The Redcap gurgles his last at my feet.
They’re nasty creatures, wizened to the point they appear to be made of twisted rope and hate. Their caps, as always, sheen with the fresh red blood of their last victim. This one is not the first I’ve killed, nor will it be the last.
Because killing is what I’m good at. And it has become everything I am.
His blood forms a pool. I gaze at it, held by the sight of the liquid. I already know what I’m going to do, even if I disgust even myself. Swiping a finger through it, I run my tongue over my digit.
It is as foul as the creature itself. I spit wildly, attempting to get rid of the taste. I haven’t fed in a long time, but what I crave is not going to come from a Redcap.
I roll the body through a cellar window, pleased to be rid of the thing. No one likes what I am, a Bluecap assassin, and it certainly isn’t going to make my current job any easier if I’m found with a dead Redcap. Even if no one likes them.
Because death is death in the Yeavering, and no one likes that much either. Except me.
Having dealt with my rival, I take a stroll down the darkened streets of Moranick, rather pleased with my evening’s work. The lamps are yet to be lit, which is how I prefer it. I give my wings a good shake and dispose of a day’s worth of scales I haven’t been able to shed.
Because I’ve been watching her.
My next mark.
The little human female who moves like she’s dancing and sounds like water tumbling through a brook. I’ve never really considered what females are, but given I’m waiting for my orders, and I can’t let her out of my sight, I’ve been learning a lot.
Admittedly, I don’t understand much of it. Like when she and her witch spend time yowling together with a certain harmony. It’s not even the full moon. Or when they change their outer garments instead of shedding scales.
I’ve considered watching from inside the little female’s room, but I haven’t been able to gain entry to the upper parts of the witch’s dwelling due to the spells she has placed there.
A wily one, this particular witch. Although not wily enough to place spells on all her doors to keep out creatures like the Redcap. But she doesn’t want anyone watching what goes on up the stairs, and her magic is enough to stop my progress.
My magic comes from the earth and the moon. It’s possible with the full hunter’s moon coming I might have enough power to break her spells.
Keeping to the shadows, I make my way to the main square of Moranick. There is plenty of food here, but none I can eat.
A large warlock stumbles into my path, his arms flailing when I don’t budge.
“Bluecap,” he snarls, fingers sparking with the air magic many witches and warlocks can wield, with a little help from the Faerie. “Get out of my way.”
My blood is already up with the killing of the Redcap, my lack of feeding going deep into my bones, my watching being all I can think about. My vision narrows to a pinprick. My head spins.
“No.”
“You think you can defeat me, creature?” he spits. “I am Rowland of Callay.”
“I don’t care what you are.” There are knives in my hands before I can even think about them. “Everyone dies in the same way.”
“Bluecap!” The shouts go up around me, and someone grabs the warlock from behind, pulling him down onto his ample rear before dragging him away.
It doesn’t do my job any good to be recognised or to have whispers about me in the town. Not if I’m to complete what I’m here for.
I step back into the shadows, open my wings, and take off, soaring high over the roofs and spires until I reach the city walls, where I make a show, to anyone still watching, of descending over the other side.
They’ll think I’m gone.
Swinging around, I double back to the hidden entry into the town and land. The beating heart of the warlock still thumps around my head.
I would sleep if sleep was something a Bluecap does. I cannot eat. All I can do is watch, so I make my way up the dank steps until I’m back in the alleys where I can use the shadows to my advantage and make my way back to the bakery where the little human resides.
If I stay here, I can wait until she wakes, walking through the place humming to herself as she stokes the fires and starts the preparations for the day, spending so long poring over the items others eat, creating every single one with care.
And then the residents of Moranick take them away and consume them.
