Chapter 99: Misunderstanding
A guard passed below, but he was looking toward the back gate, not up. Lysa waited until he turned, then dropped inside behind the shrubs. She crouched in the garden shadow and listened.
Voices came faintly from the house. A servant moving. A guard coughing. A chair scraping somewhere inside.
There was no alarm. Nobody saw her. Good for her. She crossed the garden slowly.
The silver ash leaves whispered above her. She reached the side of the house and looked up. The second floor had a window partly open, but that was too far from where she believed Lucard stayed. She had watched the house long enough to see a faint light in the room near the back exit. A man’s shadow had moved there once. From the height and shape, she thought it was Lucard.
She moved toward that room. At the rear window, she found a small latch. It was old but strong.
She pulled a thin metal pick from her glove and worked it carefully. The latch resisted for several breaths, then clicked softly.
Lysa paused. No sound came from inside.
She pushed the window slightly open.
The room was dark except for a weak lamp on the desk. The bed was visible. A chair stood beside the wall. The air smelled faintly of ink, blood, and smoke. She saw no one at first.
Then she noticed the shadow near the desk.
Lucard was there.
He was sitting with his back half turned, one hand resting on the desk, his eyes lowered as if he had been thinking. He did not look asleep. That was disappointing but not enough to stop her. If she hesitated now, she might lose the chance.
Lysa pulled herself through the window. Her boot touched the floor. At that moment, under the window frame, a tiny blood mark awakened.
It did not flash. It did not make a sound. But Lucard’s eyes moved.
Lysa drew one of her knives and stepped into his room. She moved fast the moment her knife left the sheath.
She did not shout. She did not waste time with threats. She stepped from the window shadow and rushed toward Lucard’s back with the knife held low, aiming for the space below his ribs. It was a good attack for a room. Short distance. Low sound. Small blade. One step, one cut, and then the victim would lose strength before he understood someone had entered.
Lucard did not turn like a surprised person. He moved like someone who had been waiting for the curtain to rise.
His left hand caught the wrist that held the knife before it reached his side. His fingers closed around her bones with cruel accuracy.
Lysa’s eyes widened, but she reacted quickly. Her second hand went toward the knife near her thigh.
Lucard stepped inside her reach before she pulled it free, twisted her captured wrist, and drove his shoulder into her chest with controlled force.
The air left her lungs.
Before she could fall back, he hooked one foot behind her ankle and pulled.
Her balance broke.
Lysa tried to turn the fall into a roll, but Lucard had already read the movement from her shoulders. He pushed her wrist down, caught the back of her collar, and slammed her to the floor beside the bed.
Thud!
The sound was heavy enough to wake the house.
Lysa gasped in pain. Her knife slid across the floor and stopped under the desk. She tried to kick his knee, but Lucard placed one foot on her ankle and pressed down. He did not press hard enough to break it yet. He pressed hard enough to tell her he could.
"Who sent you?" Lucard asked.
Lysa clenched her teeth and glared up at him. "Let go of me."
Lucard said, "That was not the question."
She yelled, "Go to hell."
Lucard looked at her face, then at her hands, then at the window she had entered from. She was young, trained, and too confident for a common thief. Her breathing was rough from the impact, but her eyes were not weak. She had entered alone, which meant she was either foolish, brave, or had been sent by someone who did not care if she died.
All three were possible.
He bent, took the second knife from her thigh strap before she could reach it, and threw it onto the desk.
Lysa struggled harder. "Do not touch me."
Lucard said, "You entered my room with a knife."
She replied, "You killed people."
He replied, "Yes."
The simple answer made her freeze for half a breath. It was not a confession filled with guilt. It was not a denial. It was just a fact.
Lucard crouched beside her and caught her other wrist. "Name. For whom did you come to take revenge?"
She spat looking at his face.
Lucard tilted his head slightly. The spit missed and landed on the floor.
His expression did not change. He said, "That was stupid."
Lysa lifted her chin. "I will not answer a mudblood murderer."
Lucard’s eyes became colder, but he did not get angry. Anger was useful only when aimed. This girl’s words told him more than silence. She knew his family name. She knew the insult used against him. She believed he had killed someone she cared about, or at least someone had told her that.
He pressed her wrist behind her back and searched the sleeve of her leather armor. There was a thin needle hidden near the seam. He removed it and placed it beside the knives.
He asked, "You carry poison?"
Lysa said nothing.
Lucard smelled the needle once. "Weak sleeping poison. Not for killing. Perhaps for capturing?"
Her expression shifted slightly.
He noticed.
"So you did not only come to kill."
"I came to make you pay."
"For whom?"
She shut her mouth.
Lucard moved his hand to her waist belt and began checking the pouches attached there. He found two lock picks, a folded paper with no writing, three small copper tokens, and a black cloth strip with an ash-colored wolf head stitched into one corner.