A Dance In The Shadows

Chapter 11: The Shadow's Choice

Riven's mind raced as he stood in the middle of the blood-soaked study, the corpse of Lord Rorik at his feet, and the rival assassin smirking just a few paces away.

The manor was in chaos—alarm bells ringing, guards flooding into the hallways, and the distant sound of boots pounding against the stone floors. But Riven's focus remained on the woman before him.

Golden eyes, cold and knowing.

Her dagger, slick with fresh blood, gleamed in the dim light of the study. She didn't move—just stood there, watching him, waiting for him to make a choice.

"What's it going to be, Shadowborn?" she asked, her voice low, almost playful.

Riven's blade was already in his hand, but something stopped him from rushing forward. His mind flashed back to the last few moments—the speed, the precision with which she had stolen the kill right from under him.

She wasn't just an assassin. She was different.

And she wasn't afraid of him.

In fact, it was almost as if she was testing him, like she already knew his every move.

He shifted his weight slightly, eyes never leaving hers. The decision was clear. He couldn't kill her. Not yet.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice steady.

She tilted her head, almost mocking him. "You're really asking that? You know as well as I do why the Sable Knives are here."

"Why are you working with them?" His tone was sharper now. "You didn't just kill a noble. This is bigger than that. Who are you really working for?"

She smiled. "You're not as naïve as I thought, Shadowborn."

Before Riven could react, she turned on her heel and vanished into the shadows.

"Wait!" He lunged forward, but she was already gone. Only the faint scent of spiced perfume lingered in the air.

Riven didn't hesitate. He melted into the shadows, activating his Shadowmeld as the first group of guards burst into the study, weapons drawn.

He was barely a whisper of darkness, slipping past them, avoiding the flickering lanterns and torchlight. The guards shouted, but Riven moved swiftly, leaving them confused and unsure of what they had missed.

His heartbeat was steady, each step calculated. He had one objective now—get out.

Through the corridors, down staircases, and through hidden passageways, he finally reached an unguarded window on the manor's second floor. With a quick, fluid motion, he slid out onto the narrow ledge, his fingers digging into the stone. The ground was a dangerous twenty feet below, but it was the only way out.

He dropped, landing softly, rolling into the night.

The city sprawled before him, a maze of darkened alleys, flickering lanterns, and silent rooftops. He stood still for a moment, listening for any sign of pursuit—but there was nothing. For now.

As Riven moved through the dark streets of Black Hollow, his thoughts swirled.

The Sable Knives were no longer just a rival assassin guild—they were an intricate web of power, and Riven was tangled in it.

The woman, the assassin he had failed to kill—she wasn't just a member of the Sable Knives. She had connections, and Riven knew that finding out who was behind this web would be the key to surviving.

His next stop? The Crimson Veil, the pleasure house the blind apothecary had told him about.

It wasn't the kind of place Riven was used to—a world of deception, smiles, and secrets.

The Crimson Veil was a well-known establishment for those who dealt in whispers. Nobles, assassins, spies—all gathered here to exchange information, plot, or simply seek out pleasure under the guise of civility.

Riven pushed open the ornate door, stepping inside.

The music was soft, seductive—a symphony of whispered promises.

His eyes scanned the room, taking in the masked patrons, the women in flowing dresses, and the well-dressed men who sat in corners, speaking in low voices.

A masked woman in a tight black gown stood at the bar, her eyes scanning the room. Her gaze flickered to Riven as he approached, and her lips curled into a knowing smile.

"You're not here for the usual," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "What's your business with the Veil?"

Riven leaned in, speaking low. "I'm looking for someone. A woman. She was here tonight."

The woman's eyes glinted with interest. "There are many women here. Which one do you seek?"

Riven hesitated, feeling the weight of his words. "A woman in black, with golden eyes. She smelled like spiced perfume."

The woman's smile widened ever so slightly. "Ah, her."

Before Riven could ask more, she raised a finger to her lips. "Follow me."

The masked woman led him down a narrow corridor behind the bar. The air grew thicker, heavier. At the end of the hall, she pushed open a door to a small dimly lit room.

Riven stepped inside, noting the silence that seemed to hang around them.

"Sit," she said, her voice low and soft.

Riven sat across from her, watching her carefully.

"What can you tell me about the woman I'm looking for?"

She studied him for a moment before answering. "She's not just an assassin. She's high-ranking in the Sable Knives, and not someone easily found."

"I need to find her. I need answers."

The woman leaned forward. "You're not the first to seek her out, you know. Many have tried and failed." She paused. "If you want to know more, you'll have to prove yourself to the Crimson Veil. Only then will you have access to the information you seek."

Riven's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

She smiled, leaning back. "A small task. A test. Retrieve a certain document from the Vault in the House of Mirrors, and we'll talk. Do that, and you'll find everything you're looking for."

Riven's pulse quickened. The House of Mirrors was a place of legend in Black Hollow—an old noble mansion converted into a vault of secrets, information, and forbidden knowledge. Few knew its true purpose, but those who did kept its doors locked tight.

This was no small task.

But it was the only lead Riven had.

The woman stood, her voice cool and confident.

"You have until dawn. The House of Mirrors awaits."

END OF CHAPTER 11