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The blade sinks into his flesh with startling ease. She meets with almost no resistance, and the man who is not her father, for she refuses to let him claim such a title, soon lies dead before her. His blood spills out across the red stones, changing their hue. With the state of him, she’d feel pity if he was someone else, for ‘tis clear he was unwell, but in the face of what he did her heart stands hard as stone and cold as ice. She knows his guards will arrive soon, for even with allies they cannot be kept away forever, and so she will have to make haste to slip her way back into the tunnels and passages that litter this place and back into the city streets. For now, though, she stares at his corpse. Her mother would be satisfied, she thinks. She hopes.
She’s never been a devout woman, but as she sneaks out with the fear on his face as she lifted Ros’ sword high, and the sight of blood and bone and muscle afterwards emblazoned on her mind, she thinks she could come to believe in some kind of divinity. It feels like the first time in her life she has seen justice done.
She feels surprisingly calm as she walks to Ros’. She makes her way through hidden passages and back alleys for most of the way, avoiding any who could catch sight of her until she is into the section of the city that is Ros’ territory, her heartlands. Two years ago, she would have quivered to walk here, fearing the dangerous people and the woman who commands them. Now, she is one of these people and the thought fills her with pride.
She reaches the non-descript door that even Ros’ people don’t all know marks her home, and knocks once, sharp. It opens, and Lacey catches sight of Ros’ flat expression and fists clenched tensely in her skirts before the other woman sees her and relaxes, smiling.
“It’s done,” Lacey says, without preamble.
Ros’ gaze drops to her sword in Lacey’s hand, still wet and dripping with blood. She steps aside, gesturing her in. “Good.”
Once inside, Ros takes the blade from her and kisses her chastely as she does. Soon, the whole city will know that the king is dead. Later, likely, it will be announced that he was murdered, and his killer is unknown, but she suspects they will want to wait before declaring that. After all, it will spark panic, suspicion, and judgement. There will be all kinds of political considerations and consequences. Anything, though, will surely be better. She knows she will have cause to fear, in the coming weeks, but here and now she sits with Ros’ arm over her shoulders, and she feels safe. A rare feeling, for a woman like her. It’s precious, and she doesn’t intend to jeopardise it.
Ros may ask more of her in future. This was only Lacey’s second kill. The first was out of pure frantic desperation, and the knowledge that if she didn’t kill him, he’d kill her. It was also why Ros recruited her. This was mediated and prepared. It was also personal, which made it easier, in a way. She knew exactly what he had done. She will not necessarily have the same luxury with any other targets Ros may choose to send her after. But she loves Ros, so she’ll do it.