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Clare ground her teeth as she picked her way slowly down the narrow staircase. All was dark, but Zilas’s knife prodded her down the steep stairs.
“You don’t need to torture Bennick like this,” Clare said. She didn’t know if she’d be able to persuade someone like the Rose with logic or emotion, but she was willing to try. “You are brothers.”
“Ah. Bennick told you the truth, then.”
“Yes. I know your father abandoned you and your mother. That’s awful, Zilas, and I’m sorry that happened to you. But it wasn’t Bennick’s fault.” Her heel caught on an uneven step and she pitched forward.
Zilas’s hold tensed, keeping her from falling. His tone was a shade harder when he said. “True. And the commander was a terrible father to both of us. But between Bennick and me, it’s clear who had the better life.”
“Punishing Bennick for that isn’t fair.”
“Maybe not. But it feels good.”
The hairs on her arms lifted, and she knew there would be no reasoning with this man.
They reached the base of the staircase. “There’s a latch on the door in front of you,” he told her. “Unlock it.”
Clare’s fingers splayed over the smooth wood as she searched blindly in the darkness. As long as they remained in the walls of the manor, she didn’t dare fight him. When she found the latch, she unlocked the door and forced it open. The creak was terrible, the hinges stiff, but fresh air and moonlight reached them.
They stepped outside and Zilas once again shifted his hold on her, grasping her upper arm with one hand, his knife held almost gently against her side. He nudged her forward, and they moved across the grounds, heading away from the manor. She stiffened as soon as they stepped onto a familiar path.
The assassin chuckled. “Since it didn’t work out to kill you in your bed like I usually do, this intimate place seemed the next best thing. I think Bennick will eventually think to find you here, don’t you?”
Clare continued to walk, forcing herself to relax so she wouldn’t give away her intentions. She knew this path, and she knew the best place to make her strike. She tried to breathe regularly, even though adrenaline hummed through her body.
They turned a corner in the winding path, and Clare could hear the gentle rush of the stream ahead. The boulder she’d been waiting for came into view, sitting just on the edge of the path.
She took a steady breath. Another. Then, when she was close enough, she planted a foot against the rock and shoved back against Zilas’s hard chest.
He cursed and stumbled, struggling to hold onto her and the dagger, which she grabbed and tried to wrestle away from her side. She didn’t dare run—he’d catch her. She couldn’t afford to reach for her own knife, because he’d strike the moment she released his blade. And he was too tall for the garrote to work well, so getting his knife was her best option.
Falling into the training Bennick had given her, she fought for her life. She kicked, hit, and twisted. She nearly fell when he shoved her, but she managed to keep her feet. Her fingers strained to yank the knife away from him. If she could get it, she could stab him, and—
A small, pinched cry pierced the night.
Clare’s head snapped in the direction of the soft, anguished sound.
Zilas’s fist slammed into her cheek.
Blood filled her mouth and she staggered, crashing to the ground. Dazed, she panted against the dirt, her vision sparking. Pain bloomed across the side of her face.
Zilas dragged her to her feet and hauled her around the final bend. The glistening stream came into view, and so did Sidrah. The little girl was bound with a length of rope and secured to the iron bench. A sharp cry came from the girl when she saw Clare, her tear-streaked face shining in the moonlight. She sounded hoarse. Fates, how long had she been out here crying?
“How could you?” Clare gasped. “She’s only a child!”
“She’ll be fine, as long as you don’t struggle.” The assassin threw Clare to the ground beside the bench. She almost knocked over a basket full of roses. The velvet petals were all she could see for a moment. The strong floral scent filled her lungs, and nausea swam in her gut. Her cheek throbbed from where he’d hit her.
The assassin smiled at Sidrah, who cowered against the bench. “Sidrah knows to be a good little girl and not say a word. If she listens, she’ll see her parents again. As long as you’re a good girl too, Clare.”
“Please, let her go,” Clare begged. “I won’t fight—just let her go.”
“Considering what you just tried to do, I think it’s better if she stays until the end. Lie on your back.”
Clare trembled, but she did as he ordered, her fingers curling in the dirt.
He towered over her. “Sooner or later, being the decoy was bound to get you killed. At least I’ll kill you gently. Other assassins might not be so kind.”
“Fates rot you.”
