Assuredly not!
Was it preferable, then, this path of daggers, this dance of shadows and the tak-ing of lives for coin without even a soldier’s sanction (as if that mattered)? Rallick would not agree. And Murillio would shake his head, and Kruppe waggle his eye-brows, and Meese might grin and make another grab for his crotch, with Irilta looking on with motherly regard. And there’d be that glow in Sulty’s eyes, tinged now with the bitter truth that she was no longer enough for one such as him, that she could only dream, that somehow his being an assassin set him upon such a high station that her lowly existence as a serving wench was beneath all notice. Where even his efforts at friendship were perceived as pity and condescension, sufficient to pitch her into tears at the wrong word, the missed glance.
How the time for dreams of the future seemed to slip past unnoticed, until in reviving them a man realized, with a shock, that the privilege was no longer his to entertain, that it belonged to those younger faces he saw on all sides, laughing in the tavern and on the streets, running wild .
‘You have changed,’ Murillio said from the bed where he reclined, propped up on pillows, his hair hanging unbound and unwashed, ‘and I’m not sure it’s for the better,’
Cutter regarded his old friend for a moment, then asked, ‘What’s better?’
‘What’s better. You wouldn’t have asked that question, and certainly not in that way, the last time I saw you: Someone broke your heart, Crokus-not Challice D’Arle, I hope!’
Smiling, Cutter shook his head. ‘No, and what do you know, I’d almost forgot-ten her name. Her face, certainly… and the name is Cutter now, Murillio.’
‘If you say so.’
He just had, but clearly Murillio was worse for wear, not up to his usual standard of conversation. If he’d been making a point by saying that, well, maybe Crokus would’ve snatched the bait. It’s the darkness in my soul… no, never mind.
‘Seven Cities, was it? Took your time coming home.’
‘A long journey, for the ship I was on. The north route, along the island chains, stuck in a miserable hovel of a port for two whole seasons-first winter storms, which we’d expected, then a spring filled with treacherous ice rafts, which we didn’t-no one did, in fact.’
‘Should have booked passage on a Moranth trader.’
Cutter glanced away. ‘Didn’t have a choice, not for the ship, nor for the company on it.’
‘So you had a miserable time aboard?’
He sighed. ‘Not their fault, any of them. In fact, I made good friends-’