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Satisfied, I tossed my cloak over the chair and crawled into bed. The chilly air swirled as I drew the thick blankets up to my chin. If I had any energy, I would light the brassier nearby. Instead, I drifted to sleep.
And for the first time in years, I didn’t dream.
* * *
I woke a few hours later when the late-afternoon sunlight streamed through my window and touched my face. Without thinking, I reached for my magic and encountered deadness. The desire to curl into a ball and remain in bed pulsed through my heart. But I refused to give up. Plus I needed to speak to Leif. I flung my blankets off.
The training yard was located next to the glass shop. I leaned against the fence and studied the various matches. Most of the students held wooden practice swords or wooden machetes since they were only in their third year at the Keep. They wouldn’t use real weapons until their final, apprentice year.
Leif sparred with a tall lanky student. I smiled at the mismatched pair. His stocky, powerful build, black hair and square face were the opposite of his opponent—a lean, lithe, blonde woman with a pointy chin. She used her longer reach and sword to stay out of his machete’s chopping zone. Moving with the quick grace of a Greenblade, she dodged Leif’s strikes.
However, experience won over fancy footwork and Leif ducked low and rushed her, knocking her down while unarming her. He grinned and helped her to her feet, then explained his strategy.
I waited as he wrapped up the session and lectured the group on where to focus.
“Don’t stare at their eyes or shoulders,” he said. “Watch your opponent’s hips to anticipate his next strike. You’ve seen how a machete can counter a sword with the right moves and tactics. Do you think a machete can fight an opponent with a bo staff?”
A resounding no sounded from the students. Leif’s eyes gleamed and he picked up a five-foot wooden staff that had been lying next to the fence.
“Yelena,” he said and tossed the bo at me.
Instinctively, I caught it in my right hand.
“Let’s show them how it’s done.” Leif set his feet into a fighting stance. “Unless you don’t want to be embarrassed in front of a bunch of juniors?”
His challenge cut right through all reason and logic. It was physically impossible for a younger sister not to rise to her older brother’s bait. Shedding my cloak, I hopped the low fence.
I faced Leif and slid my hands along the smooth grain of the staff out of habit. The action helped me find that zone of concentration that allowed me to sense my opponent’s movements. This time, my fingers rubbed an ordinary piece of wood. No connection flared to life.
Could I still fight without my magic? Everyone had gathered to watch the match—not the best time to experiment. And Irys’s comment about keeping a low profile rose in my mind too late. Oops.
Leif stared at me with an odd expression. His nose wrinkled as if he smelled an offensive odor. Great. Guess I’d have to rely on my training, my experience and the thousands of hours of practice I’d sweated through. My magic couldn’t be that vital in my fighting. Could it?
Despite my worries, I clutched my weapon at the third points and twirled the bo into a ready position. As soon as the match started, I advanced, swinging the tip of the staff toward Leif’s left temple. He backpedaled and blocked my attack. I aimed for his right temple, then left. Right. Left. Feint right. Rib strike. Leif countered with ease.
“Predictable,” he said.
“I’m just getting warmed up.”
My next series of attacks aimed for his ribs, then temple. Rib. Temple. Rib. Chin strike. Leif jumped back with a laugh. Then he advanced. I scrambled to keep his thick blade from chopping my bo in half. When he swung at my neck, instead of blocking the weapon, I ducked and swept his feet out from under him. He landed with an oomph.
Pleased, I relaxed my guard. Big mistake. Leif grabbed my ankle and yanked. I joined him on the ground. And the advantage of having a longer weapon ended there. From that position, his machete had a greater range of motion, and within a few strikes, he disarmed me.
Far from being triumphant with his win, concern creased his face. I shook my head and signaled for him to keep his mouth shut. Valek had taught us both hand signals to communicate when talking would give away our hidden positions or our plans to an enemy listening nearby.
He sprang to his feet and gestured to me while addressing the students. “See? A machete can defend against a bo staff if you can get in close. Yelena let me take her down in order to demonstrate to you one way to gain an advantage. Normally, she isn’t so easy to beat. That’s it for today.”
The students picked up the training swords and talked in groups as they returned the weapons to the armory connected to the yard. I wiped dirt from my pants.
Once everyone left, Leif turned to me. “Okay, spill it. What’s wrong? You smell...”
Leif’s magic smelled people’s intentions and emotions. He frequently helped with solving crimes due to his unique ability to sniff out criminals. When we’d been reunited after fourteen years apart, he’d proclaimed to our entire clan that I’d killed and reeked of blood. Nice, eh?
“What do I smell like?”
“You smell like death.”
6 (#ulink_606ae112-8bd5-5749-b499-c3e0b11d3a37)
VALEK (#ulink_606ae112-8bd5-5749-b499-c3e0b11d3a37)
Valek studied the figure standing behind the Commander. Five feet eight inches tall, about one hundred and forty pounds, either a young male or female—hard to tell when the only thing not covered with black was the assassin’s light gray eyes. Armed with a dagger, which was currently pressed against the Commander’s throat, but Valek guessed the assassin carried more than one knife.
The Commander frowned with annoyance.
“Impressive,” Valek said, sipping his brandy. He tightened his grip on his knife, suppressing his anger at the Commander’s security detail for not stopping the intruder. He’d deal with them later.
“Move and I’ll slit his throat,” the assassin said in a gravelly voice.
Not a natural tone, and Valek suspected the person wished to hide his or her true voice. It was an empty threat. If the assassin had wanted to kill the Commander, he’d have been dead before Valek had turned around.
“I’m not the one you should be worried about,” Valek said.
Ambrose moved, grabbing the attacker’s wrists, yanking the blade down and away from his body. He spun, trapping the assassin’s arm. Within a minute the knife clanged to the floor and the Commander had the intruder at his mercy.
“Good show, old man,” he said even though Ambrose was only about seven years older than Valek. “You still have the best knife-defense skills in the Territory. Do you want me to dispose of...that for you?” He set his drink down.
“No,” the assassin cried in a higher-pitched voice this time. “I have the right to challenge you to a fight!”
“As soon as you climbed through that window, you gave up all your rights.” Valek moved closer and yanked the hood off the intruder.
Unafraid, a young woman glared at him. “You know I had the drop on him. How many others have sneaked in here? None. Come on. Let me show you what I can do with a knife.”
“Fine by me. Commander?”
The Commander released her. “Don’t take too long, Valek. I’ve an early meeting.” He settled behind his desk.
She glanced from him to the Commander and back.
“Don’t worry. He won’t interfere.”
“How about when I’m about to gut you?” she asked.
“If you can gut him, go ahead,” the Commander said.
“Such love. I’m touched.” Valek patted his chest. “Pick up your knife,” he said to the intruder. He switched his dagger to his right hand and turned his body sideways, keeping the weapon close to his stomach. He bent his left arm and held it in front of him to block any incoming strikes.
She mirrored his stance except she held her knife in her left hand. Ah, a lefty. Interesting. They circled and she slashed. He blocked. She shuffled forward and stabbed. He sidestepped. Recovering quickly, she spun and aimed for his throat. He ducked.
Valek remained on the defense as she tried all her offensive moves. She had learned an impressive number of them and he’d gotten a few cuts during a couple of her combination strikes. He had to admit, she was fast. Her style of fighting seemed eerily familiar.
A slight swirl of unease brushed his stomach. Knife fighters tended to let their guard down when striking, believing their opponent would be too busy protecting himself to counterstrike. Not her. She stayed tight.
Without warning, Valek switched to an offensive series of jabs and kicks, bringing the level of the fight up a notch. She dodged, blocked and kept up with the speed of his attack.
As they fought, he tested her weaknesses and found little. When she executed a perfect feint and lunge, he cursed as the tip of her blade jabbed his gut. Pain burned and blood seeped, but Valek increased the pressure. After she snaked past his defense again in another near miss, Valek recognized her fighting style.
“You’re a student of Hedda’s, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Save your breath.” She advanced with a Janco-like flurry of jabs.
He wasn’t winded. But if she kept this pace, he’d be sucking air. Concern grew. He’d managed to slip past her blocks a few times, but years of experience showed him how this fight would play out. It didn’t look good for him.
As the fight continued, her style of attacks changed. She fought more like the Commander. Perhaps she had two teachers—a deadly combination. He needed to end this match. The sooner the better.
Fortunately, he had a few tricks up his sleeve. Well, not tricks exactly—he yanked another knife from his right sleeve and attacked with both.
She floundered for a bit, backing up. Then she sidestepped and drew a second knife, as well. While competent with two, she didn’t have the same precision and speed.
After a few minutes, Valek lunged and slashed at her midsection, knocking the weapon from her right hand. He pressed his advantage before she could pull another blade, keeping her arms busy. If Hedda had trained her, she would have three or four more daggers hidden in her clothes.
As the fight continued, she managed to grab another knife. By that time, Valek’d had enough. He stepped back, flipped his weapons over, grasping the blades, and threw them. The hilts slammed into her wrists, numbing her hands. She yelped and her knives clanged to the floor.
Then he shuffled in close and punched her. Hard. With a whoosh, she fell back. He followed her to the floor and pressed one of his favorite daggers to her throat.
“That’s...” she panted “...not...fair.”
“Hedda must have gotten soft in her old age. When she trained me, the words not fair were not part of her vocabulary.”
She grimaced. Ah, he’d hit a nerve. Perhaps the young assassin didn’t agree with all of Hedda’s philosophies.
“Did she send you?” he asked.
Clamping her mouth shut, she stared at him.
“Who trained you?”
The Commander stood and yawned. “While that was entertaining, I must get to bed. Clean up the mess, Valek.”
“Yes, sir.”
The assassin sucked in a quick breath, showing her fear. Hedda hadn’t driven all emotion from the young woman. Which made him wonder if this young pup had finished the training.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“To kill you and take your place.”
That would explain why she hadn’t slit the Commander’s throat. But he couldn’t trust her. He yanked a dart from his belt and jabbed it into her arm.
“Listen up. If what you said is true, then I’ll lock you in the dungeon. Escape and find me and we’ll talk. There’s no need to kill me to take my job. Just show that you’re smart, capable, resourceful, cunning, trustworthy, loyal, ruthless and are willing to give your life for the Commander’s and the job is yours.”
She opened her mouth, but instead of words a soft “oh” escaped her lips as the goo-goo juice pumped through her body. Valek stood, gathered all the weapons and pulled her to her feet. She swayed. He grabbed his drink and downed it in one gulp.
What a night.
Picking up a lantern, he led her to his suite so their conversation didn’t bother the Commander. She plopped into a chair and scanned the room with a bewildered expression. “So...much...junk! Are you an assassin or a crow?”
Crouching next to her, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Onora. I’m an assassin. Shh...don’t tell anyone.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“Which Military District are you from?”
“MD-2. I escaped.”
“Escaped from what?”
“The captain. Shh...don’t tell him I’m here.”
“Captain who?”
“Cap-pa-tain Timmer, thinks he’s a winner, and we must all obey,” she sang.
“Why are you here?” he asked again since it was almost impossible to lie while under the influence of the goo-goo juice.
“To kill. You, of all people, should know that! King killer.”
No doubt Hedda had trained her. “Did Hedda send you?”
“Hedda smedda. Crazy old bat. Stubborn. Stupid. Gone. Gone for good.”
“You killed her?”
“I...stopped her. No more assassins.”
Ice coated his heart. “She’s dead?”
“Right-o! Dead to the world.”
Valek stood and fingered his dagger. Hedda had taught him the skills that had kept him alive all these years. Anger and sorrow melted the ice inside him and Valek aimed the tip of the knife at her throat.
He buried the blade into the cushion next to her head. Onora jumped. He could always change his mind. Perhaps after he’d wrung every bit of information from her.
“How did you get into the castle?”
