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Antiva is a land of murderers and thieves, assassins and kings, blood and wine. Here, the Maker is a shaft of sunlight through stained glass, a basin of clear cool water in the midday heat, the pulse beating in the throat of a dead man.
Laws and royals do not rule here; it is well known that it is the Crows who hold the true power. They need only wish a man dead and it is done, whether he be the lowliest fisherman or the lover of the Divine.
To succeed in Antiva, one must be a crow. Every politician, every businessman, every noble is somehow affiliated with one or other of the assassin houses. All money is blood money.
And Diego Barequa is one of the wealthiest businessmen in the country. In gold and blood, both.
Head of House Barequa and one of the eight Talons of the Crows, Diego was once one of the guild’s foremost assassins. He progressed his career quickly by murdering his way up the ranks, eventually killing the previous head of the house and assuming his new role. Now, fifteen years later, he’s greying at the temples and fat around the middle, too used to the luxuries of the top.
But really, he thinks as he pads around his villa in Antiva City, clad in nothing but a silk robe from Tevinter, why should he deny himself the finer things in life? Killing is a lucrative business, and he was once the best. If he indulges in a little wine, a little flesh, who’s to judge? Each of his four villas may be worth a king’s ransom, but baby, he killed those kings.
He opens the glass doors to his balcony, steps out into the night. Antiva City never truly sleeps, the lights dotted around the streets reflect the stars above. Evening is a balm after the heat of the day, a slight breeze blowing in off the sea, the stone beneath his feet still warm from a day soaking up the sun.
Diego lounges against the stone balustrade, a glass of the best Antivan wine dangling from his fingertips. In the next room along, his bodyguards Vaxus and Patik stand silent as pillars. He murdered the last Talon of House Barequa, and he’s heard whispers that he’s gone soft, no longer the great Talon he once was. He will not be a stepping stone on someone else’s career path.
Tonight, however, could cement his name as a great Talon once more. One of the most famous assassins alive wishes to join his house. The once-great, now disgraced Zevran of House Arainai.
It is almost certainly a trap. He would be a fool to consider otherwise. But if it is not, then he will have recruited one of the strongest assassins alive. And if it is a trap, well. Then Diego will have killed that famed assassin. Either way, he is not soft.
The crow is due to arrive at any moment. Diego considers changing; decides against it. He has his bodyguards. They are more than capable of taking down any threat this crow might pose, and a relaxed presentation on his part will appear more powerful. He has no reason to fear.
All the same, he has numerous weapons concealed around his villa. If things take a turn for the worse, he will hardly be defenceless.
Adiv appears in the doorway with a low bow.
‘Your visitor has arrived, master.’
‘Take him to the study; do not let him out of your sight.’
He finishes his wine unhurried. He has always enjoyed making a man sweat.
On his way back inside, Vaxus and Patik fall in behind him silently.
The assassin is an elf, with a deep Antivan complexion but light sun-kissed hair. He is tall for an elf, but still stands a head shorter than Diego, which pleases him. He is not dressed for a fight, in a simple shirt and breeches. There is a short dagger strapped to his hip.
Diego takes all this in quickly, the snake-quick observation of an assassin.
‘Ah, greetings and good fortune my friend,’ he says with the wide smile of a cobra sizing up a meal. ‘I am so very pleased you reached out to me. Can I offer you some wine? It is older than your grandfather, I think.’
Zevran offers a smile of his own, a sweeping bow. ‘The pleasure is all mine.’
Diego motions for the crow to be seated on one of the high-backed mahogany chairs in the centre of the room, lowers himself into his own chair. Affects superiority.
‘Leave us,’ he says to his servant with an imperious flick of the wrist. ‘Return with a bottle of the 9:03 Seleny red.’
Adiv bows deeply, leaves silently.
The two assassins smile at each other like sharks.
‘Please, my dear friend, there is no need for that here,’ Diego says congenially, motioning to the dagger. ‘We are here to talk business, after all. Allow my servant to place it somewhere for safe keeping. My bodyguards are suspicious, you see, and one wouldn’t want them to get the wrong impression.’
Zevran matches him for slimy civility, beat for beat. ‘Of course not,’ he says with a sharp grin, unbuckling his weapon and handing it to Vaxus.
They talk inanities for a few moments; Diego praises some of Zevran’s work, he in return offers abject flattery to his host. Diego knows it is not genuine, but that does not mean he can’t preen a little.
Minutes pass. Adiv has yet to return with the wine. What’s keeping him?
Continuing his posturing, Diego orders Vaxus to check for the absent servant. It is probably nothing; probably just a stupid boy forgetting which wine is which, or dropping a glass. But in his line of work, paranoia is just called business sense.
When five minutes have passed and Vaxus does not reappear, Diego knows something is wrong.
And Zevran just sits there smiling.
‘What have you done?’ Diego spits, leaning forward, dropping all pretence of civility. ‘You are one disgraced elf against the greatest assassin there ever was, do you truly think you can best me?’
The elf merely raises an eyebrow. ‘My dear friend, I have done nothing. If your servants are incapable of finding the correct wine, the fault hardly lies with me.’
Diego decides he’s going to kill him. Reaches for the dagger beneath his chair.
Before he can move, Zevran is across the room and pressing a blade into his neck. His own blade, he notices – the handle is Par Vollen ivory inlaid with gold, he would recognise it anywhere. He hears Patik’s indrawn breath behind him, but the man is frozen while there is a knife to his master’s neck. He’s useless now.
‘I have sprung no trap, my friend,’ Zevran says lightly, ‘whoever is causing you such trouble is no associate of mine. However, I would be more than willing to cause you much more trouble if you try to reach for that dagger of yours. I would split your head from your neck without hesitation.’
Diego has been an assassin. He knows the elf speaks true.
‘You are quick on the draw. But if this is not your work, then perhaps we have a common enemy?’
Zevran just laughs. ‘I sincerely doubt it. In fact, I would go so far as to say any enemy of yours is a friend of mine.’
So that’s how it is. Diego shifts uncomfortably in his chair. If he can just reach for his dagger, maybe while Zevran is distracted – maybe if Patik just does his fucking job-
The door bursts open, banging against the priceless mural on the wall. Diego can’t help his wince.
There’s another elf in the doorway – what is this, the elven quarter? Zevran must have been lying when he said they were not working together. This newcomer is short and stocky, with close-cropped hair and a ragged scar down one side of their face. And they’re staring at Zevran.
‘What the fuck?’ Siegfried says. ‘Zevran, you’re Diego’s contact?’
Zevran is just as surprised as she is. ‘You are the one who has been causing trouble this whole time? My dear, you know I love when you kill bad men for me, but you said you were not going to make a move until I was ready to join you.’
‘I wasn’t, but Adiv told me Diego set up a meeting with an important crow and I couldn’t just let that happen. Last I heard, you were still back in Rialto with a broken leg. How was I to know you were the crow?’
‘Anders stopped by,’ Zevran says by way of explanation. ‘And I thought I’d get some information from our portly friend here. Technically, my dear, you’re crashing my interrogation.’
Siegfried rolls her eyes. ‘You’re crashing my assassination.’
Diego just sits in horrified silence. These two disorganised elves are the ones, out of hundreds, who finally managed to get the jump on him?
‘Aren’t you going to do something?’ he snaps at Patik, and the dwarf just shrugs.
‘Oh no, I have an arrangement with Vaxus and Patik,’ Siegfried says, almost as an afterthought. ‘Turns out they’re not massive fans of you. Neither, by the way, is Adiv. Yes, he’s seen the way you look at him, you disgusting prick. That’s actually how we found you.’
Zevran smiles a wolf’s smile. ‘We have friends in the Red Jennies.’
Taken down by a disgraced crow, a few servants, and whoever the hell this newcomer is. How utterly embarrassing.
‘I have money,’ he says, and even he can hear the desperation in his own voice. ‘Look at this place, you could be rich! You want money? Take it. It’s all yours.’
Zevran hums, turns to Siegfried. ‘You know, my dear, it is tempting.’
She bats him lightly on the shoulder, scolding. ‘Don’t tease. Do you want to kill him or shall I?’
Diego’s muscles unfreeze, and he goes for the dagger. Lunges forward while the elves are distracted, aiming for Zevran’s unprotected abdomen. A killing blow.
He’s not even halfway out of the chair when Siegfried stabs him through the back of the neck. The dagger falls from his grasp; his body slumps to the floor.
She toes his side curiously. ‘I guess that answers that one.’
Zevran raises an eyebrow at her. ‘I was going to dodge that.’
‘I know. But he was pissing me off, anyway. Take something from the villa if you really want it.’
‘You know that was just for show, my dear. I already have everything-’
‘Everything you want, yeah, I know, you romantic Antivan you.’ She turns to the silent dwarf. ‘Hey, thanks Patik. Vaxus and Adiv have already left; I told them to take anything they wanted from here and leave the city, and I suggest you do the same.’
Patik nods, signs his thanks.
‘Don’t mention it. I bet he was a shitty boss. I know the like.’
‘Thank you for your help, my friend,’ Zevran says with a warm smile. ‘Be careful, you may have made a few enemies today.’
‘And a few friends,’ Siegfried says seriously. ‘If anyone gives you trouble, send word and we’ll straighten them out. Zevran, Adiv gave me your knife. Next time if someone asks you to give up your weapon just stab them and get it over with.’
Zevran tsks. ‘You have no head for diplomacy, my dear.’
‘You’re an assassin, not a diplomat.’
‘Manipulation, then.’
‘That’s more like it.’
‘Is it diplomacy or manipulation if I tell you murder looks good on you?’
She rolls her eyes, leans up to kiss him. ‘Flatterer. Let’s go home.’