Maelyn is grateful the thick carpets absorb so fully her footsteps as she climbs the stairs bringing Master and Mistress Adaveer hot water to warm their evening brandy. Maelyn’s mother taught her to be light on her feet, to glide into and slide from rooms without notice in hopes of securing Maelyn a good position with the best of people. Instead these skills became a foundation that she built others on in pursuit of her true trade.
Her adrenaline heightened senses slow time and allow her to feel the precise location of the hidden poisoned lances as well as the edges of the ghost note written by the Mistress of the house digging into the skin of her breast.
His death will come tonight at the peak of the moon. Come then and we will celebrate.
Maelyn’s true employer had been right the Wereloches was going to kill their son. She was to eliminate both the Mistress and the receiver of the original note. Maelyn glides soundlessly into the library. The Mistress is standing facing the double doors with an elbow propped on the mantle. Master Adaveer is seated facing the fire only his profile visible.
“Ah, Maelyn, your timing is perfect. Could you bring the water here please, we have already poured the brandy,” says the Mistress.
Maelyn approaches the table between the two chairs and sets the tray down when the Master’s hand clamps her left wrist in an iron grip, turns her arm over and slashes her wrist open with three deep cuts, catching the blood in a brandy snifter.
“Blood of a Were,” says the Mistress cutting her own wrist.
“Blood of an innocent,” says the Master adding his wife’s blood to Maelyn’s.
“And a mothers love, wyrd eir oren” they say together spell casting the mixed blood that will indeed kill him but keep them together, forever.