Born Assassin Saga Box Set

by Jacqueline Pawl

  “I despise you,” Calum hisses, for no reason except that it makes him feel slightly better to have an outlet for his anger.

  “Gag the prisoner,” Firesse calls over her shoulder.

  “Gladly.” Kaius smirks and tears a strip of fabric from the hem of his shirt. He shoves it into Calum’s mouth and ties the ends at the back of his head. It tastes like sweat and woodsmoke. Disgusting.

  The second they emerge from the tent, hundreds of voices cry out—some in anger, others in despair for their fallen First. Most demand Calum’s head be taken from his shoulders. He swallows painfully. All the elves in the five clans—except those in the search parties—are gathered in a semicircle around Firesse’s tent. Their eyes bore into Calum’s, thirsty for blood.

  When Firesse begins pushing her way through the crowd, Ivani plants himself in front of her. “Let us through,” she growls.

  “No. The Firsts must meet and decide this murderer’s punishment.”

  “It’s obvious, is it not?” Lysander says, moving to Ivani’s side. “Kill him, and the rest of his group, too. They came under the guise of friendship, promising a peace they had no intention of providing, only to slaughter one of us on our most sacred night.”

  Ivani and Lysander are each twice Firesse’s age and visibly stronger than the skinny girl before them. Even so, they flinch when something dark and cruel crosses Firesse’s face. “He is my prisoner, and I will do with him as I please.”

  “Let’s not forget who brought these humans here.” Amyris shoves his way through the crowd. His weathered face is red, contorted in grief and rage. To her credit, Firesse doesn’t so much as blink when he marches up to her and shoves his face in hers. “You invited them here. You vouched for them. Odomyr’s blood is on your hands, too.”

  You’re more right than you will ever know, Calum thinks.

  “Odomyr was as dear to me as my own father,” Firesse responds in an even voice. “Do you think I will allow his murder to go unpunished?”

  Amyris turns to Ivani and Lysander. “She is the youngest and least experienced First. Do you intend to let her take him?”

  Ivani and Lysander glance at each other with uncertainty. How much do they know about Firesse’s powers? Obviously, not everything, but their hesitation tells him all he needs to know:

  They’re terrified of her.

  “Do you intend to stop me?” Firesse asks, her voice as sharp as a razor’s edge. “Come on, Kaius.” She pushes past Amyris, ignoring the way his jaw drops when the crowd parts before her. He sputters and shouts something in Cirisian, but she doesn’t deign to respond.

  Firesse wordlessly leads them along the trail they had taken from her island the day before. After an hour of walking, she veers sharply off the path. A thick patch of mangroves rises before them, their drooping, tangled roots forming a nearly impenetrable wall.

  Calum takes a deep breath and chokes when a thick, putrid stench fills his nostrils—the scent of rotting meat. He tries to breathe through his mouth, but it’s too hard around the gag.

  “Remove his gag,” Firesse orders, noticing his struggle. “I don’t want him to choke to death.”

  Kaius does. Calum spits the fabric onto the ground, glaring at Firesse. “What are we doing here?”

  “I told you—I want to show you something.” She gestures to one of the mangroves, where the roots have been cut away to form a tiny hole, just large enough for someone to squeeze through. “After you.”

  He doesn’t move.

  “All right, then. After me.”

  She slips easily through the gap. Calum follows, wiggling through the opening. It’s difficult to work his way out without the use of his hands but eventually he manages. He straightens, rolls his sore shoulders, then looks up.

  He freezes.

  At least two dozen dead bodies surround him. Some hang from their ankles like the soldier Mercy had found by the riverbank, their faces bloated and purple. Others are slumped in the hollows of the old trees or propped against thick tangles of roots or vines, tossed aside like life-sized ragdolls. Bodiless limbs and cracked skulls are strewn about the woods. The stink of death is unbearable. Calum doubles over and retches.

  “No, no, that won’t do,” Firesse murmurs. She twines her fingers in Calum’s hair and yanks his head back. “Look at them. You might recognize a few.”

  His breath catches as he forces his eyes to roam the small clearing. He does recognize the emblems on their tattered tunics—the Myrellis family crest. Each corpse was once a Beltharan soldier. Most are too decayed to identify, but one stands out from the rest:

  Leitha Cain, the commander Master Oliver had sent to find the Cedikra.

  Her corpse is slumped against a tree trunk, her empty eye sockets staring straight through Calum. The skin on her face is ghastly—underscored with dark red shadows around her sockets and the hollows of her cheeks, the flesh rotting and crawling with maggots. The bodies of the six soldiers who had accompanied her sway languidly from the branches of the mangrove against which she rests.

  Calum whirls around, shaking with fury. He glares at Firesse. “You’re going to regret what you’ve done.”

  He takes a step forward, considering charging her again. Kaius had remained on the other side of the mangroves; it’ll take him some time to work his way through the opening. If Calum hits Firesse just right, he could grab her knife and cut his hands free before the archer reaches him. Maybe he’ll even have time to kill her. Before entering the Islands, he would have blanched at the thought of killing a child, but the carnage around him proves that Firesse is not someone to be underestimated. She is evil, vengeful, manipulative. He would gladly kill her.

  She reads his thoughts on his face. Her hands fly up, ready to cast another incantation. “I know you’re not stupid enough to hurt me, Calum. Take another step, and I’ll let Drake possess you again. You’ll get to watch as we destroy the country you love so much. After I’ve killed your useless king, I’ll leave Drake to do whatever he wants to Tamriel, and you’ll be witness to your dear cousin’s torture.”

  “Why did you do this?” Calum jerks his head to the corpses, fighting to keep his voice even. He will not allow his anger to get the better of him. “Why did you kill so many people?”

  “You’ve heard the tale that each time a human slaughters an elf, a piece of Myrbellanar’s soul heals, correct? It’s wrong. The more humans I kill, the closer my connection with the Old Gods.” She laughs when Calum’s jaw drops. “You thought the Gatekeeper was the only one whose powers I share? Hundreds of gods fought against the Creator in the Great War, sharing their powers among their ranks. I’ve only earned a little taste of their talents, but it’ll be more than enough to decimate Sandori.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “I’m desperate.”

  “How many people know about this?”

  “Only Kaius knows the extent of my powers. He’s the one who travelled, who found the books and did the research. The rest of my clan don’t know anything except my wish to go to war with Beltharos.”

  “How have you managed to hide this from them?” A few of the corpses are little more than skeletons. She must have been preparing an attack for years. The mental image of an eleven- or twelve-year-old Firesse murdering a fully grown, well-trained soldier sends a shiver down his spine. If all the Cirisians fight as ruthlessly as she does, maybe they’re not as hopelessly outnumbered as he thinks.

  “I placed protective wards around the area. They trap the stench and deter any passing elves from wandering too close.”

  “But why? What could you possibly hope to accomplish by fighting?”

  “My people have been slaves to your kind since the dawn of time. My ancestors were beaten, raped, and slaughtered, and to this day, the cycle continues. Your king turns a blind eye to the mistreatment of the elves in his kingdom and sends his soldiers to kill or recapture the lucky few who escape to the Islands. I will not allow it to happen any longer. I will lead my peo
ple to the capital, and we will teach the humans how fearsome ‘knife-ears’ can be.”

  Her expression shifts from arrogance to sadness as her gaze sweeps over the dead bodies. “I brought you here because I want you to understand how serious I am about my people’s protection. We were never meant to have the powers of Old Gods. Using them has placed a stain of damnation upon my soul—one I will never be able to remove—and that’s the price I have chosen to pay. When the time comes that I must face the consequences of my actions, I will accept them without hesitation. Until then, I will do everything in my power to avenge the deaths of my ancestors, my clansmen, and their children.”

  33

  Mercy

  “So you’re telling me we can’t do anything. All this discussion, and we’ve somehow managed to get farther from making a plan to save Calum,” Tamriel mutters.

  Mercy is seated on the floor beside Nynev, watching Tamriel pace the length of the cave and tug at his hair in frustration. She wishes she could go to him, comfort him, but she can tell that it wouldn’t do any good; he’s too agitated, too tense, too sick with worry. In the flickering light of the candles, she can see that his face is pale, faint purple shadows hanging under his eyes. She knows she looks the same. Exhaustion tugs at her, making her limbs heavy, but there will be no sleep tonight. Dawn is approaching, and they haven’t the slightest clue how to rescue Calum.

  We should leave him behind, Mercy thinks darkly. She’d insist on it, too, if not for her desire to see Calum pay for buying the contract on Tamriel’s life. She’d meant what she had said in that tavern in Cyrna—she will make him regret manipulating her, harming Tamriel, framing her for the attack on the prince’s life. Whatever punishment he endures at Firesse’s hands is only the beginning. When Mercy drags him back to Sandori and exposes his crimes, she will teach him just how cruel a Daughter of the Guild can be.

  Unfortunately, the more they try to plan, the slimmer the chances of rescuing Calum—and of Mercy gaining her revenge—appear.

  “Even if it were possible to avoid the search parties long enough to sneak into Ialathan, find Calum, and sneak out, there are four hundred Cirisians in that valley and ten of us,” Adriel is saying to Tamriel. “You and Mercy would have to remain here—I’m certain Firesse would be more than happy to take you two hostage alongside Calum—so that leaves only eight, including Niamh and your wounded commander.” Adriel nods to Master Oliver, who still cradles his injured shoulder. “We’d never make it out alive.”

  “We could go after him, Your Highness,” Akiva pipes up from the back of the cave. He glances at the guards huddled beside him, all of whom murmur agreement. “You’re not expendable, but we are. At the very least, we could get close enough to the camp to see if Calum’s alive, then report back—”

  “No,” Master Oliver snaps. “Your job is to protect the prince. Everyone else is expendable. Even Calum.”

  “So we’re going to do nothing? We’re going to allow the elves to kill him for a crime he did not commit?” Tamriel turns in a slow circle, glaring at each person in turn. Still lying in bed, her covers pulled up to her chin to hide her disfigurement, Niamh shrinks under his gaze. He shakes his head and starts toward the exit of the cave. “No, I’m not leaving him behind—”

  Mercy jumps up and grabs the prince’s arm, yanking him back. “You don’t have a choice.”

  At once, anger flashes in his eyes. “What are you doing, Mercy? You know I won’t abandon him.”

  “I’m saving your life, you reckless idiot. Again.”

  “Ah, right. I see. You can save my life, but I cannot try to save Calum’s?” he seethes. “You two have butted heads since you met. What could he have possibly done to you to make you despise him so?”

  She closes her eyes. “Do you really wish to know?” The softness of her voice seems to startle him; his mouth opens slightly, his head canting to the side as he studies her. Then he nods.

  She takes a deep breath, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on them. Very well, she thinks. If she must give up punishing Calum, she will do it to save Tamriel’s life. Here goes nothing.

  “He tried to kill you.”

  Tamriel blinks at her. “What?”

  “Calum bought the contract on your life. He paid to have you killed.”

  34

  Tamriel

  Tamriel’s heart stops beating. The blood roaring in his ears falls silent. The oxygen in his lungs suddenly disappears.

  Calum. Calum bought the contract.

  Impossible.

  “You’re lying,” he snarls.

  Mercy tugs on his arm, her eyes wide and sincere. “I wish I were. Calum planned to reveal the contract to the nobility after your death and claim he’d stumbled upon the king’s scheme to secure his hold on the throne. If the nobles thought that your father had you murdered, they’d be clamoring to usurp him—and who do you think would be next in line for the crown?”

  “That’s preposterous. Calum doesn’t have a drop of royal blood in him.”

  “No, but he’s been working with Master Oliver and the guards for years. The nobles trust him. Plus, he grew up in the castle. He may not be a royal, but he was raised like one.”

  Tamriel glares at her. “You just don’t want me to go after Calum. You don’t want me to risk my life for him. You two have argued ceaselessly this entire journey, and now that you finally have a chance to get rid of him, you’ll do anything to stop me from rescuing him,” he says. “But I know you too well, Mercy. You never would have let him come on this journey if he were a danger to me.”

  “Why do you think I sat outside your room all night in Cyrna if not to keep him from hurting you again? Why do you think I was so angry about you and Calum sparring in Firesse’s camp? I was terrified he was going to finish what the Daughters failed . . . what I failed to do.”

  “He had plenty of opportunities to kill me on the road here. I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

  “You wouldn’t be if you’d bled out inside your mother’s house.”

  “And who did the guards find standing over me with my blood on her hands?”

  Mercy flinches, her face flushing in her frustration. “Calum and Elise framed me! Calum set up the meeting with the nobles, did he not? He knew you would be there early and took the opportunity to carve that gash into your back. Elise brought the guards there to arrest me because she knew they’d catch me red-handed—literally.” Mercy’s grip tightens when she whispers, “Please, you must believe me.”

  Tamriel scoffs. “I must believe the word of an Assassin?”

  He regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips.

  Mercy’s face goes slack with shock and hurt. She releases his arm and takes a few jerky steps backward. Then, before he registers what is about to happen, she slaps him across the face, the sharp sound echoing through the cavern. Someone gasps.

  “Never hold that against me,” she hisses. “Ever.”

  Tamriel lifts a hand to his stinging cheek. He stares at her, confused and hurt and angry and ashamed, then remembers everyone else standing in the cavern, watching their argument unfold. The guards avert their gazes when he turns to them. Adriel and Dayna are murmuring in Cirisian while Niamh, Nynev, and Isolde watch from where they sit huddled among the blankets. Only Master Oliver meets the prince’s eyes, pain and betrayal plain on his face.

  Tamriel’s breath catches at the sight. Oliver believes her. He believes Calum tried to kill me.

  The realization nearly sends him to his knees.

  Tamriel had guessed that the contract was a forgery. Every noble knows the rules of the infamous Guild of Assassins—only a royal can buy a contract on another royal—but Ghyslain could never have stomached planning his only child’s murder. Tamriel’s mind goes back to the night he had woken up in his bedroom after the attempted assassination. His father had sat beside his bed all night, inconsolable, and hadn’t let the prince out of his sight for nearly a week. If there were any doubt left in his mind
about his father’s innocence, it had disappeared that night. He can’t imagine the king plotting his own son’s death, but Calum . . .

  Calum, who had always chafed at the nobles’ dismissal of him; Calum, who had grown up as starved for affection as Tamriel had; Calum, who had worked with Master Oliver and the guards to try and prove his worth to the courtiers . . . It appears he had finally grown tired of living in his royal cousin’s shadow.

  Calum tried to have me killed.

  Mercy sees the change on Tamriel’s face. “Tamriel, I’m so sor—”

  “I-I need some fresh air.” He bolts out of the cave and stumbles through the tunnel, letting out a gasp when the cool sea salt breeze rushes over him. Then he crumples to his knees and buries his face in his hands.

  35

  Calum

  Calum wordlessly follows Firesse and Kaius as they pick their way through the dense forest, searching for the trail which will lead them back to Ialathan. He dreads every step. Over four hundred Cirisians are waiting for him in that camp and, despite Firesse’s confidence, he’s certain she and her hunters won’t be enough to stop the other Firsts if they demand retribution for Odomyr’s murder. They’ll put Calum’s head on a spike, and Mercy’s and Tamriel’s will follow.

  Please, Creator, keep them safe.

  He cannot keep the memory of Leitha Cain’s rotting corpse from his mind, the empty caverns of her eye sockets crawling with maggots. She and her soldiers had been slaughtered by a fourteen-year-old girl obsessed with a fantasy. Calum glares at Firesse’s back as they walk. How could I have ever thought of her as a normal little girl? How did I fail to see all that evil lurking under the surface?

  Because she’s just like you were a mere week ago, whispers his traitorous conscience, consumed by her hunger for vengeance, desperate to exact her revenge. The difference is, she’ll do it no matter the cost.