The Reluctant Assassin Boxset

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  "But I thought a liebereisen had to be in the maetrie realm?" asked Vin.

  "There is no rule against it being elsewhere," said Prince Orráine. "And I already know what life is like in the Eternal City. I need not endure it more."

  "Yes," said Petri, clearly excited by the prospect of adventure. "We're headed to the Fae first, to visit his cousins."

  "They're not cousins," said Prince Orráine dryly as if he'd had to say this a hundred times before. "The Fey are not related at all, despite what humans think."

  Petri winked at them playfully, to show she was messing with the prince. He laughed in acknowledgement that he was going to have his hands full, but after it was finished, the awkwardness resumed. Petri seemed to be working herself up to say something. She kept looking to Zayn and then looking at her boots.

  "I'm sorry," she said finally.

  "You don't have to be sorry about anything," said Zayn.

  She tilted her head. "Can I be sorry about stealing the car the first day we met?"

  "Oh, that. Yes, you should be sorry," he said with a wink.

  She clasped her hands in front of her. "I wanted to come here so I could thank you all. I know I'm not like you, but you welcomed me and made me a part of your team, even after I'd done those awful things."

  She glanced first to Zayn and then to Skylar, to acknowledge the night they'd stopped her from enslaving a late-night dance club.

  "Thank you for including me. Besides meeting you, it was my favorite part of the year. I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't been a part of that play," said Petri.

  "I must thank you as well," said Prince Orráine, bowing. "Without your help, I would be dead by my brother's hand."

  "We came to give you gifts in thanks for what you've done for us," said Petri.

  "You didn't have to," said Keelan.

  "But we wanted to," replied Petri. "Vin, can you come here?"

  Vin stood before them, bouncing nervously, while Prince Orráine raised his chin to look up at the big man. The prince's lips twitched a few times before Vin got the hint and kneeled so they were eye to eye.

  "Most maetrie plays, and the liebereisen especially, are meant to raise the ideals of cutthroat individualism. The journey is meant to be accomplished alone. But your play, your wonderful play, told a story that I longed to hear, about friendship and teamwork, and for that, I thank you," said Prince Orráine.

  From a pouch at his hip, the prince produced a small gray stone and a compact book with a cover that looked like it was made of thin granite. The prince handed the gray stone to a bewildered Vin.

  "The stone is to be swallowed. It will give you the slight aura of the maetrie, that natural compulsion that we project onto others." Then he handed over the book. "This book contains some of the most popular plays of the maetrie. I thought you might enjoy reading it, but be careful, the book is over eight hundred years old."

  The age of the book left Vin's mouth open. He barely mustered a thank you as he shuffled back to the dining room table. It was a priceless gift.

  "Portia," said Petri, beckoning her with a smile.

  The comfort in which Petri held herself spoke volumes about her internal change. In the course of a year, she'd journeyed from angsty teenager to centered adult.

  Portia ran up to Petri, shooting a wink behind her before standing straight and saluting.

  "For the scout that kept her team safe in the Eternal City, I give you a dead man's boots," said Petri, pulling a tattered pair of boots from beneath her cloak. She kept her lips flat with an amused lilt at the corner.

  "Fresh from the grave, I hope," said Portia.

  "These are no ordinary boots," said Petri, holding them out. "Put them on."

  When Portia's fingers first touched them, a little exclamation slipped from her lips. Zayn didn't understand what had caused the reaction until he saw her pulling the boots onto her feet. Beneath the worn leather, the logo of her running shoes could be seen, and by the time both were on her feet, they'd faded from view. The boots were made of a ghostly material.

  "While you wear them, your feet walk in the Veil. You will create no trace, nor make any noise," said Petri with her chin held high.

  Portia exclaimed something in Spanish and threw her arms around a surprised but pleased Petri.

  "Oh, thank you, Reina Petri. I shall cherish these forever," said Portia.

  She threw her feet against the hardwood floor, demonstrating the silence of her new footgear.

  "Skylar," said Prince Orráine, and upon her arrival, he pulled a spool of silvery white thread from his pouch. The spool seemed to glow of its own accord. "For the weaver of deceptions, shaper of shadows, I give the thread of moonlight. Crafters in the Eternal City have learned the art of collecting moonlight and turning it into thread. I think this will help you create the cloak of shadow that you desire."

  Skylar hugged the spool of moonlight to her chest with tears in her eyes. "Thank you."

  She bent over and kissed Prince Orráine on the cheek, making him blush.

  When Petri's gaze fell upon Keelan, a flicker of doubt passed across her eyes. Not enough for anyone else to notice, because they'd been focused on Skylar. But Petri quickly smoothed away the expression, if it was ever there in the first place, and said, "Keelan, please come forward."

  In his hands, she placed a small darkly colored bottle that appeared to have an eyedropper.

  "These are some of my tears," said Petri. "Put them in your eyes. They will help you find things that are lost."

  Keelan looked at the bottle strangely. "Thank you?"

  Next, Petri turned towards Zayn. Her forehead knotted with thought.

  "Dear Zayn," she said, holding out her hands.

  They were warm to the touch. He felt heat rise to his cheeks as she squeezed lightly, a reminder of their night together.

  "I'll admit," she said, "at the beginning of the year, I thought you were rather arrogant the way you talked to my aunt Amber. It was part of the reason I stole the car. But over the course of the year, I was forced to realize that without you, none of this would have happened. You're brash and reckless, throwing yourself into dangerous situations without forethought, but you're also kind and supportive, making everyone around you better for knowing you.

  "I am better for knowing you. I shudder to think what I would have become without your intervention. And while I still have not finally reached who I am, or who I will become, I know that I am on the right path because of you."

  She looked to the others.

  "Because of all of you."

  Even before she let go of his hands, he felt something in their touch that gave him goosebumps. It was as if she were charging up, like a capacitor before it released its energy.

  Petri stepped close. She smelled like dew on the grass at dusk, reminding him of her true name, Snow Owl on an Old Grave.

  Under her breath, she said, "This may hurt."

  Petri placed her hands against his chest, and immediately, a pressure formed around his heart. It felt like she was slowly squeezing it. Zayn wondered if he was having a heart attack. He would have pulled away, except that she was looking into his eyes with such earnestness that he was forced to stay his ground. The longer her hands pressed against his chest, the more the intensity grew, until Zayn was afraid he'd pass out. Then she pulled her hands away, and the ache around his heart disappeared.

  "What did you do?" he asked.

  "A gift to get you out of a tough situation."

  The quirk in her smile told him that she would explain no further.

  Then she moved beside Prince Orráine with tears glistening in her eyes.

  "I'm going to miss you all."

  "We'll miss you too," said Zayn, followed by agreements from the others.

  "Will we get to see you again?" asked Portia.

  "Of course," said Petri, "but I will be much different I think. I hope better. And it won't be for a long time. In fact, while I'm gone on the lieberei
sen, you should be careful about going into the Veil. While you won't attract me next time, there are other terrible things there that won't hesitate to make your life miserable."

  "We'll keep that in mind," said Zayn.

  "I'm sure you won't," said Petri, pursing her lips.

  "Before you go, can I make one request?" said Zayn, and when her head tilted to the side, he added, "It's not for me."

  A sparkle formed in her eyes. "You're nonstop, aren't you?"

  "Katie Crescent. She died a few years ago." He was going to tell her that they'd dated, but decided against it. "She was my friend. She was the one who brought the creatures of the Veil into the embassy."

  "I know who she is, Zayn, it's my realm, after all," said Petri with an eyeroll.

  "Of course," said Zayn, "but before she died, she was in a band, and they were about to go on tour."

  "She's dead," said Petri. "I can't bring her back."

  "I'm not asking for that. But there's no reason she couldn't still be in a band. We have ghost taxis and sprite messaging, why not a ghost band?"

  "Ghost taxis are preprogrammed apparitions and not from the Veil, but I'll see what I can do. She was a part of saving me, I should give her some boon before I go." Petri put her hands on her hips. "Is that acceptable?"

  "Yes, thank you," said Zayn.

  Prince Orráine had a strange look on his face as he glanced between him and Petri. "Do all humans demand this much?"

  Snickering escaped from behind cupped hands behind him.

  "Thankfully not many, or maybe the world is deficient that more do not act this way," said Petri. "But now it is time for us to depart. Our journey of discovery awaits."

  Petri moved close, placed her lips against his cheek, not a gesture of intimacy but of familiarity. A sly smile rose to her lips before disappearing.

  "Goodbye, Zayn."

  Zayn bent at the waist in a deep bow.

  "Goodbye, Prince Orráine. Goodbye, Snow Owl on an Old Grave," he said.

  Her eyebrows rose at the use of her formal name, but they left without another comment.

  When the door closed, Zayn felt the inexplicable urge to abandon his schooling, his family, and everything else in his life and join them, but as quickly as the compulsion came on, it left, leaving him with nothing more than lingering envy of their journey. But he had his own quest, his own liebereisen, and it went right through the middle of Varna.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Varna, May 2016

  An answer

  The ghost taxi dropped Zayn off at the end of the long line of towering oaks that led up to the Lady's plantation house. His backpack hung on his shoulder and though it wasn't heavy he felt strangely tired. The smell of magnolias blooming brought refreshment, but it wasn't enough to cut through his bone-deep exhaustion.

  The sun was high. Shadows pooled around the ancient trees, forming a blanket of dark that led up to her house.

  Zayn couldn't quite remember the ride from Invictus, which should have bothered him, but didn't. The feeling of contradiction left him quickly, but he didn't move towards the plantation. He felt a tug between his shoulder blades, an invisible force pulling him away, but he couldn’t follow it either. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that it wasn't the right path.

  When the taxi didn't leave, he leaned back into the window, hoping he'd forgotten a water bottle, or something to drink, because his mouth had a funky taste in it like he'd been drinking something horribly bitter.

  To his surprise, a trio of empty vials lay scattered together in the crack of the seat. A crumpled brown bag sat in the bottom of the taxi along with a fresh untouched copy of the Herald of the Halls. He didn't remember drinking anything, especially not from a vial, but the more he tried to remember his ride, the more his memories slipped through his fingers like wet soap.

  He put his left hand against his temple. A migraine lurked behind his eyes as if he'd been using a lot of faez. Zayn checked himself for signs of lingering magic, as he didn't want to upset the Watchers with dangerous enchantments when he went up to the plantation house, but he didn't have any.

  When he touched his hand against his pocket, he finally remembered why the ghost taxi hadn't moved. A gold coin, produced from that pocket, was flipped into the front seat, and the black car sped away, a squelch of gravel beneath its tires.

  "Let's get this over with," he said as he started the long walk to the door.

  It took until he was halfway there for him to remember why'd he'd come to the Lady's house before going to the Stack.

  "I've come to renounce my quest against her," he said, the words as much of a surprise to him as if he hadn't spoken them.

  The idea felt unfamiliar yet as solid as the ground he was walking on. He had to protect his family. He couldn't put them at risk, no matter how terrible he thought the Lady was. Right? That was the deal, as far as he could remember.

  But as he placed his boots on the first steps leading to the white columns, a frisson of worry spiked through him. What if I still want to go after her? Just a little bit? Would she hold that against him?

  But he searched his thoughts. The desire to end the Lady of Varna and save his family had been scorched from his mind. The hand he'd been dealt was the one he'd play, even if it just continued the game.

  The door opened without him knocking. A Watcher—dark glasses, dark suit—looking more like a secret service agent than an alumni of the Academy. It was the woman from the night of the Ceremony.

  He followed her through the atrium and down a long hallway, past the Grand Ballroom, past rooms he'd never entered. When she walked through the wall at the end of the hall, he went through the illusion without question, and though he wasn't going to turn around and test it, he figured that if he tried to go back, it would feel as solid as a block of granite.

  Stairs curled into the darkness. He used his imbuement to see by what little light remained.

  He'd always guessed that her true abode lay beneath the plantation, but had never really wanted to think about it.

  The rooms he passed through felt snug and warm with thick, cushy rugs and rich wood-paneled shelves stuffed with books. He sensed her love of the written word by the display, which made sense given her longevity. How could someone care to live that long without finding a way to pass the time? He also realized he could be projecting his thoughts onto her, that her mind might be so alien that he was misrepresenting what the books meant.

  Lady Arcadia stood with her back to him, examining something in her hand. She had a singular presence, like a blazing fire that burned if one got too close. He waited near a leather-backed chair and end table upon which sat The Nine Major Techniques of Obfusium Magic by Matt Konig.

  Seeing his former instructor's book sent a sharp stab of concern through him. It was a warning, a message. She knew what he might attempt, if he were foolish enough. But if he had attempted to obfuscate his intentions, it was too late—either he'd done it or he hadn't. Of course, she knew this as well, which meant it was a way to make him nervous, suss out his secrets, which seemed to be working because he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and examined it as if it were a Rosetta stone.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in," said Lady Arcadia when she turned, slipping a pair of reading glasses from the bridge of her nose. Her purple eyes regarded him keenly and her lips parted in what was meant to masquerade as a smile. He felt like Beowulf in the dragon's lair. If that was the way she wanted to play it, he was happy to oblige.

  "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" asked Zayn.

  "Why yes, I am."

  He gestured towards the book on the end table. "A little overdramatic, don't you think? You either know or you don't know, and since I know my own mind, I already know the answer. You've asked me here to play with me like a cat does a mouse after its broken its legs."

  The faux smile left her lips so quickly he knew he'd erred.

  "You're an arrogant little shit," said Lady Arcadia,
stepping forward.

  "My apologies," he said, holding his hands up. "I really liked Instructor Konig, and shoving his book in my face hurt. I know that wasn't your intention, but that's the way it felt when I first walked in."

  The barely disguised anger faded to a smoldering remorse.

  "No, it is I who should apologize," she said. "That was insensitive of me. But you can understand my reasons; after all, you once vowed to kill me."

  For reasons he couldn’t, or wouldn't, articulate to himself, the word once brought a gust of relief. It was as if a knot had been unraveled in his chest.

  "I meant it when I said that I did not wish to cause unnecessary disturbances in Varna." Her lips squeezed tight. "But I also meant it when I said I want to continue living a long time. So I must ask, and I'm sure you'll understand, why did you change your mind?"

  Zayn felt the whole world dial down to a pinhead. His skin tingled as if a wave of electricity had passed through him. He held his breath and searched his mind for the answer, but found it empty. His silence continued for an unnatural amount of time and the longer it lasted, the more his blood pounded in his ears until he could hear nothing but its constant drumming.

  "I...I learned from what happened with Prince Aethalstar that no matter how hard we try to hide our intentions, the truth always comes out," said Zayn.

  The corners of her eyes creased. "A worthy, but rehearsed answer."

  "It's the truth. He made every precaution, mitigated every risk. Everything he could do to hide his intentions, he did. But it didn't matter. I gave up when I realized I couldn't win. And since you offered a palatable alternative, to work for Priyanka Sai, I thought it was better to do some good than none at all."

  Her gaze narrowed at the implication. "I'm not as bad as you make me out to be."

  Zayn was surprised by the hurt in her voice. She seemed truly bothered by what he thought. Or she was laying a trap for him. She'd invited him here, in her lair, to decide once and for all if he should live. He knew he had to tread carefully.

  "You're right, I don't know," said Zayn.