Maria V. Snyder - Shadow Study

She made a grand sweeping gesture, indicating the buildings. “Welcome to the School of Night and Shadows. How many people do you see?”

Valek scanned the area, counting. “Ten.”

Hedda whistled. Movement exploded and figures jumped, crawled and slid from various nooks and shadows around the complex.

“Now how many?” she asked.

“More than ten.”

“Correct. The best assassins are invisible. No magic needed.”

When they drew close to the biggest structure—a four-story-high building with balconies facing the sea—Hedda called to a man. “Fetch Arbon. Tell him to meet me in my office.”

“Yes, sir.” The man dashed away.

Hedda led him into the main building and to an office on the ground floor. Out of the bright sunlight, Valek studied the woman. She wore a soft gray-green tunic and matching pants. Long red eyelashes framed light green eyes.

Gesturing to a chair, she settled behind a pristine desk. Nothing occupied the surface. He glanced around the room. A few tapestries hung on the gray-white-black walls. The color reminded him of seagull droppings. No fire burned in the fireplace. The sparse furnishings held no warmth and he guessed this wasn’t her true office, but a place to conduct business with outsiders.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Valek.”

“Tell me why you want to kill the King.”

“Does it matter?”

“Very much.”

“His men murdered my brothers.” Red-hot agony burned in the center of his heart as an image of their bodies flashed in front of him, but he clamped down on his emotions.

She studied him. “Then why not go after them?”

“Oh, they will die, too.”

“But that’s not good enough?”

“No.” He spat the word out. “They murder in his name. The King’s corruption has gone too far.”

“Did you know the King is a powerful magician?”

“Yes.”

“And that he’s well protected?”

“Yes.”

“And you still believe you can kill him?”

“Yes.”

“How much time are you willing to dedicate to this endeavor?”

“As long as it takes. If my last breath is one second after the King’s last gasp, I will die a happy man.”

Hedda grinned. “One thing at a time. Let’s see how long you last, King Killer.” She glanced over his shoulder. “Arbon, come in and meet Valek.”

A young teen around Valek’s age slipped into the room. His black hair had been shorn close to his scalp.

“Take him to the medic then feed him and show him around. He can have Pyo’s cell.”

“Yes, sir,” Arbon said.

“Valek, I’d suggest you concentrate on getting healthy. Once you begin training, luxuries like eating and sleeping are not guaranteed.”

Valek smiled at the memory. He had used that phrase— eating and sleeping are not guaranteed —a thousand times with the men and women he had trained for his corps. It was as true today as it had been twenty-eight years ago. Of course, then he’d been a stupid kid and had no idea that lack of sleep and missed meals would be the least of his problems. Ah, youth.

Still unable to sleep, Valek pushed off his covers, dressed in his uniform and ghosted down to the dungeon to check on the newest occupant.

The guards snapped to attention and followed protocol to the letter. Everyone was worried about the consequences of the midnight assassin. As well they should be. Valek planned to demote them to privates and send them to guard the diamond mines in MD-3.

A thought occurred to him. What if the new guy...Gerik, was Onora’s friend and he’d inadvertently tipped her off to the lapse in security? Even if that was the case, the members of the Commander’s detail had been chosen for a reason and their system of double checks should have revealed the gap.

Sleeping off the goo-goo juice, Onora sprawled on the cell’s metal bed, which had been bolted to the bars. Her brown braid had been pulled apart and her hair fanned around her face like a messy mane.

“Keep a close eye on her, but don’t alert her to the extra security,” Valek said to the guard.

“Sir?”

“I want to see if she tries to escape.”

“And if she does?”

“Let her go. I’ll have one of my corps in place to follow her.”

“Yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Valek swung by the kitchen to swipe a couple of apples before waking up Qamra and assigning her babysitting duties.

“How good is she, sir?” Qamra asked.

“Don’t let her get close to you. Bring your darts and blowpipe.”

“Yes, sir.” She hopped from her bed.

He left and headed to his office. Qamra had the best aim in his entire corps. He’d put her through the paces, thrown every obstacle and distraction in her way, and she never missed. Valek wished he could say that about all his operatives. Blow in Janco’s ear and he’d miss every time. But that was the beauty of training—it exposed the strengths and weaknesses of his corps so he could match jobs to agents.

At Hedda’s school, though, she hadn’t allowed weaknesses. Every skill had to be mastered before learning another. When Valek had been a student and he’d regained his health, his training began in earnest.

Arbon had shown him the long narrow one-story building then left Valek there without a word. An instructor gave Valek a stone about as big as his thumbnail. The man pointed to a target at one end of the building, then swept an arm out, indicating a series of red marks along the floor.

“Stand on the first mark, closest to the target. When you hit the bull’s-eye with that stone at that position ten times in a row, move to the next one. Repeat. When you can hit the bull’s-eye from the last mark, you will go back to the first mark and practice hitting the target with a knife. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Who would have thought hitting a bull’s-eye with a stone would be that difficult? Hours turned into days and, determined to succeed, Valek only stopped when it was too dark to see. Hedda’s training methods were simple and effective. No one taught you how to throw the stone. Repetition and practice until calluses coated your hands and you figured out the best way to hit a target.

Valek wished he had the time to train his corps the same way. However, time was always an issue. Back in the days before the Commander’s takeover, he had sent promising individuals to Hedda’s school to be trained. After the takeover, the Commander wished to incorporate her school into his military. She refused and had retired. Or so she claimed. Obviously she’d lied, and there might be more assassins in Ixia. Yet another detail to investigate.

He unlocked the door to his office. Even with the first rays of dawn creeping in through the square window, it remained too dark to read. He lit the lanterns. Searching through the files, he found the one on Gerik and read through the man’s dossier. Nothing popped out at him. Maren had performed a thorough background check.

His door banged open. Valek stood and drew both knives without thought.

“Easy there, boss,” Janco said, spreading his hands wide.

“I said to knock. Not to knock the door down.” Ari entered.

“I barely touched it. It wasn’t latched tight.”

Valek returned his knives to their hidden locations and sank into his seat. “Come on in.”

They drew closer.

“Is it true?” Ari asked him.

Nice to know the castle’s gossip network still worked with lightning-fast precision. “Yes.”

“Son of a snow cat!” Janco slapped his thigh. “Did you kill him?”

“Her. And no, I didn’t.”

Ari and Janco glanced at each other in amazement.

“But she reached the Commander.” Janco’s voice held outrage.

“He wasn’t her target.” Valek leaned back in his chair.