No, he had come too far. This would be his last job. He would fade away, slip past the Arohassin using the methods they had taught him. He had already made the rearrangements. An alias, Cassian Newman, with a passport from Nbru, a country that the Arohassin had no foothold in. Instead of sailing back to the rendezvous point, he would head out into the Ahi Sea.
Yassen waited until the guards were out of sight and then sprinted forward. Speed and confusion were his only advantage right now. He stuck to the perimeter of the circular garden, slipping between the dark, hunkering ferns.
A gutter ran up the backside of the grand, sprawling building of the king’s chambers.
He had just gripped it when a figure flickered from around the front of the house. A guard, head bent against the rain, his back to Yassen. He sounded annoyed, bickering into his pod.
“I told you I don’t know where it went! The old man shouldn’t even have it as a pet. It got scared by the storm and got out. There’s no need to wake up the king for his stupid—”
As the guard turned, Yassen’s knife sliced cleanly into his eye. The man’s body stiffened, his mouth frozen in shock, and then he fell onto his knees. Yassen quickly closed the distance, and in one deft motion, he slipped out the knife and sliced the guard’s throat, covering his mouth. The guard gasped against his palm, then lay still.
A voice continued arguing through the guard’s holopod. Yassen picked it up.
“—going to be angry! The damned thing only listens to him—”
Yassen cut the line and slipped the holopod into his pocket. He heaved the guard’s body back and laid it against the far wall, blanketed by shadows. Guilt snaked around his chest. His task was to eliminate a king, not his subjects. It was not their fault that they had gotten embroiled in politics beyond their control.
Yassen kissed his three fingers and pressed them against the guard’s forehead.
“Go in peace, wherever that is,” he murmured.
He took off his jacket and draped it over the guard’s body. The others would find him, eventually.But please, heavens above, let it be after.
The side entrance lay open. Yassen stepped inside, knife in hand, pulse gun primed. He closed the door softly. He could hear loud, stress-filled voices down the corridor. To his left, a staircase curved upward into darkness. At the top, Yassen pressed his ear against the door on the landing. Nothing. Carefully, he propped it open an inch. The hallway was dark and muted, shadows flickering and dancing across the walls from the large window above. All else was silent.
Yassen slipped into the hall, his footsteps light. Little raindrops dripped down his clothing, a spattered trail that couldn’t be helped. Ahead of him was another staircase, this one grander and more ornate, swathed in soft carpet. He took the stairs two at a time, the fabric swallowing any sounds, and paused at the second level. The hall forked left and right, sconces glowing gently at intervals. Murmurs drifted from the right, where the king’s bedchamber lay.
Activating his silencer, Yassen crept toward it.
A guard appeared at the far end of the hall. Yassen stopped, heart thundering, pressing back into the shadows. The guard walked slowly, hands outstretched.
“Here, Adria.” The guard made kissing sounds. “Here, girl. It’s all right.”
He thinks I’m the cat.Yassen wanted to laugh, but then he thought of the other guard, lying cold and dead in the rain. He holstered his gun, slipping his knife back into his sleeve. The guard inched closer, searching the shadows of the opposite wall.
“Adriaaa, I have treats,” he sang.
When the guard’s back was to him, Yassen leapt out. The man whirled, but Yassen was faster. He turned on his heel, sidestepping the guard’s confused punch, and wrapped him in a choke hold. The guard kicked his feet, the thud of his heels muffled against the carpet.
Yassen squeezed harder. Slowly, and then all at once, the guard’s body fell limp. Yassen checked his pulse. He was alive, but he would be unconscious for at least a few minutes. Yassen quickly emptied the guard’s pockets, donning the man’s hat and jacket.
Thunder boomed around him as he jogged down the hallway. Another guard paced in front of the king’s door but stopped when Yassen approached.
“Did you find her?” he hissed.
“No,” Yassen said in a Verani accent, his hat tilted down, “but I did find this.”
He threw the unconscious guard’s holopod across the floor. It slid across the carpet, hitting the other guard’s feet. He bent to pick it up, eyebrows knitting in confusion, and when he looked up, Yassen kicked him solidly in the face. The guard crumpled to the floor with a loud thump. Yassen winced at the sound, but no one else appeared in the corridor.
Unholstering his pulse gun, he opened the king’s door and slipped inside.
The room was wide and swathed in silks and velvets of rich purple. A fire crackled softly in a hearth beside the window. King Bormani was sitting up in his bed, rubbing his eyes. He blinked sleepily as Yassen entered.
“Briske,” he said, “what is all that noise? And would you close that crackin’ window?”
The windowpanes creaked in the wind.It must have blown open during the storm, Yassen thought. He peered at the king. He had no gun, no knife. The man had only his robe, which was quickly on the verge of unspooling as he yawned. Yassen hesitated. He had made an oath, long ago, to never kill a man without a weapon. And he had followed it, as best as he could. But now…
The window panels banged against the building.
