Proposal
The streets of Rhaz lie unnervingly still, far quieter than their usual hum. Ennui strides down the cobbled path toward her residence, her boots crunching over the shattered remains of glass bottles—discarded remnants of some forgotten brawl. The sound, sharp and hollow, reverberates underfoot, but she doesn’t flinch. A small part of her almost wishes the glass would cut deeper, just to pierce the numbness that’s been settling in her bones. Lately, the only thing she’s been able to look forward to are those rare, fleeting moments with Khimi. It’s been a while, Khimi.
She takes a turn down a darkened alley, the weight of the silence pressing in around her. The shapes of two figures emerge from the gloom near the entrance to her modest residence. Hmph. Didn’t realize I had fans this far out, she thinks with a flicker of irritation. A flash of steel slides from her bracer, the dagger small enough to be hidden in her palm, but sharp enough to open a man wide. The figures rise from behind the crates, the echo of each footfall bouncing off the sandstone walls in a rhythm that carries more threat than they likely intend. As they pass under the dim glow of a nearby window, their features come into sharper view: two men, silk jackets flowing as if they belonged in a palace instead of a ratty backstreet. Their white sarouel, immaculate and untouched by the grime of the alley, and their babouches—gleaming white—are a far cry from the dirt-streaked world they’re walking through. Ennui’s lips curl into a thin smile as her grip on the dagger tightens. Bloody Envoys. She knows the type—pampered, polished, and dangerously out of touch with the real world.
As they approach, Ennui eyes them warily. “What is it?” she asks bluntly.
“Ennui?” the larger man replies, bowing slowly. He brushes his black hair from his almond-colored eyes and smirks.
“That all depends on who you are,” she shrugs, her fingers unconsciously tracing the tips of her curved horns. “Which lord do you serve?”
“We represent an interested party,” the shorter man interjects quickly, glancing anxiously over his shoulder into the darkened alley. “If you’re interested in hearing our lord’s proposal, it would be best if you took a walk with us.”
“Where to? I like to keep my family informed of my whereabouts—just in case they come looking for me,” Ennui replies, a sly smirk dancing on her lips.
“You don’t have a family,” the larger man sneers, stepping closer. “But if you want to play this way, we can simply inform our lord that you’re not interested in his generous offer.”
Ennui scoffs, reluctantly sheathing her dagger back into her bracer. “Fine,” she groans, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
“Very cooperative of you,” the shorter man mocks as he strides past her.
A familiar scent of peonies fills the air, and Ennui recalls her recent visit to Omar’s. The fragrance of lilac and peonies had clung to those who served under the merchant prince. Maybe he’s got a thing for flowers, she thinks, clicking her tongue as the taller man trudges ahead. And I’ve definitely seen him there before. A goliath of a man, he stands nearly two heads taller and twice her weight. His distinctive tail marks him as beastkin. Wonder what you are, she wonders as she follows behind the two. An ashva[1]? Not a capri[2] or a canis.
“Omar, huh?” Ennui inquires as they navigate the quiet streets.
No reply comes, though the larger man casts a cruel glance back, peering at her from the corner of his eye. I don’t like that. As they make their way toward the main part of town, the two men veer into another alley. Well, I REALLY don’t like that. Ennui instinctively reaches for the dagger at her side.
The windows remain unlit, broken bits of rubble lining the sides of the buildings. The dried mud walls are cracked with age and neglect. Despite hearing tales of this part of Rhaz, she has never ventured here. The gutters? Omar wouldn’t stoop to this level. The large man begins rapping his fist against a battered door, his knocks echoed by a patterned response. Ennui strains to remember the counts, playing them back in her mind. He knocks twice more, and finally, the door creaks open.
“After you,” the shorter man whispers to Ennui, his gesture mocking as he motions toward the entrance.
“Right,” she replies, her mind racing as she quickly notes the positions of the windows and exits.
Inside, the building is a disarray of broken furniture strewn across the room, cobwebs draping the corners and ceiling like forgotten memories. In one far corner, a large, heavyset man sits, flanked by two stern-looking figures. Despite the shadows obscuring his face, Ennui instantly recognizes him. Omar. He raises a hand, dismissing his escorts with a subtle wave.
Ennui stands in taut silence, her fingers nervously tracing the handle of her dagger. Time stretches, suspended in anticipation, as she waits for him to speak.
“You summoned me here, Omar?” she jeers.
“Watch that tongue of yours, devil!” one of the figures barks, but he falls silent under the weight of Omar’s raised hand. Omar chuckles softly, beckoning her closer.
“So perceptive,” he chatters, his lilting voice slithering down her spine like a chill. A bronze crook rests in his grip, tapping out a slow, rhythmic beat against the worn floorboards. The sound grates at her nerves. When he finally stands, lowering the cowl of his hood, he reveals a round, bearded face. No surprises there, she thinks, but her grip on the dagger lingers.
Omar strides toward her, his steps kicking up the stale scent of dust and decay. The crook continues its infuriating percussion, an unspoken taunt. “Ennui,” he purrs, voice honeyed. “I wouldn’t have summoned you unless it was worth your while.”
She shifts her weight, arms crossing. “We’ve worked together before,” she counters, her voice hushed but sharp. “Why the theatrics? Just send a note. A name. A price. That’s all I need.”
Omar pauses mid-step, then raps the crook against the floorboards with deliberate emphasis. Crack. “This one,” he says, “is a bit more personal… for both of us, perhaps. Though I was always told you didn’t make connections.”
“That’s true.” Ennui tugs her cloak tighter, slipping her dagger back into its sheath with a practiced flick. “So, who is it?”
Omar’s lips curl into something between a smirk and a snarl. He turns, ambling toward a wooden stool wedged between the two cloaked figures standing behind him. “Don’t you want to know the price first?”
“Hells, Omar,” she sighs, dropping onto a nearby crate. “You certainly have me curious.”
His grin sharpens as he leans forward. “It’s someone you dealt with frequently—a mercenary who shared a contractor with you for many years.”
Her expression doesn’t change. If he’s looking for a reaction, he’ll be disappointed. “You’ll have to be more specific. I worked with many during those years.”
Omar chuckles—a low, knowing sound. “Yes, but there were rumors.” His fingers drum against the crook’s handle. “Rumors that you had feelings for Khimi back then. Was that true?”
Ennui lets out a short, airy laugh, brushing the words aside. “What does it matter? You said the name, now tell me the price.”
Omar’s smirk deepens. “I’d like to keep you on retainer for this one,” he muses. “When things go my way, you’ll receive a portion of the Zeybek Estate.” A pause. “A handsome sum.”
Ennui stiffens. “What?!” The word snaps from her like a whip. “The whole estate?”
“Let’s just say a situation has presented itself,” Omar chuckles slyly. “And if you choose to accept this offer, you’ll make a fortune. More than enough to never work again in your life. Your children’s children wouldn’t need to lift a finger.”
Ennui lets out a loud sigh. “There won’t be any children, but… Omar, this sounds rather ambitious… I don’t mind the job, but I need to know how this will play out.”
“We’ve worked together enough,” Omar sighs and leans back against the wall. “Khimi dishonored my Jilliana,” he begins with a fake sob. “According to my wife, he forced himself upon her. Witnesses at my gathering saw them enter her chambers alone. Imagine my anger and betrayal upon learning of this sordid affair.”
Ennui impatiently taps her foot, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the dark room. Her eyes are fixed on Omar, who sits on a stool across from her, his expression unreadable as he speaks. “No one will believe that about Khimi though… he’s never touched a woman,” she says with a hint of skepticism in her voice.
“There is a first time for everything,” Omar replies coolly, a small smirk playing at his lips.
Her brow furrowed, Ennui ponders aloud, “So what’s the plan? Is Jilliana with child… it’s too soon for that.”
“Be it Khimi’s child or another’s, Jilliana will be with child,” Omar remarks with a scowl. “And when faced with such allegations, the young lord will have no choice but to wed my Jilliana.”
An idea seems to click in Ennui’s mind and she nods slowly. “And then once the child is born… you’d have Khimi killed,” she deduces, tapping her foot more aggressively now. “There are a lot of ways this could play out, Omar.”
“I’ve prepared a few contingencies should this plan fail. Either way, the Zeybek line ends with Khimi. If you won’t end his life… there is no short list of cutthroats in the Desert Cities,” Omar snips, his tone laced with amusement. “Better for it to be his friend who slits his throat, no?”
Ennui clicks her tongue, a quiet laugh escaping her. “Hells, and here I thought I was the devil.” She pauses, tension knotting her shoulders before she speaks again, her head shaking slightly. “I don’t mind killing Khimi. What troubles me are the consequences afterward. I’ll be discarded, won’t I? Denial of any connection, all of that nonsense. And Khimi… he’s never alone. There’s that aslan with him now, and his advisor.”
Omar sighs, the sound drawn-out and heavy. “You’ll be compensated well for each life you’re required to take along the way,” he replies, his tone edged with impatience. “Three days. I’ll give you three days to decide before I reach out to my Dolman contacts.”
“Dolmans.” Ennui scoffs, rolling her eyes.
“The Dolmans have yet to fail me,” Omar responds with a low chuckle, smugness lingering in his tone.
Ennui smirks, her voice sharp. “Three days to mull it over. It’s no small ask.” She looks away, evading his gaze.
“Three days,” he repeats, tapping his crook against the wooden floor three times in rhythm.
“Am I dismissed? May I go?” Ennui asks, already inching toward the guarded door, her eagerness unhidden.
“One moment,” Omar calls out, rising from his stool. “Ennui, if I get even the faintest whiff of betrayal…” His voice grows quiet, dangerous. “…it will be the last time you set foot in the Desert Cities.”
Ennui rolls her eyes, but she knows better than to let her guard down with Omar Kappas. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from The Great Omar,” she mutters sarcastically. “I heard they’ve given you a nickname, by the way—the beastkin.”
“The Blood Prince,” Omar spits the words, his expression twisting in disdain. “How could they scorn me so when I employ beastkin myself?” He gestures to a nearby guard, fur gleaming in the dim light.
“Right. Right.” Ennui lifts a brow, lips quirking in amusement.
The two lock eyes across the shadowed room before Omar dismisses her with a wave. She strides toward the door, hesitating for just a moment before slipping into the hall. The prospect of the job’s reward weighs heavily in her mind, stirring an unease she can barely put words to. Killing the only man she might have ever called “friend” feels like a twisted bargain. She needs a drink, and as she passes one of her familiar haunts, the murmured arguments from inside call to her.
Pausing, she looks up at the indigo-dyed awning, catching sight of Stella Solaris, the brightest star in the night sky. Her lips press into a line as she shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re fucking with me,” she mutters, pointing one finger at the heavens in a silent accusation.
Consideration
The dim lighting in the tavern casts a hazy glow over Ennui as she sits alone at the bar. She sips her drink, glancing around at the sparse patrons. Her peace is interrupted when a sickly-looking man sidles up to the seat beside her. He grins toothily at her, each smile a deliberate taunt. The dwarven barkeep, Mamir, gives Ennui a suspicious look, as if he can read the irritation simmering beneath her composed facade. Mamir is one of the few people she considers an ally here in Rhaz, despite his reputation as a fence and dealer in odd jobs. Most nights, he simply pours her drinks without judgment or agenda.
Ennui clicks her tongue impatiently. “What do you want?” she demands, turning to face the man, propping her boots between the wooden legs of his stool to trap him.
He chuckles heartily, shaking his head. “You’re that devilkin—”
“Yeah, no shit,” she cuts in sharply. “I am a fuckin’ devilkin.”
Mamir leans across the counter, giving her a pointed look. “Calm down, Ennui.”
“What. Do. You. Want?” she repeats, her voice cold and wrathful.
“Lemme buy ya a drink,” he says with a groan, almost amused. “Seems like you could use it.”
She sighs, releasing her boots from the stool. “Fine… but if this is some kind of proposition, I’m not interested.”
He nods toward Mamir, adding, “Get ‘er something good. Maybe that Sidian wine.”
Mamir scoffs, disappearing into the back room. “Don’t get your hopes up; there’s nothing good left,” he mutters.
The man leans closer, elbows on the counter, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Now, sweetheart, I’m real tore up you don’t remember me and my boys.”
She chuckles dryly, sipping her wine. “I don’t remember most men who cross my path. There’s something about them that’s so… uninspiring.”
“Sounds about like something you’d say.” He smirks, picking at his teeth with a fingernail before pausing. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”
Ennui rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Honestly, I try to forget most people. Doesn’t matter who you are—nearly every man’s worth forgetting.”
With a grin, he stands from his stool and begins unbuttoning his shirt. “You left me something,” he says, revealing a jagged scar across his chest. “Recognize this?”
Ennui stifles a laugh, shaking her head. “Look, if I left that scar, and you’re still alive, you should consider yourself lucky.”
His laughter echoes as he buttons up his shirt, his tone light. “Believe me, I do. Hatred aside, I do consider myself lucky.”
Ennui’s patience wanes, and she sighs. “What is this, then? What do you want?”
“We were both doing our jobs back then, sure,” he says, taking a long sip from his chalice. “But I figure a little compensation wouldn’t hurt.”
She stares at him, unimpressed. “Compensation? And what, exactly, are you asking for?”
He scowls, an edge of anger creeping into his voice. “Do you have any idea how much coin you cost me?”
Ennui scoffs. “Thought you said you’d moved past hating me. You know what? Keep your bloody wine.”
“Just hold on,” he says, grabbing her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
A wave of anger and rage washes over Ennui as the man’s grip tightens on her shoulder, leaving marks on her pale skin. She grits her teeth and places her hand on the hilt of her dagger, ready to defend herself. With one swift motion, she breaks free from his grasp.
“Here’s your—” Mamir starts, returning from the back room. His eyes widen. “Hells! I said stay calm!”
“I am calm!” she shouts, her voice a whip-crack across the room.
Mamir pleads with her, a nervous sheen of sweat on his brow as he sets the chalice on the counter. “Please, Ennui… I can’t afford this kind of reputation. You’re costing me big.”
She releases the dagger, shooting Mamir a reluctant glance. “Lucky for you, I would’ve left a much larger mark this time.”
The man slumps back onto his stool, waving a hand in surrender. “I’m not asking for much.”
“Ah, I forgot your lamb!” Mamir interrupts, darting back into the kitchen.
Bloody lamb, Ennui thinks, her eyes narrowing as she studies the figure beside her. Lamb. She sips her wine, ignoring the freshly poured chalice in front of her.
“I’ll tell you what,” Ennui says, her fingers grazing the curve of her horns. “Help me out with a decision, and I might give you some coin.”
He raises an eyebrow, cautious. “And what kind of decision would that be?”
She takes a moment, considering her words. “Say someone offered you enough gold to live comfortably for the rest of your life. All you’d have to do is kill someone.”
He chuckles. “There’s always a catch. Who is it?”
“Imagine,” she says, “it was a sibling. Someone close to you.”
“Your lamb!” Mamir exclaims, dropping a sizzling plate between them. “Am I interrupting?” he asks, noticing the tension in Ennui’s gaze.
“Yes,” she says, wrinkling her nose at the lamb.
Mamir gives a quick nod. “Just holler if you need anything,” he whispers, vanishing back into the kitchen.
The man strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Well, if it’s that much gold, they’d probably understand. I mean, it’s a noble sacrifice, isn’t it?”
Ennui nods slowly. “A noble sacrifice indeed.”
He lifts a piece of lamb to his lips, blowing on it as steam rises. The sight draws dark memories from her past, an old anger rising. Her knuckles go white, clenching around the wooden counter as her heart thuds in her ears, drowning out his words.
He looks up, chewing, oblivious. His lips smack together like a pig at the trough. His expression shifts as he turns back to her, but it’s too late. Ennui’s already in motion. She lunges, dagger flashing, and it plunges deep into his throat. He chokes, his hands scrambling to stop the blood, but she pries them away, crimson eyes fixed on his. She slides him onto the ground in silence, placing him on his back. In his final moments, she places two gold coins over his fading eyes.
“Here’s your fucking gold,” she murmurs, a cold smile touches her lips as she stares at the dead man.
“Everything okay here?” Mamir asks, returning to the counter. “Huh, bastards… didn’t even pay!” he exclaims in frustration before sighing loudly.
Ennui presses her back against the counter, listening for Mamir’s footfalls to return to the backroom. She exhales loudly, leisurely returning the dagger to its scabbard. “Who the fuck were you?” she asks herself aloud under her breath.
Ennui composes herself, wiping the blood from her hands onto the man’s jacket. She stands, and takes the chalice of Sidian wine. Swirling the wine around, she then takes a deep drink. With the chalice in her hand, she departs the tavern with a peek over her shoulders. The night air hits her, a welcome comfort. She replays the events of the evening. So… he would have killed his siblings for coin. He wasn’t honorable… but, it’s still a lot of gold. Ennui takes another long drink from the chalice, then tosses it aside with a clank.
“Fuck you, Khimi,” she whispers, striding through the empty streets toward the Zeybek Estate. “You better make this up to me.”
[1] Ashva(AHSH-vah): Beastkin with the traits of horses.
[2] Capri(Kah-PREE): Beastkin with the traits of sheep or goats.