I’ve jotted down a few quotes and ideas in my notebook. That’s about it/
This. This is blogging. Yay.
No progress in the last couple f days but hope to work on it over the weekend.
Context: Things are happening. Murder! Mayhem! Plots! Plots everywhere!
Smoke hung over the city, trapped by low temperatures and intrigue. Eriden wished for less of both. As she wound her way through the predawn streets to the tune of trickling sewerage and distant screams, Eriden could not shake the feeling of unease settled about her shoulders like a winter mantle. She arrived at the Guild House and was met not by the usual doorman but by Alyan’s protégé. He smiled a greeting but she ignored him, following him in silence to Alyan’s office on the first floor. They had slept together once, she and Bren, when they were both young and foolish and drunk on sweet wine after a kill. Not that that meant anything now.
Every instinct told her to run. When they entered the office, Alyan was standing behind the expensive desk, a frown crinkling his gruff features.
“Close the door.” Alyan snapped.
Eriden did as she was told and waited to be invited to sit. No such invitation was forthcoming.
“Are you getting soft, girl?” he demanded.
“Don’t speak in riddles, Alyan.” She’d slept with him too, when she was old enough to have known better. She had blamed it on heart’s folly and tried to forget his kisses.
“The royal brat. She should be dead. Or have you forgotten?”
“I have a very good memory, Alyan.”
“Then why, by Nare, is she still alive?”
“I didn’t take you for a religious man.”
In his corner, Bren quirked a smile.
The Guild Master ignored her jibe, “When a client pays for a job to be done, they expect it to be done.”
“Feeling pressured by the nobility? That’s not like you,” Eriden’s brow furrowed in thought, “They have something on you, don’t they? Duke Hallten knows something about you that could jeopardise you.”
“Who ordered the hit is of no consequence.”
“Oh, I disagree. This job is personal.”
“Fine, yes, Hallten, asked for you in particular.”
“Then he’s an idiot.” Eriden replied, crossing her arms across her chest.
“As long as he pays, I don’t care what sort of fool he is. So I’ll ask you again, why isn’t the brat dead?”
“I’m biding my time.”
“To what end?”
“To gain her trust.”
“What use is the trust of a dead woman?”
“And to ensure that when I do complete my task, no blame will fall on me.”
“Blame is an assassin’s game, Eriden.”
“I won’t hang for it. If the duke wants her dead, and by my hand, then he must learn patience.”
“If Karavere is not finished with by summers end, I’ll send Bren after you. He can finish the job if you won’t. And you along with it.”
Eriden faltered, dread swirling around her chest. She turned on Bren “How much did he promise to pay you?”
“A vast sum,” Bren replied, leaning against the book case, “I refused it, of course.” He smiled, “Some marks are just for fun.”