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Unmasking: Part One

Order is the ruling concept of the Andalan faith and the nations that bow before it. Anything done in the name of maintaining order is considered justified, no matter how perverse or cruel. Anything powerful, unpredictable, or free is regulated or destroyed. It is this thinking from which the Dagasi Order, a system of legal assassination was born.

Designed to keep the grudges of the petty and powerful from spilling into open warfare and stealing the lives of the innocent and weak, the Order is a mysterious but widely accepted part of life in the upper echelons of Andalan society. Andalan nobles scoff at the barbarians to the East who call the Dagasi Order and its practices savage. They tut at the unruly and unregulated magics which lie beyond the invisible line that divides the continent between Andalan and other. They worship the Gods of Order and Chaos, but only one affects their judgement.

Georgiana served the Order despite its cruelty. She excelled despite her slight stature and sex. She killed for her freedom and killed some more for her fortune. It was all supposed to end in peace and serenity, but unfortunately for Georgiana she fell in love with an ambitious man and he loves her just as much.

Her dress rustled with every step, the layered black silk whispering secrets to anyone who paused to listen. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦! 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦! 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦! Even amongst the hubris of the crowded antechamber full of slow-moving aristocrats, petty rulers, and merchant princes, her ears caught every whisper her skirts made. This announcement of her presence brought a prickle of unease between her shoulder blades.

Georgiana clutched tightly to Marcel's arm, perhaps a little too tightly. He had repeatedly glanced over at her as they made their way through the stream of over-decorated butterflies. His face was impassive, green eyes unreadable even to her, but the gesture alone spoke of concern. She loosened her grip and forced herself to relax. At least, she forced her body to relax, over that she had complete control, even now after so many hours spent at a writing desk instead of training. Her shoulders fell back, her torso shifted in line with her pelvis and she curved her lips just slightly, in an imitation of an unconscious smile. Marcel wouldn't be fooled; he would carry the concern all night. A tightness in his jaw, a slight curve of his spine as he walked. Little things only she would notice, but there all the same.

"Relax," he breathed, his words not going past her ears.

Georgiana shot him a look that would have withered up and blown away lesser men, but her husband only smiled.

Balls and upper-class gatherings of all kinds brought up memories of her time in the Dagasi Order as one of Andala's sanctified assassins. Hours spent crouched in shadows, blood splatters on fine fabric and priceless floors, the surprise on each and every face.

Memories Georgiana preferred to repress.

It wasn't remembering the people she had killed that bothered her. In fact, she was proud of several of those assassinations. No, it was remembering how easy it had been to kill them, even the trained fighters.

"We're on hallowed ground,' Marcel reminded her as a stern-faced guardsman, who barely remembered to incline his head in acknowledgement, ushered them through one large, ornate antechamber and into another. "Violence is strictly prohibited."

"So is politics," Georgiana shot back as they moved into a room illuminated by green light. Marcel didn't reply, his attention caught up by the source of the light.

In the center of the room was a portal's whirling vortex within an archway formed of entwined vines of emerald fire. Trailing tendrils of flame crept down the marble pathway that led to the fiery arch as if reaching for the guests. Here the disorganized mass of moving people stopped, being directed through the fiery portal in small groups by two hulking guardsmen.

To the side of the archway, behind the guardsmen, an unusually tall mage stood. His skin was completely hairless, devoid of eyebrows, lashes, or any hair at all upon his head, limbs, or face. His skin was almost supernaturally pale. His eyes had only the barest hint of blue and were nearly colourless. The black band of a slave, glittering with enchantments encircled his neck. She openly stared at him as she passed, but he didn't return her gaze, his disturbing eyes fixed on the pulsating light of the entrance. An albino with power, and a lot of it judging by his bland expression. He was quite the prize.

Perhaps he was a gift from some influential popinjay that wanted to get in Zahra's good graces now that her daughter was The Fire That Sustains. As the spiritual guide of the South she could command the hearts and minds of half the people on the continent -, commons, and nobles alike. A capability that Zahra, by extension, now also enjoyed.

Stepping through the archway burned cold; a breath later and they were through the other side. The warm air was a shock against her skin and the blazing light of hundreds of candles reflected against their crystalline chandeliers burned her eyes. A hand squeezed her stomach painfully as she blinked away blind spots, the skin between her shoulder blades burned, and her chest tightened. Sensing her anxiety Marcel dropped the arm her hand delicately rested on, abandoning formality to wrap his arm around her shoulders instead.

Georgiana pushed back unwelcome memories of dark rooms, burning light, and pain. She clenched her hands into tight fists to help fight off the urge to reach up and touch the two bladed pins that held her hair in place. It was a precarious thing the hairstyle that kept the blades away from her scalp. She didn't want to undo her maid's good work out of mere paranoia.

Once her vision cleared Georgiana recognised the entrance hall of Andefor Manor, some thousand miles away from the corridors of the Hall of Ascendancy where they had been a second before.

𝘚𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥.

Despite losing the protection hallowed ground offered against violence, the sight of Andefor Manor's entrance hall calmed her. It was as familiar as the Hall of Ascendancy was alien. It was here that she had completed both her first and final contract for the Order.

Since she had last visited, the manor had been redone in the classical style. Columns of aged marble reached up to support the vaulted ceiling as ever, but now golden vines had been painted around them twining up towards the sky. The floors had been redone in milky quartz, polished to shining, and the walls were draped in lengths of satin. Alternating between the shining gold and crimson emblem of The Fire That Sustains, and the green and black coat of arms of the House of Andefor. Gentle piano music hung in the air and an unseen choir sung a wordless hymn, their voices brimming with reverence.

"A bit much wouldn't you say?" Marcel murmured, leaning in towards her ear as he did. Georgiana repressed a shiver at her husband's closeness, and she felt his lips twist into a smile.

"I preferred the marble floors myself."

"Yes, you would," he said with an exaggerated sigh. Georgiana just smiled beatifically; she had just spent an exorbitant amount of money having the façade of their townhouse in Halossa sheathed in marble.

"I suppose it's difficult to really enjoy the carousing in the Hall of Ascendancy."

"Nothing like being reminded of the gods to turn you off sin for the night," Marcel said. "And a sinless celebration would be something of a failure."

"Especially given the tastes of Iman," Georgiana agreed, thinking of the party she had attended the year before when she had first met the ruler of the Vestika Imperium. Most brothels were a picture of chastity and innocence compared to the debauchery she witnessed that night.

"Apparently he prefers blondes," Marcel said as they navigated the crowds.

"He does," Georgiana agreed looking out into the crowd. There was a disgusting amount of taffeta and satin, which was unfortunate as the next several years in fashion would be directly inspired by what was worn tonight. There was also an unusual number of blonde women whose faces she couldn't put a name to.

"I don't know her," Marcel said, having followed her gaze to the face of a silver-eyed blonde girl, barely more than a child by the look of her.

"I doubt anyone here does."

The many guests, most already familiar with the layout of Andefor Manor, were moving through the open double doors at the far end of the room, which led to the reception hall and ballroom beyond. The reception hall had been redecorated similarly to the entrance hall, but with the added addition of a golden throne set on a raised platform in the very centre of the room.

Georgiana recognised most of the guests that swirled around them, as they pushed further into the reception hall. Courtiers from the Attessan city-states, high ranking priests, wealthy commoners like herself and Marcel, Imperial aristocrats, and the sovereign lord of not one, but nine nations. There was an unusual energy among them all. A thrumming excitement, unseen but unmistakable.

"It's a holy day, they can relax" Marcel said, noticing her staring off into the crowd. "So, can you."

Georgiana would love to believe him, but she couldn't. Her Dagasi price had been inquired after two moons past. She was only lucky her service to the Order meant it was exorbitantly high. Apparently, her would-be murderer couldn't afford it, but that was cold comfort. At the night market in Halossa - known for illegal activity -, a well-dressed man had been asking around for the services of an illegitimate, non-Dagasi, assassin.

Someone wanted her dead.

Someone who was willing to sacrifice their honour and integrity to see it done. Willing to deal with cut-throats and side-step the ancient system, which had kept the continent from dissolving into open warfare for centuries. Perhaps even dirty their own hands. And what better time to catch her unaware than on a holy day?

No, she couldn't relax, especially with Marcel on her arm. Her husband had many talents, but self-defense was not one of them.

They had crossed the breadth of the reception room now and Marcel steered them towards the far corner of the room. The Dominus and Domina of Milkain, a wealthy, aristocratic couple of some standing in the Imperium, were sitting there together on one of the deep purple velvet lounges, a table laden with fruits and cheeses in front of them. The Dominus, Ibrahim, was an intelligent man who shared many of Marcel's drier areas of interest and so, despite his pleasant temperament, was a rather boring man. His wife, Amira, made up for him. She was a vivacious and engaging woman who was considered by many to be the most fashionable woman on the continent and supposedly one of the purest Varani living. She certainly looked it. In a room filled with coffee-brown Estans and ebony-black Varani purists she had the darkest skin of any. No small feat, and her eyes, which lit up with welcome as they approached, were a vibrant purple that was never seen in anything less than pure-blooded Varani. Blessedly, she was in fine linen dyed a soft grey and embroidered with silver flowers. If Amira had worn taffeta, it would have cemented the trend irreversibly.

Ibrahim rose, gesturing for Georgiana to take his place beside Amira. Grateful to get off her feet she sat down beside Amira who flung her arms around Georgiana's shoulders with unembarrassed affection. Georgiana gave her a genuine smile. She didn't often attach herself to people, but Amira had found a place in her heart from their first meeting.

"How did you like the ceremony?" Amira asked in a conspiratorial whisper as their husbands waved over one of the many servants in gold-trimmed livery who hovered around the guests.

"We were seated in the sixteenth row, so we didn't see a great deal. The music was very good, however."

"That is very close for a commoner," Amira remarked. "Marcel must have been pleased."

"He was, especially given the Comte of Avada was in the row behind us."

"The seventeenth row?" Amira looked shocked. "Blood feuds have been started over smaller insults."

"He must have done something to offend Zahra. I'm told she saw to the seating chart personally."

"I imagine he is not long for this world."

"I, for one, will not miss him." It was Ibrahim who spoke, he and Marcel returning to them, a servant following anxiously at their heels, his lips moving soundlessly in some incantation.

"He's a bit of an idiot," Marcel agreed sitting down in the winged armchair the servant had materialised out of nowhere. Purple velvet, a perfect match for the lounge. A twin armchair materialised beside it and Ibrahim dismissed the server with a smile and nod.

"I would have said poorly educated."

"Only because you're a snob."

Ibrahim waved a hand at Marcel dismissively. "You are uncouth."

"I'm shocked to hear you use such language, Your Excellency," Georgiana said with a grin that Ibrahim returned.

"Your husband has been a bad influence on my behavior, I fear, ma'am."

"Naturally," Marcel said with a sly grin. "But you're better for it. So, how was the ceremony from the sixth row? I noticed you two have moved up in the world recently."

"It was -" Amira shook her head, a far-off look in her violet eyes. She leaned in closer. "It was disturbing if I am honest. You could see the spirit take her. One moment a little girl, the next -"

"The Fire That Sustains," Marcel finished for her.

"I only hope that Johanna herself wasn't burnt away in that fire."

"Well, tradition tells us that both the spirit and the bearer are present in that holy union."

"As does our personal experience with Johanna's predecessor," Ibrahim added. "No one could say Nasira lacked for her own, distinct, personality." A servant appeared at his elbow, a golden tray with four glasses of rich, red liquid held out.

"Your drinks Your Excellencies, sir and ma'am."

"I asked for cherry wine and they've got Bavordan vintages," Ibrahim said as they all accepted their drinks from the servant, who bowed when Marcel took the last drink off the tray and quickly scurried away.

Amira held her drink aloft. "The Fire That Sustains, long may she burn."

The rest of them raised their glasses, repeating "long may she burn," and they all took a drink. The wine was tart despite the sweetness of cherries and rich like all Bavordan reds.

As they toasted a hush fell over the room. Georgiana looked over Marcel's shoulder to see Johanna Andefor, The Fire That Sustains, representative of the Mother Creator on earth and spiritual guide of the South standing in the doorway. She was small, even for an eight-year-old girl. The badge of her rank, a crown of fire opals and gold carved into the likeness of roses on a vine, sat precariously on her head. Tilted back so it didn't fall over her face. She was Zahra in miniature, with her silky black braids and delicate features, but her eyes had turned grey where they were once her mother's warm brown. She looked out at them all for a moment and Georgiana scrambled to her feet so that she, like the rest of the assembled guests, could drop to her knees and press her face into the ground.

"Rise," she said, her soft, soprano voice carrying across the room.

Georgiana waited a moment before getting to her feet. There was a delicate balance of ego amongst the more sensitive nobility that she had no interest in upsetting by rising before them. Marcel followed suit. Amira and Ibrahim watched them with amusement, having stood immediately.

"I always forget the two of you are commoners," Ibrahim said as Johanna strode purposefully towards her throne, people melting out of her path.

"I'm also a literal bastard," Georgiana added to a snort of laughter Ibrahim tried to cover up as a cough. "But I'm a rich bastard and that's really all that matters."

"As I am to celebrate my flower day in less than a month I could not agree more," Amira said with a wide smile, linking her arm in Georgiana's. "Rich bastards tend to be excellent gift-givers." Georgiana returned the smile thinking of the purple tourmaline and gold jewelry set, inlaid with outrageously expensive protective charms, she had commissioned for her friend.

"We should probably mingle," Ibrahim said. "Taxation reform is never popular, and I promised His Illustriousness we would try to curry favour for it."

"We?" Marcel asked with a raised eyebrow. "I don't remember Iman offering to pay me."

"Considering the new reforms would let you expand your venture beyond the Attessan states and into the Imperium - "

"Well in that case." The two of them shared a slow, satisfied smile. Amira too was smiling but Georgiana had to hold back a sigh, polite small talk with people who looked down on her wasn't her idea of fun. Reluctantly she followed them further into the room and towards a group of Imperial nobles.

"Do not look so sullen, Georgie," Amira said in a singsong voice. "You should learn to love occasions like this!"

Georgiana opened her mouth, a witty retort on the tip of her tongue, but the words died in her throat as she felt a breeze on her neck and her gut twisted with the primal knowledge she was being watched. Without conscious thought, she doubled over, dragging Amira down with her and neatly avoiding a blade aimed for her head.

A dull, wet thud and a scream. A blade thrown in a crowded room was always sure to hit someone. Georgiana pushed Amira behind her and into the crowd which had erupted in startled shouts and curses. Guardsmen who had before been trying to look unobtrusive now forced the crowd apart, pushing aside aristocrats and priests without care. As she moved, her would -be killer, a middle-aged balding man, made to slam into her only to find empty air. She nearly laughed as she finished the movement she had begun, sweeping her right foot into a wide circle as she spun, her feet never once losing contact with the ground. She slammed her shin into the back of his knee, knocking him to the floor in front of her.

𝘈𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘶𝘳.

The fear of before was gone. Waiting for an unseen assailant was one thing, but with the violence out in the open she was again in her element. She straightened, hand flying to the ornamental hairpin holding her dark locks in place. That would have been it for him, her instincts told her to kill first and ask questions later. But a second attacker, a young man with taunting eyes, saved him when Georgiana was forced to duck out of the way as he came hurtling towards her. She moved backwards and to her left, letting him barrel past her she slashed her arm. The hairpin caught him in the cheek, and he screamed as blood gushed down his face. Georgiana felt a breeze of movement on her right arm and twisted out of the path of another attacker. A short, lithe blonde woman rushed past her, going further than she planned without Georgiana to slow her momentum. She ran right into the blade of a quicker guardsmen's sword, impaling herself. Georgiana swiveled back to face the man she had slashed, the half-impaled girl already forgotten. He moved more cautiously now but still smirked at her. She wanted to slap that look off his face.

"You're very young to die," her voice was low and husky, as they circled each other, ignoring the shouts and ringing steel as guardsmen and military-minded guests alike moved to engage the other ambushers. They had apparently come in numbers. "Surrendering might save your life."

He didn't answer, rushing her instead. Evade and strike, a memory whispered. She rolled out of the way – her first mistake. Her layered silk dress wasn't designed with acrobatics in mind and the roll tangled her up in it. Her attacker noticed and that obnoxious grin lit his face again and so Georgiana made her second mistake. Her blade shot across the room, following the path of her eyes to bury itself in his throat. He made a retching noise, clutching at his throat and dropping to his knees. The shock on his face was almost worth losing her only weapon, the other hairpin had fallen out of her hair during the fight. She was free for only a second. Just long enough to get to her feet and see that Marcel was safe behind the battle lines the guardsmen had drawn up to entrap the would-be assassins.

Then her fourth attacker was upon her.

He was at a disadvantage, having fought his way to her. Blood stained his brown breeches dark on his right side. His face pale under coffee brown skin, sable eyes very wide. He didn't rush her, holding back from the move that had proved fatal for his compatriots. Instead they circled, the dance of death a teacher had once called it. It was something to be avoided according to that teacher, best to throw them off, give them no time to think. No time to fear. Fear could sharpen or break an opponent. That teaching had been a warning. But in Georgiana's opinion, if wielded properly, fear was a potent weapon.

She pushed her circle out wider, edging herself towards the blade lodged in his comrade's throat. It took him longer than it should have to notice she was getting closer to a weapon. As he stepped in to block her path, she pivoted so that for a second his back was to her. She slammed her elbow and forearm into his shoulder blades and lower neck. He stumbled forward, his sword clattering away out of his grasp. She didn't give him time to regain his balance, slamming into him with her entire body weight and the not insignificant added weight of her dress. He fell, face first into the marble floor. His nose broke with an audible crunch. He'd probably lost teeth. Georgiana went down with him, though her fall was controlled, her weight falling on top of him and winding him again. She didn't give him a chance to catch his breath. She caught his arm, twisting it backwards and forced a knee down onto his cheek, pinning his head to the ground. He struggled, trying to break her balance and grip, but despite the inconvenience of her layered skirts his attempts didn't shift her.

She leaned down close to her prisoner's ear. "Too late."

"What are you planning to do to that man Madame Allegra?"

Georgiana looked up to see the guards had ringed the room, shutting off all exits and separating the crowd from the bloody scene Georgiana found herself in the middle of. There had been two dozen assassins in total, but only four had made it to Georgiana, guardsmen and guests alike cutting them down. Of the four who had reached her, three were dead. Ibrahim's badge of office, a ceremonial dagger with a bloodstone blade and a ruby encrusted hilt, was buried in the back of the middle-aged man, which explained his disappearance. She had killed the second attacker; he lay in a pool of his own blood, unmoving, eyes no longer taunting. The girl had impaled herself. Two others were still living, being restrained by guards. In front of her stood Johanna, Iman and Zahra only a pace behind. The three most important people in Andala had their attention focused solely on Georgiana.

This is part one of ‘Unmasking’ the first installment of ‘The Dagasi Saga.’ The entirety of ‘Unmasking is available for free on webnovel, and the second installment ‘Anathema’ is available for 0.99cents USD on Amazon. If you don’t want to pay don’t worry! Everything will be released on webnovel, it will just take more time. If you don’t want to wait, Amazon is the way.

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