PROLOGUE
BURNING DAY
One dead king, and Yassen Knight would be free.
He slid close to the wall, tucking himself in the darkened corner where the guards above could not see him unless they were brave enough to weather the storm and lean over the stone edge. The rain lashed down, drenching him. It wasn’t like the thunderous, refreshing monsoons that swept across the deserts of Ravence leaving a riot of color in their wake. This storm bit down, clenching the coast in its grey jaws, unwilling to relent until it blended the world into hues of slate and brown.
Yassen shivered. He was lucky; he had been able to climb up the craggy cliff before the storm had hit. It had taken him nearly half an hour, from the hidden cove to the hidden blind spot of the wall, clawing for footholds and hollow pockets as the wind lashed at him. There was no surveillance here; clearly, the king believed no man foolish or brave enough to attempt the climb. He was right, Yassen thought bitterly as he felt another raindrop trickle beneath the collar of his jacket and down his spine. He wasn’t foolish or brave.
He was desperate.
Lightning splintered across the darkening sky, followed by a great boom of thunder that rattled the coast with such force that Yassen felt its echoes in his bones.
He stood on a thin ledge, the cliff dropping steeply behind him, the black stone wall looming before him. His pulse gun was holstered beneath his jacket, the silencer tucked above his heart. He was carefully putting the metal stakes he had used during the climb into his small knapsack when his holopod pinged.
Yassen pulled out the pod, a smooth silver circle no bigger than his palm. Two holos blinked awake: The first showed the time, a quarter to the hour, which meant the guard change would happen in ten minutes; the second showed live cam feeds of the inner compound.
King Bormani of Veran had insisted on building his summer home on the easternmost point of his coast so that he could be the first to see the sun rise over his kingdom. The vanity of it. The sun rose everywhere, Yassen thought, so why did it matter if you saw it first? But that was the way of kings: excessive, unnecessary. Yassen had known many such nobles. Most had been too blinded by their own pride to see that the danger lurked on their own doorsteps.
Above him, two guards huddled along the inner wall, their heads tucked inside their thick jackets, their hands thrust into their pockets. They looked miserable.
His pod pinged, this time with a message.
Guard change stalled. Climb.
Yassen checked the cam feed, and sure enough, the two guards above him glanced at their own pods. One guard, the bigger one, sprang up at once.
“Damn time,” Yassen heard one say.
“Don’t you think we should wait for the others?” his companion said.
The big guard whirled around. “In this weather? I can’t feel my crackin’ toes. Stay if you like but I’mout.”
The smaller guard grumbled but stood up. He stepped forward, toward the outer wall, and Yassen stilled. If he leaned over…
But the rain was thick, and the guard, probably thinking it was better to warm up with a bowl of soup than risk his neck peering over slippery stone, turned and hurried after his companion.
Lightning struck again, angrier this time. Despite himself, Yassen thanked the heavens. He had long ago lost his belief in the gods, but habit made him kiss his three fingers and press them to his chest for good luck. He did not invoke the Phoenix. Instead, he slipped off his gloves and rubbed chalk from his knapsack over his palms.
Yassen placed his hands against the wall and closed his eyes. The rough, slick stone brushed against his bare skin like a familiar friend. He had grown up climbing canyons and dunes, the warm sun on his back, sand and grit in his nails. For a moment, Yassen cradled that memory, but then the pod chimed again, and he felt the memory curdle. He would never feel the rough grit of sand again. That was his past. Yassen gripped the stone and looked up. The wall loomed over him, black and bleak. Just one more climb, he reminded himself. One more dead king, and he would be free.
He tapped his toes together, and two blades made of Jantari steel flicked out. They cut through the stone like a knife through flesh. Handhold here, insert foot here. Shift right. Shorn rock, move slow. Yassen fell into his familiar rhythm, sweat and rain beading down his forehead. The lip of the wall loomed closer. Fifteen feet, then ten, then five.
Yassen peered over the edge. The wall was empty. Yassen pulled himself over and, in one smooth motion, slipped out his pulse gun and silencer. His boot knives slid back. The rain drummed down, hard and mean like tiny pebbles. Yassen crept toward the staircase, gun balanced in his left hand, the other cradling a thin throwing knife that had been hidden in his boot.
When he reached the main floor, Yassen cautiously peered out across the grounds. He could see the two guards in the distance, hurrying down a garden path toward a grey, low building. The servants’ quarters. Beyond the building, he could see the faint silhouette of the king’s compound. He would be asleep right now. All Yassen had to do was climb onto the roof and slip into the topmost right hallway…
A sudden sound to Yassen’s right made him freeze, finger curled around the trigger. The rain muffled most noise, but Yassen was sure…
There!It sounded like a squeal, raw and painful; the sound a marjarah squirming on the butcher’s table would make. The Verani considered the meat of the catlike animal a delicacy. But the noise came from the direction of the king’s compound, not the kitchens.
Yassen crept forward as a far gate swung open and three guards ran out. They were shouting orders.
“Got out!” Their voices, dampened by the rain, came in little snatches. “Southside… Garden path!… Inform the king.”
Damn it!Yassen looked at the right topmost window of the king’s compound. It was still unlit. He had a few precious minutes to scale onto the roof. Perhaps he could make it through, shoot the king and the guards. But then how would he get out unnoticed?
For a moment, Yassen debated abandoning the assignment.The mission was compromised, he imagined himself telling Akaros, his handler. But then how many more assignments would they send him on before they finally granted him peace? How much longer until he could be free?
