The Rebel Assassin

Chapter 4: Two Ways to Say Goodbye

Joshua sat on his bed and looked around. His room at the Assassin's Court was small, identical to other cell-like rooms of the other assassins. He hadn't traded up when Roman became king and his own position became more prestigious, and as a result it was stratified into different eras of his life. It was easy to see, at first glance, the five-year gap in which he had not set foot here.

He'd barely had time to unpack his few belongings from the castle and he was already packed up to leave again. How long would his absence be this time? Last time he was supposed to be gone a few days and it lasted five years. He could only imagine how long a trip that was planned to take about a month would last.

Fine — he was being dramatic. He knew that. There was no reason for this diplomatic mission to be derailed. And yet, he had walked so unsuspectingly into the trap that made him captain. He couldn't find that same naiveté inside himself anymore. He desperately did not want to leave.

After tamping down on his homesickness as much as possible during his absence, he had only just begun to let himself relax and accept that he was home. It would take time to rebuild that emotional dullness again. He was going to miss the court, the changed but familiar faces, Roman... no. He didn't want to think about Roman.

For so long his only contact with his king had been through secret notes and instructions, and that secrecy had made it seem intimate, even with the distance between them. But now that the distance between them was often only inches of space, Roman was more distant than ever. They had only really spoken alone once, when Roman explained the mistake that had led to the whole mess, revealing that Iso had been pulling the strings for far longer than Joshua had suspected. Since then, Roman had been quiet. Withdrawn. Polite.

How dare he be polite?

Ever since Joshua had first step foot into the Court, Roman had been taunting and mocking him, challenging him and infuriating him. Even when Joshua was his right-hand man during the early days of Roman's reign, they had never worried about being dignified.

Hey Coal, nice shiner. You look like you lost ten fights in a row.

Maybe if you were competent at running this place those fights wouldn't have happened, yeah?

Oh, so it's my fault you got your pretty face messed up?

You got it.

The fact that Roman was trying to maintain a proper distance now was colder than any insult, but unlike a true insult he couldn't respond in kind. You couldn't give the silent treatment to someone who hardly acknowledged you were there.

A knock on the door. Assuming it was Morane, he yelled for her to come in and stayed where he was, studying the tiles of the floor with hard focus but no interest. Maybe he was never going to be Roman's right-hand again. Maybe keeping his distance was just how Roman was trying to tell him that.

The door opened, but he heard no footsteps clunking in, and no greeting. No way was it Morane, who opened every conversation these days by remarking how uncaptain-like he was.

His heart sank, but he didn't look up to meet Roman's eyes. Of course he would come in now, when Joshua was moping on his bed, and not an hour earlier when he had been determinedly packing and lying to himself about how he was going to take it in stride and not feel sorry for himself.

Roman cleared his throat. "Ysmay sent over the final list of who's going. Laerhart, of course, and another one called Wes. One of the former capital rebels called Dell, I believe you know her."

"That's a terrible combination," Joshua mumbled.

"Two older Phoenixes," Roman continued. "And you."