Baron Assassin: Chapter 17

Even for Varal, moving such a large sum of money, to say nothing of summoning a reliable solicitor, were not tasks that could be settled in a day. He ended up spending most of a week in that small town before his part in events could be called settled. Not that his business there was truly over. Threats had been made. Threats he would not let stand. That was why he’d let Daran take all the time he needed with the gang boss. It had taken a bit of negotiation to find a place for the questioning, though. Daran had found a farm that was far enough outside of town. It was owned by the widow of the farmer who used to work that land. She and her son had been badly mistreated by the gang at several points.

However, she’d refused to deal with Daran. She’d said she had no intention of striking a deal with anyone but the person in charge. At that point, Varal had little choice but to take a hand in the matter. Varal had gotten her permission to use her barn in exchange for enough gold to keep the farm up and running for a few years. Her only other caveat had been that she got to watch the gang boss being questioned. When Varal had asked her why, he’d suspected a particular answer. He was not disappointed.

“Because I want to watch him suffer,” she’d said with white-hot rage burning in her eyes.

Having seen her son’s condition, he imagined that he would have wanted to see the man suffer as well in her place. The boy had been badly beaten and more than once. One of his legs was bound up a way that suggested it had been broken and set by someone competent, but not blessed with healing magic. He had, ever so briefly, considered offering to help heal the boy as part of the agreement. Varal had grown better at healing magic over the years. Unfortunately, he knew very well that better was not the same thing as good. In the end, he’d decided that it was better not to offer.

The assassin turned noble had expected that the widow would grow weary of the man’s screams long before it was done. In that respect, he was surprised. According to Daran, she had watched every minute of it and found the entire experience satisfying. It made Varal wonder if the woman hadn’t missed a calling that was better suited to her temperament. Most people could learn to endure watching that kind of suffering. Far, far fewer people could take pleasure from it. Those who could usually found employment that suited their inclinations. Most kingdoms employed at least a few people who excelled in torture, even if they rarely called on their services. Or so Daran had told him. Rumor had it that at least one of the kingdom’s dukes kept such a person in their service.

Varal had never set out to hire someone with those skills. Even Daran was only passable at it, by his own admission. It had been something his former kingdom trained all of their spies to do. That had momentarily baffled Varal, but then he realized that, from time to time, a kingdom might need information that couldn’t be gotten any other way. I wonder if that’s hold true for a barony, mused Varal. Perhaps it would be worth the time and effort to discover if that farm widow would care to learn a new trade. Given what her small family had been through, she might even be eager to leave this town. He’d discuss the matter with Daran and see what the man thought. A knock at the door roused him from thoughts.

“Yes. Enter.”

Mila cracked open the door and poked her head in. There was a mild crease on her forehead, which Varal could only interpret as either deep worry or utter confusion.

“Baron, there is a Mistress Jareks here to see you.”

“Mistress? Do you mean Lady Jareks?”

“No, baron. I mean mistress.”

The brief bafflement about why Aima might be there gave way to concern.

“Is she injured? Is she alone?” he demanded.

“No, baron. She came with a guard. Neither seemed injured, nor overly concerned.”

“Very well. Show her—” Varal stopped himself before he could say in.

If they were blood relations, or if it was known that their families were close, he could have her shown to his room. As things stood, he knew what the countess would say, because she’d already said it.

“You cannot allow yourself to be caught alone in private with any young lady. Not unless you mean to marry her.”

“That sounds absurd. I’m alone with you all the time.”

To prove his point, he gestured around the countess’s bedroom.

“Smooth. Or sweet. But, I’m not a young lady, and everyone has long since given up on the idea that I’ll ever get married. At this point, my direct retainers are just hoping I’ll adopt someone and name them my heir. The rest of the family is praying that I’ll die without naming one, so one of them can assume the title. Given those circumstances, the status of my virtue is irrelevant. That will not be the case with the young daughters of all those nobles who will be eager to marry into your wealth. If they can make an even vaguely believable claim, you might well find yourself ordered to marry the girl in question by the king himself.”

“That would be tedious.”

The countess had given him an odd look at that comment.

“Is that how you think of marriage? Tedium?”

“I don’t think of marriage at all. I mean it would be tedious to take Marida and leave the kingdom because some noble tricked the king into giving me a foolish order.”

The countess had laughed so hard at that, she’d fallen out of the bed. With that conversation in mind, Varal changed what he’d been about to say.

“Show me to her.”

He followed Mila into the common area of the inn. He was a little relieved to see that it was mostly empty, but not completely empty. Aima stood there, eyes darting around to look at everything in the inn with innocent, curious eyes. She reminded him of a bird confronted with something it had never seen before. The elderly guard from the other night stood a respectful distance back. Varal looked eyes with the man for a moment and lifted an eyebrow.

The man let out an embarrassed little cough and said, “The young miss insisted.”

“I see,” said Varal before he turned his attention to the girl.

She was looking at him now, a bright smile on her face. Varal had dealt with plenty of Marida’s friends over the years, but it was always in passing or when they were in groups. He was never, to his memory, expected to interact with the girls directly for more than a moment or two. That left him at a bit of a loss about how to treat this interaction. He couldn’t treat this girl the way he would treat his daughter, and she was the only girl this age he’d had extensive contact with.

“Miss Aima,” he finally said. “What can I do for you?”

Instead of saying anything, the girl threw herself at him. She was such a slender girl that he worried she’d hurt herself slamming into him that way, but she just wrapped her arms around his middle. This was not what he’d expected, and he gave the guard a desperate look. The guard looked horrified, and also at a complete loss about what to do.

“Thank you,” mumbled Aima into his chest. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Mama and Papa thought I didn’t know. But I knew. I heard them talking. I heard Mama crying. Thank you so much for helping them.”

Since the guard wasn’t going to be any help, apparently, Varal realized he was going to have to say something. He patted the girl’s shoulder with one hand.

“I didn’t do that much, but you’re welcome.”

She looked up at him suddenly, unshed tears in her eyes, and whispered, “I’ll pay you back. I swear I will.”

Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gently pushed her back a step.

“You’ll do no such thing,” he said, feeling that this was more familiar ground. “There’s nothing to pay back. If you really want to do something for me, practice your music. Keep being a good daughter to your parents. That’s all anyone can or should ask from you.”

“I will!” she exclaimed, nodding furiously. “I promise. I promise I will!”

The guard finally regained his senses at that moment.

“Miss Aima,” he hissed. “Manners!”

The girl jolted. A mixture of mild guilt and embarrassment crossed her face before she took another step back from Varal. A distance that was, if not ideal, at least more acceptable. A look of concentration crossed her face, as though she was trying to recall a particularly challenging math problem.

“I thank you for seeing me, Baron. I will do as you ask,” she said, sounding like she was literally reading it aloud from a book.

“It was very nice to see you, Aima,” said Varal before turning to look at the guard. “I’ll have a few of my men escort your home.”

A moment of absolute relief bloomed on the man’s face before he locked his expression back into something more neutral.

“That isn’t necessary, Baron,” said the guard before glancing at Aima, “but I’d be grateful, all the same.”

Varal looked at Mila, who nodded and disappeared to give the men their orders. Aima seemed uncertain what she should do next. She looked at the guard. She looked at Varal. Then, she looked around the room, that same innocent curiosity seeming to overwhelm her again. This child is in for a lifetime of pain, he thought. She’s too naïve. Too trusting.

“Aima,” he said, the word almost forcing itself out of his mouth.

“Yes, Baron!” she said, all nervous excitement.

“I meant what I said, earlier. The only things anyone can or should ask of you is that you play your music and be a good daughter. If anyone ever tries to tell you that you should give them something you don’t want to give them…Send me a letter. I will speak to them about that,” he said, giving her guard a significant look. “I will speak to them about that quite sternly.”

Aima looked a little confused, but she nodded and said, “Yes, Baron.”

The guard, on the other hand, had gone very pale. The front door of the inn opened and one of Varal’s guards stepped in. The man bowed first to Varal, and then to Aima.

“Baron, we’re prepared. Miss Aima, if you’ll come with us.”

The girl shot him a questioning look, and Varal nodded.

“That’s one of my guards. He’s going to see you home. Safely.”

The guard nodded in understanding. After Aima gave him a very unladylike wave that involved her entire arm, she followed the man outside. Varal stepped up to the Jareks’s house guard.

“She may not have understood what I meant, but you did. Correct?”

“Yes, Baron,” said the older man, his voice and expression grave.

“I would not see harm come to her because she is innocent. If she doesn’t understand the threat, doesn’t know when she should contact me, I expect you to do it for her. Can I rely on you for that?”

“For that, Baron? Yes, for that, you can rely on me without hesitation.”

“Good. Give my regards and—” he sighed. “I suppose, also give my apologies to Sir Jareks and Lady Jareks.”

“I don’t believe that they’ll be out of sorts with you.”

“That’s something, at least.”

With that, the guard left. Varal stared at the door for several long seconds, not sure he’d done the appropriate thing, or even the right thing. Shaking his head, Varal made his way back to his room. Mila knocked and entered shortly after.

“Baron, do you need anything?”

“I’m ill-suited for these things, Mila. I don’t understand children well.”

The maid paused, seemed to reorient her thinking, and answered.

“Children? She’s barely a child, I’d say. She can’t be much younger than Marida.”

“In years, perhaps, but not in mind. She’s—”

“Baron?”

“The goddess blessed and cursed her. Tell Daran that I want someone dispatched here to watch over that girl. Or two people. Whatever he thinks is best. It’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep.”

“I—” Mila blinked a few times in evident surprise. “I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you, Mila.”