Her Poisoned Kisses

The blade whistles past my ear, a hair’s breadth from slicing skin; I duck and spin my own dagger flashing in the dim light of the bedchamber. My target, a portly merchant with more coin than sense, grunts as he swings again. Amateur. I can see his next move before he makes it.

I sidestep, letting his momentum carry him forward. In one fluid motion, I’m behind him, my free hand gripping his shoulder. He freezes, tension rippling through his body. He knows what comes next.

“Please,” he whimpers. “I’ll pay double. Triple!”

I lean in close, my lips barely grazing his ear. “Sorry, darling. Business is business.”

My kiss is gentle, almost tender. A lover’s caress. He tenses, shuddering, then goes slack in my arms. I lower him to the plush carpet, watching as the color drains from his face. His eyes, wide with fear, slowly glaze over.

The Poisoned Kiss strikes again. Crouching, I pick up the knife he so inexpertly tried to use against me and shove it into his side. It won’t fool everyone, but in my experience most constables are simpletons and dalcops.

I move swiftly, ransacking the room to make it look like a common burglary gone wrong. My fingers, nimble from years of practice, rifle through drawers and overturn furniture with practiced ease. I pocket a few trinkets for good measure, though my real payment awaits elsewhere.

As I prepare to make my exit through the window, a flutter of parchment catches my eye. A letter, half-hidden beneath a pile of ledgers. Something about the seal catches my eye - an intricate coil of serpents, rendered in deep emerald wax. I hesitate, then snatch it up, tucking it into my bodice. Intel is always valuable in my line of work.

I check the area before I slip out the window, melting into the shadows of the city. The night air is thick with the scent of smoke, human and animal waste, and unwashed bodies, but I breathe it in deeply. It’s the smell of freedom. Or at least as close to freedom as I am likely ever to get.

The place I set up for myself is a small, ramshackle single room, in the maze-like Begger’s Quarters of the city. The rush of the kill is fading, leaving behind a familiar emptiness. Bolting the door behind me, I drag the single chair in the room and wedge it under the lock. In this place, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

I pull out the letter, breaking the seal with a flick of my dagger. As I scan its content, I wander over to the small firepit and begin setting in new wood. It looks like an ordinary order for goods, but the seal wasn’t any that I recognized from the merchants that typically trade around here. Nor did it belong to any of the atypical merchants I knew about.

When I run my finger along the parchment, tracing along the lines of text, my finger catches on a subtle ridge beneath the ink. I pause, bring the letter closer to my face and tilting it in an attempt to figure it out in the dim light.

A scratching at my door makes me freeze.

My hand flies to my dagger, muscles coiling as I wait. The sound comes again, followed by the soft whisper of something sliding across the floor. I hold my breath, counting heartbeats until falls once more.

Cautiously, I approach the door, pressing my ear against the weathered wood. Nothing. I crouch low, peering through the crack beneath. A slip of parchment lies there, its sedges crisp and white against the grimy floorboards.

I drag the parchment closer with the tip of my dagger. The seal is black wax impressed with an unfamiliar sigil - a coiled serpent devouring its own tail.

My pulse quickens as I break the seal, and unveil the elegant script within.

“Your skills are required for a matter of utmost delicacy and danger. Should you choose to accept, a substantial reward awaits. Meet our agent at the Serpent’s Tongue tavern at midnight. Come alone and unarmed.”

I scoff at the last line. Unarmed? Not a chance. Still, curiosity gnaws at me. This isn’t how I usually get jobs, and with it coming in so soon after my latest kill…it sets my nerves on edge. But the promise of a ‘substantial reward’ is tempting. Perhaps it would be substantial enough I’ll have enough to buy my way out of this cursed life.

I glance at the small window, gauging the time by the moon’s position. I have a few hours before midnight. Enough time to prepare and scout the location.

The Serpent’s Tongue isn’t a place I frequent. It sits on the border between the merchant district and the shadier parts of town, catering to those who prefer discretion in their dealings. As I approach, I note the exits, the dark corners perfect for an ambush the faces of the patrons visible through grimy windows.

I knew the type of patrons that frequent this type of place, and I had a perfect way to fit in. I slink into an alley, quickly shedding my nondescript cloak to reveal a dress that leaves little to the imagination. The bodice is tight, the neckline plunging dangerously low. I tousle my hair, pinch my cheeks for color, and use my reflection in a dark, grimy window to smear a bit of kohl around my eyes.

The transformation is swift and effective.

Sashaying towards the tavern, I let my hips sway with exaggerated allure. In moments, I’d gone from suspicious assassin to alluring temptress; dangerous and desirable. Perfect.

The heavy wooden door creaks ominously as I push it open. The stench of stale ale and unwashed bodies assaults my sense. Smoke hangs thick in the air adding the scents of roasting meat, pine, tallow, and sage to the scent of unwashed bodies and stale beer.

“Well, hello there,” I purr to the nearest patron, a burly man with a scar bisecting his face. He grunts, eyeing me appreciatively. I trail my fingers across shoulders as I pass, careful not to touch his skin. My lips might contain the majority of my curse, but for some people prolonged contact with my skin can leave them dizzy and weak.

I make my way to the bar, leaning against it provocatively. The bartender, a woman with hard eyes and harder muscles, raises an eyebrow.

“What’s your poison, love?” she asks, voice raspy from years of smoke and shouting.

“Honey and whiskey,” I say, letting my eyes roam the room.

The bartender nods, turning to prepare my drink. I scan the room, taking in every face, every shadowy corner. The tavern is filled with the kind of people who’d sell their own mothers for a handful of coin.

A large man with a beard like a bird’s nest catches my eye, patting his lap invitingly. I pick up my drink when it arrives and saunter over, perching on his knee with practiced ease. His meaty hand immediately finds my waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” he slurs, breath reeking of cheap ale.

I giggle, high and false. “Looking for a good time, of course. Know anyone who might be interested?”

His eyes gleam lust. “I just might.”

I let him paw at me, all the while keeping my eyes on the door. No one’s entered since I arrived, and no one seems to be looking for something more than drink, food, or pleasure.

After a few minutes, when the man’s breathing sounds a little haggard, I extract myself from his grasp with a coy promise to return. I make my way back up to the bar, waiting to catch the eye of one of the bartenders for another drink. I finish off the last of the honey-whiskey, relishing the burn.

A hand brushes my lower back and I turn to find a wiry man with a face like a ferret grinning at me. “Buy you another?” he offers, nodding at my nearly empty glass.

I smile, all teeth. “Aren’t you kind? I’d love one.”

As he signals the bartender, I let him pull me close, his body caging me against the bar. His hand is quick and nimble, roaming freely. I endure it, reminding myself this is just another part of the job.

“You’re new here,” he says, voice low and conspiratorial. “I’d remember a face like yours.”

“Oh, I get around.” I laugh, leaning back against the bar and pushing my breasts a little further forward. As expected, his eyes drop, his tongue dragging over his cracked lips. “Maybe you just haven’t been looking in the right places.”

His eyes narrow, flicking back up to my face. For a moment, I nearly tense, but then he laughs and I smile. His laugh sounds like rocks over metal. The hand that had been roaming over my side slides around to my back. “Maybe I haven’t. Why don’t we go somewhere a bit more…private? I’d love to get to know you better.”

I lean in close. “Patience, darling. The night is young.”

He growls, low in his throat, and tries to capture my lips with his. I duck away playful. “Ah-ah,” I tease. “Good things come to those who wait.”

As I weave through the crowd, I feel eyes on me. A group of sailors in the corner beckon me over, their faces flushed with drink and desire. I oblige, allowing myself to be pulled onto the lap of the burliest among them.

The sailor’s lap is warm, his muscled thighs hard beneath me. Unlike the first two men, this one seems to not care a wit about being in the middle of a crowded room as his calloused hand slides up my skirt. I lean into him, offering him a breathy little giggle as his companions leer and over several lewd suggestions.

The night drags on, a symphony of groping hands and leering eyes. I dance from lap to lap, each man more eager than the last. The burly sailor’s friends take turns, their rough hands exploring every curve. I giggle and squirm, playing the part of the eager wench, all while keeping my sense alert.

As the night wears on, I find my mind wandering. What would it be like, I wonder, to actually feel pleasure from these touches? To lean into a caress, to kiss without consequences? The thought sends a shiver down my spine, a mixture of longing and dread. But it’s a fool’s errand, I remind myself. This curse is my burden to bear, the cross I have to carry.

The tavern grows rowdier as the night deepens. Midnight comes and goes, and the candles begin to gutter in their holders. A bard in the corner strums a bawdy tune, his voice cracking on the high notes.

I allow yet another man to pull me into his lap, a drunken merchant who whispers promises of riches and pleasure against my neck. My eyes fall on a couple in a shadowy corner. The woman straddles the man’s lap, her skirts hiked up around her waist. His hands grip her hips, guiding her movements as she rocks against him. Their mouths practically devour each other.

I watch, transfixed, as the woman throws her head back in ecstasy, her long hair cascading down her back and catching in the flickering candle on their table. The man’s mouth latches onto her exposed throat.

Their passion is raw, primal, and I feel a pang of longing so sharp it steals my breath. What would it be like to experience such abandon? The merchant’s hands paw clumsily at my breasts, but I barely register the sensation. My focus remains on the couple across the room, drinking in every detail of their intimate encounter.

The woman’s movements grow frantic, her breathy moans rising above the tavern’s din. The man grips her tighter, his muscles straining as he drives into her. With a strangled cry, she shudders against him and he follows moments later, burying his face in her chest to muffle his groan of release.

As the collapse against each other, spent and sated, jealousy coils in my gut like a venomous snake. I will never know such pleasure, such connection. My curse ensures I’ll always be an outsider, watching but never truly participating in life’s most intimate moments.

The realization crashes over me like a bucket of ice water. I’ve been a fool, waiting here all night for a meeting that will never happen. This was likely just an elaborate ruse to get me out of my quarters so someone could see what goodies I might have stashed there.

I extricate myself from the merchant’s grasp, swaying on my feet as if overcome by drink. His protest stops when I promise him I’ll meet him around back of the alley for a more private encounter.

I stumble towards the exit, bumping into tables and chairs along the way. As I push through the tavern’s heavy oak door, the cool night air hits my flushed skin. I take a deep breath, clearing my head of the smoky haze that clings to my clothes and hair.

My steps are uneven as I weave down the narrow street, but my mind is razor-sharp. It doesn’t take long before I hear the telltale scrape of soft leather on cobblestone, confirming my suspicious.

The maze-like streets of the lower city are my playground, and I navigate them with practiced ease despite my feigned drunkenness. As I round another corner, I catch a glimpse of my tail reflected in a broken window pane. My breath catches in my throat.

It’s him - the man who’d been so enthusiastically coupling with the woman in full view of everyone. His face is flushed, whether from exertion or leftover passion, I can’t tell. But his eyes gleam with predatory intent, a stark contrast to the blissful abandon I’d witnessed earlier.

I duck into a narrow alley, the walls so close they nearly brush my shoulders. The cobblestones here are slick with algae and gods-know-what-else, forcing me to slow my pace. Perfect. I can hear his breathing now, harsh and eager, like a hound on the scent.

The alley opens into a small courtyard bathed in silvery moonlight. Crumbling buildings loom on all sides, their windows dark and hollow like empty eye sockets. In the center stands a long-dry fountain, its stone basin cracked and overgrown with weeds.

I make a show of stumbling, catching myself against the fountain’s edge. My pursuer’s footsteps quicken, sensing his opportunity. As he enters the courtyard, I spin to face him, all pretense of drunkenness gone.

“Took you long enough,” I state, my voice low and dangerous.

He falters, surprise flickering across his features before being replaced by a cocky grin. “Playing hard to get, are we?” he says, advancing slowly. “I don’t mind, I like a good chase.”

I circle the fountain, keeping it between us. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Tell me, does your lady friend know you’re out hunting so soon after your little…performance?”

He grins, showing too many teeth. “I was hoping you’d notice. Did you enjoy the show?”

His words catch me off guard, and I falter for a moment, my eyes narrowing. “You were…watching me watch you?”

“Every delicious moment,” he says, nodding. “The way your eyes darkened, your breath quickened. I could practically feel your longing from across the room.”

My head tilts as I reassess the situation, my hand slipping into my skirt. This man is more than he appears. “Who are you? What do you want?”

He holds his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m the one you were meant to meet. My employers wanted me to…observe you.”

“Observe me? For what purpose.”

He takes a step closer. “To see how you operate. How you blend in, gather information. I must say, your performance was…impressive.”

“And the woman? Was she part of this game too?”

A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth. “Ah, no. Maris was just doing her job. You should take a leaf out of her book.”

“Pardon?”

He steps even closer and I tense when he reaches out to slide a finger over my bodice. “Tavern wenches don’t typically brush off all the men who grab them. Letting one or two of them take you for a tumble would sell it better if that’s what you’re going for.”

“A tumble with me would likely be the last thing they ever did.”

“Then your imagination is lacking,” he whispers his breath hot against my ear. “You don’t need to use your mouth for everything that brings pleasure after all.”

I tense, my hand tightening on the dagger hidden in my skirts. His words hit too close to home, stirring up feelings I’ve tried to bury. “You know nothing about me.”

I take a step back and he follows, his hand sliding along my waist. “Oh, but I do. I know all about your unique talents, Nyra Silverbane.”

I draw my dagger in one fluid motion, pressing the tip against his throat. “Who sent you?”

He doesn’t flinch, his eyes locked on mine. In fact, he seems to press into weapon, a small bead of blood welling up. “Someone who can offer you what you truly desire - freedom from your curse.”

“Impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible with the right magic,” he says “My employer has been watching you for some time. He believes your skills will be useful.”

I press the dagger harder against his throat, drawing another bead of blood. It makes him grin, his hand sliding down to my ass. As I press just a little bit harder, I watch as his eyes dilate, and I realize he’s getting aroused by this whole thing.

“And what skills are those?”

His grin widens as he pulls me even tighter against his body. “Your lethal kiss, of course,” he breaths, eyes glinting with excitement. “And your other talents.”

I feel his arousal pressing against me but I don’t back away. Instead, I lean in closer, my lips a hair’s breadth from his ear. “And what if I decide to use those talents on you right now.”

He chuckles, low and dark. “Then my employer would be very disappointed. And you’d miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“What’s the job?”

“Not here,” he says, glancing around the empty courtyard. “To many ears in the shadows. Meet me at the docks tomorrow at midnight. Last pier on left.”

I press the dagger a little harder, drawing a thin line of blood across his throat. “And if it’s a trap?”

He grins and I feel his cock twitch against me. “Then you’ll kill me and everyone else there.”

I step back, lowering the dagger but keeping it ready. “I’ll consider it.”

“Until tomorrow night, then.”