Yassen recalled Elena’s comment about his arm, how she had watched him like a desert hawk tracking its prey before smashing it against the rocks. She must have sensed his weakness. But then he remembered her eyes: brown and dark, filled with cold calculation as if she could hide the fear underneath.
“Do you think Elena is afraid?” he asked.
Samson laughed. “How would you feel if you had to become queen in less than a month? I’d be more scared than facing the seven fucking hells.”
He had a point.
Yassen rubbed his arm as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Silk shirts from Nbru, linen jackets from Monte Gumi, and cotton pants spun on the quaint foothills of Beuron lay crisply across the soft sheets, untouched.
“Try one on. See if it fits,” Samson said as he closed the window.
Yassen hesitated. He looked down at the clothes and gingerly picked up a blue linen shirt with golden buttons. “Give me a minute,” he said and began to move toward the washroom when Samson stopped him short.
“Try it on here,” he said.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Yassen sighed and dropped his gaze.
“I knew it,” Samson said. “Show me?”
Yassen slowly peeled off his sweaty shirt to reveal his right arm. Deep burns sliced across his shoulder and bicep, his skin brown and reddish and wrinkled like a date left out in the sun. Touching his elbow, Yassen felt a familiar ache echo through his bones.
“What did the Arohassin do to you?” Samson whispered.
“They did nothing. I made a mistake.” The memory and the pain it brought were still too raw. He remembered how the fire had grabbed his arm. The smell of seared flesh. The deep, blistering heat. “They were barely able to save it.”
Samson slowly sank onto an ottoman and folded his hands beneath his chin.
It was an old mannerism. He had done the same when they had received their first assignment to kill.
Their targets had been fleeing prisoners. The Arohassin called it the Hunt. They were usually Ravani soldiers or officials that the Arohassin had kidnapped or captured for information, questioning them with varying degrees ofencouragement, as they liked to call it. If they had survived, they served as target practice for their newest recruits.
“All right, boys and girls,” Akaros had said as he handed them their weapons. “Pair up.”
Yassen, of course, had found Samson. They had been inseparable back then. They listened, shoulders trembling against the other, as Akaros told them the details of their assignment.
“Now, there are going to be six of them. And they’re going to befast. Like a shobu running for his dear life from a snake. So you’ll have to be quicker. Remember your training. Find your target, calm your breath, and shoot. Any questions?”
They had not been brave enough to ask, save for Samson.
“What’s the twist?” It was the question they had all been thinking. Because Akaros, unlike the other handlers, always loved a twist.
He had smiled, the burn on his face crinkling like sand patterns on a dune. “Glad you asked, Ruru,” mentioning Samson’s code name. He spread his arms. “You all will have one shot. Onebullet.Oh, don’t shake your heads. Bullets have more character than a fucking pulse. Now, see your friend there. Yes, look at the man or woman beside you. Go on. Look them hard in the eye. Because they’ll get rewarded if you make your kill. And if you don’t, well.” Akaros did not smile. Yassen preferred when he did; at least then he could predict the man’s eccentricities. “You all know what happens when a target doesn’t cooperate.”
The twin moons had hidden behind the clouds that night. It was hard to see from their perch on the hill, but the escape door of the underground prison stood directly across from them while they lay in pairs beneath the shadows of boulders.
“Samson,” Yassen had whispered. “Sam.”
He noticed Samson’s hand trembling around the gun.
“All right,” Akaros had said in their comms, “they’re coming out.”
The first prisoner had peeked out from the gate and scanned his surroundings. He looked hesitant, his lips pale and eyes haggard as Yassen watched him through his scope. Five more peered out behind him. They debated among themselves. Yassen was trying to read their lips when the first prisoner took off running.
One of the boys fired. The shot echoed through the valley. The man stumbled and fell.
“Quick now,” Akaros had said.
“Sam!”
