The Misbegotten (An Assassin's Blade Book 1) by Justin DePaoli Read Free Book Online Page B

it nowadays.”
    “Right, right,” he said. He pinched a nostril and snorted, sucking back up snot that his failed attempt at swallowing had shaken loose. “Does seem strange, grant you that. Wish you luck and all that, finding the killer. Nice of you stop by, Astul. I appreciate it.”
    He gave me a friendly nod, stood and began tidying up.
    “Rivon,” I said, remaining seated, “we’ve hardly talked.”
    “Haven’t we? So sorry. Lose track of time nowadays. Days blend together with nights, nights with days, sun with the moon, moon with the sun.” He rambled on, miming the clash of astral bodies with his hands. Tea spilled over the rim of his cup and splashed onto the floor. He didn’t seem to realize.
    Scooting out of the chair, I went up to him and steadied him with an arm around his shoulders. “Easy, old man. Come on, now, have a seat. When’s the last time you slept?”
    He counted his fingers. “Oh… oh, been three days, I think.”
    Must’ve been triple that since he had last showered. The must of slimy sweat caked on his skin and through the layers of his thin hair stung my eyes and made them water. I dropped him off in his chair and retreated to the other side of the table, where the stench wasn’t so noticeable.
    “Must be exhausting,” I said, “tending to all these chickens. Do you supply all of Erior with eggs?”
    “Oh, Gods, no. No, no. Only the royal family.”
    “Lotta hens for one family.”
    “Lotta mouths for that one family,” he countered.
    I leaned in sympathetically and touched his arm. “Rivon, this wasn’t your dream, playing slave to a king. What happened? You were supposed to come here to the richest city of the world with all the coin you made as a Rot, and you told us — you said, I’m gonna live like a king, fuck like a rabbit, drink like I’ve got five mouths, ten stomachs and twenty livers, and I’ll raise my roosters in peace. Instead, you’re livin’ like a glorified farmer and drink like an old man whose stomach can only handle weak tea. And you probably fuck like a eunuch, don’t you?”
    He thumbed the wiry bristles on his chin. “Priorities,” he said vaguely, “they change, and…”
    “Fuck off with all this bullshit. You’re leavin’, man. And you don’t want anyone to know. Why?”
    He touched his forehead to the table, sighed heavily, and picked his wary eyes up. His mouth moved, but nothing came out.
    “Talk to me,” I said. “I allowed you into the Rots when you couldn’t fight for shit. Tried training you to swing a sword, and you never could grasp the concept. But damn if you weren’t good at organizing the Hole, keeping morale high, procuring goods — you were like a fucking nanny and requisitions officer rolled into one. But that’s not what the Rots have ever needed. I could’ve booted your ass out, but I let you stay. Because I liked you.
    “And I let you leave our brotherhood to go live your golden years out in the capital of the world. Didn’t ask for the gold back, the horse, the swords… nothing. Now I’m asking for something: what has you so scared that you’re willing to abandon your roosters and your home?”
    He covered his face with pruned hands and began weeping. “You’ll… you’ll never believe me.” He struck the table with a closed fist. “You’ll think I’m an old coot.” Another fist, another strike. The table wobbled. “I’m not a fuckin’ old coot, you got that?” His trembling lip curled out, and a row of bony teeth grimaced at me. “I know what I fuckin’ saw!” He pointed a leathery finger at me accusatorily and shouted, “I know what I fuckin’ saw!”
    Tears sledded down his cheek and into his mouth. Born from fear? Or anger? Maybe both. Probably both.
    “I believe anything these days, Rivon.”
    A louring scowl darkened his face. The room felt cold, bitter. Long gone was my friend’s witless eloquence and the childlike playfulness. He looked like the kind of man beaten into