melted away in a whiff of chill smoke.

“Are you decided?” he asked coldly and she nodded despite another rush of tears and the clenching of her gut.  Gratified, he rose and put away the ledger, then gestured the guards to take her away.  She followed them deep into the complex with a growing sense of dread.  It was nothing, she told herself.  Imagine it was Pendaran or one of the half-dozen scum she had hoped to lure into the curse and thus free herself.  Remember it was for freedom, as it had ever been.

The door of Nitaje’s room slid closed behind her and she disrobed quickly before she lost her nerve, putting aside the part of her that grieved over her helplessness and humiliation.  She would be freed sooner, she told herself.  She would be allowed to return to Tyria and escape from this nightmare.

She crept under the blankets and shivered, waiting for him.  Overcome with grief, she wept silently, her body shuddering with her sobs.  She missed Lemony and Morisedd and longed for their safety and fellowship.  Her hands clenched the sheets as she recoiled from the musky odor of the assassin that permeated his bedding.  The long minutes ticked by and drained into hours as she lay there alternately seething with rage or despondent in her misery until at last she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Sunlight burned through her consciousness and she blinked awake, the assassin lying beside her under the blankets, his hand gently tracing the line of her jaw and stroking her black hair.  The cool air of morning heavy with the stench of the great city flowed through an open window above the hard bedding.  The stark whitewashed walls of the little room gave it an austere ambiance.  Her clothes were neatly folded in the corner near the sliding paper doors and beside them lay a tray containing a steaming teapot and two bowls of rice gruel and chopped fruit.

“You were at peace and I did not wish to wake you,” he said to her startled stare, “Am I such a monster that you must dampen my pillow with a flood of tears?”

Uriel stiffened beneath his touch and refused to answer.  In truth, he was a monster and she hated him, but to tell him so would only invoke his cruelty.  Without further ado he indicated that he wished her to fulfill her obligations and she yielded to his touch, avoiding his gaze as she rolled onto her back while he caressed and kissed her.  He reserved his cruelty for his profession and did not misuse her, nevertheless it was repugnant to her.

Afterwards, they sat together breaking fast amid the tangle of his bedding.  She watched dully as he shouted for the servants and within minutes a tray bearing fresh steaming tea, honeyed sesame sweets and a bowl of sliced mangos replaced their gelatinous gruel and cold bitter tea.  He ate ravenously, a self-satisfied expression upon his normally harsh visage.

Uriel ate only what he offered her, numbly taking slices of mango and sweets from his fingers as he pressed them against her lips and sipping the tea that he poured for her.  Drained of all happiness and hope, she watched blankly as he fetched the amber wand and removed two more of the bands.

She envied Pendaran his death and silently prayed that Lemony fared better than she.  Grief welled up within her again, threatening to spill over into weeping.  And then she found her rage and swallowed its bitterness, presenting a cold mask to the world.  Nitaje could do as he wished to her body, but she would never again give him the satisfaction of tears.  He meant nothing to her.