Page 68

Sorasa straightened. She saw nothing, heard nothing. The forest seemed peaceful.

But the birds stopped singing, the woods falling silent.

“What is it—”

A twig snapped across the way, from the undergrowth. It echoed sharply, deliberate. Dom whirled to the noise.

Another crack of wood answered, this one on the other side of the clearing. Sorasa’s stomach twisted, a hand straying to her bronze dagger. She prayed to Lasreen, to every god.

For the first time in her life, Sorasa Sarn wanted to be wrong.

“You are a long way from home, Osara.”

The voice turned her blood to ice.

Fallen. Forsaken. Broken.Everything that cursed word meant boiled up inside Sorasa, too many emotions rising with it. The strongest of all—fear.

In the center of the clearing, Dom made to get to his feet. Sorasa lunged, a hand outstretched, a shout in her teeth, her eyes wide with terror as she leapt into the clearing.

“Don’t,” she snarled, a tiger.

A tiger surrounded by hunters.

A dozen arrows waited. Their points gleamed around the tree line, glittering like the eyes of a hungry wolf pack. All aimed at Sorasa and Dom. She braced for the cold bite of familiar steel in her flesh.

Shadows took form around the clearing, bodies melting out of the woods. Sorasa named each one. She did not need to see facesto know exactly which Amhara surrounded them. Their figures were enough.

Agile, tiny Agathe, with her dancer’s grace. Hulking, mountainous Kojji, bigger even than Dom. One-eyed Selka, with her twin brother, Jem, never far away. There was Ambrose. There was Margida.On and on, all children of the Guild, acolytes who had survived as she had, to become ruthless and lethal killers, the loyal hunters of Lord Mercury. Only Garion was missing.Perhaps he is still wandering Byllskos, waiting for another contract to land in his lap.

Sorasa raised her chin and her empty hands. The arrows moved with her. On the ground, Dom tried to stand again, and an arrow twanged, digging into the earth half an inch from his boot. The Elder froze in step, one knee still in the dirt.

A warning. The only one we’ll ever get.

“I have no home,” Sorasa said to the clearing.

“Is that so?” the voice answered, and her eyes found Luc.

The assassin leered out of the trees, stepping into the light. He was as she remembered, always moving, shifting to some song no one else could hear. He wore leathers like the rest, black and brown, patterned to blend into the terrain. In the citadel, Luc excelled at all his lessons, especially persuasion. He grew up beautiful, with milky skin, raven hair, and pale green eyes ringed with thick black lashes. The Guild found many uses for him once he came of age.And now they think they can use him on me.

“Lord Mercury is a forgiving man,” he said, splaying his hands wide. Both were tattooed as hers were, the sun and moon on either palm.

“Not in my experience,” she answered, counting weapons.Sword and two daggers on Luc. Six daggers on Agathe. Margida’s whip. An ax on Kojji...

Luc donned an easy, winning smile. He tossed a lock of dark hair out of his sea-foam eyes. “You’ll find he can be persuaded,” he said, taking a loping step toward her.

She felt the air shift, and Dom’s gaze moved, spotting something over her shoulder. He caught her eyes and blinked forcefully. Once. Twice.

Two more behind me.

Her body moved as it had been taught, her muscles sliding into place. She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, bending her knees and squaring her shoulders. All her lessons in the Guild boiled under the surface of her skin. She dared not reach for her daggers lest the clearing erupt in a tornado of blood and steel.

She kept her composure, still facing Luc. He was a dangerous man, equally skilled with blade and poison. They had blooded together, their first kills only a week apart.

“I remember when you used to cry yourself to sleep,” Sorasa said, reaching for the only weapon Luc duCain wasn’t trained to fend off.

Memory.

His razor smile faltered.