Cortez felt bad for the little prince. It was annoying because she was not inclined to feel bad for anyone, but there it was all the same.
People had often asked her why she never took the most notorious contract in the country. Everyone knew the Brotherhood had a perpetual bounty out for the death of the Basilisk Prince. But like so many jobs she had been offered, killing him had not felt right. She didn't need the bounty, anyway. And Yago had needed her too badly for the other jobs and the money they brought the Brotherhood.
There was also the fact that the notoriety of the impossible bounty did as much good, if not more, than actually killing Prince Culebra. Yago had never been above taking whatever victories he could find and squeezing every drop from them.
Once, Cortez had been happy with that. She had never believed the dogma of the Brotherhood, did not think the Prince was any more evil than another person, but she had liked having a relatively safe place to go. She liked that Yago trusted her, looked out for her, favored her.
Then she had encountered Fidel, a lifelong Brother. Somehow, they had never managed to cross paths previously. Cortez had not known how quickly a world could change, how much it could change, simply by the addition of one person.
Sometimes she hated Fidel as much as she loved him. Before Fidel, she had felt nothing. Since him, especially since leaving him, she had felt far too much. Habit helped muffle some of it, and alcohol drowned more, but by and large she still felt more than she ever wanted.
But she never thought she would fall so low as to feel sorry for a pampered little prince. Still, there was something about him ...
After making certain the campfire was set, Cortez went to check on her captive. The blow to the head she had given him seemed harmless enough; the knot it left would be gone in a matter of days. He was certainly a pretty little thing, if vaguely unsettling with all that bone-white skin and hair. She wanted to rub some dirt into it to give him some color.
She hesitated, hand hovering over the black bandages around his eyes. Everyone had heard of the Basilisk Prince, the mortal reincarnation of the Basilisk himself. This fragile little boy was all that remained of a god? She found it hard to believe.
Yet she still hesitated to touch those bandages. Annoyed with herself, Cortez finally touched them, telling herself she was only checking they were secure and that it was not morbid curiosity.
All seemed well, however, and she sat back on her heels feeling a bit ... flummoxed. What had she been expecting? More ... well, more of everything. A looming presence, someone fierce, even scary. Surely the mortal reincarnation of the god of death should have been more ominous?
Instead, he only seemed somehow sad. He had not even been able to put up much of a fight. Even back in her darkest days, before Fidel, she had preferred opponents who could fight fairly. Not that anyone really had a fair chance against a talented assassin, but she generally avoided killing the defenseless.
She sighed and withdrew, leaving Prince Culebra to his sleep. He would need it, as they had a long, hard road ahead of them. The journey to Belmonte was not an easy one, especially as she had heard the Bello Bridge had been lost to the last storm.
Cortez went to her saddlebags and pulled out dried meat and fruit. Moving to the fire, she alternated the meat and fruit with sips from her water skin.
It was the unusual quiet that alerted her first. Forests were never quiet, even in the dead of night. She whipped around and threw a dagger all in one smooth move. She heard a choked cry, and a second voice cursed softly. "Get out here, corpse-eaters," she said.
Two men stumbled out of the dark and into the flickering light of the campfire. Mercs, if not very good ones. At least, she hoped they were only mercs. Whatever they were, she was not feeling bad about their deaths—well, the death of the one, the pending deaths of the others. She would still try to avoid it, but her instincts told her their deaths loomed. "Who are you?" she asked, standing up and drawing her sword.
The men did not immediately reply, their eyes fastened on Culebra. "Is that really him?"
Definitely not mercs, then. "He is not your concern," Cortez replied. "The only person that need concern you right now is me. Tell me why you are here or I will kill you now and find the answers another way."
The taller of the two men stepped forward—then halted when he nearly met the tip of her blade. He held up his hands, clearly attempting to placate. "Come now, big sister, is that any way to treat your little brothers?"
"I have no family," Cortez said.
"You may have left the fold, but you will always be our most revered big sister," said the second man. He unlaced his shirt, and in the weak light of the campfire she could just see the tattoo below his sternum: a black rose in full bloom.
The tattoo on her thigh seemed to burn. "I am nobody's sister. I will kill you the same as I kill anyone if you get in my way. I already killed the third man in your party."
"Brother Alonzo was weak," the first man replied.
Cortez ignored that. "Why are you here?"
"We heard you were going to kill the Basilisk Prince. Imagine our surprise when we saw you leave the palace with him."
"Where did you hear that?" Cortez asked.
"Why, from Father Yago of course."
Did they really expect her to believe that? Even if he had known what she was doing, which she doubted, Yago would not betray her like that. Not when he had let her go after she had killed Goyo. After so many months, the entire situation still turned her gloomy. His death had not felt right; she had not meant to kill him. She would never let her temper consume her that way again.
The old adage that an unnecessary death brought ill fortune certainly seemed to hold true in her case.
"Yago sent us," the man repeated. "We came to help you—"
Cortez killed him, shoving her sword through his gut and then pulling it out. She caught him as he fell and threw him so he would not land in her campfire. Rounding on the other man who was frozen from shock, she dropped her sword in favor of pulling a knife from her belt.
Knocking him to the ground, face down, she yanked his head up and pressed the razor sharp edge of her dagger to his throat. "Who are you? Who sent you? Yago would not act this way."
"We are your brothers."
"Tell me something useful and I might let you live," Cortez replied. When the man only continued to sputter and bluster, she slit his throat. Cleaning the blade, she sheathed both it and her sword.
Contemplating the bodies, she gave in to an impulse and began to strip the man she had gutted. The black rose tattoo was on his chest, but she was not surprised to find it was false and that there was another tattoo on his back: two white roses in partial bloom.
Eyes of the Basilisk. Cortez checked the other man just to be thorough and found the white roses on his stomach. So the Order had gotten wind of her assignment, or at least enough of it to shadow her. If they had done that well enough, it would not have been hard to deduce that she was trying to get into the palace—and someone like her would have only one reason for doing that.
Interesting they had not tried to stop her. Where had they heard something that made them trail her? She had not told even Yago what she was up to, nor her old friends in the brothel. She'd spoken to no one about it. Only the men who hired her knew her assignment.
Far more troubling was the fact that they had found her so easily. They could only have done that if they had been watching her all along, which was problematic on two levels. One, she had not noticed she was being followed. Two, more people were involved in the matter than she cared.
Huffing in irritation, Cortez cleaned the bodies of anything useful and tucked the items into her saddlebags. Then she carried the bodies into the woods where the animals would make quick work of them.
Returning to the fire, she finished the fruit and meat she had abandoned. A pity she was traveling with someone who was both a captive and blind. More than ever she wished she still had Fidel. He might have been her only weakness, but he had also been her greatest strength. He had brought her out the dark.
A pity she had remembered that far too late. She stabbed viciously at the fire, wishing the entire matter was over already. If Fidel was dead, she almost felt pity for the men responsible.
But almost wasn't enough to keep them alive, or to give them easy deaths.
She was pulled from her bloody thoughts by a soft groan and swore softly because of course Culebra would choose that moment to finally stir. "Good evening, highness."
"What is going on?" Culebra asked.
Though his voice was steady, Cortez could hear the undercurrent of fear in it. People were always scared when they faced her—and for good reason—but that fear seldom ran so deep as it did in Culebra's voice, and Cortez's guilt cut deep. Terror was the word—the prince was terrified. "It's called a kidnapping, highness. I have been hired to steal you away from the palace and deliver you to some men very interested in meeting you."
"All they had to do was request an audience. I hardly have my brother's waiting list," Culebra replied. "My companion, did you kill him?"
"No, highness. The fish should suffer nothing more than a severe headache."
"How did you get into my greenroom without the snakes attacking you?"
Cortez snorted in amusement. "I used a faerie child who shifts into a snake. He's very adept and helped keep them calm. I've used similar tricks before, though not with snakes and certainly not so many."
"Where are we?" Culebra asked.
She started to tell him something flippant, but that genuine terror tore at her heart. It reminded her of that moment when that bloody fire child had nearly taken her eye. She had been terrified of losing half her vision.
Unable to see, his bearings lost ...
If Fidel were there, he would have been furious with her for taking the job and would not have spoken to her for days. But if he had been there she would not have taken the job at all.
Cortez sighed. "We are a few hours from the city, not far from the Black Woods, highness."
Culebra nodded and seemed to relax, though Cortez wasn't certain what she had said that soothed him. "What are you going to do to you?"
"Deliver you," Cortez said shortly. She stood up and went to her saddlebags, pulling out more dried fruit and meat. Returning to the fire, she placed a handkerchief of the dried food in front of Culebra. "There's food in front of you. Eat it. We've got a long, hard journey and having you along is not going to make it easier. You'll need your strength."
She expected a smart remark about how she should feel free to leave him, but Culebra only tentatively searched out the food and began to eat it. After a few minutes of silence, he said, "So who were the three men you killed?"
"What makes you think I've killed anyone?" Cortez asked, puzzled. The deaths had been quiet, and the conversation had not been loud enough to wake Culebra. There was no way he could know she had just killed three men.
"I can taste it," Culebra said flatly. "Violent deaths, bitter and sweet all at once. The third one is not quite dead yet, but he will be soon." His tongue flicked out, tasting the air, reminding Cortez unpleasantly of that room full of snakes.
For the first time since the assignment had been forced upon her, she felt afraid. Not just the fear she felt for Fidel, that he might already be dead. Bone-deep terror. She'd never heard that the Basilisk Prince could taste death and that it apparently tasted bittersweet. "Eat your food, highness. We must be on our way. There is no time to tarry."
She needed to figure out what the Order had to do with it all, or if Yago had learned anything new. She also needed to be done with the cursed job as quickly as possible.
"How do you plan to travel with me and go unnoticed? I do not know what I look like, but I know I stand out. Where are you taking me? How do you plan to avoid being seen? You do realize that they'll send men after me, right?"
"So many questions, highness. You're like a child tugging at his mother's apron. I am not going to give you answers, however. I have been paid to take you to a particular location, and the price is worth the extra care I must take to avoid having you seen by anyone."
"What do these men want with me?"
Cortez stifled a sigh. "I don't know. I did not ask. Stop asking questions, highness. Even if I wanted to answer them, I cannot. Do not make me gag you."
Culebra subsided, and Cortez sighed softly in relief. She fetched a flask from her saddlebag and, sitting by the fire again, drank a healthy swallow.
"The Order has tried to take me in the past to attempt experiments at restoring me. In all my past lives where the Order killed me, it was an attempt to restore the Basilisk," Culebra said quietly. "The Brotherhood wants me dead because they fear that someday I may once more bring destruction down upon Piedre. I can respect both those reasons, even if I have no desire to die. But I cannot understand why anyone would want me dead, would want anyone dead, simply for money. Coin is a poor reason to end a life."
"I never said I was doing it for money, highness," Cortez said, annoyed that the prince's words had hit their mark. "I said the price was worth it, that is all."
"You smell like death," Culebra said. "Not the same way as the dead men, more like death is close to you, something you know well. Soldiers have it, those who come after me often have it. You must have killed many people, to smell so strongly of death."
Cortez flinched. "One hundred and eleven men have died by my hand, highness. More than that, really. I did not count them back when I was younger. Once, I was very good at killing. Sometimes for a lofty cause, sometimes only because somebody needed to die and other people were willing to pay well to ensure it got done."
"No one deserves to die to line the pockets of another," Culebra replied.
"Some people deserve to die," Cortez replied, "and I was willing to do the deed for a price. Most of those men who died trying to kill you were desperate, hungry. You might be surprised how unpopular a job it is to try and kill the Basilisk Prince. Yet the prize for doing it is handsome, and those who are going to die anyway will do anything to avoid that death. Do not judge, highness, until you are starving and afraid and have no other options. I do not recall you ever staying your hand against those who tried to kill you."
"Killing in self-defense is acceptable. Everyone has the right to defend their own life. But even killing for the sake of killing seems more honorable than killing for money."
Why was she even having such a conversation? She should gag him or knock him out and be done with it. "Killing for money is a way to stay alive," she said. "I doubt there has been a time in your life when you truly faced death, highness. Surrounded by your guards and your snakes and your palace, what is so dangerous about that? If I had not thought to find you in your snake room, then I would probably be dead as well."
"You don't know anything about me," Culebra said.
"You don't know anything about me," Cortez threw back at him. "I guess we shall simply have to agree never to get along, highness."
Culebra did not reply, merely finished his food and lay down on the hard ground. Cortez expected him to start complaining about sleeping arrangements and was astonished when, instead, she saw him relax, heard his breathing even out, and realized he had gone to sleep.
She sighed and went to fetch the bedrolls, laying out her own before she went and set one up beside Culebra. When it was ready, she heaved and shoved him onto it and then wrapped a heavy cloak around him. All the while, Culebra slept on, snuffling softly but not stirring.
Returning to her own bed roll, adding some wood to the fire, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking long pulls and breathing the smoke out slowly. The smell always made her think of Fidel, who rarely did not have a lit cigarette in his fingers. She had not been able to smoke them or stand the smell of them for a very long time.
But lately they kept her going, kept her motivated. Stupidly, they fed her hope that Fidel was alive. If he was not, she would kill them all in the most painful ways she knew.
Would his highness approve of killing for revenge? Probably. Their brief argument seemed to indicate that he approved of everything except killing for money.
Finishing her cigarette, she threw the stub in the fire and pulled her cloak up around her, settling in to sleep.
The sound of someone screaming jerked her awake some time later, and Cortez had her sword and dagger out before she realized that no one was attacking. Dropping her blades, she went around the fire and knelt to shake Culebra awake. He was sweating and trembling, choking back sobs as he jerked awake. "Are you all right, highness?"
"Fine," Culebra choked out. "I—I think recent events have brought back my nightmares. I am sorry to alarm you."
Cortez wondered what in the world gave a spoiled brat noble nightmares, especially someone as feared and nigh-on worshiped as the Basilisk Prince. "What nightmares?"
"What do you care?" Culebra asked.
A fair question, and Cortez was annoyed with herself for even asking. She didn't care—but Fidel had woken like that for many nights after having seen his parents brutally murdered.
Even in the dark, she could see Culebra was still tense, his hands shaking. Stifling a sigh, Cortez pulled out her cigarettes and lit one, pressed it into his hands. "Here, you look like you could stand to relax." She started to explain how to smoke, but to her astonishment he did it with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. "You smoke, highness?"
"Not—not for a long time and never that often. I had—had friends who liked to smoke and sometimes I smoked with them. But it's not something I can do alone, since I won't know until too late that a stray ember has caught something on fire and I would have no way to put it out."
Huh. Cortez had never thought of that. She wondered what else she had never thought of about being blind. Not that it mattered. Once she handed off Culebra and retrieved Fidel, her part in the matter was done. She would never see Culebra again.
If Fidel was dead ... well, no sense in worrying about that until she knew. Whatever the case, she did not care about a slip of a prince. It was the fate of royalty to be glorified pawns.
When Culebra finished the cigarette, Cortez took the stub from him and threw it in the fire. "Would you like some brandy, highness? I have a bit still."
"No, thank you," Culebra said. "You need not fuss over me, I'll be fine."
In Cortez's opinion, the phrase 'I'll be fine' was the most common lie in the world. She had never heard anyone mean it when they said it. "You should try to go back to sleep, though I know that is what people with nightmares like least to hear."
Culebra gave a dry laugh. "Indeed. I'm too awake to go back to sleep. But I promise I shall not run off if you want to get some more rest yourself."
"Somehow, I did not think you would," Cortez said dryly. "We are both awake, and to judge from the sky, sunrise is close. We may as well break camp and be on our way. I have some new clothes for you, highness, as well as some dye for your face and hair."
"The dyes won't hold," Culebra said. "Believe me, they have all been tried. Nobody would like for me to look normal more than my family. You will have to help me dress."
Cortez nodded and then rolled her eyes at herself. "Yes, highness. Remove your shoes and stand." He obeyed, and she went to fetch the bundle of clothes lying with her saddlebag.
The fancy clothes Culebra wore took some effort, but she finally got it all off and threw the clothes into the fire. Naked, he was even more beautiful, the black bandages around his eyes like some sort of brand or mark of evil. Cortez slowly, awkwardly, got him into new stocking and breeches, lacing up a black shirt and pulling on a cheap, black wool jacket with bone buttons. "There, highness. If not for your godly skin you would look like a merc who suffered an unfortunate accident in battle."
"Somehow, I don't think anyone would ever believe I'm a merc, skin or not," Culebra replied.
"Sit while I pack up camp," Cortez said, and she quickly set to work saddling her horse, packing the bags, and adjusting them slightly to settle the weight evenly before putting them in place. Next she took care of the fire, putting it out and burying it.
When all was done and no obvious signs of the camp remained, she took Culebra's hand and led him to the horse. "Do you ride, highness?"
"Only when I must and never alone," Culebra replied.
Cortez nodded—then sighed at herself in irritation. "Alright, come here and I'll help you mount. I'm sure I do not need to tell you not to try anything should we see others."
"I won't have to say anything," Culebra said. "I am, to the best of my knowledge, the only one who looks like me. If I did not have to cover my eyes, I might almost pass for a White Beast, but sadly my eyes must remain covered. If I can see even a little bit, then my gaze is strong enough to kill."
The words made Cortez shiver. She had always wondered why he did not simply wear a veil or some such so that he could see without being seen. "So even if I cannot see your eyes clearly, they can still kill me?"
"Yes," Culebra said. "If I can meet someone's gaze, even the slightest bit, then I can kill him. Experiments were done back in earlier centuries to test the limits of my eyes. Nothing can ease the power of my eyes, the same way no dye will take to my skin or hair. The priests and healers who recorded their tests theorized that it is because I am not a perfect incarnation—no human could be. Until I am a god again, whatever incarnation or century where that finally occurs, I am imperfect. So my skin and hair stay white and my eyes stay bound."
Somehow, that seemed unbearably sad to Cortez. It seemed unfair, like giving a man a broken sword and expecting him to fight with it against a world with good swords, bows and arrows, and armor.
"So my original point remains," Culebra said. "I won't need to cry out for help. Anyone who sees me will know me, and there is nothing I can do about that."
"The hood of your cloak and those gloves I gave you will take care of immediate problems; the weather is cool enough it will not be odd to see a slip of a lad like you bundled up against it. That aside, people know better than to anger me. If I tell them to back off, they will, and keep their mouths shut lest I hear about it."
Culebra said nothing, merely reached out cautiously to touch the horse. "Help me mount, then. The sooner you deliver me, the sooner I figure out who has me. You never did tell me about those three men you killed."
"They wanted to take you from me and learn more about the men who wanted me to kidnap you."
"Were they from the Order? The Brotherhood simply would have killed me, but the Order prefers to keep me alive. Makes me wonder all over again who is paying you to kidnap me."
Cortez sighed and got him into the saddle after some fumbling and grappling. She swung up behind him, and gave the campsite one last look over. Finally, she replied, "How do you know it's not the Order or the Brotherhood behind it?"
"Not their style," Culebra said. "The Roses are never shy about announcing themselves or their involvement. This is something different, which troubles me. Not that you care, because the price is worth it."
To that, Cortez could make no reply because it was very true. Culebra echoed her own concerns. So she said nothing and instead just wrapped one arm more firmly around Culebra's waist and signaled her horse to go, riding off into the Black Woods, bound for Belmonte.