one of their own. But no one has come to claim him. We are not sure what to do. But you are of the guilds. You will know of the proper thing to do. Take care of this situation, free us of him, and all hard feelings will disappear.”
She stared at him in dismay. Her? Deal with a dark guild assassin?! Great wind and stars, how was she supposed to know what to do with him? In desperation, she looked at Wolf, hoping he had an idea.
He cocked a brow back at her, expression saying, You got us into this. You can get us back out again.
Some help he was. Grumbling mentally, she plastered a smile on her face and assured the Ahbiren, “I’ll take care of it personally.”
The Ahbiren—crafty old fox that he was—smiled back at her and said sweetly, “You are a true friend, Guildmaster.”
Siobhan was sure that she would like his smile better after she knocked a few teeth out of his head. Reigning in the impulse, she turned on her heel and headed for the assassin. She had no idea what she would do next, but getting more information seemed like a good first step.
Siobhan stared at the assassin from several feet away. Funny, he seemed so un-assassin-like at that moment she had a hard time imagining him as some murderous man lurking in the shadows. He sat hunched in on himself, pale and tired, beyond bored with life. In many respects, he looked every inch the Wynngaardian—the ice blond hair, naturally pale skin and blue eyes were very typical of this people. But unlike most of them, he didn’t have the enormous build or height. Despite being slumped over like that, she could tell he wouldn’t stand very tall and he had a wiry structure to him instead of a massive muscularity like Wolf. Malnutrition, perhaps? She’d seen children of this country fail to grow to their full potential simply because they didn’t have enough to eat in their formative years.
He turned his eyes up to meet hers and a hint of something crossed his face. Curiosity, perhaps? She reacted to his stare without thinking, moving toward him. Wolf caught her arm before she made it a full step and dragged her to a halt.
“What are you doing?” he murmured to her in a low tone.
“I want to talk to him,” she responded instantly.
“Why?” Wolf’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Siobhan, there isn’t a thing you need to know about that man. He came in here to do a dirty job and failed. He’s now a problem to the village, a problem I can quickly solve by separating his head from his neck.”
She took in a deep breath for patience. “Do we know that? Really? Wolf, think about this. He’s been sitting here locked up for three weeks and not one soul has come here to either see if he finished the job or died in the attempt. No one has come looking for him.” Wolf opened his mouth to respond, paused, and closed it again as he took on her meaning. “You understand what that means, right? You should, even more than I. When a member of a dark guild fails, he isn’t helped. He’s gotten rid of.”
Wolf looked away at that. She didn’t press the point, as Wolf had experienced firsthand what happened to someone who was no longer useful to a dark guild. They were disposed of, one way or another. Wolf had been insanely lucky to have been sold when he was deemed “useless.” Most were not dealt so kind of a fate.
“The only reason he’s sitting there, alive, is that his guild assumed he was killed in his failed attempt.”
Raising a hand, he scrubbed at his forehead roughly. “So? If you understand that, what’s the point of talking to him?”
“Because he’s a valuable resource. And I don’t waste resources.” Shaking off his restraining arm, she marched dead ahead again and paused two feet away from the assassin.
He watched her with cold blue eyes, not with any hostile intent, but with open wariness. She didn’t see any signs of fear, though. In his situation, she would think he would feel some fear of what was to come. “I’m Siobhan Maley, Guildmaster of Deepwoods. You are?”
This civil greeting surprised him, a little, and he sat up straighter, becoming more animated as he responded, “Most know me as Bloodless.”
“Is that a description of your occupation or a warning?” Surely it couldn’t be a name.