Page 48 of Extraordinary Quests for Amateur Witches
After standing on the balcony, nonplussed, for nearly half an hour, Kieran decided to return to the ship.
His rabbit heart had been kicking against his ribs nonstop as the resting panic twisted him into tighter and tighter knots.
Elias’s threats floated through his mind, each punctuated by the image of the man’s sempiternal shit-eating grin.
If Kieran were braver, he would have sicced Seaweed on Elias and thrown a punch right into those pearly teeth.
But he wasn’t brave. He was a sniveling, pathetic little creature who was in way, way over his head.
And he needed to get out of there before panic consumed him and he turned into nothing but a quivering, shaking lump.
He needed somewhere familiar where he could lock the doors and feel safe, and this castle was about as far from that as he could get.
He told himself that Elias’s grace period applied to his friends as well.
He wouldn’t risk Kieran’s compliance by hurting one of them tonight.
At the moment, as much as he’d love to go find them and make sure they were okay, the animal part of his brain had taken over.
He needed to hide. He needed to pull the covers over his face and squeeze his eyes shut until he could think normally again and not like a creature being hunted for sport.
When he made it back to the ship, it was clear everyone else was still at the castle.
His sweaty fingers shook and slipped on the locks as he latched every door and window on the ship, listening for footsteps.
When he was done, he went down to the observation deck.
The windows that usually showed views of the world below were now completely covered by snow, leaving the deck dark and enclosed. Exactly what Kieran needed.
He grabbed a blanket, pulled it around him, and tucked himself into a corner while he tried to catch his breath and not burst into tears.
Ten minutes passed. Seaweed hopped off his shoulders and rubbed her face against his leg, chirping.
He reached down and stroked her head. Slowly, Kieran started regaining control over his brain.
He took deep breaths, counting to ten over and over, telling himself that he was safe.
Gradually, his heart rate started to calm and the shaking in his hands stopped.
As he sat with his head between his knees and the blanket pulled over it, the ache in his chest dissipated, as if the hand that had been squeezed around his heart was finally letting go.
It did, however, leap right back into action as he heard a voice whisper, “Kieran? Is that you?”
Kieran’s face jerked up, dislodging the blanket from his head.
Standing there was Sebastian, his suit jacket removed and his shirt untucked.
At the sight of Kieran, his eyes widened.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he closed the distance between them.
Seaweed scampered away as Sebastian knelt before Kieran as if he were an altar to be prayed at.
Sebastian’s hand cupped Kieran’s cheek. His touch was so gentle it nearly made Kieran’s eyes well up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been handled so carefully, like a baby bird whose bones might snap with any wrong movement.
“What happened?” Sebastian demanded, his eyebrows bent with cold, quiet rage. “Did one of those witches hurt you? Give me a name and I swear on my life I’ll—”
“Elias,” Kieran said, the back of his throat tightening once again. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “He’s here. He found me up on the balcony, and he told me that he hired Hélène to replace you. H-he said they’re going to be hunting me during the crown hunt tomorrow.”
As soon as the words were out of Kieran’s mouth, Sebastian’s face went ghostly white.
His fingers pulled away from Kieran’s cheek as they balled into a fist. His nearly black eyes began to burn, suddenly shifting to red.
His mouth curled into a snarl, and Kieran watched his fangs snap free of his gums.
“I,” Sebastian said, voice still perfectly composed even as his fingers began to sharpen into claws, “am going to drain that man until he’s nothing more than a husk. ”
Kieran caught Sebastian’s shirt by the sleeve. Sebastian looked back at him, the smaller, spiderlike eyes beneath his primary ones glinting in the low light.
“Sebastian,” Kieran said. “Wait.”
Sebastian paused, studying Kieran’s face. “Elias can’t send Hélène after you if I kill him firs—”
Before he could stop himself, Kieran burst out, “Look, I—I need you to tell me the truth, okay? The entire time I’ve known you, you’ve been…
skilled at certain things that stood out.
Darts, knife throwing—it’s always felt a little suspect.
Plus the discussions about your family business, your training, and then Hélène… ”
Sebastian, to his credit, didn’t jump to defend himself. Instead, he averted his eyes, some of the anger draining from his expression. “I never planned for you to find—”
“You’re an assassin,” Kieran said, “aren’t you?”
Sebastian’s jaw closed on the words he’d been about to say.
Part of Kieran had expected him to deny it.
Instead, it was like the wind had been knocked out of him.
All at once, the rage that had burrowed into him dissipated, his extra eyes and fangs vanishing until only the boy was left, refusing to look Kieran in the eye.
“That’s why Elias hired you in the first place, right?” Kieran asked gently. “You weren’t his research assistant—you were his bodyguard.”
Another long pause spread before them. Suddenly, the two feet of space between them felt cavernous.
Regret bubbled up in Kieran’s chest. He resisted the urge to grab Sebastian and apologize for bringing it up.
Maybe he should have kept his theory to himself, let Sebastian tiptoe around it for a while longer.
When Sebastian finally met Kieran’s gaze, the fire in his was gone. His eyes looked…empty. Ashamed, as though he’d been caught doing something unforgivable.
“I never wanted to be one,” he said, wincing, as if simply saying it was driving a spike deeper and deeper into his chest. His hair hung in his eyes. “I never even got a choice. And the minute I tried to be something else, I wound up cursed.”
Kieran studied him: shoulders hunched, brows low, eyes downcast. Shame practically radiated off him in waves. Seeing him like this made Kieran ache from the inside.
“Sebastian, I don’t want you to think I’m judging you, I just—”
“No,” Sebastian cut in. He sighed. “You’re right—you deserve to hear the truth. Are you…willing to hear me out?”
“Of course.”
“Right, then.” Sebastian exhaled. “I guess I should start at the beginning…”
“It all began,” Sebastian explained, “when my parents came here from Fenshi.”
He and Kieran had moved to one of the couches, sitting together with their knees brushing.
Kieran had wrapped a blanket around both their shoulders in lieu of Seaweed warming his neck, as she’d scampered off.
When Sebastian had cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at him, he didn’t react.
Instead, Kieran had simply prompted him to continue.
Sebastian sighed, acquiescing. “Back in Fenshi, my father’s family were some of the most elite assassins in the country.
They were hired by high-profile clients to carry out hits on significant people—government officials, celebrities, that sort of thing.
But when my father was my age, he got a different kind of target.
She was an heiress to a silver baron’s fortune, and her younger brother hired my father to kill her so he could take the fortune for himself when their father died.
Unfortunately, as my father told it, the second he saw her through his spyglass, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her.
He wound up warning her that she was a target and offered to help her escape the country. Which is how my parents met.
“Once they got to Shui City, my father swore he’d find reasonable work—something safe.
But at that point, my mother was already pregnant with me, and he’d had no luck finding another trade.
Right around the time I was born, my father found his way into Celdwyn’s assassin circles.
It was either do that or let my mother and me starve, so he did what he had to. ”
When Sebastian hesitated, Kieran placed a hand on his knee and nodded.
Sebastian went on: “I think he had to admit to himself then that he was never going to have a traditional life. Not when the money was that good and he was that skilled at the work. As I grew up, he decided it was only fair to train me in the family business.
“Turned out I was just as good as he was. I could hit a bull’s-eye with a throwing knife by the time I was five. I took to it like I was made for it. The only problem was, I…”
He ran a hand through his hair, and for the first time, he coughed out a small laugh. It didn’t feel lighthearted by any means—more self-derisive, if anything.
“My father said I was too soft,” Sebastian finally admitted.
“At thirteen, when I had my first kill, he found me crying afterward. I couldn’t stop seeing the blood on my hands even after I’d scrubbed it off and washed my skin raw.
He told me I needed to learn to compartmentalize, to remember it was nothing but a job.
But at that point, it wasn’t just a job to me.
I was a piece of metal my father had sharpened into the perfect knife.
He taught me where to find the most tender, delicate parts of a person and how to carve the life out of them, just as most fathers teach their sons to catch a ball.
I never had a chance at being anything other than that.