The Wicked Born

Chapter 1

Tabitha palmed the hilt of her dagger, keeping her face downcast and under the safety of her hooded cloak—away from prying eyes—as she trailed her target through the crowded market square. She needn't keep her eyes on him as he weaved through the mass of people—she scented and traced him here from a mile off, and she could surely do it again if the need arose.

He was unaware of the shadow he picked up during his excursion into the town, that much was known for fact. If he had somehow become aware of her presence, he'd be running for his life by now.

She trailed him with a lethal quiet, not bothering with niceties and manners as she accidentally slammed into the civilians that surrounded them. She hit one drunken man particularly hard, and she knew immediately that he had fallen straight on his ass from the string of obscene curses he made to her retreating figure. On a normal day, she would have ripped his throat out with her teeth for the disrespect he dared to throw her way. But today was not normal.

She had been tracking her target for three months and had begun to give up hope when she scented him passing through the town. Picking up supplies, most likely, before he would retreat back to whatever cave he had been hiding in since he caught wind of Tabitha's hunt for his head. Retreat and not return again until he was sure that she had given up on her duty and returned to Demetria.

"Come into my tent," an old, womanly voice crooned as Tabitha made her way past. She felt a warm, arthritic hand come to rest on her forearm. Tabitha stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the hand that was now curled around her arm but not yet revealing her face to the woman. "I can predict your future for a price. A beautiful one, I can already tell. Come, and I will allow you the pleasure of knowing who you are to marry."

A witch, the woman claimed to be, with a gift for seeing into the future. One quick sniff of the air surrounding her confirmed what she had suspected—the old woman was nothing of the sort. A crazy old bat, maybe. But definitely not a witch.

Tabitha attempted to lightly yank her arm away, not trying to cause more of a disturbance further than she already had when she knocked the man to the ground. The last thing she needed was for her target to become spooked and attempt to flee when he was out of her sights.

To her dismay, the woman only tightened her grip on Tabitha's forearm. "Come. The price is such a small one for knowing such an important part of your future."

Tabitha's patience snapped at this. She raised her gaze slowly to meet to the woman's, allowing herself a slight smirk when she saw the reaction the woman had when taking in her features for the first time.

A shocked gasp fell from the woman's frail lips and she ripped her hand away from Tabitha's forearm as if she had been burned to the touch. The woman had long, wispy silver hair and dark brown eyes with deep wrinkles surrounding each socket. Curved around her temple was an intricate design—it looked quite believable to the naked eye but Tabitha knew the truth. Paint, perhaps.

The woman's countenance went from one of shock to utter terror in the blink of an eye. She took two small steps backwards, away from Tabitha's piercing gaze.

"Future teller, you say?" Tabitha mocked, unable to keep a smirk from upturning her lips when she saw the woman take another two steps back. The fear that rolled off the woman came in undulating waves—enough for Tabitha to get drunk off of, if she wanted. "Tell me, witch," the woman flinched at the emphasis Tabitha put on the word, "do you see yourself surviving this encounter?"

"F-forgive me," the woman stuttered, the fake design that graced her temple beginning to melt away with the sweat that started to perspire on her forehead. "I didn't—I couldn't—"