Chương 1: Chapter 2: Surprise

I push the close shave to the back of my mind and concentrate on locating my attackers. Crouching low to the ground, I let the shifting shadows of the afternoon do most of the concealment work for me. My attackers are adept at hiding as well. There is no sign of them, other than the dagger sticking out of my bedroll. I allow myself to roll back, seeking out one of the ground-cover bushes in the process. Xan is already awake and alert, concealing themself well with the undergrowth, too. Silent, I observe, watch.

There. Right behind the trees to the left, a shadow moves out of place. Assassins always use what is at hand to enhance their skills of subterfuge. It's drilled into us from the moment we step foot inside the Enclaves as a recruit and more as a Novice and apprentice. The thing is, those attacking us seem to have the same training. A metal blade catches a strand of sunlight as it flies through the air toward me, giving me just enough time to duck to the side, rolling again.

This time I use the tree the knife thuds into as my new cover. These guys are good. Their abilities outstrip what I expect from common bandits, leading me to question just who these people are. Could we have angered someone? Were we seen? I dismiss that thought almost as soon as I have it. Impossible. Reaching down as I run through the gambit of possibilities, I free my dart pipe.

There's no real time for me to leaf through my different darts, however, considering the speed with which our attackers are, well, attacking. Pity, really. Something that renders them unable to move while still able to speak? That would be ideal. A soothing calm sweeps through me as I thumb my darts of poison in their short loading bay. Moving silently around the brush is difficult, but doable. I don't know these people and thus, I cannot tell if they deserve to die or not.

But I value my sleep, and they interrupted it. That's as good an assessment as I can manage right now. I will not lose more sleep over their inevitable deaths. As usual, there's this cold inevitability that settles over me whenever I make the decision to take someone's life. It's not always just about the assignment, or the money, but about how well my conscience will let me live afterward. But these people. They deserve whatever we inflict on them. We might be assassins, but we do have ethics.

Xan is still ducking and covering, and I can see that three of their throwing stars have left their sheaths. From what I can tell, only one of the attackers has been wounded. That's okay. I'll leave that one for Xan, I tell myself. The sun is lower than the tree canopy this late in the afternoon, and the dappled bits of sunlight that reach us here on the floor are duller than they were before we lay down. There's a thud off to my left.

I glance briefly to see the hilt of a dagger protruding from the top of Xan's thigh. Not a good move on our assailants' part. Though my partner is hurt, I'm not worried. Xan channels pain like some people channel tragedy. Now I'm absolutely unconcerned about anyone but my own target. They've lost me. I can tell by the way they breathe, by their movements. In the ever-lengthening shadows, I've become the stalker. This is what I've always excelled at.

When my father was alive, he loved to take me hunting with him, even if mother always objected. I grin, tracking down my prey slowly, methodically. When I have the shot, I raise my dart gun to my lips as I steady my crouching stance. Taking a gentle breath in through the nose, I get ready to expel that sharp breath and take this person's life. We can interrogate the one Xan is about to close in on. Two things happen in quick succession.

The first is that Xan releases their attack a split second before I expel breath. In that moment, as their throwing star impacts their target, the assailant lets out a sharp cry. A cry I've heard before. Frankly, that noise—that split second of clarity and recognition—is all that saves my target's life. I barely manage to redirect the tube mid-dart travel and instead leap forward with three quick, bounding steps and smack my assailant across the back of their head before they can react in any other way.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Just in case I'm wrong. They go down. I'll check who it is in a minute, but I'm annoyed enough as I walk across to where Xan is about to unmask their opponent.

"You don't need to remove that," I snap, highly irritated.

"Sevrin. It's not fatal. Get up and stop acting like your life is ending." Sniffing the air, I realize, thankfully, that Xan had not reapplied their favorite poison to that throwing star and at most, Sevrin will be left with a nasty wound. The wounded assassin pulls the mask off to help with his breathing and sits himself up with a scowl on his face. He's one of the Journeymen from our Enclave, who should be approaching master level soon. Unless Aarron hears about this. I can't see the Prefect being impressed.

"When did you know?" he asks, a snide little grin pulling at his lips like always. There's always this cocky attitude around the assassin, and yet… something underlying that's wholly likable, too.

"Your 'I'm in pain' noises are distinct," I say, still eyeing the area where my opponent is lying. At least their chest is still rising and falling. They're only knocked out. I'd been concerned my dart might have nicked them, but it appears I was worried for nothing.

"I did get stabbed." Sevrin shrugs working on pulling the dagger out of his upper arm. Xan stands over him, glaring, the knife that was in their thigh earlier already gone. They're flipping it with their left hand while glaring at him.

"What the hell was that? We could have killed you!" Xan is far too emotional for an assassin, yet somehow still successful. I find it much easier if I compartmentalize things. Sevrin is about to speak, but I'm irritated enough as it is that I jump in first.

"Did Aarron send you to test us?"

"Of course he did." Sevrin seems a bit annoyed. Not that he shouldn't be. His apprentice class was years ahead of us. They should have been able to get the jump on two relatively new Initiates.

"Perhaps next time you won't take us so lightly then," I say, and stride over to check on my assailant. Aarron tests his assassins in the oddest of ways. From group dynamics, to solo tests, and apparently ambushing newly anointed Initiates to see if they're up to snuff. Crouching down, I feel for this one's pulse, only vaguely aware of Sevrin and Xan having it out behind me. This person's form tugs at my memory. I pull out some smelling salts from my pouch, waving them briefly under their nose.

Their eyes flutter open to reveal the brightest blue, and I know instantly it's Ellir. I grin down at him. Only a couple of years ahead of us, he recently got promoted to Journeyman. This must smart. It takes a second or two for him to get his bearings. He groans and covers his eyes with his hands before finally pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"You got the jump on me," he says, stating the bleeding obvious. So many people do this and I've never understood why.

"You're lucky that's all you got. If Sevrin had been completely silent, you'd be dead," I say, standing back up and offering Ellir a hand. He glances at me warily.

"You're kidding, right?" I raise an eyebrow knowing I don't need to dignify that with an answer. I'm truly not known for my sense of humor.

"Of course she is," Sevrin says rather unconvincingly as he walks over, tying a bandage around his upper arm.

"Actually, she's not. Ellir almost got hit with the same poison Taria used on her target this morning." I can hear the glee evident in Xan's voice. They have this weird pride in everything I do as if it's all their influence that enables me to achieve my accomplishments.

"She always loads that thing with two darts, just in case. She only ever needs one…" Ellir pales and Sevrin scowls at me. I shrug.

"Not my fault you decided to sneak up on us and wake us up without giving us any type of identifiers. You know poison darts are my specialty. How did you think I'd defend myself?" Sevrin swallows, and perhaps he realizes that it is indeed not my doing that Ellir came close to death. Aarron needs to answer for this one. Many of us use knives, clean cuts that do brilliant and obvious jobs.

Occasionally we'll use poison as a form of death—emptying it into soups, or ensuring a target pricks their finger and allows the poison to enter the bloodstream slowly and painfully. But I don't work that way. If I hit you with poison, you die. Most of the time, anyway. Unless I have to draw it out and make it painful. Not my preference, but I'm good at it anyway.

"Thanks for not killing me, Ria," Ellir says, his apology genuine.

"Don't call me Ria," I snap absentmindedly.

"But you are welcome. I don't enjoy killing colleagues, even if you did wake me up." It's time for us to leave now anyway. I walk to the clearing and yank the offending knife out of my bedroll. I'm going to have to sew that hole closed when I get back to the Enclave. That's irritating. Pursing my lips, I whistle for Jax. He'll hear me unless he's too far away, which is doubtful. Our horses are trained to hide when something like this happens, but I know he'd never be too far away from me. Just in case.

"There's no need to be so abrupt with them," Xan says, picking up their own disheveled bedroll.

"They were just doing their jobs."

"If I just did my job without thinking actions through, I'd have been killed on my first mission." I'm not trying to be mean or obtuse; I'm merely stating facts. Though, I've come to realize that not everyone deals well with truths that aren't what they want to hear.

"We're also going to run late if we don't leave now. Aarron hates tardiness more than he dislikes his assassins getting killed." Xan grimaces, knowing the truth of my words. Aarron is the Prefect of the entire Nightshade Order. Not just of our Enclave, which is the headquarters. And if there's one thing you don't want to do, it's get on his bad side. I won't lie, a little thrill shoots up my spine at the thought of butting heads with him. We've done so more than once over the course of my apprenticeship.

Without being too conceited about it, I also knew that once we were back, we'd have to go and see him. I don't think he'll like what I have to say. Again. Before leaving, I dive into my packs, pull out one of my more potent potions, and hand it over to Sevrin. This is one I made. Alchemy is in my bones, thanks to my mother's influences. It's in every breath I take.

"You're giving me one of yours? Extra strength?" Sevrin asks, a hint of respect in his words and no sign of his usual snide grin.

"Unless you don't want it?" I make as if to snatch it back, knowing he'll pull away, which he does. Predictable.

"No, that's fine. Thanks." He inclines his head before downing the potion and mounting his horse. Seems as if they are headed out on their own assignment, just as we are due back from ours. Making sure he doesn't suffer a scar with a ridiculous story is the least I can do for him considering Aarron didn't really think this through. Which is completely unlike the Prefect and leaves me wanting to ask a thousand questions. What the hell was he thinking and why did he test us in the first place?

I don't think I'm going to like the answer.