Wraithwood Botanist

B2 - Chapter 112 - Desperation

Leeka Melhan checked the time from her bed stand.

4:17 p.m.

Her brain processed the time and then promptly forgot it. That had been happening more often as of late. She hadn’t slept in months. Her eyes had deep bags because her body was breaking down faster than her healing. It was hard not to. She had spent her days learning new "duties," from childcare negotiations to house management—duties held by high servants.

Her place as the First Domain’s Melhan Matriarch was only there so long as it took to finalize legal arrangements with her family and find a suitable plaything to amuse her husband for the next century until he could obtain a new child.

Then, that heartless thing would drop her, too, in favor of a "real" wife to bear his children.

Her emotions boiled over again, but something told her to check the time, so she did, and the time clicked.

4.20 p.m.

I need to make it...

Leeka got dressed and quickly snuck down the stairs, considering using mana masking methods—understanding the consequences of getting caught doing so.

She chose not to.

She made it to the bottom, glaring at maids to warn them to look away, then headed for the door. Just ten more feet.

"Where are you going?"

Reasan’s deep voice resounded behind her.

She turned with practiced calm. "To find entertainment," she said. "I haven’t left this house for months."

He smiled sinisterly. "Why do you think that is?"

"I refuse to entertain this. If you wish to beat me, do it. It’s grounds to end negotiations."

His smug smile soured, and he silently sneered at her.

"Now if you don’t have anything else," Leeka said, striding to the door.

A maid opened it.

"I have eyes on every mercenary troop in Helscope and beyond," Reasan warned. "We’ll kill them if you speak to them."

Leeka trembled and whirled around and screamed, "Why aren’t you fighting for your son?"

"Because your son has led us on the path to ruin!" he yelled.

"My son?"

"Yes, your son! You raised him. You enabled—"

"That’s because you were never there!"

"Why would I be there for your job?"

She scoffed. "Unbelievable."

"Watch your tone."

Suddenly, a man said, "Lady L?"

She turned and saw a well-built man who was definitely her type staring down at her. "Yes?"

"Come with me."

She nodded and followed the man down a corridor and walked into a room where Brexton Claustra waited with a charming man with long brown hair in a ponytail.

"Welcome," Brexton said. "Lady Melhan, this is Gaska, a man who pillages for profit. Gaska, Lady Melhan, a woman who’s seeking such a person."

Gaska smiled a charming smile, leaning back in his chair to appraise her. She didn’t speak, and he found that humorous.

"I would think the Melhans would have more experience with this type of thing," he said. "Gods know their competitors do."

Brexton laughed and cheered the air with his drink and drank.

"It’s not you," Leeka said. She turned to Brexton. "It’s you. Why would you help me kill her?"

The Claustra kicked up his feet on the table, knocking a heel over an ankle as he shrugged with a gentle smile. "Can I ask you something?" he mused.

"What?" she asked.

"Do you really think I’d respond to that statement?"

Leeka Melhan frowned.

"Of course not." Brexton smiled and leaned back. "You’re here to hire a mercenary. I’ve connected you to a dependable one. Respected and frequented by your competitors. A fact that meets your standards, yes?"

Leeka frowned and eyed the mercenary. He was one of the Cackling Kings, a well-known mercenary group that had a two-century track record of maintaining a one-year flip rule whereby they refused to work for an individual’s competitors on the same general conflict for one year. As far as mercenaries were concerned, it was a sign of wealth and professionalism.

"She looks rather spooked, now don’t she?" Graka asked.

"Indeed she does." Brexton narrowed his eyes. "You’re not thinking about backing out... are you?"

She swallowed and shook her head. "No. I want her dead."

"Well, we can surely try," Graka said. "But let’s get some ground rules straight." He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. "I ain’t fightin’ a Dante. I ain’t fightin’ a Melhan. I ain’t fightin’ any of the families. We’ll ensnare her, bribe her, threaten her, and mess ’er mind up to get her to leave The Mouth alone—but if she starts making deals or sticks around, it’s off. We’re suicidal, sure, but we’re not idiots."

Leeka turned to Brexton sharply.

He shrugged. "Best you’re gonna get."

Graka raised his eyebrows. "Money?"

Leeka’s eyes trembled, and she considered the profound implication of setting out a hit on Mira Hill. She would become a world enemy.

But.

What was there to lose, really? She didn’t want to live without her son—her only son—the only one she would ever have. She didn’t want to go through the abuse and humiliation that was sure to follow.

Leeka Melhan had no future—at least not one she felt deserving of. And she would rather die avenging her son than suffer a bleak life without meaning. So she reached into her purse and pulled out a gem that shimmered in the light, reflecting shades of black and gray on the furniture like a nighttime prism.

Grask gulped.

"Brexton knows of a marked area with a million hawks," Leeka said. "Try, and you’ll get half. But if you succeed... this will be yours."

Leeka watched hunger flicker in the man’s mind when he saw the artifact, and she could tell that even if it killed him, he would try everything he could to kill the woman who killed her son. That was good. Very good. It was too late to turn back now. Mira Hill would fall next year before she could accumulate any more power and influence in this world. Mira Hill would fall. She would.