KINGSLAYER

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He was a grown man now, finally capable of fighting back in a way that mattered. And still he did not want to go alone.

Jaylah looked away first, busying her hands with some paperwork. Alexander stepped back and left the office. It was a good thing she had not offered to send anyone with him. He did not want anyone knowing his utter humiliation.

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He was already better off this time around. Because Jaylah was able to find a place of work connected to the man—named Rosseas—Alexander would not have to linger around orphaned children waiting for a slaver to come by like bait dangled before a shark. If tonight went as planned, he would not have to see any children being rounded up at all, though he had his dagger as insurance because of his shitty luck.

In fear of being on the verge of a breakdown like last time, Alexander held onto the positives. He didn't have to distract anyone with humor or alluring smiles. Out here alone, he could just be himself. But...that meant the real him was not funny or appealing if it was all a front—

No, no, no. He cursed at himself. Why was he so bad at being positive?

Walking down the sloping lane with the lightest part of the darkening gray sky at his back, Alexander laughed a bit at his own foolishness. Then promptly stopped, wondering if he was losing his mind. Well, if losing his mind made him feel even a shred more lighthearted, he wouldn't mind. At least he was laughing now. But that only brought the fear of how he would feel by the end of the job. Would he have enough anger to hold onto, or would he return to the palace in pain, mentally drowning and on the verge of tears?

He marveled at his own emotional precariousness.

The city named Itigona wasn't quite as big as Asklopolis, but it was more welcoming and was very awake for dusk. Residents ate on patios outside of restaurants due to the warm night. Lights were strung over the path between shops, matching the miniature glowing bugs that flew lazily overhead. They made him recall blissful nights as a child evading his poor mother, trying in vain to catch just one glowing bug with the jar in his hand. She had been torn between chastising and helping him. Now a miserable adult, Alexander was struck by overpowering wistfulness for a home he would never have again.

He did not think of that troublesome little boy or his begrudgingly amused mother as he spotted Rosseas's shop. He was a butcher, the irony of which was not lost on Alexander. Through the windows, he saw movement inside as Rosseas cleaned after a busy day. He couldn't kill him in such an open area. So he took a table at a cafe across the road and kept his head low.

There was a bar just visible on the corner, full of boisterous chatter and excitement. For a moment, he felt the desire to go inside. Alcohol would be nice right about now, he mused as he fiddled with the tablecloth's fraying edge. But no. This was a job he wanted to accomplish tonight, both out of vengeance and simply wanting it over with.

He was no alcoholic, he knew that much from witnessing drunks staggering about in the street begging for a few coins to buy their next fix. He was not addicted to liquor. He was addicted to the distraction it gave him, and unfortunately, liquor was not the most self destructive distraction he was drawn to. And the worst part about that terrible vice was that it was not an inanimate object, but a person.

It was torture. And oh, how he loved to suffer.

He sighed, bouncing his leg under the table as he waited for Rosseas to show himself. He hated having downtime. Finally, the dark-haired man disappeared from where he'd been sweeping behind the counter. Alexander abandoned the food he ordered to remain conspicuous, then thought better of it to double back for a cluster of grapes added as a garnish.

It was easy work to find where the butchery's rear gave way to a wide alley. Rosseas was already walking away. Alexander snapped a grape between his teeth as he followed far behind, his plain dark clothing helping him blend into the darkened avenue, which was cut off from any light from the quaint storefronts.

It was only a short walk before Rosseas took a sharp right and went up a steep staircase to a flat on the second floor. Alexander watched him stop at the door and knock four times before being allowed inside by someone who refused to show their face. Noting that it was the fifth residence from the left, Alexander went around the side to climb up to the roof. He needed to learn what was being said in there before that information died with his mark.

Arms heavy from climbing up so fast, he was situated on the edge of the barely-slanted roof directly over the flat in no time. He was careful not to shift his shoes against the layered tiles as he leaned down to listen.

At first it just sounded like garbled noise. He strained. "—haven't heard from him yet," someone was saying. "But the delivery will come in on time. You know I always pull through."

"Yes, it will," said a lower, colder voice. "I haven't run this operation for ten years just to have some middleman fuck it up."

"It will be dark from the new moon, the captives will be sedated and useless. It will all be perfect," comforted the first voice, who Alexander guessed was Rosseas. "They'll be on the ship before dawn and paying us back tenfold for our trouble in silver ore."

"Yes..." The second voice was much less enthused. "Remember, the back door has a catch that you'll have to throw your weight against to get fully open. Hold it with both hands so it won't make a racket; people work in the fishery next door far into the early hours of the morning. You know what will be done to you if you're caught."

"Of course." There was some noise Alexander couldn't make out. Only once he heard the clink of coins did he realize Rosseas was being paid an advance. When his mind drifted back to the butcher shop Rosseas ran, it all snapped together. The butcher hid the people who'd been stolen away to become enslaved as miners in the back of it, didn't he? No one would ever willingly walk among a bunch of hanging animal carcasses to check.

The two men were muttering their goodbyes. It seemed they wouldn't be meeting until the delivery. It was slated for the next new moon, he'd said. And next to a fishery. Alexander had hunted targets with much less help than that.

He walked to the corner of the roof, which hung over the alley. Rosseas walked right underneath him, completely unaware. Alexander raised his chin. The man was going back to his slave trade business whistling and with a hefty sum of money in his pockets. He deserved worse than anything Alexander could bestow on him.

So that the aforementioned job wouldn't be jeopardized, Alexander couldn't kill Rosseas yet. All he could do was watch him leave through the grimy street and ease a small breath from his lungs. Tonight had not been difficult at all. His agony would be postponed a little longer.