The Violet Lion

Anaisa remembered Trace's words when they settled in the Violet Lion Inn days later. The rest of the journey had been uneventful, but Trace's steady assurance that they were a team stuck with her.

As she prepared for sleep, there was a lingering nagging at the back of her mind over it all. Had she ever directly lied to him? Misled him, certainly, by leaving out key information, but directly lie? She didn't think so, not that she could recall. But the sentiment was one which gave her pause. Teamwork.

Trust.

That was what he was slowly requiring of her, slowly giving to her. She accepted his trust warily, knowing she didn't deserve it. But could she extend trust when she wasn't worthy of it?

She had come clean about seeing the original letter, and he had, without hesitation, accepted her word that she hadn't done so intentionally.

Without fully intending to do so, she realized it had been a test. There was no other reason for her to tell him about seeing the letter; he would never have discovered that she'd seen it! His reaction had been neutrally positive. He'd thanked her for the confession, accepted it at face value, and not gotten angry in the slightest.

It was almost unnervingly nonchalant.

But, that seemed to be who he was, at least so far. With the exception of the dark expression he wore when thinking of Conlan or the blackmail, Trace was an easy to read, kind person.

And yet, could she allow herself to become too attached to him? After all, he had some manner of secret dark enough to warrant blackmail, and some sort of skills that he was unwilling to tell her about, and claimed she couldn't help with.

She'd narrowed down the possibilities to a few options, the foremost of which was some manner of assassin. Useful in war, but also in politics. If someone wanted to streamline their path to power, getting a few others out of the way would be paramount to success.

But would Trace be involved in such a thing? Surely not willingly… but if his family were being threatened…

She hesitated before letting her mind go too far down that path. She'd seen nothing from him to warrant such thoughts, and she generally had a very good idea of which men were the truly evil ones.

And yet, wouldn't the most skilled assassin be the best at hiding who he was so that others would let him close? Wouldn't he be very, very good at garnering trust, the way he'd been slowly pulling hers in?

Anaisa flipped over to her side, facing the wall. After the first two inns hadn't had places to hang up the privacy blanket, she'd stopped looking terribly closely for a way to set it up.

The rhythm the couple had adjusted accordingly, and they lived parallel lives in the mornings and evenings, mostly ignoring the other except to say 'Goodnight.'

It was very different than sleeping with Katia. Together, the girls would sometimes tell stories or just talk about nothing in particular until one or the other drifted off. Anaisa slept more quickly this way, but she missed the interaction.

Now that they were in the city, Trace would likely receive his assignment soon, and maybe Anaisa would get the chance to see Katia.

The thought cheered her as she fell to sleep.

Her dreams were disjointed at first. Fractured images of her childhood and Katia floated through her mind, meshing and mixing. Gradually, she relaxed into pleasant scenes of the fields near Trace's home.

The open air was much prettier than that of the city, and she pulled her sister by the hand to show her everything.

"I have to go, Annie," Katia told her, pulling her hand away. "Be safe."

"No, don't go," The words didn't leave Anaisa's mouth no matter how hard she tried to say them.

"Be safe," Katia echoed again. Anaisa suddenly found herself inside a home. Trace's home. On the table was a letter, and she reached for it, but a movement behind her caused her to turn away from the paper.

Her husband stood there, and she relaxed for a moment. His face was different somehow. Angrier. She tensed again, recognizing the posture. It was similar to when her father would get drunk and beat her and Katia.

Anaisa tried to scramble away, to hide under the bed lest he kill her.

Her legs were like jelly on a hot day, melting under her.

"No–" She turned to watch as the angry man drew closer and raised a hand against her, but suddenly, he vanished like a handful of dirt carried away by a strong wind.

Confused, she looked around. Trace stepped out from the doorway, looking different. Dressed differently. Compassion was on his face this time. He strode toward her and she flinched on the floor.

He extended a hand, open and inviting.

"I won't hurt you, Anaisa," He said gently. "Don't ever believe that I will."

She shivered, confused, staring at the hand. She was afraid to take it. What did it mean?

The moment seemed frozen in time, his hand extended, and Anaisa on the floor, hesitating. His face did not change, but his eyes, oh his eyes.

She woke suddenly, or maybe slowly. Time was difficult to tell. First light had come, and she moved to sit up, still disoriented from the intensity of the dream. She glanced down as her eyes adjusted, staring at where Trace lay on the floor.

He stared back at her, and then blinked and looked away, almost guiltily.

Anaisa startled, confused at the expression. He couldn't have done anything overnight that had made him feel guilt. It looked like he'd just woken up as well.

Unless, as an assassin, he'd snuck out while she was asleep and done whatever task was assigned to him.

She turned away as he rose, as was their routine. He would dress, and leave the room, allowing her the privacy to do so as well. 

"Did you receive your assignment yet?" She asked. They'd gotten in rather late, and she'd headed up to the room without him to prepare for sleep.

"Yes." The word was cautious, and he did not elaborate.

"When will you complete it? Will I get to see Katia today?" Anaisa rushed ahead, tempted to look at him, though she kept her face turned to the wall. Normally they didn't speak in the mornings, but she was eager for news of her sister.

"I've started, but have not completed, the assignment." He told her.

She desperately wanted to ask what it was. She nearly rolled over to question him before remembering he was likely in a state of undress. Her face heated.

The door opened, and closed, signaling his departure. She shot upright, staring after him. His tight-lipped approach to things worried her. She wished she knew more.

Frustrated, she threw back the quilt and began readying herself for the day, mumbling to herself about secrets and assassins and various assignments. She pulled her skirts on over her head when something caught her eye.

The room had brightened as the sun rose outside, illuminating the space far more than before.

On the table, open and readily visible, was a letter.

It wasn't even folded! Just laid out, inviting her to read it. He must have received it last night. Anaisa sighed. Here she was, irritated over possibly nothing, as Trace had left the paper out for her perusal.

Still feeling guilty over her reaction, she sidled up to the table slowly and leaned forward to gaze at the words.

"Dear, helpful Trace,

Your aid comes at a most dire moment. Someone within the palace is plotting against the king!"

Anaisa froze. Was Trace supposed to assassinate the villain? Did that make him good, or bad? She grimaced, forcing herself to continue reading.

"Find out who the traitor is, and expose their evil plans to the highest authority you can."

Well, that didn't sound so bad. Wouldn't that make Trace a hero? He wouldn't even kill anyone, good or bad!

With a sigh of relief she relaxed her shoulders and finished the letter.

"Do not reveal your ways of accomplishing the task to anyone, and do not fail."

The letter was once again unsigned, though the handwriting and paper were consistent with what Anaisa had seen before. She squinted at the wall, puzzling something out.

Trace should not reveal how he accomplished finding the traitor? Was he some kind of specialized spy, then? Were the methods he used… bad, somehow?

Anaisa took a deep breath, and read the letter over once more. Finding nothing new, and no other clues, she sighed and finished dressing.

Somewhere downstairs, her husband awaited, and so did breakfast. One she heartily looked forward to, and the other, she had strongly conflicting feelings about.