When Valek had been at the school for almost two years, Hedda declared he was ready. He was fifteen years old. A mix of pride and unease swirled in his chest as he entered her office. Would she assign him a mark? Hedda not only trained assassins, but she was the go-between for many of her former students, taking half the assassination fees for her services.
However, the bigger question was, could he kill a man who hadn’t been a party to his brothers’ murders?
“I’ve a job for you, King Killer,” Hedda said. “Think you can handle it?”
He straightened. “Yes.”
“Good. You’re the new stable boy for the Icefaren Garrison.”
Not quite what he’d been expecting. “Who’s the mark?”
“No one.”
Had he done something wrong? “Then why?”
“A huge part of this job is collecting information. You need to learn this aspect. The actual assassination is the least time-consuming task. First you spend months and months assembling information about your mark. Then you spend days and days planning your attack. The attack itself might take hours at most.”
“All right. What information do you need?”
“A precise account of the comings and goings of all the officers in the garrison.”
“You could bribe one of the enlisted for a copy of the duty roster.”
“I could.”
He considered. “But that might tip them off.”
“Right. It’s always better to have someone trusted inside. And not just anyone, but a person who is invisible. And that would be...?”
Valek recalled his lessons. “Servants, housekeepers, low-ranking staff members and the homeless.”
“Correct. No one pays attention to the stable boys. Make sure you act and dress appropriately. There will be a place for you to sleep. If you’re arrested, you are on your own. You’re to report at dawn. Better get going.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and King Killer.”
He turned. “Yes?”
“You’ll be paid. Not very much, but I expect half of your wages. The other half is yours.”
It seemed a fair deal. Hedda had provided food, clothing and weapons for the past two years and had asked for nothing in return. He wondered just how much an assassin earned. From the size of her school, he guessed quite a bit. And in the past two years the local authorities hadn’t bothered them once, which meant a large portion of that money had to go to bribing the officials.
Valek packed a couple of knives, a handful of the gray rocks and another set of clothes. Stable boys couldn’t afford more than two sets. He changed into his oldest tunic and pants. The clothes he’d arrived at Hedda’s in no longer fit. He’d grown taller and thicker. Not barrel-chested, bulging-biceps thick, but a ropy muscular. Valek worried about keeping in shape while mucking out stalls.
After walking for four hours, he arrived at the stable just after dawn. The Stable Master cuffed him on the ear for being late. The desire to stab the guy flared, but stable boys didn’t stab their masters if they wanted to stay invisible. He swallowed instead, gazing at the ground.
“Git your ass in there and help Reedy,” the Stable Master said.
Valek helped Reedy, a skinny kid barely twelve, groom, water and feed horses. He mucked out stalls, swept up horse hair and cleaned tack. All day. The Stable Master’s leftovers were their meals—not enough for one let alone two. And the “place to sleep” was a pile of straw bales under a scratchy smelly horse blanket in an empty stall, unless all the stalls were filled—then it was on a pile in the aisle without a blanket. And since it was the start of the cold season, he needed that blanket.
He kept track of the officers and discovered their names from their companions and the Stable Master. Most went out in the morning and returned in the evening. But groups would leave and be gone for days, doing sweeps of the outer towns.
After adjusting to the hard labor and long hours, Valek used the cover of darkness to climb into the rafters and onto the stable’s roof to keep in practice. He also scaled the garrison’s main building. A four-story wooden structure with windows.
His pay was a pittance, but he saved half for Hedda. With the other half he bought a few carving tools and a blanket at the market on his day off—the first in a month.
He showed Reedy how to carve. The boy picked it up quick.
“Maybe you can apprentice to a wood-carver,” Valek suggested. “It’s better than here.”
The boy shrugged. “I like it here. Better than starving on the street. And the horses like me.”
True. They preferred Reedy’s care over his. Even though he’d learned more about horses in the past month than he thought possible. At one point, he thought he had marked all the officers, but then a big group he hadn’t seen leave arrived one night from a sweep. Guess one month wouldn’t be enough time.
Boredom eventually drove him to attempt to open a window and slip inside the garrison, thinking he’d find a duty roster and copy it so he could return to Hedda’s.
Late one night, he climbed up to the third story on the darkest side of the building. The window opened without trouble. He entered an office, but it was too dark to read anything and he hadn’t brought a match for the lantern. Voices nearby spooked him and he left.
Some assassin. He’d gone in unprepared and without an inkling of who was around that office or knowing if a light would have tipped them off to his presence or not. Next time, he’d be ready.
“Hey, boy.” A boot nudged him in the ribs later that night. “Wake up. Help the riders.”
Half-asleep, Valek rolled off the straw and pulled saddles from sweaty horses as the men collected their saddlebags. They laughed and joked and ignored Valek and Reedy.
“There’s Fester. What took you so long, Fester? Did you get lost?” The man chuckled as another rider entered the stable.
“Damn horse threw a shoe,” Fester grumbled.
Valek froze as ice seized his heart. That voice. He turned as Fester dismounted. The stable’s lanterns lit the officer with a pale yellow glow. Beady eyes, bulbous nose, cracked lips—Valek would never forget this murderer’s face. He reached for his knife and paused, closing his eyes for a moment.
Lose the anger. Hedda’s words repeated in his mind.
When he opened his eyes, he noticed the details he’d missed before. How many other armed officers crowded the stable. How close the Stable Master stood to him. If he stabbed Fester, they’d be on him in seconds. And what about the two other murderers? They’d be from this garrison, as well. Kill one and it would alert the others. Better to wait.
As he groomed the horses, he had to give Hedda credit. This was more than a training exercise in patience. He’d been so focused on learning to kill, he hadn’t spared a moment to consider how he would find the soldiers who’d murdered his brothers in the King’s name. She’d been one step ahead of him.
Over the next season, he discovered the names of the other murderers. He learned their schedules, habits, vices, and virtues—none. After he collected enough information, the next stage, planning, loomed over him. Without any prior instruction on how to plan revenge, he returned to Hedda’s school on his next day off.
“That’s an impressive amount of intel you collected in three months,” Hedda said. “You need to find the best way to kill all three without being caught.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“All right. How do you want to do it? Kill them when they’re together or pick them off one by one?”
Valek mulled it over. He doubted he could pull off killing three men unless he poisoned their water. Too easy a death. Only a knife stabbed in their guts or slit across their throats would satisfy him. “One by one.”
“It’ll take time. Kill one and the garrison will beef up s
ecurity while they search for the killer. Months might go by before they relax enough for you to get to another one.”
“Unless I find a night when they are each alone. I could kill them all, and by the time they’re discovered in the morning, I’ll be long gone.”
“But what are the odds they’ll be by themselves at the same time?”
“Slim. I could follow them when they’re out collecting taxes.”
“But what if they go in three different directions? That’s a lot of ground to cover. And news spreads fast.”
“I’m not going to get all three at once, am I?”
“I think you just figured that out.”
“Best to get who I can, then wait. There’s no rush. I know who they are.”
“Now you’re thinking like an assassin. And in between, you can earn money and experience doing other jobs,” Hedda said.
* * *
Lieutenant Fester would be the first man Valek assassinated. As he waited for the perfect opportunity, he carved a statue, transforming the ugly gray rock into a black figure with sparks of silver. His chance came a week later. No squads were due to arrive that night and Fester had just returned from a long sweep.
After finishing his stable chores for the night, Valek lay on a stack of straw bales and waited for Reedy and the Stable Master to fall asleep.
The soon-to-be dead man had headed straight to the garrison and, Valek hoped, to bed. The lieutenant frequently complained about the uncomfortable travel shelters and run-down inns the soldiers overnighted in, and each time he returned home, he made a beeline for his own bed.
The ragged snores from the Stable Master’s room at the far end of the stable soon joined the soft nighttime noises of the horses. Valek slipped out the window of the empty stall he shared with Reedy. The boy didn’t move.
A half-moon provided enough light for him to navigate the compound even though he stayed hidden in the shadows. He wore all black, and once he was well away, he stopped to cover his face and hands with black greasepaint. The air held a chill. However, by the time he reached the main building, he’d sweated through his clothes.
Leaning against the wall below Fester’s third-floor rooms, Valek pressed a hand to his chest, willing his heartbeat to slow. Emotions jumbled together, clouding his thoughts. Fear mixed with anger. Hate churned along with trepidation. One thing to think about killing a person, quite another to do the actual deed. Could he?
He focused on the image of his brother Vincent lying in a pool of his own blood and intestines. Vincent’s expression frozen in surprised pain as he clutched his stomach. His skin as cold as the snow underneath him. The echo of Vincent’s laugh thumped in Valek’s heart as the memory of their mother chasing them after they’d knocked down her clothesline full of sheets. Neither one of them could resist the lure of fresh, clean sheets blowing in the breeze. Stealth tag had to be played despite stern warnings to keep away. And that time a rowdy collision led to a collapse. They’d bolted and hid behind the shed until their mother had cooled down.
Vincent had been fifteen when Fester’s sword cut him down. Their mother had held Valek back as his brother staggered to the snow. Her fingernails had pierced his shoulders, drawing blood. Small half-moon-shaped scars still marked his skin.
Valek pulled in a breath.
Lose the emotions.
The man murdered his brothers. Justice would finally be done tonight. And experience gained for the ultimate goal—the King. Pushing the fear, doubt, hate and anger away, Valek drew icy determination into his heart.
He scaled the wall to the third story, slid the window open and paused, listening. The creak of a bedspring and sleep mutterings sounded from the bedroom. Valek eased into the room. The dim moonlight outlined a bulky shape beneath a blanket. He grabbed his knife, advancing on Fester.
By the time Valek reached the bed, his heart rate had returned to normal. With one quick hop, Valek knelt on Fester’s chest and pressed the blade against his fleshy throat.
“What the—”
“Shut up and listen,” Valek said in a low voice. “Do you remember the tanner’s sons? Three boys, Vincent, Viliam and Victor? Ages fifteen and seventeen-year-old twins?”
“Look—”
“Yes or no?” Valek cut into the skin. Blood oozed.
Fester hissed in pain. “Yes.”
“You missed one. Sloppy.”
“Orders.” Panic sharpened his voice. “I was under orders.”
“To murder?”
“To make an example out of them. The blizzards had been so bad...no one in Icefaren wanted to pay their taxes.” The words tumbled from his lips in a rush. “Boss said the King needed his money and we had to show them what would happen if they didn’t pay.”
“He targeted my family?”
“No. Just said to pick—” Fester realized his mistake. “I didn’t—”
“What’s the boss’s name?”
“Captain Aniol.”
“You should have told your boss to go to hell.” Valek sliced deep into the man’s throat.
Blood sprayed, soaking Fester’s shirt, sheets, blanket and Valek’s sleeves. A hot metallic smell filled the air along with the stink of excrement and body odor. The shine in Fester’s eyes dulled as all color leaked from his skin.
Valek stared at the dead man. No regret pulsed inside him. Just a deep feeling of satisfaction.
He wiped his blade and hands on Fester’s blanket. Then he removed the statue from his pocket. The figure resembled Vincent. He placed it on Fester’s still chest before Valek climbed out the window. Sliding the pane back into place, Valek descended the wall. The compound remained empty at this time of night. The soldiers patrolled only the outer perimeter.
Before he had reached the stable, he had stripped off his shirt and thrown it into one of the still-smoldering burn barrels. Then he had washed the greasepaint from his hands and face. Slipping back into the stall, he had donned a clean shirt and reclaimed his spot on the hay bales.
No sense running away and tipping them off about the culprit. Better to stay and watch and learn all he could about Captain Aniol.
Hedda had called it hiding in plain sight.
A sudden notion jolted Valek from his memories. Maybe the reason he couldn’t determine Maren’s whereabouts was because she’d been hiding in plain sight all this time? No. Maren had a distinctive stride, and he’d have spotted her by now.
The reason must be because the Commander was up to something. And the only thing that he wouldn’t inform Valek about or include him in was something big involving Sitia. Something that would ruin their diplomatic relationship if the Sitians found out.
Valek didn’t know what was worse, the Commander not trusting him or the fact that more trouble between the two countries could lead to war.
16
JANCO
The Black Cat Tavern was everything a tavern should be—long bar with plenty of stools and bartenders, big tables for groups of rowdy soldiers, pretty servers who knew how to handle drunken customers, and little nooks around the edges for hosting private conversations. Plus the ale was to die for! Just the right blend of hops and barley and—
“Janco! Are you paying attention?” Ari asked.
“Sure, chief. Me and Little Miss Assassin are going to go undercover, and—”
“Not you—Gerik and Onora.”
Janco shook his head. “Not happening.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause we can’t trust them together. And, as much as I’ll miss you, Ari old boy, I’m gonna take one for the team.”
Ari rubbed his face. They sat in their favorite nook—the farthest from the door and the deepest in shadow. Onora refused to order a drink. She’d leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed as if they were go
ing to jump her. As if. The grunt sipped his ale, pretending to be relaxed. Except he gripped the glass hard enough for the muscles on his forearm to pop. Impressive pop, though.
“I know better than to ask, but...take one for the team?” Ari set his mug down.
“All your plans are swell, really they are, but they’re not gonna work. The same people who recognize us are gonna spot Sergeant Grunt here right away. We need to come at this from a different direction.”
Understanding lit Ari’s eyes. “Sitia.”
“Yup. I’ll take the young pup south and you and the grunt do all the typical stuff we do to find information—interrogate the prisoners, follow the leads—so it looks like we’re investigating.”
“We have to determine a potential location of the smugglers first. The border’s over a thousand miles long with lots of small Sitian towns nearby. And you’ll need a good disguise. They know you in Sitia.”
Janco pished. “The least of my worries.”
“And what’s your biggest worry?” Onora asked, speaking for the first time.
“My mother. I’m supposed to visit her. It’s been forever and she’s not gonna be happy.”
She huffed in disbelief. “I can kill you in your sleep and you’re worried about your mother?”
“You won’t kill me.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause Valek scares you. While my mother... Nobody scares her.”
* * *
After their meeting, Ari and Janco returned to their office in the castle. Half the size of Valek’s, it contained two of everything—desks, chairs, filing cabinets. One set was neat and organized, and the other set was Janco’s. Valek had left a huge stack of reports from his spies in Sitia on Ari’s desk. They scanned through the latest ones. Concentrating on the information from the towns close to the Ixian border, they searched for anything out of the ordinary.
After a few hours, Janco’s head ached with all the mind-numbing details. “Listen to this... Forty-three citizens attended the town meeting along with four officials. They voted to install a statue outside the town hall. Seriously? This is what our spies think is important?” He tossed the report on the messy pile with all the other useless data.