THE COST OF BLOOD

Asha moved through the darkened streets, the scent of damp stone and distant woodsmoke filling her lungs. The city of Vareth was still alive, even at this hour—drunken laughter spilled from taverns, cloaked figures haggled in hushed voices at street corners, and beggars curled up beneath the flickering glow of lanterns.

She kept her hood low, her steps silent. Lord Damar was dead, and by morning, the city would know it. The warlord's allies would tighten their security. Perhaps they would even suspect an assassin. But they wouldn't know it was her. Not yet.

She had a few hours before dawn. Time enough to disappear.

Asha made her way to the Wayward Raven, a run-down inn at the city's edge. It was a place where no one asked questions, where silver could buy silence. She slipped through the back entrance, careful not to disturb the sleeping stable hand slumped in the hay.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of spilled ale and unwashed bodies. A few figures lingered at the bar, muttering to one another, but none spared her a glance. Asha headed for the stairs, her muscles aching from the night's work.

She had just reached her door when she heard it.

A whisper of movement. A shift in the air.

She reacted on instinct, spinning as a dagger slashed through the space where she had just stood. Her own blade was in her hand in an instant, clashing against the attacker's weapon. Sparks flashed in the dim candlelight.

Asha caught a glimpse of her assailant—a man clad in dark leathers, his face partially obscured by a scarf. His stance was practiced, lethal. Not a common thug. An assassin.

Her heart pounded. Had the warlord sent him? Had her cover already been blown?

The man pressed his attack, his strikes fast and precise. Asha barely had time to deflect, her feet moving swiftly to avoid being cornered. He was skilled—too skilled.

She feigned a stumble, drawing him in. As he lunged, she shifted her weight, sidestepping his strike and slamming the hilt of her dagger into his wrist. His blade clattered to the floor. She followed up with a sharp kick to his chest, sending him sprawling.

Asha pounced, pinning him with her knee and pressing her dagger to his throat.

"Who sent you?" she hissed.

The man coughed, his breath ragged. "Not—what you think," he choked out.

Asha hesitated. His eyes, now fully visible, held no malice. Only urgency.

"I'm not here to kill you," he rasped. "I was testing you."

Her grip tightened. "Testing me for what?"

"For an offer." He exhaled, wincing. "There's someone who wants to meet you. Someone who knows what you're after."

Asha frowned. She should kill him now. It was the safest choice. But if someone had gone through the trouble of seeking her out, they were either a threat—or an opportunity.

She pressed her dagger harder against his skin. "Who?"

"The Veiled Mistress."

The words sent a chill through her.

The Veiled Mistress was a legend, whispered in the darkest corners of the underworld. Some said she was a ghost, others a noblewoman-turned-assassin. But all agreed on one thing—she had influence in every city, her network stretching farther than kings and warlords alike.

And now she wanted to meet her?

Asha slowly withdrew her dagger, stepping back. The man sat up, rubbing his throat.

"Where?" she demanded.

"The Black Hollow. Midnight tomorrow." He stood, wincing slightly. "Come armed. But don't come alone."

Before she could respond, he slipped into the shadows, vanishing down the hall.

Asha remained still, her mind racing.

Why would the Veiled Mistress take an interest in her? Was she a potential ally—or another enemy?

One thing was certain. She would go.

But she wouldn't go alone.

The Black Hollow

The next night, Asha approached the Black Hollow, a hidden establishment beneath the ruins of an old temple. It was a place where contracts were brokered in whispers, where assassins and spies traded secrets like currency.

She had enlisted the help of Kael, a former mercenary who owed her a favor. He was a broad-shouldered man with a scar along his jaw, his sword always within reach. If this was a trap, he would ensure she wasn't outnumbered.

The entrance to the Hollow was concealed behind a crumbling archway. Asha knocked twice, then once, then three times in quick succession. A small panel slid open, revealing a pair of sharp eyes.

A pause. Then the door creaked open.

Inside, the Hollow was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of burning incense and damp stone. Figures sat in shadowed corners, speaking in hushed tones. Asha scanned the room, her eyes settling on a lone figure at a round table in the back.

The Veiled Mistress.

She was clad in dark silk, her face obscured by a delicate mask. Only her lips were visible—a faint, knowing smile playing across them.

Asha approached, keeping her posture relaxed but ready. Kael remained a few steps behind, watching the room.

The Mistress gestured to the seat across from her. "Sit."

Asha did.

"You've been making quite a name for yourself," the Mistress mused, her voice smooth as velvet. "Killing Lord Damar was bold."

Asha didn't respond. She wouldn't confirm or deny anything.

The Mistress chuckled. "No need for caution, child. If I wanted you dead, you would not have made it past the door."

Asha tensed.

The Mistress leaned forward. "I know why you seek vengeance. I know who you hunt." Her fingers tapped against the table. "And I know that alone, you will not succeed."

Asha clenched her jaw. "I don't need help."

"Don't you?" The Mistress tilted her head. "Your enemies are powerful. They do not act alone. Neither should you."

Asha hesitated. She hated to admit it, but the Mistress was right. The warlord and his allies were not men she could simply pick off one by one. Not without drawing too much attention.

"What do you want?" Asha asked.

The Mistress smiled. "A trade."

Asha frowned.

"I can give you names, locations, weaknesses. But in return, I will call upon you when I have need of a blade."

Asha's instincts screamed at her not to make deals with those more powerful than herself. But if the Mistress truly had information on her enemies, could she afford to refuse?

She exhaled slowly. "Fine."

The Mistress reached into her sleeve and slid a folded parchment across the table.

"Your next target."

Asha picked it up and unfolded it. Her eyes widened as she read the name.

She looked up, meeting the Mistress's gaze.

"Do we have an agreement?" the woman asked softly.

Asha's grip on the parchment tightened.

"…Yes."

The Veiled Mistress smiled.

"Then let the hunt begin".