Continued from §.05.
Volfsige sat nervously within the shaded drawing room in lower eastside, wracked by his recent failure. Hands wringing the expensive cutlery as a rider might his brydel. The blond man opposite the cutthroat lit up a cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke above the table before breaking the silence.
“Theed given assurance that Oeric Adair would expire three days before the wedding. It is now two days before the wedding and Oeric Adair yet draws breath.”
“I underestimated him, Frayn.”
“Thou? Thou art finest among all the blade slingers of Rivenlore. How was it that a middling aristocrat with no martial training could evade thee?”
“He is more than he appears.”
“Thou knowst not the state of it. He dodged my blade as one might an unwelcome kiss. In all my years, I’ve never seen anything to match it. He is confident… and dangerous…”
“I take thee at thy words, strange though they be, but should I divulge such information to our employer, thy contract is forfeit.”
“A contract is a contract. Both parties are-”
Frayn rolled his eyes.
“What shalt thou do? Lodge a complaint with the Lord Paramount?”
“I find no amusement in thy frivolity.”
“I simply cannot empathize with the mirthless.”
“Tell thy employer that I need but one more chance. Should I be granted it, Oeric Adair shall not another sunrise see.”