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CHAPTER TEN

“ A small fire,” Draven growls. “I said a small fire.”

With that half-offended scowl still on his face, Alistair throws his arms out in exasperation. “How was I supposed to know that that exact building was full of highly flammable alcohol?”

“You could’ve looked through the window!”

“Guys,” I interrupt before Alistair can retort. I give them both a pointed look. “Maybe we should save this argument for another time?”

All around us, the night is filled with chaos.

Half of the guards have sprinted out through the gate to no doubt bring those reinforcements they talked about, and servants in nightwear pour out of the mansion’s front door with buckets and pitchers of water from the kitchen.

Low hissing noises sound when they toss the small loads of water onto the raging fire, but it has practically no effect.

Orange and red flames stretch towards the starlit heavens above as the fire keeps climbing.

A moment later, the guards return with a host of people dressed in uniforms. They spread out across the grass while several of them shoot water from thin air and straight towards the fire.

“Spread out!” one of the original guards snaps. “And find the one who did this!”

Alistair heaves a deep sigh and rolls his eyes.

Then he turns back to us. “I’ll keep them busy.

So go and kill that guy.” He slides his gaze to Draven, and a note of amused challenge laces his voice as he adds, “I’m sure you can manage to kill one man without me, Mr. Remind-me-how-many-assassinations-you’ve-pulled-off. ”

Draven snorts. Then he shoots Alistair a pointed look back. “Don’t burn the whole city down.”

“You know I can’t promise that.” He’s trying very hard to scowl, but there is a distinctly amused glint in his eyes. “Alright, get going. I’ll meet up with the others at the extraction point.”

Before we can reply, he darts back out of Draven’s protective dark clouds and disappears around the other corner of the building.

We exchange a glance and then hurry back to the now unlocked back door.

It opens without a sound. Slipping inside, we find ourselves in a short corridor lit by a few faelights that have been turned so low that they barely illuminate the space.

The moment we’ve closed the door behind us, the chaos from outside is cut off. It’s so abrupt that the sudden silence makes my ears ring. Shaking my head, I try to clear it and instead concentrate on my task.

According to the maps and the information we got from the Unseelie King, our target’s bedroom is on the top floor.

There is supposed to be a hidden stairwell that was built as an emergency escape route and therefore runs straight from the bedroom to this back door.

The only problem is of course that it’s supposed to be quite well-guarded.

Draven keeps a small dark cloud around us, hiding us in the already gloomy corridor, while I summon my magic.

We had planned to do this differently, but because of Alistair’s unnecessarily conspicuous pyromancy, the circumstances have now changed.

In our original plan, the guards inside the house shouldn’t be aware of the fire outside.

But it would’ve been impossible for them to miss the huge explosion that just happened, which means that they are now alert in a way they weren’t before.

And all of their emotions are now different.

I throw my magic across the mansion.

Just as I suspected, none of the guards are feeling bored or sleepy anymore. Instead, all of them are slightly worried.

I bite my bottom lip and drum my fingers against my thigh while trying to figure out how to solve this. Our plan was for me to make them feel so bored and sleepy that they didn’t notice us when we snuck past. But that won’t work now.

Next to me, Draven is silently watching the hallway while still keeping his magic up. It’s not lost on me that he isn’t questioning me. He hasn’t asked what I’m doing or how I plan to solve this new problem. He is simply trusting that I will figure it out.

That realization distracts me for a moment. Because no one has ever trusted me like this before. No one has ever considered me dependable. No one has ever had this kind of faith in me and my skills.

Blinking, I give my head a quick shake to pull myself back to the present as an idea finally hits me like a lightning bolt.

Distracted . That’s it. That’s the solution to our problem.

The guards in the house are no doubt worried that the fire is going to spread to this building as well. And if they’re too worried about something else, it will distract them from what they’re supposed to be doing.

Pushing with my magic, I increase all those sparks of worry until they’re burning brightly. For a few seconds, nothing happens. Then they start to move.

I have to suppress a satisfied whoop .

Faint footsteps and the soft sounds of creaking leather armor drift through the otherwise silent house as all eight guards move from their positions and towards the windows at the front of the mansion so that they can no doubt cast a glance at the fire outside to reassure themselves that it won’t spread to this building.

“Now,” I whisper to Draven. “The stairwell is clear.”

He nods. While he keeps a small cloud around us, and I keep my magic pouring into the guards, we sprint down the hall and then skid around the corner. Just as I said, the door to the secret stairwell is now unguarded.

Yanking the door open, we dart into the stairwell and run up the steps two at a time.

A few of the guards start moving back to their positions.

Alarm crackles through me.

I pour more magic into their worry.

It makes two of them drift back to the windows, but the third one, the one who is supposed to be guarding the middle section of this stairwell, continues back towards his post.

“Hurry,” I hiss at Draven.

He picks up the pace, taking the steps three at a time. And that’s when I realize that he was slowing his pace earlier so that I could keep up, because now I’m the one falling behind. Pushing myself, I run with everything I have up the steps.

My breath saws through my throat and my heart pounds.

The guard is almost back at his post now.

We just need to make it past his floor.

Just a little more.

Draven darts past the second-floor landing.

To his right, the door that the guard left through begins to open.

Panic pulses through me.

I leap the final three steps up to the landing and then throw myself up the next couple of steps. Right below me, the door opens fully. A strong hand wraps around my wrist and hauls me up the next five steps. I suppress a gasp.

My heart slams against my ribs as my feet connect with the steps again and I find Draven right there in front of me. He slowly releases my wrist. Standing still as statues, we listen to the guard close the door and then shift his weight on the landing inside the stairwell right below us.

I let out a silent sigh of relief.

After exchanging a nod, Draven and I quietly sneak up the final set of steps.

Another plain door meets us when we reach the final landing.

The guard who was supposed to be standing on the other side of this door is still anxiously watching the fire from a window two rooms away.

I keep pouring my magic into that flame of worry in his chest, to make sure that he remains there, and then I give Draven a nod.

He gently pushes down the handle.

Opening the door, he slips into the room in a silent and fluid motion. I follow quickly behind.

Then I draw up short.

Blinking, I stare at the luxurious bedroom around us.

It’s empty.

I frown. How can it be empty? This is supposed to be Danzo Wolfstalker’s bedroom. And it’s the middle of the night. There is no reason for him to be anywhere else.

Then it hits me.

Of course. The explosion woke him up too. That spark of worry that I felt from this room wasn’t a guard. It was him. In hindsight, it makes sense. I wouldn’t want a person standing inside my bedroom, watching me sleep, every night either.

Draven, who once again doesn’t look the least bit worried, simply turns to me in a silent request for directions.

The sight of it makes my heart squeeze tightly.

His faith in me and my abilities is unlike anything I have ever experienced, and it makes my soul thrum with something so steady and warm that I almost forget how to breathe.

Pulling myself together, I quickly point towards the window two rooms away where I can feel a person standing and staring anxiously out the window.

Draven nods. Sliding out a knife from his belt, he starts in that direction.

I follow him. Once we reach the right room, I motion towards the door.

With very slow and careful movements, Draven pushes down the handle while I flood Danzo’s chest with so much worry that he shouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else.

The door opens to reveal a neat study. And there, standing with his back to us and staring out a window, is a fae man matching the exact description we got from the Unseelie King.

Danzo’s red hair is illuminated by the fire that still rages outside the window, and his tall and slim body is tense as he grips the windowsill before him.

“Hey,” Draven says.

Danzo whips around.

I only have time to see that his face matches the drawing we received.

Then a white bolt of lightning hits him straight in the heart.

His eyes widen for a second, and his body begins spasming violently.

Then his knees buckle and he crashes down on the ground.

I quickly cut off my magic so that the guards will no longer be distracted by their worry, but they apparently didn’t hear the thuds from Danzo’s body, because none of them start moving in our direction.

“Well, he’s dead,” Draven announces while watching the guy lie there and stare unseeing up at the pale stone ceiling. Then he turns to me. “Are they coming?”

I throw my magic across the house again, but those smalls sparks of worry are only moving back to their previous positions.

“No,” I reply. Then I glance down at the blade in Draven’s hand, which he unsheathed but never actually used. “What’s with the knife?”

“It’s for dramatic effect when we get caught.”

A laugh escapes my chest. Raising my eyebrows, I give him a dubious look. “Seriously?”

“Yes. When people hear the word assassination, they most often think about someone getting their throat slit.” He shrugs. “So I’m just making sure that these people understand that this was in fact an assassination.”

I let out another soft chuckle and shake my head. “Go signal to the others where we are. I’ll make sure the guards are coming.”

While Draven walks over to the window and shoves it open, I hurry to the pale wooden bookshelf by the door. Grabbing the ceramic pot on the middle shelf, I unceremoniously throw it down on the ground while reaching out with my magic towards the yellow-green sparks of suspicion.

The pot crashes down on the stone floor at the same time as Draven shoots a small bolt of lightning out the window.

I push with my magic at the guards’ suspicion. It flares up in their chests, but to my surprise, they don’t start moving in our direction. I scowl. They’re probably just suspicious about who started the fire. Not the crash from the pot. Did they seriously not hear it?

With a sigh of annoyance, I grab the bookcase by the side.

And then I yank the whole thing forward.

It topples like a felled tree.

A loud bang echoes through the entire house as it hits the stone floor.

Draven turns to me and arches an eyebrow. “Subtle.”

“Shut up,” I huff.

He chuckles.

Those sparks of suspicion that I’m increasing finally start running in our direction.

I grin. “They’re coming.”

“Alright, get to the window and get ready.”

While I dart across the room and position myself right in front of the now open window, Draven drags our already dead target over to the toppled bookshelf so that it will look like it happened during the struggle.

Then he positions himself behind the dead guy and lifts Danzo’s chest up from the floor a little so that he can place the knife against his throat from behind.

Footsteps thud against the floor outside the door.

Draven flexes his hand on the hilt of the knife.

Then the door is yanked open.

And I have to give it to him, it is indeed very dramatic when he slits Danzo’s throat right as the guards charge into the room.

“Assassins!” the first guard screams, his eyes wide with shock and panic.

The two guards behind him begin drawing their swords while he starts channeling some kind of magic. But I never get to find out what kind, because all three of them are hit in the chest with a blast of wind from Draven. It sends them tumbling back out the door.

“Go,” Draven says as he whirls around and sprints towards me.

I scramble up onto the windowsill and then leap out the third-story window.

Winds rush in my ears for a second.

Then my feet hit a bridge of solid ice with a thud. I crouch down to regain my balance while Draven jumps out of the window and lands behind me. Shouts rise from the guards outside in the gardens as the two of us take off across Isera’s ice bridge.

Magic is summoned from below, but before they can shoot it at us, Alistair throws a torrent of fire at them from a roof to our right. Flames roar through the air, and the guards dive for cover.

My boots are slipping on the slick ice bridge as I hurtle down it. As if Isera could see that all the way from where she is waiting on the other side of the stone wall, she changes the texture of the ice so that it becomes rough and pebbled.

Alistair shoots another blast of flames at the guards below.

And then jumps from the roof and towards the bridge.

I gasp, because there is no way he will make it all the way there.

But before he can plummet down to the ground below, Isera stretches the ice bridge in his direction. He hits the pale ice with a thud and rolls with the motion. Then he’s up and running. Draven and I reach him a second later.

An absolutely ridiculous laugh rips from my throat as we leap off the ice bridge on the other side of the stone wall and disappear back into the darkened city.