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The last time Sorasa Sarn crept through the winding halls of the New Palace, she had no fear. Back then, Sorasa cared little for the state of the realm, or the ramblings of a preening Elder prince. Her task was finished, Corayne an-Amarat delivered safely to the Queen of Galland. The Amhara played her part and moved on, lingering only to serve her own curiosity.
She knew how well that ended.
Now, she rolled through the passages in a rushing tide, the realm’s fate chasing behind her. The New Palace flared in Sorasa’s mind, big as a city, its many passages like veins beneath skin. She thought of tunnels, servant hallways, crawlspaces and attics. Cellars, crumbling towers,vaults, little chapels abandoned for the night. The Amhara Guild collected it all through countless years and contracts, creating a map for its assassins to learn.
There were certainly more guards than before, a fact Sorasa took great pride in. The watch patrols had at least doubled since her last visit.
But they were still no match for Amhara knowledge or Dom’s senses. Together, they moved quickly, avoiding or punching through all obstacles. There was no time to fear, no time to think about anything other than the next inch forward.
Sorasa’s plan spiraled, every step built hastily on the next. It felt like laying the stones of a road before an oncoming horse. Quickly, she navigated the barracks, then the gardens, cutting through the hedge maze toward the old keep.
Neither Sigil nor Dom spoke. They trusted Sorasa to get them where they needed to go. Even Dom didn’t argue, to Sorasa’s surprise. His doubt was familiar, if annoying. His faith was more difficult to navigate.
The black towers of the old keep blazed with torches, green banners streaming from every window. Guards prowled high above them, but none below. There was no cause for alarm in the palace.
Yet.
Sorasa wasted no time explaining and grabbed for the closest banner. She crawled up its length as easily as climbing a ladder, despite the dull ache in her shoulder. Sigil and Dom trailed along, following her up the steps to the lowest window of the keep. At Dom’s signal, she slammed her elbow through a pane of glass, shattering it inward to spray across the floor of an empty spiraling stair.
She landed inside with the grace of a spider, the other two close behind. There were no bedchambers or personal quarters in the old keep, but offices for the Queen and her council. Meaning it was mostly empty.
They tracked the few guards, moving behind their watch pattern. Sorasa killed only one when he stopped short, examining an old tapestry. She shoved him headfirst into a closet, folding his legs over his body. Her work was quick. Not even a drop of blood stained the floor.
She felt Dom’s glare the whole time.
“I won’t remind you how many corpses you left in the dungeons,” she hissed, latching the closet door shut.
From the passage they entered a dim library, dusty with disuse. Papers covered one of the many tables, while rugs patterned the wooden floor. Sorasa kept moving as she checked the adjoining room. With a grin, she returned with a bottle in her free hand, a brown liquid sloshing in the glass.
Dom and Sigil watched, wordless, as she doused the chamber, pouring out the bottle. The torch went next.
Flame puddled across the library. The dust, the papers, the carpets and old heavy drapes went up like candles, an inferno sparking to life.
Sigil smiled through the flames, striking a fist to her chest.
The burst of triumph didn’t last. Sorasa’s throat tightened as the heat hit her face, the smell of smoke strangling. For a split second, she was back in Gidastern, the city burning around her, the screams of the dead filling her ears. The flames danced, taking the shapes of Infyrna hounds and corpse soldiers, all jumping and leaping.
An armored hand touched her shoulder and she flinched. The vision broke and she whirled away from Dom, putting her back to the library.
“Keep moving,” she bit out, though she was the one frozen.
They went from room to room, fire trailing through the honeycombed chambers of the castle.
Dom loosed a low growl, stopping them short. “Half a dozen guards coming this way, they’re running.”
Smirking, Sorasa turned to the wood-paneled wall of the corridor. “Good.”
With a well-placed fist, she knocked at a corner of the paneling. It swung backward on greased hinges, revealing a small, dark hallway, the kind used by servants. They ducked in without question.
The low ceiling forced Dom and Sigil to stoop and angle sideways, their broad shoulders scraping against the old walls. Sorasa had no such trouble, all but skipping through the passages.
“If we’re lucky, the fire will cover our tracks,” she said. As they ran, she watched the walls, studying the stonework. “The guards will be too busy saving the old keep to check the dungeons.”
“Oh, I just thought you hated libraries,” Sigil muttered.
Sorasa’s true laugh echoed off the stone.
“And if we’re very lucky...”
