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His humor faded. He’d been working as an assassin for two years, but Hedda kept insisting he get more experience before he went after the King. More like accumulate more money. While he was grateful for the gold he’d earned, he suspected Hedda wasn’t ready to give up her best source of income.
“If I kill this guy in public, he might turn into a martyr, and I’m sure our client wouldn’t want his successor to gain sympathy and supporters because of the assassination.”
“Good point. Just get in and get out. I’ve more jobs waiting for you.”
“Assign them to another. Isn’t T-quin back from his southern jaunt?”
She stared at him. “T-quin takes too long.”
“Arbon?”
“Is lying low. His last job was a fiasco and he’s too hot.”
“Sounds like this would be a good time for me to ask for a raise.”
“You would think that, but you’d be wrong.”
“I see. How about a timeline, then?”
Hedda rested her elbows on her desk. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. How many more jobs must I complete for you before I can go after the King?”
“It will take a couple years for you to get close enough to him. You’re one of my best assassins and, at seventeen, you haven’t even hit your prime. You’ve plenty of time to go after the King. Right now you can earn heaps of gold for your...retirement. Plus once you kill him, you’re done. His guards will either kill you or you’ll be too hot to stay in Ixia or work as an assassin for a decade.”
“In other words, I would no longer be an asset for you.”
“Of course. Wasn’t that your sole desire? Kill the King? Have you thought about what happens afterward? If you live, that is.”
No, he hadn’t. Back when he was thirteen, he’d assumed he wouldn’t survive. However, he’d gotten quite skilled at this business and he might have a future after all. Hedda had given him much to think about on his trip west to Pinchot.
When he arrived in the city, it didn’t take him long to locate his mark. Ambrose made nightly speeches at various taverns around town. Valek kept to the edges of the crowd, listening to the man’s propaganda.
“...own a diamond mine, but are we rich? No!” Ambrose sat at the bar, drinking from a mug of ale. “The King confiscates all our product, paying us only enough to keep the equipment running. The King of Ixia claims our taxes go to improve our lives, yet when the south section of the mines collapsed, he refused to send his soldiers to help clear the debris. Twenty-nine miners died, not from the collapse, but from being trapped underground.”
Each evening, more people showed up to hear Ambrose speak. Valek recognized many faces from before and it appeared they’d dragged their friends along to listen. He had to admit the man was worth listening to. Valek agreed with him. In fact, the more he learned about the King’s crimes in this region of Ixia, the greater his desire to assassinate the King.
Hedda’s comments about what happened after the King’s death had been in reference to Valek’s life. But what about Ixia? Who would take the King’s place? Another corrupt royal? One of his spoiled princelings? Would anything change? Probably not. Yet Ambrose spoke of a new government with clear laws that applied to all. He argued for a fair system where everyone worked and basic needs were provided for by the government.
Too bad Valek had to assassinate Ambrose. The man had good ideas and appeared to be very organized. Valek spotted evidence that this was more than grandstanding at the local bar. Ambrose’s loyal inner circle acted more like a military squad, and Pinchot was the sixth major city in his campaign.
After a couple of weeks, Valek pinpointed the ideal location for the assassination. Ambrose always left the taverns by the back entrance with a couple of brutes on his heels. He’d slip through the back alleys to the inn where he stayed.
Valek debated between ambushing him in the alley or in his room and decided on the alley. It seemed more dramatic and those two brutes would be easy to take down in the open versus in the tight hallway. Plus Ambrose had been smart enough to rent an interior room and hire a man to stay inside while he was out campaigning. It made it difficult for Valek to place a sculpted black diamond on Ambrose’s bed, but not impossible.
On the big night, Valek followed Ambrose to the Pewter Tavern. He sat in the back until Ambrose hit his stride. Then Valek slipped out and found a dark shadow along Ambrose’s route home in which to hide. Pulling on black gloves and a hood with a full face mask, he readied two darts. The hood worked much better than greasepaint. Easier to just yank it off when in a hurry than to stop and wash the incriminating black off his face. Plus it kept his face warm during these cold-season nights.
As Valek waited for his target, he envisioned the sequence of actions he’d need to perform to complete this mission. A slight pang of regret touched him. All of his targets deserved to die, but Ambrose might make an actual difference. He banished the sentiment. Hesitation was lethal in his line of work.
A few hours later, voices echoed off the stone walls of the alley. Three men approached—Ambrose and his bodyguards. As soon as they passed his hiding spot, Valek stepped out and threw the darts. One in each man’s thick neck. He silently counted to ten as he followed the group. When the men wobbled on their feet, Valek drew his knife.
Valek slid between them as they thudded to the ground. Ambrose turned to see what had happened. Valek thrust his blade at Ambrose’s stomach, expecting to pierce flesh while he met the man’s shocked gaze. However, Ambrose shuffled back and a long dagger flashed in his hand.
“Nice,” Valek said before engaging him in a knife fight.
Ambrose blocked his first series of strikes with ease. A couple of combinations later, Ambrose went on the offensive. Wow. The man was skilled with the blade. Valek backpedaled long enough to grab another dagger. Now armed with two, he attacked both high and low.
“Feeling more confident?” Ambrose asked.
“Oh yes.”
“You won’t for long.” Ambrose increased the pace. His weapon snaked passed Valek’s defenses and slashed his arm. “First blood.” He grinned.
Unease stirred. Ignoring the unfamiliar feeling, he switched his strategy, using a more sophisticated series of strikes and blocks that he’d tested against his fellow assassins. Ambrose gave ground, inching toward the wall. Then he quickly stepped to the side and yanked another knife.
It didn’t take long for Valek to realize he was outmatched. For the first time in years, fear unfurled and wrapped tentacles around his heart.
“Who hired you?” Ambrose asked.
And this was a great example why Hedda kept that information a secret. Valek’s answer was a double thrust to Ambrose’s throat, which missed by a hair because the man leaned back, all the while keeping his arms outstretched and dangerously close to Valek’s chest. Twin slashes seared into his skin.
Valek shuffled away as Ambrose advanced. He no longer considered this an assassination, but a fight for his life. One that he was losing.
“Did the King send you?” Ambrose asked.
The question took him by complete surprise. Could he be working for the King? It was possible. Distracted by these thoughts, Valek made a critical error. In a blur of motion, Ambrose unarmed him and slammed him into the wall, pressing his blade to Valek’s throat. The cold steel burned his hot skin as pain radiated through his skull. Fear squeezed his heart along with outrage—the King would live while he died.
“Who hired you?” Ambrose asked.
“I don’t know.”
Ambrose ripped off Valek’s mask. Cool air fanned his sweaty face.
“Ah hell. You’re just a kid.”
Valek bit down on a protest. It might work in his favor.
“Just tell me if it was the King or not and I’ll let you li
ve.”
He considered lying. After all, his life was at stake. But that golden gaze seared right into his soul. “I don’t know. I hope not.”
“Why?”
“The thought of working for the King makes me ill.”
“No love for your King, eh?”
“He’s not my King. All he is to me is another target.”
“You plan to assassinate him?”
Valek gave him a bitter smile. “I did.”
Ambrose laughed at his tone, but then turned contemplative. “Can you kill him?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a powerful magician.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
A lie sprang to his lips, but he sensed Ambrose would know. “I’m immune to magic.”
Surprise and shrewd calculation flashed. Valek expected to be questioned for the details of his immunity.
Instead Ambrose asked, “Can you discover who hired you?”
Strange switch in topic. “I can.”
“Would you?”
Ah, there was the right question. “And in exchange?”
“Your life.”
“You’d let me go for a name? Just like that?”
“Oh no, not that easy. You see, you’re mine now. Live or die, I decide.” He slashed his other dagger along Valek’s sternum, ripping the fabric of his tunic. Ambrose then carved a half circle into Valek’s flesh.
Valek grunted as an intense pain coursed through him.
“It’s a C. It stands for Commander. Meaning, I’m your commander. Pledge your loyalty to me and I’ll help you reach the King. After all, I want the son of a bitch dead, too.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll slit your throat and leave you here.”
Not much of a choice. Valek met his gaze. Deep down, he trusted that this man would keep his promises. Odd. He hadn’t felt that way about anyone since he’d witnessed his brothers’ murders.
“How soon can I go after the King?” he asked.
“Within the year.”
Ambitious. “And when the King’s dead?”
