The Assassin's Blade by Kaitlyn O'Connor

 
    THE ASSASSIN’S BLADE                     Kaitlyn O’Connor                                                   1
    If she could only kill Talor Sylvanos, Emperor of the fif'Steorra Lumen, the man who had destroyed her world, she would die a happy woman.
    But therein lay the crux of the problem, and the inescapable downside of her present circumstances.
    She had memorized the face of the man she’d come to assassinate and now saw that she was not likely to find him among the hundreds of guests, even if he was present.
    Thrusting her doubts aside, she stepped from the shadows and moved casually toward the stairs that led down to the ballroom. As she made her way slowly down, she gazed out over the throng of guests, scanning and discarding possibilities.
    As massive and crowded as the room was, it was well lit and her vantage point on the stairs allowed her to see the entire room, from the entrance just below, to the wall of glass doors along the back that opened onto a wide, open air walk. The room was elegantly appointed, displaying the craftsmanship of artisans from the many worlds that comprised the fif'Steorra Lumen in everything from its furnishings; to the gilded moldings; to the eating and drinking vessels the guests used; to the fine silk that covered it’s walls and the carpeting that covered all but the tiled dance floor.
    There must have been upwards of five hundred guests in the room below, seated along the raised banquet that surrounded the dance floor, or gyrating on the dance floor itself.
    Nevertheless, the Emperor had been described to her as a ‘giant of a man’, well over six feet tall, powerfully built—a formidable warrior. Surely, with or without a costume, he would find it difficult to disguise such an imposing figure?
    She was halfway down the stairs when she spotted a knot of men who fit that precise description. A frown of puzzlement gathered on her brow as she scanned each in turn. There must have been a dozen of them, and all fit the general description.
    All wore identical costumes; a mask which covered the upper portion of their faces and their hair; a deep purple cloak; leather leggings and knee boots; a loose flowing, white shirt, opened to the waist, beneath the cloak; and on each chest glittered a medallion indicating rank in the royal guard.
    It had just clicked in her mind that the group she’d discovered could be none other than the Emperor’s personal guard when she realized that she had caught the interest of one of the men.
    From halfway across the ballroom, their gazes locked. A ripple of something unidentifiable went through Faylyn. What was this strange, almost breathless anticipation that surged through her? Uneasiness? She was certain it could not be. She had never known self-doubt where her abilities were concerned. Why then would she feel uneasy? She was in no danger, that she could see, of discovery.
    It seemed a poor time for self-analysis. She dismissed it after only a moment, allowing her lips to curve in a faint smile of invitation before she broke the hold his gaze held upon her with an effort, studying the men around him as she continued down the stairs. She was no closer, however, to singling Talor Sylvanos out when she reached the ground floor. She hesitated, filled with unaccustomed doubt.
    Finally, she decided it would be best to wait and see if the man who’s interest she’d captured sought her out and play it from there. Turning away from where she’d last seen him, Faylyn made her way to the refreshment table.
    She was not accustomed to drinking beverages with alcoholic content. One of the primary lessons of her training in the death arts by the Kilrathi was that an assassin never polluted their body, or dulled their senses, with drugs in any form. Their wit was as necessary to their mission as their physical skills. To allow even a little was to risk a moment of hesitancy, or