and they were filled with regret.
“Thalia—” he said.
Before he finished saying her name, the girl spun on her heel and ran for Lord Hamel. The first bodyguard to block her way fell back, clutching at his face as a knife flashed in Thalia’s hand. She was turning again to Hamel when the second bodyguard grabbed her hair, pulled her backwards, and thrust a knife between her shoulder blades. Thalia gasped and sank to the floor, her eyes fixed on Hamel’s face. The nobleman stared back and wiped off his arm where her blood had splattered.
Bacchus acted first, grabbing the lamp off the table and throwing its contents at one group of assassins as he kicked the table toward the others. The oil caught fire as it fell and spread across the floor. As assassins batted out flames and Gerred yelled orders, James sprang around the fire toward Hamel. The nobleman’s bodyguards closed protectively around him, but James dropped to a crouch in front of Thalia. She was pale and gasping, with blood spurting through her knife wound.
“Come on, James,” Rand yelled, dragging him to his feet. Rand reached to pick up Thalia, but James pushed him aside and scooped her up himself. Bacchus waved them out the door and guarded their retreat, knife raised in a menacing crouch as he backed out last.
No one pursued them. There were shouts of Red Shields, so perhaps Gerred’s crew had scattered rather than risk capture. When it was clear they weren’t being followed, James laid Thalia on the ground. The bleeding had slowed. She was in shock, though when she looked at James, her eyes took a momentary focus. Her lips moved, and James leaned closer to hear.
“Kill him for me,” she said.
And then she was too weak to say anything else.
Chapter Seven
A LVIE waited in the shadow of his wagon train, arms folded across his chest. Today was one of those days when he felt the weight of his years. His back ached from setting up camp, and everything felt heavy.
He hadn’t been surprised by the news when it came through the rumor mills. Everyone who’d known Thalia had been preparing to hear it for a while. The girl had been headstrong and fiercely loyal to her sister. These were characteristics one couldn’t afford to indulge when dealing with people like Hamel.
There was a rustle in the trees, and the young assassin came around a wagon. He was vigilant as he came into the circle, his eyes sweeping in all directions. Alvie imagined that James looked more tired than when they’d last met. His eyes were colder.
The assassin didn’t waste time on niceties. “You’ve heard by now?” he asked.
“Enough,” said Alvie. “I’ll relay the news to her home caravan. Let them claim their right to avenge her, if they so choose.”
“They didn’t avenge her sister,” James said. There might have been a hint of disdain in his voice.
“True,” Alvie conceded. “But don’t blame them for Thalia’s death. They loved the girls like their own daughters, and their decision not to go up against one of Forge’s top noblemen does not diminish that.”
“Whether they loved her or not is of no consequence to me. But they need not worry about vengeance. I’ll take responsibility for it,” James said.
Alvie believed him, the way he spoke. “You’ll strike against Hamel?” said Alvie. “There will be consequences, if I understand how your city functions.”
“I know the risks.”
It was on Alvie’s tongue to ask why only now, after the girl’s death, was James finally willing to go against the nobleman. But one look at the assassin’s face convinced him to keep the question to himself. “Why did you help her?” Alvie asked instead. “If you knew she’d likely fail?” He was careful not to inject any anger into his voice. The time for anger was past, and Alvie simply wanted to know.
James looked warily at Alvie, but seemed to sense that the trader meant no harm. “Risk is everywhere. Only the nobles have the luxury of a long
“Thalia—” he said.
Before he finished saying her name, the girl spun on her heel and ran for Lord Hamel. The first bodyguard to block her way fell back, clutching at his face as a knife flashed in Thalia’s hand. She was turning again to Hamel when the second bodyguard grabbed her hair, pulled her backwards, and thrust a knife between her shoulder blades. Thalia gasped and sank to the floor, her eyes fixed on Hamel’s face. The nobleman stared back and wiped off his arm where her blood had splattered.
Bacchus acted first, grabbing the lamp off the table and throwing its contents at one group of assassins as he kicked the table toward the others. The oil caught fire as it fell and spread across the floor. As assassins batted out flames and Gerred yelled orders, James sprang around the fire toward Hamel. The nobleman’s bodyguards closed protectively around him, but James dropped to a crouch in front of Thalia. She was pale and gasping, with blood spurting through her knife wound.
“Come on, James,” Rand yelled, dragging him to his feet. Rand reached to pick up Thalia, but James pushed him aside and scooped her up himself. Bacchus waved them out the door and guarded their retreat, knife raised in a menacing crouch as he backed out last.
No one pursued them. There were shouts of Red Shields, so perhaps Gerred’s crew had scattered rather than risk capture. When it was clear they weren’t being followed, James laid Thalia on the ground. The bleeding had slowed. She was in shock, though when she looked at James, her eyes took a momentary focus. Her lips moved, and James leaned closer to hear.
“Kill him for me,” she said.
And then she was too weak to say anything else.
Chapter Seven
A LVIE waited in the shadow of his wagon train, arms folded across his chest. Today was one of those days when he felt the weight of his years. His back ached from setting up camp, and everything felt heavy.
He hadn’t been surprised by the news when it came through the rumor mills. Everyone who’d known Thalia had been preparing to hear it for a while. The girl had been headstrong and fiercely loyal to her sister. These were characteristics one couldn’t afford to indulge when dealing with people like Hamel.
There was a rustle in the trees, and the young assassin came around a wagon. He was vigilant as he came into the circle, his eyes sweeping in all directions. Alvie imagined that James looked more tired than when they’d last met. His eyes were colder.
The assassin didn’t waste time on niceties. “You’ve heard by now?” he asked.
“Enough,” said Alvie. “I’ll relay the news to her home caravan. Let them claim their right to avenge her, if they so choose.”
“They didn’t avenge her sister,” James said. There might have been a hint of disdain in his voice.
“True,” Alvie conceded. “But don’t blame them for Thalia’s death. They loved the girls like their own daughters, and their decision not to go up against one of Forge’s top noblemen does not diminish that.”
“Whether they loved her or not is of no consequence to me. But they need not worry about vengeance. I’ll take responsibility for it,” James said.
Alvie believed him, the way he spoke. “You’ll strike against Hamel?” said Alvie. “There will be consequences, if I understand how your city functions.”
“I know the risks.”
It was on Alvie’s tongue to ask why only now, after the girl’s death, was James finally willing to go against the nobleman. But one look at the assassin’s face convinced him to keep the question to himself. “Why did you help her?” Alvie asked instead. “If you knew she’d likely fail?” He was careful not to inject any anger into his voice. The time for anger was past, and Alvie simply wanted to know.
James looked warily at Alvie, but seemed to sense that the trader meant no harm. “Risk is everywhere. Only the nobles have the luxury of a long
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