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  Tangled Web

  The Deizian Empire • Book One

  Crista McHugh

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Crista McHugh

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Heather Howland

  Cover design by Heather Howland

  Print ISBN 978-1-62061-031-2

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-62061-032-9

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  To my mom, who fought the good fight until the very end.

  1

  You’ll never find a knot you can’t unravel.

  The old soothsayer’s words mocked Azurha more loudly than usual tonight. She strained against the hemp ropes that bound her wrists and ankles to the thick wooden posts, sending new trickles of blood down her copper brown arms.

  For three days, she’d been forced to stand in the center of the room like this, a plaything for her master and his friends. For three days, she’d endured whatever sick fetishes they wanted to satisfy.

  For three days, she fought hard to keep her spirit from breaking.

  She whispered a string of curses, taking care to speak softly so she wouldn’t wake her master and his friends. The first birdsongs of dawn filtered from the courtyard, and the purple light of a distant supernova gave way to the brighter yellow sun. She cringed. How much longer would the wine dull their senses and leave them adrift in their drunken slumber? Would they let her go today?

  Footsteps shuffled outside. Ramina peeked into the room and shook her head at the mess strewn across the floor. Azurha could almost imagine her fellow slave clucking her tongue if she had one, but their master had cut it out years ago.

  Azurha beckoned her over by jerking her head. Her throat rivaled the blue sand deserts to the south, making speech impossible. Her cracked lips formed the word, “water,” and the other slave nodded. She tiptoed past the sleeping men and lifted a glass to Azurha’s mouth.

  The woman’s small act of kindness nearly freed the sob lodged in Azurha’s chest. Most of the other slaves regarded her with suspicion. Some even accused her of being cursed. She almost agreed with them. With her bright teal eyes, she stood out from the other Alpirions, which was why she had captured the unwanted attention of her master.

  “Thank you, Ramina,” she whispered once she’d soothed the dryness in her mouth.

  The older woman stared at the hemp ropes and shook her head. The sadness in her eyes told Azurha she wasn’t the first slave to be bound like this. Ramina turned to one of the men. A snarl curled her lip. She nudged him with her foot.

  “No, don’t wake him, please,” Azurha begged. When he didn’t stir, Ramina drew her foot back to deliver a stronger blow. Content that he was sleeping like the dead, she gave Azurha a sly grin and pulled a small pouch from her pocket. She poured some of the dark green powder into the wine jar, shaking with silent laughter the entire time.

  The old woman had drugged them. No wonder they were sleeping like the dead now. Azurha prayed to the gods it was a poison to finish them off.

  The other slave held her finger to her lips, urging Azurha not to tell anyone. As if she would. Their master’s death would be a blessing on them all. He had no heirs. When he died, they would gain their freedom, unless he’d already arranged to bequeath them to the next territorial magistrate.

  Ramina bent down and picked up a broken piece of crockery. She flipped it over and examined it before she approached Azurha with the same wicked smile on her face.

  Azurha’s heart jumped into her throat, blocking all air from entering her lungs. By the gods, Ramina wasn’t going to kill her, too?

  Instead of aiming for her flesh, Ramina sliced the sharp edges across one of the ropes binding Azurha’s wrists. Some of the tension eased against her skin, and after a few more swipes, the hemp gave way. She was free.

  The older woman smiled and pressed the clay fragment into Azurha’s palm. Hope warmed the chill from her soul, and she silently thanked Ramina for giving her this opportunity. She’d have her freedom in more than one way today.

  The sound of voices echoed across the villa. Her pulse raced. The other slaves were waking up, and she only had a short time to cut through the rest of the ropes before they discovered her. She’d borne enough humiliation during the last three days without having their disapproving glares on her.

  Ramina ducked into the courtyard, leaving Azurha alone. The voices faded back into the kitchen area while she sawed through the next rope. Her raw skin stung when the air hit the wounds on her wrists, but the prospect of freedom dulled it. She made quick work of the ropes around her ankles, her breath coming fast and quick, as if she was already running away.

  A snort nearby paralyzed her with fear. She huddled in the corner, waiting for whoever it was to roll over and go back to sleep. Instead of listening to her prayers, the gods mocked her. Her master opened his groggy eyes and, despite his drugged state, focused his gaze on her.

  Sweat prickled at the base of her neck, and her stomach lurched. What kind of punishment will he have in store for me now? How could anything be worse than what I’ve already endured? As soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer. Death would be kinder than his punishments.

  Her vision turned red, and fire raced through her limbs. She sprung from the corner, the ropes around her ankles whipping her shins as she pounced on him. The piece of crockery had lost its sharp edge after sawing though the hemp, but she still drew blood when she raked it across his throat. The second slice pierced his windpipe. The deep gurgling noise blocked his cries for help. A cough splattered her face and arms with blood, but she continued to push the fragment deeper into his neck until she hit bone.

  For a brief second, a twinge of horror raced up her spine. But one glance at the torn flesh over her wrists revived her memories of all that had happened at his hands. He would pay for raping her over and over again, for torturing Ramina and the other slaves. Men like him didn’t deserve to live.

  Her hands shook as she watched the life drain from his eyes. What was done was done. There was no turning back. And although she’d just won freedom for her fellow slaves, she’d practically signed her own death warrant.

  The clay fragment slipped from her fingers. Time became her enemy now. How many seconds did she have to escape before one of the other slaves discovered his body?

  Azurha grabbed a sheet to cover her torn tunic and ran across the courtyard, not pausing at the fountain to wash the blood from her hands. Never in her wildest nightmares had she expected this. She tightened the thin fabric around her chest and scrambled over the wall. Hopefully, she’d be miles away by the time they found his body. Away from here and a free woman.

  The cobblestones cut into her bare feet, but the streets were mostly empty at this time of morning, the skies free of any Deizian airships. No one to see her blood-splattered body and face. No one to care that her master had bound her and forced himself on her. No one to watch her flee from the villa.

  Tears stung her eyes as she replayed the last few days in her mind. She ducked into an alley and hid in the shadows while she let them fall. The law called for the swift punishment of murderers, but as a slave, she didn’t have the right to a trial. She would be like a beast, hunted by anyone who recognized her. No chance to tell her side of the story, to describe the hell she had been subjected to.

  A hand clamped down on her shoulder. “What
do we have here?” a deep voice asked. “A runaway slave?”

  Azurha’s heart skipped a beat. A thick cowl covered his face, and his grip tightened when she tried to free herself. “Please be kind,” she whispered.

  He moved closer to her. “I mean you no harm. You’ve just saved me the trouble of killing your master.”

  Her mouth went dry. She was as sure as dead once the authorities caught her. But was this stranger any safer? “What do you mean?”

  His laughter mocked her. “Come with me, little rabbit, and I will make you more than you are.”

  2

  7 years later

  You’ll never find a knot you can’t unravel.

  The soothsayer’s words from years ago sent a shiver down Azurha’s spine. The last time she’d heard them was the day she’d slit her master’s throat. It did not bode well for this job.

  She’d barely been more than a child when an old crone had approached the home of her master, promising to tell him of his future. Her master had shoved her out into the street, claiming he made his own future and didn’t need to listen to old woman’s rants. Feeling pity for her, Azurha snuck outside to offer her drink of water, never knowing how much the soothsayer’s words would come to haunt her.

  That felt like a lifetime ago. Since then, she learned pity could be a liability in her occupation.

  She strolled along the market and pretended to read the inscription on one of the columns that celebrated the Deizian victory over the Alpirions at the Battle of Silbus. The ore deposits there had magnified the emperor’s magic, collapsing the ground from underneath the Alpirion army. It was the same battle that had turned her parents into slaves. She didn’t need to be reminded of that.

  Her mind focused on the conversations around her. Her contact had told her he would find her by using a distinct phrase that would not seem too out of place in a market. She edged closer to the fishmongers.

  To her left, a middle aged Elymanian woman crept alongside her and murmured, “Fresh fish tastes better after the Spring Equinox.”

  “Yes, but pork is always pleasant when it’s freshly killed,” she replied.

  The woman looked up at her, her hands shaking, and nodded. The scent of sweat that clung to her skin revealed her to be a member of the lower classes dressed in a gentlewoman’s clothes. An old ruse, but one Azurha readily saw through. She followed the woman through the crowded market and up the hill where the wealthier merchants and government figures lived. Elaborate mansions replaced the simple homes below, becoming more ostentatious the higher they climbed. Some of the chill eased from her body. At least she would be guaranteed a nice sum of money for this job.

  The woman glanced over her shoulder and entered the gate before disappearing into the shadows behind an extravagant Deizian chariot adorned with elaborate gold filigree. Apparently, the lord of the house wasn’t satisfied with the fact it required neither wheels nor horses to fly over the streets. He needed to proclaim both his possession of magic and his station in the gaudiest way possible.

  Azurha’s gut clenched as the soothsayer’s words echoed in her mind. She straightened her tunic and brushed her hands over the two daggers concealed beneath the fabric. Her keen eyes surveyed the wealth of her prospective employer. Marble statues of the gods lined the walls of the garden. A glance further down the colonnade showed another courtyard with a gurgling fountain. Two courtyards was a symbol of wealth in this town, and the masts of the airship that rose over the roof signaled this was the home of a powerful Deizian. She needed to watch her manners. Any perceived insult could end in unnecessary bloodshed.

  The woman opened the door to a room on the other side of the courtyard, and the color drained from her face. She waited for Azurha to enter. The tremor in her hands intensified.

  When the doors closed behind her, Azurha checked the room for any possible traps. Not seeing any, she then searched for escape routes and alternative weapons. It was one of the first lessons Cassius taught her when he took her under his wing—an assassin was always prepared. He’d been a strict teacher, but what she learned from him had proved invaluable. And he’d given her freedom by teaching her the business, an occupation where she could support herself without selling her body.

  Voices echoed from the courtyard, and the door inched open. Azurha crouched behind an urn. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of a dagger, ready to draw it if needed.

  “I hope your trust is well placed,” a man’s voice said. His accent was a mixture of Elymanian and Deizian. Her prospective employer.

  “I trained her myself, Pontus. She is as deadly as she is beautiful.”

  Azurha almost dropped her dagger. The last time she’d heard that voice was two years ago, as he boarded an airship that had been attacked by the Barbarians. A cosmic storm had weakened the barrier long enough for them to slip through the shield that protected the empire. They’d left no survivors, and her heart had ached for months when she leaned of his demise.

  She stepped out from behind the urn. “Cassius?”

  The familiar face grinned at her, although time had added more wrinkles and the sun had bronzed it far more than she’d remembered from their life of hiding in the shadows. He stretched out his arms to welcome her. “Little Rabbit.”

  She crossed the room, her emotions warring with each step. Part of her was overjoyed at seeing her mentor after all these years, the man who’d been her rock during those early dark days when she battled the demons of her past, but her heart reminded her of the months she’d spent grieving him.

  When she got close enough to touch him, she slapped his face. “I thought you were dead, you asshole.” Then she wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug.

  Cassius returned the hug. “I guess I deserved that.”

  “Are you sure she’s stable enough for my needs?” Pontus asked. He ran his finger along the purple border of his fine linen tunic as if to flash his wealth before his two plainly dressed guests.

  “I wouldn’t have recommended her if she wasn’t,” Cassius replied.

  She broke away from her resurrected mentor to assess her potential employer. Spurius Pontus Gurges, the provincial governor. Perhaps forty summers with a wiry frame and gaunt face, he was a man with blood connections to the emperor and ambitions to match. Her eyes narrowed. She had no problems killing when paid well for it, but if the whispers were correct, Pontus wanted more than just a troublesome rival removed.

  He scrutinized her in a similar manner. “You are right, Cassius—she is beautiful enough for my plan. I’ve never seen eyes that color, especially in a woman with such a dark complexion. But what of her skills?”

  “She spent nearly seven years under my tutelage. She can kill a man in at least three dozen ways and slip out before she’s caught. I’m sure you’ve heard of her reputation. I’m not the only one who calls her Rabbit.”

  Pontus turned his pale blue gaze to her. His brown hair betrayed the Elymanian taint in his bloodlines, but only the Deizians had eyes like that. “You’re the Rabbit?”

  The corner of her mouth quirked up into a half smile as she nodded. “Three dozen is being modest.”

  “I find your reputation to be largely exaggerated.” He turned his back to her.

  The whisper of her blade filled the second of the silence before she pressed it against his throat. “You have doubts about my abilities?”

  He tensed. His Adam’s apple bobbed against the blade, shaving the top layer of skin away. “I could have you arrested and executed for this.”

  “You’d be dead before you cried out for help.”

  Cassius crossed his arms and grinned. “You don’t want to anger Azurha, Pontus. She may prove to be a useful ally.”

  “Fine, she has proven she is quick and silent. No need to continue this demonstration.”

  Her mentor nodded, and she concealed the knife back under her tunic. “Just so we understand each other, Governor.”

  She turned to her former mentor. “Although I wonder w
hy you asked for me, I’m even more curious how you cheated death, Cassius.”

  “What was the third rule I taught you?”

  She closed her eyes and recalled her lessons during her first weeks with him. “Never believe someone is dead until you hear their heart stop beating.”

  “And you were gullible enough to believe I was killed by Barbarians.”

  “There wasn’t a body for me to examine.” A fist formed in her stomach. She’d been fooled by her mentor. “Why didn’t you contact me to let me know you survived?”

  “As much as I’d love to continue this warm reunion,” Pontus interrupted, “I have more important matters to discuss. Shall we talk business?” He poured a glass of wine and sank into one of the cushioned chairs.

  She declined the glass of wine Cassius offered her and sat in a chair across from the men. “Why did you summon me here?”

  “I have a job for you. It will not be simple. I’d originally wanted Cassius for it, but now he tells me he’s retired from the assassination business.”

  Cassius shrugged, holding his palms up long enough for her to notice the violet tinge to them. His tunic was well made, but simple, making him appear to be a typical middle-aged Elymanian plantation owner. “Sometimes a man finds happiness in the simple things in life. Like growing grapes.”

  “Pathetic,” Pontus sneered.

  “If your hands were smeared with as much blood as mine, you’d grab happiness however you could find it.”

  Azurha glanced down at her own hands. She’d lost count of how many people she’d killed over the years. Despite his warning to harden her heart if she wanted to make a career of this, she still felt moments of remorse for the countless faces that stared up at her in death when she was finished with them.

  Cassius caught her reaction and gave her a sad smile. He’d once told her he regretted turning her into what she was, but she’d laughed at him then. Being a killer was an improvement over what she had been subjected to as a slave.

  She erased any emotion from her face. “What do you have in mind for me, Pontus?”