An Assassin's Redemption: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Romance Novel

by Tanya Kennedy

  An Assassin’s Redemption

  Tanya S.M. Kennedy

  Copyright © 2017 by Tanya S.M. Kennedy

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited, formatted, and book design by Kristen Corrects, Inc.

  Cover art design by Y Nikolova at Ammonia BookCovers

  Cover model Kirilee

  First edition published 2017

  ISBN-13: 978-1979036238

  ISBN-10: 1979036233

  For Anna and Ryan, who are just starting out in this world together.

  chapter 1

  Eylsa tended the flames with care. With her bright blue eyes, she looked up to the sky, which was lightening to a gray. She could already hear the garbage truck on its morning loop and see how the city lights brightened the sky just beyond the walls. Soon the dimness would be alive when traffic and noise, cars and the electric hum of another day faded into the distance.

  It would be daylight soon—she was running out of time.

  Her fingers wafted the heavy metallic aroma toward her nose. She couldn’t wait for full potency, and couldn’t be late for the morning run. With a small wooden ladle, she scooped up some of the boiling concoction. She propped up her heel on a flat rock and slipped off the torn cloth that covered the sole of her foot.

  The bottom of her foot was an angry dark red. The skin had been removed just the night before—punishment from Grull for sneezing during stoning, a foolish mistake. The other foot was its twin, a matching, throbbing agony. She could never finish her run with the skin of her feet gone, but it also would not excuse her.

  Her jaw quaked as she tipped the ladle, drizzling the hot liquid over the open wound. Pressure built up behind her cheeks as the searing concoction conformed to the raw bloody meat. Her muscles quivered as agony mingled with a blinding itch. Pink skin began to stretch back across the soles of her feet. Her vision blurred as a fire worked its way along her nose but she fought the tears that threatened to fall.

  The new pink flesh sealed over to leave her foot with a perfect slick covering. She stretched her toes, flexing the virgin skin devoid of all calluses. She pressed the sole to the ground, feeling every pebble and imperfection in the soil. The healed skin wouldn’t be much protection on her run, but it would be better than the raw wound.

  With the sleeve of her T-shirt she dabbed the dampness from her face and lifted her opposite foot onto the rock. She wasn’t finished yet.

  * * *

  Eylsa kept her weight to the outsides of her feet, hoping to spread the pressure out over as much new skin as possible. Anything to survive the run. Alondium was watching her closely this morning; she couldn’t afford to show weakness. Weakness would be punished.

  She was surrounded by children, her class, all her age—about five years old. Light haired, beautiful, all pale and blue-eyed. They were a pack of golden matching weapons being slid across the whetstone. If they lived to graduate, they would be the latest in a class of elite assassins.

  Alondium raised a hand, his strong fingers spread.

  “Begin.”

  His arm dropped, slicing through the air, and the children took off, a nearly perfect wave of unity. Nearly.

  Her normal position in the pack was near the front, despite her tiny frame and stature. The healed soles of her feet screamed every lump in the track beneath her. Every bump and jostle sent a shock of white anger up her spine.

  She could feel Alondium watching her, feel his hands caressing the leather whip hanging from his belt. She could almost feel it now. Her mind returned to the night before, to the slow, calculated movements as Grull sliced the skin from her feet. She’d had worse than a lashing. The question wasn’t could she endure more—the question was would she allow it.

  Not today.

  She permitted a final jolt to spark its way up her body before focusing her mind away from the pain. Her thoughts narrowed to the movement of her legs, each swinging to catch her as she fell forward with the next stride. Air forced its way into her lungs as she focused in on one of the children in front of her, balancing just enough to keep her feet. All she had to do was stay on her feet.

  Bodies surrounded her in a jostling mass as she rounded the second lap. A constant buzz muffled across her focus, fighting to break her concentration. Eternity wore on as she strained to remain among the pack. Through the glaze of her concentration she began to realize that there was no one ahead of her, she had passed the pack by. Sweat flowed down her face, plastered her hair, burned her eyes. Salt lingered on her lips.

  A wall appeared before her and she stumbled to a stop, toppling forward onto her knees and propping herself up on her hands. She batted the sweat from her eyes, body rocking as the wall before her materialized into Alondium.

  “Clean up! Be on the practice yard in five.”

  She remained on her knees as her fellow students filed past her. With the pressure of the run removed from her feet, the throbbing reality crashed back in around her.

  The new flesh hadn’t bore up too poorly—a dozen blisters and less than twenty cuts. Blood oozed from her feet, mixing into the dirt of the track as she calmed her heart. She removed her shirt, using it to wipe the blood away and inspect each wound individually. None were too bad, but they would bleed for a while, especially with weapons next. She needed the rest of her draught.

  She pulled her shirt back on and struggled to her feet. The breath hissed from her lungs as the pain reaffirmed its grip. Each placement of a foot twisted her gut.

  When she was halfway across the track, her eyes rose to the walkway above, to her mentor watching her. She paused, her mind a hurricane of fear. What was he thinking? Was she a disappointment? How should she be handling this? She took the next step heavily, allowing the eruption of fire to tame the stampede of questions.

  No weakness.

  Her back straightened and she kept her stride steady. She could feel his gaze follow her into the dorms. She had started panting again by the time she made it to her room, a trail of blood dribbling in her wake.

  Her roommate met her gaze as she opened the door, her face a well-practiced mask of indifference like Eylsa’s. The other girl slipped from the room, being sure not to offer a hint of sympathy. Solitude was the only solace they could offer each other.

  Eylsa moved a basin and pitcher to the floor and fetched a cloth from a shelf on the wall. The leftover healing draught was stashed beneath her mattress and she removed two bottles. One she chugged as she emptied the pitcher into the basin. A quick wash removed the mud from her battered feet and a dose of draught healed the cuts and blisters. She wrapped her feet before donning her tennis shoes and rushing from the room.

  * * *

  Eylsa stared forward, back straight as a rail as her mentor paced the ranks of students. Body trained to stillness; discipline was the only preventative for punishment. She and the other students had been standing for over an hour, stock still in the sun. Only blinking was allowed.

  Compared to some of the other exercises, stoning was a breeze. Admittedly, it had been hard to master in her youth and a slip up was sometimes impossible to prevent. Sweat and dirt filled her nostrils as the rhythmic breat
hing around her gave the perfect backdrop for her stillness: calm, soothing.

  She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again her mentor stared down at her. Gregor was medium build, solid but not imposing, with gray calculating eyes and a strong jaw. Her class had two instructors, Gregor and Alondium, each retired assassins. They shared instructions between them and each member of her class was assigned to one or the other as their mentor. It was an unspoken rule that the two sets of children competed for superiority over each other to please their mentor.

  He stood motionless, arms clasped behind his back, as he regarded her. She maintained her stillness as he took her chin in his fingers, tilting her head back to study her face before releasing her and moving on. She let her breath seep from her lungs.

  * * *

  Eylsa lowered the bow to her side. The arrow had bloomed barely off center of the mark. She brushed the sun-lightened hair back from her face, pleased with herself. She had put on weight: Light ropey muscles crisscrossed her small frame. Seven years had passed—she was twelve now and allowed more privileges, not the least of which was shoes for running. Her weapons were mostly bows now, though the occasional knife sparring was a wonderful distraction.

  Gregor plucked the arrow from the target, his face stoic. “Can you do better?”

  She didn’t speak. Her body knew the motion: arm bent to pull arrow, fluid, graceful; arrow knocked to bow; bow to eye level; hand to ear; release. The arrow hit dead center, vibrating with the impact.

  Gregor snatched it away. “Again!”

  Another arrow loosed, sticking dead center, and Gregor’s hand moved like lightning.

  “Faster!”

  Eylsa kept her bow at the ready, her only movement drawing arrows to replace the one that flew. The air filled with the stch stch stch of the snapping bowstring.

  Her stroke paused as Gregor raised a hand. “That’s enough.”

  She lowered her bow to her hips as she waited for Gregor to make his way toward her. His warm, clean scent was a comforting constant of late as her classes became focused. He nodded as she met his gaze before walking past, and her heart swelled with pride.

  Her head was still swimming as she spun and followed. Sparring was next, a class where her speed and agility made up for her lack of strength, but she had started to hate the lessons—Alondium was in charge of sparring. He had taken a dislike to her in recent months; she wasn’t sure why. She excelled in all his classes, was studious and polite, had never given him a reason to find fault in her. Faults brought punishment and must be hidden at all costs.

  At the sparring yard she stashed her bow in her storage box. The boxes were assigned in respect to class ranking. Hers wasn’t the top, but it was never far from it. Pride was one thing, but ranking near the top brought some protection from punishment. She took care not to be at the very top, which invited challengers.

  Kicking off her shoes, she ran to join the ranks of students already forming. Placement, as storage, was based on rank. The first spot was held by Jenner. Heavy and tall, Jenner was both strong and mean. His cold blue eyes never scanned the group around him; to do so would be to show nerves. That in no way meant he didn’t have a tab on every student in the ranks.

  Jenner had a special eye out for Eylsa. Despite her care to not draw the attention that would encourage challenges, Jenner’s eyes dissected her every move. He didn’t like the attention she received from Gregor, despite that Alondium lavished him with praise. Jenner’s personality could not tolerate any divergence from him.

  Today he was absorbed enough in himself and any potential open challenges to worry about what her calculated victories could mean. Winter was on the way and the nights were getting chilly; his mind, and the minds of the children around him, were all absorbed in winning a blanket for the night. The last thing she intended was to draw attention to herself by winning the blanket.

  Alondium rushed into the center of the practice yard, his face tight with angst. He referenced a clipboard in his hands, eyes never drifting to the students gathered before him.

  “First bout, Aida and Ruden.” He shifted aside as the two combatants took their positions.

  Eylsa ignored the fight; she didn’t care to worry about the other children’s weaknesses. She slid her hands into her pockets, forehead wrinkling as her fingers encountered a crinkle of paper. Her eyes checked Alondium, who was still focused on the fight before them. Aida and Ruden were good fighters but they lacked any real imagination. Curiously, she pulled the slip from her pocket and spread it out.

  Across the tiny slip scrawled the neat handwriting of Gregor. She stared at it in disbelief.

  You will win the blanket tonight. See me when you have done so.

  Her mind worked for a moment, stuttering over the implications. Why would Gregor want her to put so much effort into a blanket? What could he possibly want?

  Her fist balled the note as her attention turned to the match. Ruden was already limping; he would be down soon. Aida may not be creative, but she wasn’t stupid either, and in another heartbeat she stood over Ruden as he curled on the ground from her kick.

  “Enough.” Alondium made a mark on his clipboard as Aida resumed her place among the ranks. “Next, Ponda and Yaril.”

  Eylsa absorbed every flow and misstep, made a note of injuries and shortcomings. She would need them if she was going to win a blanket today. She would also need them to keep it. Somewhere near the back of her mind flitted the worry of why Gregor would ask this of her, but she didn’t have time for that.

  She had awhile before she would be called; she was high enough in the ranking that she would only have to fight a few bouts. Jenner watched from his own line, sharp eyes not missing a step. Every few seconds his gaze would shift to hers quizzically. Any fight outside of sparring class was punished severely. This was his only chance to take her on, and today he was going to get that opportunity.

  The ranks dwindled down until only a handful of sparrers were left. Alondium made another tick on his clipboard as the last two students limped off the yard. He glanced back at Eylsa, a satisfied glint in his eyes. “Eylsa…and Jenner.”

  She glided forward and forced her mind to silence in an exercise they had been taught in first year. Her eyes moved to Jenner, his confident strut moving him swiftly toward the center of the yard. There was no talk as they waited; instead, they used the time to size each other up. Jenner flexed his shoulders and sent a ripple of muscles down his arms. Jenner was an excellent fighter; he wouldn’t have gotten to the top if he wasn’t, but he relied too much on his strength.

  “Begin.”

  Eylsa remained still as Jenner moved forward, hesitant in the face of her pause. He jabbed forward with a meaty fist but she ducked aside, left arm deflecting his punch and right arm delivering a swift chop to his exposed throat. He retreated coughing as he recovered, but still she held back.

  He shook the strike off, advancing again. This time she circled him, watching his approach. He rushed forward and released a peppering of strikes faster but weaker than his initial jab. Eylsa was quicker; she deflected each strike, dancing back as he continued forward. She cut upward, her fist stubbing his teeth together.

  His eyes hardened as his attack continued, finally landing a blow against her rib. The momentum took her to the right and she moved with it, ignoring the jolt of pain. Her body rolled into a spin as she stepped into his reach. A knee to his kidney forced him to stumble back, but this time she followed. Her spin fueled a donkey kick to his gut that doubled him over and brought him in for a strong roundhouse punch to his cheek. Her knee came up and connected with his chin. His head snapped back and he dropped to a heap on the ground.

  No one moved.

  Jenner stared up at her as he attempted to stem the flow of blood from his chin. She stepped back when he recovered and struggled to his feet. His eyes shifted to Alondium before he returned his attention to Eylsa.

  His confidence wasn’t so assured as he stepped back to her. S
he could see his mind working now, his easy superiority suddenly in danger. His next advance was less strength and more thought. He circled her, eyes searching for an opening. His caution was not to her advantage; she needed to force his hand, draw him in.

  At the edge of her concentration, she could just feel the throbbing of her rib. Gradually, as if unconsciously, she shortened her stride on that side, favoring the wound. She kept her face calm, feigning a brave front. He approached cautiously, his arms guarding his neck and face. She cringed into her own guard as he stepped into striking range. He lashed out with a fist; she let her block travel a second too slow and her body was tossed sideways with his strength. Encouraged with his success, he moved to push the advantage, rushing forward.

  She retreated from his attack, easing the blows by letting them toss her. They still hurt but they did less damage by not holding her ground. Jenner panted as he increased the strength behind his blows; he wanted to cause as much damage as possible. She curved her back and tucked her arms, cringing with each strike.

  After a few minutes Jenner pulled back and allowed himself a moment of rest. She dipped down to gain momentum as she feigned a stumble before coming up with a strong uppercut. With all of her weight she connected with Jenner’s chin, snapping his head back. The boy swayed off balance and she added a sharp butterfly kick to his left temple.

  Jenner dropped to the ground.

  Eylsa returned to her position in the ranks, leaving Jenner in a pile on the field. Alondium waited as Jenner crawled from the field, too unstable to walk. When the field was clear, Alondium referenced his clipboard. “Agarum…and Eylsa.” He swept a hand toward the field, his face smug.

  Eylsa took a moment to slow her heart. She had just bested the top in their class, a fact that should have earned her a rest before another bout. Agarum was fresh and rested, and ranked second.

  The other students watched in silent confusion as she walked back onto the sparring field. They wouldn’t object on her behalf, couldn’t. No rule allowed you to question an instructor. Second-guessing an instructor sent you to Grull for punishment.