Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 58 - Aster

I slip into the shadows of the Kadranian tents. In the silence of sleeping men, one of Agraund's lectures echoes in my ears.

You and your brother stand for all the people. You do not ask them to do what you would not.

It's a good thing that sneaking is a slow matter. If anything faster were required, I fear my body would betray me after our hard pace under and through the city. I used to think the only use for Agraund teaching me to move quietly was to disappear from tedious ballrooms. Now, I'm grateful it takes so little effort to seek out the flattest patches of dead grass and stand motionless in the shadows. Yet even as they glide across the camp, my feet long to run back to those glittering vipers.

Here, I have become the snake in the grass.

Doubt will be your biggest enemy. Not the people you're sneaking past; they're your obstacle. Doubt freezes your mind and fumbles your steps. You know what you're doing. Let fear heighten your awareness, but don't let it jitter your feet and hands. That's when you rush, that's when you jump, and that's when they see you.

I pull in a steadying breath. The cloak breaks up my form; the cowl hides my face and hair. Deep in the shadows, slipping as close against the black and brown tents as I can, the darkness should be thick enough to conceal me. I already made it past their scarce nightguard—they're keeping watch for an approaching company, not for a single person. And now, within their camp, they don't expect moving shadows against their tents, so they won't see this one. Nerves flutter in my throat, but my steps are sure.

If in the strategy room it was the best option, then don't second guess it in the dark. In that moment, you are not yourself, but Morineaux's silent weapon.

I kneel behind a large tent, and certainty ices me over. I am all that I am for Morineaux.

The dagger that I don't normally carry pierces the leather, and, slowly, I work the blade up the tent wall. As it goes, I strain to hear movement within, to detect feet on snow behind me. The popping campfire near the entrance already revealed no guard in the front. I wonder if it's because they've lost too many fighters or if the beast inside thinks danger will always challenge him on his feet, with his blade in hand. He hasn't learned that death comes nameless and clothed in shadows, or that it greets you as you look away.

It doesn't take much before I can slide inside. A man with long, part-braided, part-knotted hair lies before me, stinking fur blankets wrapped around him. A scar in the shape of a bear's claw marks his forehead. This dirty brute is what constitutes a leader among this people.

I kneel beside his defenseless form.

His is the face of the war. My lips curl. This creature orders its hordes to raid my country, strike my wall, sneak into my castle and attack my Queen. If he is so inhuman as to murder us while we sleep, then this is his just execution.