The Assassin’s Bride: A Fantasy Romance Tale (Artisan Magic Book 1)

Near the Pinch, there were no more waypoints.

“Disputed territory,” Gil explained, “which means no one bears any responsibility for whatever may befall travelers here.” That he kept his voice low was a warning. He did not want to draw attention.

Thea matched his volume. “Which means something will befall us?”

The tight smile he answered with said enough.

Their nights had been occupied with training, rather than the sewing she’d intended. His new trousers and shirt were made to wait. He seemed unbothered by the delay; he never removed his cloak that Thea saw, and he threw himself fully into exploring what skills Ashvin had hammered into her.

Most of those skills were rusty. Her brother had challenged her now and then, testing to be sure she would remain safe when he was away with the army. How ashamed he would have been to see her now, traipsing through the mountains with an assassin at her side.

That assassin was determined to teach her new talents, however, and she supposed her brother might have approved of that. Gil refreshed her knowledge of throws and ways to break free of a hold, adding information on which vital points could be struck to disable an opponent without requiring strength. He taught her to wield her borrowed dagger—he swore it wasn’t hers to keep—and pushed her to use it against him. She hated those parts of their lessons. He urged her to strike like she meant it, to slice or stab with the intent to kill him.

“You must be ready to kill anyone,” he’d told her one night, with the moon high overhead and warm firelight playing tricks on her eyes. “Even me.”

“But I don’t want to kill you,” she’d insisted. “I don’t need to.”

To that, he’d had no reply.

“Be focused.” His voice came now as little more than a whisper, snapping her attention back to the here and now. Ahead, a long bridge swayed above the gap between two mountains. Fog lay beneath it, so thick she couldn’t see the bottom.

“It’s made of rope,” she murmured. “Just like an adventure story.”

“I hope you’re prepared for an adventure story,” he said as he readied his favorite knife. Thus far, Thea had seen nothing to indicate danger. The bridge was long, but clear, and no one else waited to move across.

She strained to see below. “Will they come from the fog?”

“I don’t know. Just know that if we weren’t days behind, I would rather traverse that pit than cross this bridge, but it’s the fastest way across.”

She exhaled through her nose and adjusted the bags slung over her shoulders. Her back still ached, but not as badly. When everything was over, she suspected she’d come through with new muscle in interesting places. “All right. Let’s go.”

“Be wary,” Gil cautioned. “And be swift.” He guided her onto the bridge with fingertips against her lower back.

That touch shot through her like a streak of lightning, setting her heart to thundering. He’d guided her that way before, but at the tip of a knife. It should have instilled fear, not set her awhirl with butterflies in her chest. How long ago had that been? Two weeks? Three? She hardly remembered.

The bridge swayed, not from her step, but from the wind that flowed across the mountain range. Her hair whipped against her face, the artificially darkened strands startling her. There had been no mirrors anywhere they’d stayed; she had yet to see herself in more than the gleaming surface of one of Gil’s blades, and those reflections left much to be desired.

He crowded close behind her, urging her onward. “Do not hesitate.”

She hadn’t meant to. She freed a hand from the sewing basket and gripped the rope on one side. It was thicker than she’d imagined from her adventure novels. Her hand couldn’t encircle it, and that something so heavy could sway so hard made her stomach lurch worse than the motion itself.

The farther they progressed, the worse it moved. The ropes were strong and the boards underfoot stable, but the motion made her stagger. Gil leaned close and pulled the basket from her hand. “Go.”

How far was it? She fixed her eyes on the far end of the bridge and tried to ignore the way the middle bucked and heaved with each gust. The wind stirred the fog below and she dared not look down, lest she catch sight of the ground between patches of mist.

Something moved at the other end. A vile oath escaped behind her, the words too heavy for the wind to carry them away.

“I heard that,” she said.

Instead of the sort of sarcastic quip she’d come to expect from him, Gil responded by gripping her arm and hurrying her along faster. She stumbled and her stomach dropped so hard, she thought she might fall with it. He didn’t let her. Instead, he pushed her to run, though the way the bridge swayed and lurched made the hair on arms and every strand on her head all stand on end.

The second time she stumbled, she turned her head to beg he let her go, but her eyes fell on a shadow behind them and fear tangled her legs. She couldn’t get up, yet couldn’t make herself sit down.

“I know,” Gil breathed as he hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her back to her feet. He lifted her as easily as the sewing basket and she braced a hand against his chest as he righted her. She’d expected the muscle, given his strength, but to feel it beneath her palm was something else entirely. It sent an unexpected wave of comfort through her body, leaving a warm tingle like the touch of magic in her hand.

He didn’t give her a chance to wonder. Nor was it an ideal time for it, because the shadow behind them resolved into a bundled figure, and the shape at the other end of the bridge split into three.

Gil still urged her forward. Had he been alone, she didn’t doubt he would sprint the whole way. The swaying kept her from meeting his demands and he restrained himself to stay at her side. His arm remained around her, but his hand no more than brushed her side. It felt different; she glanced down. He had a knife. There was one in his other hand, too. When had he drawn them? She hadn’t felt him pull away.

“They mean to trap us near the other side. They’ll demand our money and supplies and threaten to throw us off the bridge if we refuse.” Gil’s footing was sure, stable. No matter how his cloak snapped in the wind, he remained unruffled. Thea abandoned the idea of holding the rope sides of the bridge and clung to him, instead. His brows drew together in clear consternation. “I won’t be able to fight if you do that.”

“And I won’t be able to stay on this Light-forsaken bridge if I let go.”

The sound he made was nothing short of aggrieved, but he pressed onward.

The bandits closed in from both sides.

To Thea’s relief, only two had joined them on the bridge. Their added weight kept it from swaying so hard and together, she and Gil moved faster.

“You’ll go no further,” the bandit ahead of them shouted.

“Farther,” Gil replied.

The man’s face scrunched. “Eh?”

“Further is figurative. Farther is distance. Regardless, I intend to do both, so I suggest you step out of my way.”

The bandit gave no heed. “Silver-tongued nobles and your fancy words,” he snarled. “Bet your purse is really fat!”

Gil sighed. “Get the other.”

“What?” Thea squeaked. She wasn’t ready to fight. She’d never fought, not really. Sparring against Gil, who meant her no harm, was nothing like dueling a thief on a swaying rope walkway above a foggy chasm!

She had no chance for further protest. Gil slipped past her, knives out and the sewing basket still on his arm, the aggression in his step so thick, it alone made the bandit ahead of them inch back.

Thea turned to see the man advancing on them from behind. He already had a knife out, but the way he moved was so unlike Gil that it gave her no taste of threat. She shifted her bags against her back and drew her borrowed dagger from its sheath. If she didn’t lose it, it would be a miracle.

A thump and scrape shook the bridge. A cry from Gil’s opponent followed. She dared not look back and braced instead, silently praying whatever was going on behind her would deter the bandit coming her way.

It didn’t. He lurched toward her, arm drawn back to swing. Her feet were already planted when she parried the blow, but it was harder than anything Gil had thrown at her yet, and the force sent tremors down her arms that turned her muscles to jelly.

He came closer, stabbing instead of swinging, and she ducked under his lunge to jab at his stomach. The tip of her knife glanced off something hard. Armor, maybe—she didn’t have enough experience to know. His arm came back hard and he struck at her head with the hilt of his knife. He missed and punched her shoulder instead. It was enough to throw her off balance and she lurched against the ropes.

Idiot, she snarled at herself. What was she doing? A few nights of practice hardly meant she knew how to fight.

The bandit lunged toward her again. She dropped to the planks to escape and slashed upward, toward his thigh instead of his stomach. The blade sliced through his breeches and bit into his skin. He screamed something, the words lost beneath her concentration and the howling winds. He staggered close and she stood fast, bringing her clenched fist up into his jaw. The dagger’s hilt in her hand made her knuckles crack that much harder against his chin. He howled and reeled back against the ropes on the opposite side.

Thea gasped for breath. Her hands shook and her bones ached from the impact, but the man grabbed hold of the ropes to keep from falling and did not move on her again. She dared a glance in the direction they’d been going, half expecting to see Gil locked in battle.

He stood with his arms crossed, three men sprawled on the bridge behind him and a smirk on his face. “Good.”

She gaped. “You could have helped me!”

“Yes, but you’re better served by learning to manage on your own.” He offered a hand. His knives were already put away.

Behind his fluttering cloak, one of the men reached to grab Gil’s foot.

“Look out!” she cried.

Gil barely glanced his way. He stomped once, hard, and the man rolled away with a yowl.

Thea gasped and lunged forward too late to stop him.

The bandit’s legs went over the edge and panic took his face.

Gil hissed something and dropped to his knees. His hand snapped out and latched onto the man’s arm as his body scraped over the ends of the planks. The bandit’s full weight jerked him down flat.

“Mercy!” the man screamed. He clutched Gil’s wrist with his free hand, his legs flailing over the trench.

“Light-blasted fool,” Gil growled as he wrenched his other arm free of the sewing basket and strained to lift him.

Thea scrambled backwards to get out of the way and almost tripped over the man she’d punched. He snagged her by the arms and she drove an elbow back hard. It hit whatever armor he wore beneath his coat and sent pain lancing up and down her arm.

The other two men on the bridge scrambled to aid their companion. One grabbed Gil by the shoulders and the other reached down to seize his dangling friend’s arm, and the three pulled back.

Terror held the man’s eyes wide as he came back from the abyss. He sprawled flat on the bridge, gasping and whispering prayers of thanks more fervent than anything Thea had ever heard.

Gil stood straight. He offered them nothing, no warning or comeuppance, just took the basket from the planks and turned to extend a hand toward Thea.

The man who held her arms didn’t just release her. He inched forward, aiding her in retaining her balance as she stepped over his praying friend.

Thea slid her hand into Gil’s and he gave it a squeeze, then pulled her the rest of the way across the bridge. Their silence was punctuated by the soft moans of the wind and behind them, the bandits said nothing.

When they reached solid ground again, Thea looked back. The four men remained, all of them watching, but if they spoke, their words were lost to the mountains.

“You saved him,” she said.

Gil grunted. “One life. That’s what I’ll take. He is not worth the expense.”

Her hand ached. She shook it and then wriggled it into her pocket in hopes the warmth there would ease the pain in her knuckles. “You mean to kill someone in particular, don’t you?”

“That is my job.”

“A job you gave yourself.”

“Who ordered it doesn’t matter. It will be done.”

“Why?”

He paused, the look in his eyes one she hadn’t seen since the beginning. Cold, threatening. The eyes of a man who would not be deterred. “You claw for answers, yet you do not consider the danger in having them.” Then he looked away, and the hard edges of his expression softened. “I will discuss this no further.” He strode ahead, toward a bend where the mountainside would shield them from the wind.

Thea stared at his back for a moment before she made her decision. She had one more question, and this time, she would not hold her tongue. “Is it worth it, Gil?” she asked as she jogged to catch up with his long-legged gait. “This mission you’re on, this life you must take. Is it worth it?”

He raised his chin and she didn’t think he would answer, but his words came, soft and somehow resigned. “We will see.”