Wren was definitely right to worry, because I didn’t stop to consider the risk before running after Nik to find out who—or what—had caused it.
The sunlight was a bright contrast to the dark room, and I had to squint to see a man in a threadbare tunic and trousers, a worn scarf around his neck, disappearing into the underbrush. A now-broken door was hanging off its hinge, and he left no Aetheric trail.
“Same clothes as the assassins in the market,” I said. And it wasn’t hard to imagine he’d been involved in Tommen’s death.
Nik swore, ran back to the front of the house. I followed him. “There’s a dead man inside,” he told Galen. “And an assassin in the trees. Stay here with the horses and keep an eye out.”
“You aren’t going alone,” Galen said, his voice hard. “I’ll go with you, and she can stay with the horses.”
“I’ll go with him,” I said.
Galen shook his head. “You aren’t trained for this.”
“And you can’t see the Aetheric,” I said. “If we stand here and argue, we’ll lose him.”
Branches cracked in the woods.
“She’s right,” Nik said, then glanced at me. “Try to keep up.” Without waiting for a reply, he darted into the trees.
“That won’t be a problem,” I said, and took off after him. The trail of crushed leaves and snapped branches rose along the hillside, and my breath quickened as the path grew steeper. At least the pain in my chest eased as we moved farther from the house.
We found him in the middle of a well-trodden path, scarf unfurled and trees arcing overhead. He was about our age, with a wide, pale face and high forehead. He held a two-bladed dagger of etched metal. It was a Vhranian windblade, the favorite weapon of its nomadic communities. Wren also had a thing for them.
I couldn’t see or hear anyone else, and I couldn’t see any Aether. But I was a thief, and I knew what it felt like to be watched. Someone was out there. Someone was watching.
“I don’t recognize him,” I whispered. “And there’s someone else in the woods.”
Nik nodded and stepped in front of me, shielding me from the assassin. “Who are you?”
The man only sneered.
“There’s no need for fighting,” Nik said. “You’re caught. There’s an army behind me, and we’ll run you down. Tell me who you’re helping, and I’ll send you on your way. Evade or lie, and you’ll die in the dirt where you stand.”
“Can’t hurt me. Can’t hurt him.” The assassin turned his body sideways and raised the windblade.
I wasn’t a fighter like Wren. I knew running was safest, but I couldn’t leave Nik alone with the practitioner lurking somewhere nearby.
“Or you could be an idiot about it,” Nik muttered, and pulled his short sword. “Who killed the man in the house?”
“I did.”
“You didn’t. He was killed with Aether. Where’s the Aetheric practitioner?”
The man’s smile was thin. “Hasn’t been a practitioner in Carethia in decades.”
Nik rolled the sword in his hand. “Then I guess we’re doing this.” He moved toward the man first, with a quick downward slash that had the assassin’s eyes widening.
Nik was no less impressive today than he had been last night. He moved like the tiger on the prince’s banners, struck with powerful force, dodged like a thief. The assassin wasn’t as well trained. I wasn’t an expert, but he looked clumsy, chopping with his blade like he was in a hurry to make a run for it, back to the practitioner he’d apparently decided to serve.
Nik heard it before I did, his gaze snapping to mine. “Arrow!” he called out, then pulled us both to the ground, his body heavy atop mine as the arrow whistled over our heads. Birds screamed nearby, startled from their nests. Something moved in the forest beyond, and then the world was silent again.
Nik waited, his chest heaving from the fight, his mouth inches above mine, his gaze trained on the arrow’s origin point, listening for another volley. He flicked his gaze to me. “All right?” he whispered.
We’d fallen into a thick layer of dead brush and leaves; I’d be picking them out of my hair for a while, but they’d cushioned our fall, so I nodded. I couldn’t think of any words to say.
There was movement behind us. Nik was up in an instant, his sword bared again.
The assassin hadn’t managed to dodge. He was sprawledacross the path, the arrow lodged in his chest, blood seeping from the wound. He groaned and coughed, and blood bubbled from his mouth.
