Assassin's Blood

by Marina Finlayson

  “What’s Ni’ishasana?” Was it some strange fae magic I’d never heard of before?

  “The Thief of Souls. The dagger Lord Celebrach uses to bind us all together.”

  “I thought you said it only bound Adepts and their apprentices. You said you always knew where I was, but no one else would.”

  “It binds Adepts to their apprentices and links all of the Vipers to the Lord Serpent. It turns servants into walking shells of people with no life, no soul.” He sounded almost bitter. He must resent the fact that someone had such power over him.

  And no wonder all the servants were so eerily quiet. They were bloody zombies.

  “That’s awful. Why would anyone want that?”

  He snorted. “You have a lot to learn about people if you need to ask. Some men can only feel big by making others small. But that’s not all the dagger bestows on its wielder. It grants such a range of powers that its wielder is virtually invincible. Evandir longs for that kind of power.”

  Well, didn’t we all? Finally, something I had in common with that piece of garbage.

  Ash brushed his hair from his face in an impatient movement. “But you’re right; I doubt he sees you as a threat. He probably attacks you merely to annoy me. He hates me. Thinks my father favours me above the others, and he’s afraid that means I’ll be the next wielder of Ni’ishasana.”

  “Your father?”

  “Lord Celebrach,” he said wearily, and my pulse jumped.

  I’d dreamed that Celebrach was Ash’s father. Had I heard it somewhere before and not consciously registered it? Evandir had mentioned Ash’s father earlier, when Ash had killed the viper, but he hadn’t specified who it was, and I couldn’t recall anyone else talking about it. How had I known? Had it really been only a dream? But what kind of magic could send me true dreams? I could still recall every detail, instead of it all fading into smoke the way dreams usually did, but I’d never heard of magic that could do that.

  I stretched my legs out towards the fire, feeling the warmth on the soles of my feet. Ash had always been so closemouthed. If he was in a talking mood, I’d take advantage of it. “Why do you care if Evandir kills me anyway? You didn’t want an apprentice.”

  He gave me a glance laden with impatience mixed with alcohol. “Do you think I didn’t have the stomach to kill you myself and I’m just hoping someone else does it for me? Such a good opinion you must have of me.”

  An awkward silence fell, since that was pretty much what I had been thinking. “No, of course not,” I said finally. “But you don’t like having me here. Why did you take me on?”

  He shrugged. “You’re an innocent.”

  “Isn’t everyone you kill?” Thinking of Nevith, my voice came out a little accusatory. I had strong feelings about this. “What’s different about me?”

  “Innocent?” He snorted. “No. Most of them are players in the intrigues of the Lords. Politics is a dangerous game, and people play at their own risk.”

  “Most of them, you say. But not all. That sounds like an excuse to salve your conscience.”

  He barked a short, bitter laugh. “You think I still have a conscience? That’s a luxury I had to dispense with.”

  “You’re full of shit,” I said, taking a chance. “You’ve got a conscience. You’ve saved me from Evandir twice.”

  His eyes looked different, more human—which seemed an odd thing to think of a fae. But normally, he kept his feelings under such tight control that it was like he had no personality at all. Like he was just a killing machine, a robot that Lord Celebrach could wind up and send out to kill. Now, there was pain in his eyes, flickering along with the reflection of the dancing flames. “You don’t want to rely on me to save you. I tried to save someone once before, and it didn’t end well.”

  “Who?” In my memory, the girl from my dream sagged in his arms again. Was it her? If that was a true dream … I hated not knowing. Hated having to wonder if someone’s magic had invaded my dreams. Better to imagine he was talking about someone else. My heart beat a little faster as I waited for his reply.

  “No one. A friend. You remind me a little of her.”

  A friend. That girl had seemed like more than a friend. I relaxed a little. Was this friend, whoever it was, the reason he’d wrestled with the decision of whether to kill me or take me as an apprentice? Because I reminded him of someone he’d lost? He hadn’t wanted an apprentice—he’d even vowed never to take one, apparently, and yet here I was. I should buy that friend of his a beer.

  Something about his expression, however, suggested that she was no longer around to drink it. What did it didn’t end well mean, exactly? I felt uneasy all over again. Whatever it was, he clearly blamed himself. Maybe he thought that saving me would make up for his previous failure—though, judging by the look on his face, he wouldn’t be forgiving himself any time soon.

  “What was her name?” I almost didn’t want to know.

  “Hattah.”

  I swallowed hard. So it was true—some strange magic had been invading my dreams. Hattah had been the dream girl’s name, the one he’d begged his father to save. And his father was Celebrach. Bloody hell.

  This was too much to be a coincidence. No one had ever mentioned any Hattah to me before. I was certain of that. And I was no seer, to dream true dreams. So whose magic was at work here? Or was it something to do with the bond that the twisted blade had forged between us? At least that would be better than thinking someone was purposely sending me dreams—though things had to be pretty bad when an evil magical dagger seemed like the best option.

  That dream had ended on such a hopeful note, with Celebrach about to save her, I’d thought—but where was she? “What happened to her?”

  He drained his glass, and I thought he wasn’t going to answer me. But then his eyes met mine, a kind of reckless challenge in them. “I killed her.”

  24

  I was still thinking about that conversation three days later. Ash had reverted to his usual silent self, though sometimes I caught him watching me with an intensity that unnerved me. There’d been no more revelations about Viper politics, though that one chat had given me plenty to think about.

  Probably because I was thinking about it so much, I’d dreamed of the dagger every night. They were dreams of longing, dreams of violence and blood. I killed Celebrach in every imaginable way in those dreams just to get my hands on Ni’ishasana, its name like a half-remembered snatch of music that teased at the edge of my consciousness. That rippling blade was a thing of beauty and terrible power, something to be desired and fought for with all my might.

  Sometimes when I woke up, I felt physically ill at the memories of what my dream self had done to get her hands on that dagger. Surely this was more dream magic? Where had this obsession with the dagger come from otherwise? Awake, the oily sheen of its blade repelled me, but in my dreams, it was a different story. I’d done some messed-up shit in my time, but this just wasn’t me.

  Why couldn’t I dream about having to sit an exam naked like a normal person? Or flying. Growing up, I’d had lots of dreams where I’d soared above the world. Wings like Raven’s or the Hawk’s were literally the stuff of dreams to me. I’d always wanted to be a winged fae. The fact that I wasn’t had been almost as disappointing to ten-year-old me as my lack of magic.

  It got to the point where I was afraid to go to sleep, but the workouts I was getting on the training grounds every night meant I could barely keep my eyes open once my head hit that pillow, whatever my fears. Plus, Ash had begun memory training, where he would give me a detailed picture to study for a minute, then take it away and have me describe everything in it to him.

  Sometimes, he varied it by taking me to a room in the main building, letting me study the layout for a moment, then having me draw the room to scale, with the size and placement of everything in it noted. These exercises were even more tiring than the physical activity, as I tied my brain up in knots trying to remember everything. So I had no ch
ance of staying awake, even though I wanted to.

  One day, Ash sent me with a message to Lord Celebrach.

  “While you’re there, I want you to practise your memory skills on his office. When you get back, I’ll expect a full report, including every detail of Lord Celebrach’s attire and everything on his desk.”

  He never called his father anything but Lord Celebrach. Such an excess of politeness might have just been because he loathed the man, but perhaps it was also an attempt to minimise the other assassins’ feelings that he was being favoured by the Lord Serpent. Not that they were likely to forget his parentage, but there was no need to throw it in their faces every day.

  “You won’t know if I’m right,” I objected. “I could say anything.”

  “You like arguing, don’t you?”

  “I don’t! I’m just saying …” I trailed off under his I told you so stare, realising I’d just argued again.

  “While a quick mind is an asset to a Viper, too much independence is not,” he said reprovingly. “You need to learn not to question everything. Focus on your task. Trust me to know if you get it wrong.”

  Fine. I headed off through the moonlit woods towards the main building. Even this much freedom was a rare thing—I was kind of surprised he was letting me wander around on my own, given his fears about Evandir. Maybe Evandir was out on a job. Ash knew those kinds of things but never shared them with me.

  I made the most of my excursion, counting the number of trees, memorising their placements along the path. When I finally got out of here, I would be able to draw the most accurate maps imaginable of the sith, making it easy for the king’s forces to bring down the Vipers. Ash was fond of saying that the brain was a muscle that needed training, just like other muscles. He should be thrilled that I’d be putting his training to such good use.

  I passed only a silent servant as I strode through the quiet corridors of the main building. Now that I knew the truth about the servants, a shudder of horror rippled down my spine every time I saw one. No memories, no self, no soul. This was even worse than straight-out killing people, and even more reason to wipe the Vipers from the face of the earth.

  And all because of that horrible dagger. I knocked on Celebrach’s door, but there was no answer. He wouldn’t take well to being disturbed if he was deep in the middle of something.

  Well, he should have answered, then. I straightened my shoulders, determined not to be cowed by the man. Whatever his powers, knocking on his door was hardly a crime. But I still breathed a sigh of relief when I opened the door to discover the room was empty. I could leave my note and go.

  Except I had to memorise the stupid room, didn’t I? Sighing, I laid the note on his desk where he couldn’t fail to find it when he returned, then swept my gaze slowly across the desk. Blotter, inkstand, quill. Two pencils and a notepad. Nine books, piled on top of each other in a haphazard tower. The one on the bottom was the smallest, adding to the instability of the tower.

  Would Ash expect me to memorise the titles of each one? The top one was dark blue, leather-bound, and didn’t have a title or any markings on the outside. I flipped it open and found a ledger of some kind, with names and amounts of money recorded in a neat hand.

  I slammed it shut again when I realised it was a record of hits ordered and paid for, of clients and targets. Shuddering, I turned my attention to the other things on the desk. A jar full of pebbles—what was that all about?—and a pile of papers nearly half the height of the book tower.

  Tempted to read them, my gaze skittered across the one on top. It was a letter in an ornate flowing hand that was difficult to read. But there was nothing exciting about the letter—it seemed to be full of gossip about people I didn’t know.

  Maybe this was some kind of Viper code, and that was something else I’d have to learn, but I decided not to risk rifling through the rest of the stack. I really shouldn’t linger here—who knew when Celebrach would return? I might be able to explain that Ash had instructed me to memorise his room, but not if I was found reading his mail. Ash would have a cow if he thought that was what I was doing.

  I finished with the desk and looked up. Immediately, my gaze was snagged by the dagger on its stand. Why hadn’t I noticed that as soon as I walked in? It was pretty hard to miss in pride of place on its shelf.

  I swallowed as my violent dreams returned to me in a rush. Me holding the dagger. Wielding it. Driving it through Celebrach’s ribs into the vulnerable heart beneath. And then the rush of power filling me, like a million orgasms all at once, only better.

  I breathed out shakily, the sound loud in the still room. How had I ever thought the dagger ugly? It really was a beautiful weapon, its blade gleaming in silver ripples, like water disturbed by the wind. Without thought or hesitation, I reached for it.

  And the world goes black, shadow filling my vision. Coldness floods me, spreading from my fingers up my arm and into my chest. I can feel it racing through my veins, spreading its tendrils through my body. Suddenly, I’m on fire.

  Ash is here, supporting the dying girl. Hattah. Celebrach rounds the desk, the dagger in his hand.

  “Hold out her arm,” he says.

  Ash curves his body protectively over hers. Suspicion and loathing war in his gaze as he stares at the warped blade. “Why?”

  “I will need her blood for this.”

  The tension drains from Ash’s body. I can read his thoughts in his eyes. She will be saved, and his world along with her. His relief is overwhelming, though sadness lurks there, too. He knows she won’t have him once he joins the Vipers. Her world is one of light and love, a simple world of family and music and small, everyday things. Someone else will take his place eventually, will win her kisses and her heart. But at least she will live.

  If that’s all he can do for her, it will be enough. His love is a pure thing, bigger than his desires. He can’t have her, but that’s not as important to him as knowing that, somewhere in the world, she will go on living her life because of his sacrifice.

  Celebrach pauses. “Actually, perhaps we should take care of you first. Wouldn’t want you to change your mind.”

  Ash looks up, his expression hardening. “She doesn’t have much time left.”

  “Then you’d better not waste any of it. Give me your hand.”

  Ash takes a deep breath, then offers his hand to his father, who takes it in a smooth handshake position before flipping it over, exposing the vulnerable underside of his wrist. He draws the dagger over it, slicing through the veins. Ash watches, his mouth set in a grim line, as blood drips to the carpet and a blue light flares around the dagger.

  Suddenly, there is no more blood, as if the dagger has drunk it all down. With typical dream certainty, I know this is true, even though the dagger is not alive.

  Ash takes a sudden shocked breath. “What is that?”

  “What is what?”

  “Something … in my head. A voice?” His own is filled with horror.

  Shadows swirl in the corners of the room, forming vaguely humanoid shapes then disappearing like smoke again. I don’t think Ash sees them—his eyes are on his father’s face, outrage and impotent fury in his expression.

  “Come now, Ashovar. You know enough about the Vipers to know the answer to that already.”

  “That’s the bond?” He looks at the dagger with loathing. “That’s Ni’ishasana? I didn’t expect it to feel so obvious.”

  His father’s face is smug as he smiles. I want to punch it, but I’m insubstantial as mist, as the shadows that still boil behind the desk, forming bodies and faces before disintegrating and reforming. “The sensation will fade. You’ll barely notice it’s there unless it’s activated.”

  “Unless you have orders for me,” Ash says. Unmistakeable loathing fills his voice.

  “That’s right,” Celebrach says, though the smugness is gone, and he looks irritated instead. Though why he should, when he’s got what he so clearly wanted, is beyond me.

  �
�Time to honour your side of the bargain,” Ash says, looking down at the woman in his arms.

  Ash gently takes Hattah’s wrist and extends her arm out straight, his eyes never leaving her face—so he’s not looking when Celebrach slams the dagger into her heart.

  Ash cries out in horror, raw agony in his voice, and tries to pull the dagger out. But his father hasn’t let go, and Celebrach is strong. Hampered by the girl’s body in his arms, Ash is easily overpowered.

  “What have you done?”

  “Relax. This is the only way.”

  “But I thought you would heal her! This is … this is—” Again, he struggles to remove the dagger, his face white with shock. “I don’t want her to be a slave.”

  “But what else did you expect? Ni’ishasana’s power is great, but it can’t work miracles. She’s too far gone for anything else.”

  Blue light floods the room, centred on the dagger. I squint against the glare. The girl has stopped breathing, her chest still. She is clearly dead.

  The blue light flares, then fades away. When I can see again, the girl’s eyes are open. She stares up at Celebrach with a blank expression, not seeming to notice Ash at all. He is outright crying, now, his cheeks streaked with the silver tracks of tears.

  Celebrach motions to her, and she sits up, untangling herself from Ash’s arms. “You said you wanted her alive,” he says to his son, gesturing at the girl as if to show off his handiwork.

  “Not like this. Bring her back!”

  “You know I can’t.”

  The girl stands up, silent, and steps away, unmoved by Ash’s tears. Her nightgown is slashed where the knife entered her breast, but there isn’t a single drop of blood.

  “You did this on purpose.” Ash stands, too, and in one violent movement draws his own dagger and launches himself at his father.

  Celebrach gestures with a casual flip of his hand, and Ash flies across the room to crash against a bookcase. There is unmistakeable pleasure on the Lord Serpent’s face as he watches his son stagger to his feet.