A sheaf of paper lay before her, marked only by the slow bleed of the quill in her hand. At least it had stopped shaking, some errant tremor that was no doubt caused by that idiot and his idiot bombs. Delial had only noticed it when she had finally made a retreat into her hideaway and thought to have herself a glass of wine to calm the oncoming headache. It did her little good, of course.
She did not see what it was that would ultimately kill Natalie McBeef but it did not change the fact that the woman was still dead and, as far as she knew, there was little to be salvaged of the warehouse. A grenade? No, no, she was not that stupid. Others had been there: another Maelstrom girl, a man with an axe, the two guards they (or rather, she) decided to drag along on their escape. One of them must have done something. One of them must have...
It matters not, she chided herself. Her quill tapped upon the paper. Despite what others might have thought of her, she did not enjoy death. It was far too easy, far too kind, and for all the wrongs McBeef had done, she deserved something more. The Gods would not give her that satisfaction, of course. There was nothing she could take from her demise but annoyance. Truly, they mock me. Is this my punishment? Her pulse thudded in her ears and little by little the nails of pain at the backs of her eyes dug in deeper.
Growling, she balled up the stained page and tossed it aside. Taeros would be cross but the mishap might have bought them some time. The Sultansworn, the Sergeant, the Pirate, and the Snake; they all still had their parts to play, as did Delial herself. She forced out a long breath, clawing for focus, and began to write. "We do what we must," she muttered to herself. "We do what we must."
She did not see what it was that would ultimately kill Natalie McBeef but it did not change the fact that the woman was still dead and, as far as she knew, there was little to be salvaged of the warehouse. A grenade? No, no, she was not that stupid. Others had been there: another Maelstrom girl, a man with an axe, the two guards they (or rather, she) decided to drag along on their escape. One of them must have done something. One of them must have...
It matters not, she chided herself. Her quill tapped upon the paper. Despite what others might have thought of her, she did not enjoy death. It was far too easy, far too kind, and for all the wrongs McBeef had done, she deserved something more. The Gods would not give her that satisfaction, of course. There was nothing she could take from her demise but annoyance. Truly, they mock me. Is this my punishment? Her pulse thudded in her ears and little by little the nails of pain at the backs of her eyes dug in deeper.
Growling, she balled up the stained page and tossed it aside. Taeros would be cross but the mishap might have bought them some time. The Sultansworn, the Sergeant, the Pirate, and the Snake; they all still had their parts to play, as did Delial herself. She forced out a long breath, clawing for focus, and began to write. "We do what we must," she muttered to herself. "We do what we must."
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