Born Assassin Saga Box Set

by Jacqueline Pawl

  When they finally reach the trail, Firesse stops and turns to Calum. “You and Kaius are going to leave the Islands today. It’s not safe for you at Ialathan, and I need you to send those letters to the Guild and the Strykers as soon as possible.” She offers him a saccharine smile and lifts onto her tiptoes, whispering softly into his ear, “Remember our deal, my friend—your cooperation for the prince’s life.”

  “I remember,” he growls.

  “Excellent.” She steps back and grins. “Be good for Kaius. One wrong move and I’ll force Drake to possess you again.”

  “No!”

  “I thought you’d say that.” She glances up at the lightening sky. “Kaius? You two had better go now, before the other clans start searching for us.”

  “Of course. Try to keep up, rroza.” The hunter seizes Calum’s arm and drags him along the trail, away from Firesse. Calum wishes he could feel some modicum of relief at the thought of leaving the Islands, but he’s exhausted and angry, and all he can focus on is the rope rubbing blisters into his wrists. When they round a bend in the trail, Calum waits for Kaius’s grip on his arm to release, but it doesn’t.

  “You can let go now,” he snaps. “Contrary to what you may believe, I’m not stupid enough to run.”

  Kaius snorts.

  “Okay, well, if you insist on being so close to me, perhaps you could untie me so we can hold hands properly?”

  Before he can react, Kaius’s foot snakes out and hooks around Calum’s ankle, sending him sprawling in the dirt without the aid of his hands to ease his fall. Calum groans and runs his tongue over his teeth. Thankfully, none are broken. He peers up at the hunter out of the corner of his eye. “I’m assuming that’s a no, then.”

  “Hold hands?” Kaius repeats, his lips curling. “Is everything a joke to you?”

  “No, not everything.” He rolls onto his side and pushes himself onto his knees, which requires a fair amount of wriggling. “Just most things.”

  Kaius lets out a weary sigh and rubs his temples. He must not be too worried about Calum running because he turns his back as he mutters to himself in Cirisian. Honestly, the hunter’s lack of concern is well founded; considering Calum’s recent bout of terrible luck, he’d probably trip and impale himself on a stick or hit his head on a rock if he tried to bolt.

  “If Firesse hadn’t commanded otherwise, I’d have killed you long ago. I should kill you now. We can attack Beltharos without your knowledge.”

  Calum opens his eyes wide, shaking his head vehemently. “No, you can’t. I am very, very important to your cause. You shouldn’t kill me or allow me to come to any harm, just in case.”

  Kaius merely frowns and pulls Calum to his feet. “Keep walking. We should reach the beach just after noon, and it’ll take us a day or two to reach the mainland.”

  “A day or two with only each other’s company,” Calum muses. “Should be fun.”

  They walk for hours under the hot sun. Calum’s arms ache from being tied and, after his long string of sleepless nights, his eyes keep drifting shut of their own accord. When Kaius stops to forage for lunch, Calum falls asleep while standing. One minute he’s watching Kaius pick berries from a round bush, the next he’s swaying, stumbling, snapping awake and catching himself on a tree trunk before he falls.

  He shakes his head sharply, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the trees. “You don’t suppose we could stop and rest, do you? Just for . . . five minutes?” he asks through a yawn.

  “You can rest briefly in the canoe to the next island, but we’re not sleeping until we reach camp.”

  When the hunter holds out a cluster of bright red berries, Calum stares at Kaius’s outstretched hand. “If you’re not planning on hand-feeding me, might I suggest untying me?”

  Kaius scowls.

  “Are you really afraid I’m going to run? I can hardly stand upright,” he snaps, too exhausted to play petty games. Kaius doesn’t trust him. Fine. That doesn’t mean the stubborn elf can’t take this Creator-damned rope off his wrists. “Well?”

  Kaius gestures for Calum to turn around as he pulls a short hunting knife from his waistband. He slices through the rope and it falls to Calum’s feet with a soft whump.

  “Thank you.” He slowly lifts his arms, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders. A line of blisters circles each wrist, the raw skin stretching painfully as he accepts the berries from the hunter. His stomach growls as he tosses the entire handful into his mouth. He chews and swallows, hardly tasting the fruit. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “I’ll wait until we reach camp. Let’s go.”

  “Go? We just stopped. We haven’t even been here for two minutes and you’re already hurrying us along.”

  “Firesse is eager to attack and she believes we need the help of the Guild and the Strykers to reach the capital. So let’s go.”

  “Fine,” Calum grumbles. He drags his feet as he trails behind Kaius, passing the time by imagining all sorts of painful accidents befalling the hunter: being crushed by a falling tree, struck by a bolt of lightning, disemboweled by an angry boar—really, the possibilities are endless.

  They walk for ten minutes before Calum begins to feel . . . off. He had thought some of his exhaustion would subside after eating, but it has steadily strengthened, cocooning him like a thick blanket.

  “Can we . . . pause for a moment?” Calum mumbles as they pass a large boulder. Without waiting for Kaius’s response, he slumps down on the rock and closes his eyes. “I just . . . I need—”

  “Sleep?”

  His eyes flutter open and focus on Kaius, standing before him with a mixture of relief and satisfaction on his face—not a hint of the annoyance Calum had expected. “Yes.”

  “Go ahead.”

  The response strikes him as odd. Ten minutes ago Kaius hadn’t wanted to stop for anything, now he’s willing to let Calum rest? “But you said . . .”

  He doesn’t even finish the sentence before he falls unconscious.

  The sound of waves lapping against wood slowly drags Calum from sleep. The ground beneath him bobs and sways, and it takes a moment for him to realize he’s lying in the bottom of one of the Cirisians’ canoes. He cracks an eye open, squinting against the brightness of the clear blue sky which fills his vision. Kaius sits at the opposite end of the canoe, a sheen of perspiration glistening on his skin as he rows. His gaze is fixed ahead of them.

  Calum lifts his head. His body is still heavy with exhaustion, his tongue thick and unwieldy when he mumbles, “How did . . . we get here?”

  Kaius starts and nearly drops the oar. The canoe dips and threatens to overturn as he scrambles over the bench and slaps his hand over Calum’s mouth, shoving something sweet between his lips.

  The berries.

  They sit on his tongue, their juice trickling down the back of his throat. There’s no mistaking their bittersweet taste: they’re Ienna berries, the fruit from which Oil of Ienna is extracted. Kaius is trying to keep him unconscious. He bucks and tries to throw the hunter off, but he’s clumsy after being drugged.

  “Eat them,” the hunter growls.

  “Mm-mm.”

  Kaius’s hand remains clamped over Calum’s nose and mouth, denying him oxygen, until he is at last forced to swallow the berries. The elf sits back and wipes the sweat from his forehead as Calum rolls onto his side, gasping for air.

  “You bastard.”

  Kaius merely shrugs and resumes rowing. “Did you expect me to listen to you complain the entire walk to camp? It’s easier this way—and quieter. You’ll be fine in a couple of hours.”

  “A couple of hours?”

  “Yes. We’ll sup with Myris and her fighters then be on our way. We’ll arrive on the last island by nightfall, build a camp for the night, then cross to the mainland before dawn tomorrow.”

  “Back to Beltharos at last,” Calum sighs. He lies back, staring up at the cloudless sky. “You have no idea how happy I will be to see another human.”

>   “Believe me, you are not the only one who wishes you were among your own kind.”

  “Are you really so eager to get rid of me? Here I thought we were enjoying some nice bonding time. I’m hurt.”

  “Perhaps I should have brought some more berries. I could’ve drugged you all the way to Sandori. Sadly, I don’t think Firesse would be pleased having to lug around an unconscious hostage.”

  “I believe you’re right.” As the drug works its way through his system, Calum’s eyes fall shut. “Plus, you’d miss my witty banter.”

  Kaius’s only response is a snort of derision. They fall into silence as the canoe glides across the water, a salt-scented breeze filling the air, and, somewhere along the way, Calum slips back into sleep.

  The rest of their journey across the archipelago continues exactly as Kaius had said it would: Calum wakes in Firesse’s camp during early evening, two of Myris’s fighters standing guard over him; he and Kaius dine with them on the small game the fighters had trapped and the fruit the elders had gathered (although Calum deliberately avoids all the berries out of completely justified paranoia); then they cross to the westernmost island as night begins to fall. It’s slow going, but they finally reach a small rock overhang where Kaius decides to rest for the night. They lie down as far apart from each other as they can in the limited space, and Calum falls asleep so quickly he’s not entirely certain Kaius didn’t somehow drug him again.

  The next morning, they awaken and set off before the sun rises, faint pink light tingeing the horizon as they cross the bridge into Beltharos. When Calum’s foot at last touches the soil of his homeland, he lets out a long, heavy sigh. For a moment, he can almost believe he has left the nightmares of the Cirisor Islands behind him.

  Then Kaius mutters, “The sooner we get off this wretched land, the better,” and Calum’s mood plummets.

  He turns and glares at the elf, who pays him absolutely no attention as he pulls a map out of the pack slung over his shoulder. Kaius frowns down at the dots marking the towns. “We need to secure horses and send your letters. Where would the best place be to do that?”

  “Aren’t you Beltharan by birth? Shouldn’t you know?”

  “I left home when I was ten and have spent every day since trying to forget about my life here.”

  “Hm.” Calum crosses his arms. He detests helping Firesse’s cause in any way, but his desperation to uphold his end of the deal and keep Tamriel safe overrides his caution. He examines the map, then points to a tiny town on the coast, barely a half-day’s walk away. “A small harbor village called Fishers’ Cross. Last I heard, the Strykers were headed to Castle Rising in Feyndara. With any luck, they’re still there. We can find a ship to take the letter across the sea.”

  “Letters.”

  “What?”

  “Letters. Plural. You’re going to write a dozen letters to the Strykers and we’ll put them on twelve different boats. That’ll give us a better chance of them reaching their intended recipients.”

  “Fine. A dozen. Whatever. Can we just get this over with?”

  Calum starts to walk away, but Kaius catches the back of his shirt. “Also, you’re not to mention anything about the clans or Firesse’s plan. We don’t want sensitive information to fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Wow, I hadn’t thought of that, thanks,” Calum mutters, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Kaius makes an irritated noise and slips the map into his pack, gesturing for Calum to lead the way.

  Protected by a bluff on two sides, Fishers’ Cross consists of eight huts—houses, if one is feeling generous—nestled beside a stretch of sandy beach and a half dozen piers jutting into the water. The ships are barely larger than fishing boats, but the docks bustle with people running back and forth, stowing crates in the hulls, adjusting the rigging, loading supplies. As Calum had expected, there are so many foreign workers that he and Kaius aren’t given more than a cursory glance from anyone they pass. Even so, Kaius lags a few feet behind as they make their way to the village’s only store—a quaint shop with everything ranging from carpenters’ equipment to fruits and grains to bolts of fabric—and purchase the cheapest parchment and pen they can find. The shopkeeper watches Kaius with a wary expression, eyes narrowed at the hunter’s tribal tattoos, but he is all too happy to take their coin.

  Five minutes later, Calum stands outside the shop writing letter after identical letter, scrawling what little information Kaius had allowed him to include in the note before dating it and passing it to Kaius to seal with wax from a candle he’d swiped from the port. When all twelve are finished, they speak to the captains of a dozen ships headed to Feyndara and pay the letters’ postage—plus a few extra aurums to ensure delivery to the Strykers.

  “You’re sure that’s going to work?” Calum mumbles after they speak to the last captain, eyeing their uncomfortably light coin purse. Before they’d left Firesse’s camp, Myris had given them more than enough money to reach Cyrna—where they’ll send a raven to the Guild—but they’d managed to spend almost all of it in less than an hour. “What if they just take the coin and toss the letters into the sea as soon as we turn our backs?”

  “We only need one to keep his word.” Kaius watches one of the ships pull anchor and start out of the harbor. “We’ll see in a fortnight if they keep their promises. I suspect they will. Seafarers are a superstitious lot, and I doubt many of them would be willing to cross a Cirisian for fear of a curse.”

  He says it lightly, but Calum still flinches. “Creator help them if they cross Firesse.”

  Kaius pulls out the map. “We should move on. Cyrna is a few days’ ride away, and we still need horses.”

  “Can we afford them?”

  “No, but there are a few tied up on the other end of the street.”

  “All right. Sure. I’ve already committed treason, killed a man, and agreed to betray my country’s secrets—what’s one more crime on top of that?”

  “Your jokes do you no credit. Keep your voice down and follow me.”

  Kaius starts down the dirt road, moving with such purpose that one might assume he lived here if not for the tattoos and pointed ears. At the last house in the row, two stallions are tied to an iron ring sticking out of the wall, fully saddled and bridled. Calum waits nearby while Kaius works on the knots holding the horses.

  “Pet them,” the elf murmurs.

  “What?”

  “Pet them like you own them. Stand there looking guilty any longer and someone will suspect something’s amiss.”

  “Fine.” Calum steps forward and tentatively lays a hand on the nearest horse’s neck, its hair rough under his fingers. Kaius unties the reins and passes them to Calum, then starts working on the other horse.

  “Okay, let’s go,” he says after a few moments.

  Kaius leads his horse onto the road and clambers up, somehow managing to mount the beast which is nearly as tall as he is. Calum’s horse nickers as he climbs into the saddle.

  “Hey! What are you doing with my horses?” someone shouts. A barrel-chested man jumps into the street, pointing a fat finger at Kaius and Calum. “Stop! Thieves! Someone stop them!”

  “Go!” Kaius yells, spurring his horse. He takes off at a gallop without looking back.

  “Stop!” The owner leaps into the street and makes a grab for the reins, but Calum digs his heels into the stallion’s sides and the beast bolts out of the man’s reach.

  “Sorry!” he calls over his shoulder. The man’s string of shouted curses is the only response he receives.

  Kaius is sitting atop his horse at the end of the street, waving to Calum impatiently. His horse dances with nerves. “Come on!” the elf yells, and takes off across the plain. Calum groans and spurs his horse faster, mentally calling the stubborn elf every rude name he knows. As they tear off across the plains, their horses’ hooves kicking up chunks of dirt, the astonished and enraged shouts of the villagers fade into nothing as they leave the tiny fishing village far behind them.
/>   36

  Tamriel

  Pounding footsteps behind him shake Tamriel out of his shock. He lifts his head from his hands in time to see Akiva and the other guards run out of the tunnel and surround him. Master Oliver trails behind them, his lips pressed into a tight line. He clasps a hand on Tamriel’s shoulder as he sits.

  “Come back inside, Your Highness,” he murmurs with uncharacteristic softness. “It’s not safe out here.”

  Tamriel shakes his head. “Calum,” he says, the end of the name lilted like a question. “Do you believe Mercy? Do you believe that he was behind the contract?”

  “I . . . find it hard to imagine that your cousin wished you harm, Your Highness, but I also know how much he chafed against life in the court. Calum is a prideful man. He’s a commoner who grew up among royalty and nobility, with nothing left of his once rich, powerful family save for his surname and the legacy it was meant to uphold.” He pauses and clears his throat. “I, uh, I should have considered the possibility of Calum’s treachery as soon as we learned about the contract on your life. My job is to protect you from every possible threat and, though I love you boys, Calum has always been a threat to you. I should have seen it sooner. I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking on the words. It startles Tamriel to see the tough, fearless Master of the Guard so overcome with emotion.

  He awkwardly pats Master Oliver’s uninjured arm, feeling the numbness of this new revelation fill him once again. Calum bought the contract. Calum tried to have me killed. He should have figured it out sooner. He should have known from Mercy’s reluctance to tell him the identity of his would-be killer. Now, seeing Master Oliver’s guilt, Tamriel knows Mercy had told the truth.

  Mercy, who had been sent to the capital to kill him, has done more to keep him safe than Calum ever has. She killed a Daughter for him. She accompanied him to Cirisor to protect him. She stood watch outside his room in Cyrna all night to make sure Calum wouldn’t hurt him again. She endured his cruel words, his mistrust, his frustration, because she loves him—and how has he repaid her?