An Assassin's Redemption: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Romance Novel

by Tanya Kennedy

  Agarum beamed at her across the field, anticipating an easy win against a wounded, winded opponent. She had been counting on a rest to counteract the injuries; she couldn’t take another beating this soon. She’d have to take him out fast and sure.

  Agarum lifted his arms to guard position as Alondium bellowed, “Begin!”

  Eylsa moved in, wanting him to make the first move. The first move was the telling stroke, a preview of what was to come. Agarum seemed content to toy with her, feigning and dodging in an attempt to force her hand. He didn’t understand that every second he delayed was in her favor. His attempts were childish and half-hearted at best. She, on the other hand, excelled at it.

  She let her guard lax as if her arms were becoming tired, which was nothing she needed to fake. She let each step become a stumble, like she was losing control. Agarum hadn’t missed it. Unfortunately, he hadn’t missed her fight with Jenner either. Now he was suspicious, confident but guarded.

  He stepped forward, testing her bluff, and she shied away. She laid her foot badly and felt the twinge from her leg. She let herself feel the pain, allowed it to drop her weight to the left, let it twist her face.

  Her tactic worked, as Agarum rushed in to take the advantage. She let herself continue the fall, dodging his blow and jamming a knuckle between the muscles of his inner thigh. The shock buckled his leg as she spun on her knee in a roundhouse kick. The blow shattered his knee and she rolled away to her feet to let him decide if he wanted to continue.

  His eyes flashed revenge as he glared up at her from the ground but he did not rise. She spun on her heel and returned to her position in rank as Agarum crawled off the field.

  Alondium’s jaw was tight as he made a check on his clipboard. “Barber and Eylsa.”

  She couldn’t miss the satisfaction in his voice. Barber was ranked sixth, right below Eylsa. She had also won seven bouts this morning, beating both number four, Mandel, and number three, Prend.

  Eylsa pushed down the pain and fatigue as she returned to the center of the field facing Barber. Her opponent was beautiful with stark blue eyes and flaxen hair. Her eyes were sympathetic but it made no difference; acting on her compassions would earn her punishment. The only way for this to play out was to be ruthless.

  Barber was not stupid; she would not fall for ticks or ego games. Her skills and intelligence were more of a match to Eylsa than the boys had been. The fatigue would be a huge disadvantage against her.

  “Begin.”

  Barber rushed in, using her speed and agility to land six jabs, not allowing Eylsa to rest. Barber knew Eylsa was tired and wounded, and she wasn’t going to let that advantage slide.

  Eylsa drew her strength into one strong move, lashing out with the palms of both hands, connecting with Barber’s stomach and sending her flying backward. Her opponent stumbled to a stop and rushed back toward her, but this time Eylsa was ready. She knocked the first few blows aside then used her foot to push her back, keep her out of range. Barber watched her like a hawk; she already knew where several injuries were and had the advantage of rest.

  But Gregor had ordered her to win.

  Something strange fluttered inside of her. A warmth grew, silencing the complaints of her body. She didn’t have the luxury of pain or exhaustion. Barber hesitated, sharp eyes drinking in her every move. Her face tightened, her guard dropping just to her abdomen before snapping back up. Eylsa jabbed fast before Barber could block and connected with her opponent’s clavicle. Barber stepped back and bit her lip to shake off the pain. In Barber’s fight with Prend, he had gotten hold of her leg in an attempt to twist her ankle. Barber had broken free with a heel to his nose but it would have still hurt. Eylsa pushed forward, using the ball of her foot to knock Barber onto her weakened ankle. Her leg twisted, redirecting to connect with Barber’s forward hip. The strike weakened her good leg, slowing her ability to respond. Eylsa took a step forward and forced Barber to shift her weight on her unsteady legs. The movement would jar the injuries, tweak them worse.

  Barber had short arms, but so did Eylsa, and to punch would leave her open to strikes. Eylsa raised her left leg and Barber’s guard followed, but Eylsa diverted her strike in midstroke, dropping her blow to the lower ribs and side. Barber was knocked sideways, jarring her hips again. The pain was harder for her to hide now but she was still doing well.

  Eylsa and Barber had been nearly even in ranking for as long as she could remember. Eylsa had a stash of knowledge on every student in her class, knowledge she used to maintain her ranking. Knowledge she used for her safety. Barber was a good fighter and a good student; she wouldn’t retaliate for a clean win and she wouldn’t take it personally, but she wouldn’t give in until she was defeated either.

  Barber’s guard had dropped, it was more important to protect her injured ribs now than anything else; another blow there would be final. Eylsa’s eyes moved to her shoulder and the already bruised clavicle. An overhead, downward strike was strong but slow and she’d have to rely on the pain to delay Barber’s defense. Eylsa feigned low. Even a blocked strike to the ribs would be excruciating and, as Barber girded for the fall, Eylsa chopped her right arm down onto the exposed shoulder.

  The sickening snap echoed in her ears as Barber dropped at her feet. Eylsa stepped back but Barber shook her head; she was finished.

  Eylsa returned to her row feeling accomplished. Whatever Gregor’s reason, she had won the blanket. Barber nodded her respect as she limped back to her place.

  Alondium checked his clipboard. The silence stretched as the students waited for his pronouncement of the winner. Eylsa used the reprieve to rest, let the blood course through her body and relieve the tired muscles to bring what little healing it offered.

  Alondium tucked his clipboard to his hip. Pointing toward the center of the field, he said, “Eylsa.”

  She pulled a deep breath as she gathered herself to walk without limping. With a feeling of accomplishment, she made it to the center with a measure of composure and stood waiting.

  “Prend.”

  All eyes shot to Alondium.

  Prend hesitated as his eyes darted from the instructor to Eylsa.

  Alondium glanced back at Prend. “Are you too weak to fight?”

  A slight tremor crossed Prend’s face, but he stepped forward. Admitting a weakness was a Grull-worthy offense, not something anyone would willingly walk into.

  Prend tried to remain steady as he faced her, eyes tinged with sympathy. He wasn’t up for another fight, but then again, neither was she.

  “Begin!”

  * * *

  Eylsa’s body quaked with exhaustion and agony as she lay face down in the sparring yard. Alondium had taken her through the full roster of students without a break. She swallowed the metallic-tasting blood from her mouth, feeling the roughness of her throat. Each part was a searing rage of pain as muscles pulled at broken and battered ribs. Her ankle was swollen, wrenched during one of her last bouts. So many pains and injuries screamed for her attention.

  Alondium had dismissed the students after her last bout but she remained behind, couldn’t have moved had she wanted to. She was able to remain on her feet until the last student left but after the threat was gone, her knees had dropped her to the ground.

  And here she lay.

  A door opened behind her and slow, even steps approached. She knew the gait by heart but could not come to her feet.

  “You look tired.”

  “I…won.” She panted.

  He walked around her head. “So I heard.”

  She wanted to ask why he had ordered her to win, but to ask would bring punishment.

  Gregor’s shoes came into view as he kneeled beside her. “How long did you think you could go on like this?”

  She blinked sweat out of her eyes as she tried to look up at him. “Sir?”

  He pulled a ledger from his pocket, leafing through a page at a time. “You fight Jenner every day, and every day he defeats you.” His voice rose playfu
lly. “Oh, some days it’s closer than others, but he always defeats you. How is it today you won?”

  Her brow furrowed as her mind worked. When she opened her mouth, a split in her lip reopened, trailing more blood down her chin. “Be-because you told me to win.”

  He toed her over and she landed on her back, swallowing a cry with every ounce of her remaining will. The face glaring down at her was angry and disappointed; she did not want to be the object of his emotion. “How long have you been holding back?” His quiet voice dripped danger.

  “I…”

  He jerked her up by the front of her shirt and she trembled as the fear overpowered her pain. “You have been lying to me! From this day on you will win the blanket or I will know the reason why!”

  She trembled as she swallowed, quaking gaze meeting steely gaze. “Yes sir.”

  He gave her a sharp shake before he released her shirt. By the time her vision cleared again, he was gone and she was alone.

  chapter 2

  Eylsa shrouded herself in shadows as she sat back to observe her target. Years of work and struggling to maintain her top ranking had sharpened her into a reed of a teenager. Her prowess had fetched quite the price when she was purchased. Work for her master had her out in this dank street hidden from the overhead streetlights. The alley in which she hid was deserted, leaving her in peaceful solitude for her reflection. Few braved the darkened market before her and it was a mark of strength to those who did. Nights in the Rhennon were notorious; those who survived them regularly gained a certain reputation. Not many survived more than one. With the shops closed and no bars on the main strip, there were few legal reasons to visit the Rhennon at night anyway.

  She slipped toward the mouth of the alley, easing the blades stashed along her forearms. Her boots were silent along the asphalt. Her target strode past the darkened stalls and shops, not even glancing at the shifting shadows of padfoots who watched from the darkness. Long robes flapped about his ankles as he stopped across from her vantage point and leaned against a shop front. She slid back into the alley as she melted into the surrounding walls before she ghosted along the spider-webbing network of streets. The town around the Rhennon was tough and prosperous but its streets were just as dangerous as the Rhennon itself.

  She stopped, back pressed against the wall as she crept toward the mouth of the narrow alley. Her breath slowed as she glanced out toward the Rhennon, at the man merely feet from where she crouched. She pulled a case from her back and kneeled beside it on the road. The well-oiled latches snapped beneath her practiced fingers as she opened the case and removed a short bow. Her hand dropped to a pouch laced into her tall boots and slipped an arrow free. She fitted it along her bow and eased toward the market. Dropping to a knee, she sighted along the arrow and smiled as she loosed it and it bloomed in the robed man’s neck. She sprinted to him, grabbing him as he staggered and pulled him into the darkness behind her.

  Blood bubbled from his mouth as he fumbled at the bolt jutting from his throat. She jerked the bolt free and wiped it clean on his robes as his eyes glazed over. A quick search of his clothes revealed a silver swan pendant hanging from a chain around his neck. She jerked it free, snatched up her bow case, and trotted off into the night.

  * * *

  King Mavrin smiled down at the silver swan resting on his palm. It was unmistakable—she had done it.

  His smile moved to the girl standing before him. She was slight and beautiful, her big blue eyes sharp. Her light hair was held back with a band but still fell nearly to her waist. She was resplendent in her tight-fitting black suit as she watched him.

  “You did well, as always Eylsa.”

  She inclined her head slightly. “You are kind, Master.”

  Mavrin stood and crossed behind her as he fingered the small metal bird. His thick salt and pepper hair just brushed his shoulders with his movement. He bent down to whisper in her ear. “You are becoming quite a formidable force, don’t you agree?”

  “That is not for me to say, Master.”

  He ran the back of his knuckles down her cheek. “So young. You should retire and get some rest; you have had a long journey.”

  She inclined her head again. “Of course, Master.”

  He relaxed as the door shut behind her and turned to face the dark-haired youth as he stepped from the shadows. The young man had his father’s height with chocolate eyes and handsome face to match. His suit was smattered with dark gems that glittered in the shifting light of the chandeliers and cinched at the waist with a gold embroidered sash.

  “Ashlan come, sit with me awhile.”

  “Of course, Father.”

  Ashlan strode with a casual grace toward the throne.

  “With Kirlo dead, that leaves me as the head of the Trinity. Soon the profits will begin redirecting to me. With Eylsa at my back, no one will dare to stand against me.”

  It had been too easy, using the young assassin to remove his rivals and secure his new position. Mavrin belonged at the head of the Trinity—running the northern blood gang was his rightful destiny. The older man’s eyes sparkled with the thought of the power at his fingertips, the men at his command. A finger rose and trailed along his chin as he pondered everything he could do with the power: extortion, blackmail… He could extend his reach across the continent! Perhaps even go beyond the Trinity.

  He glanced toward his son. “Nothing will stand in my way.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “It is time to move past securing my dominance. Who is our most dangerous obstacle?”

  Ashlan tilted his head as he calculated. “Outside of the Trinity, the most feared man is Darius.”

  “Precisely. For too long that old man has worried our people. Too many of our ventures have gone awry because of that man and his little cronies.”

  Ashlan’s eyes widened. “You can’t possibly be thinking of sending Eylsa against him. I know she is amazing, but Darius is too heavily guarded, too strong even for her.”

  Mavrin eased down onto his throne and waited for his son to drop into the chair beside him. “What do you know of Darius?”

  Ashlan’s face remained stoic as he held his building ire. “I know he is not a man to be trifled with. You send Eylsa against him, she will not survive. You promised her to me. Do not throw her away so casually!”

  Mavrin’s expression iced over, stalling the younger man’s rant. “Calm down boy, I will not mishandle such an asset.” He tapped his fingers together as the boy beside him calmed. “Darius prides himself on his impact with the next generation. Children are his weakness.”

  Ashlan’s face twisted in confusion. “Children? What does that have to do with anything?”

  The king tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Eylsa’s youth will protect her. Darius will be unwilling to harm her. He will want to protect her, save her from her fate.” His hand closed into a fist. “She is perfect now. She will be the one to kill Darius.” His eyes sparkled with a malevolent glee. Old man Darius, bane of all good hardworking organizations like the Trinity. Killing Darius would give him sway over more than just the Trinity. Killing him would earn him power even in the Pride, maybe even in the Tribunal itself. No leader of the Trinity had ever gained sway in the Tribunal before, not to the extent he would achieve.

  Ashlan stared at the door through which Eylsa had disappeared. “I still don’t like it.”

  “It is not for you to like. Eylsa is mine to do with as I please, if I say go, she goes. I cannot waste this opportunity. It has been decided.”

  * * *

  Brendan ran a hand through his hair as he tried not to sigh. His dark slacks and long sleeve dress shirt were unusual and irritating against his skin. The stiff folding chair beneath him was building an ache in his back as his gray eyes scanned the room. The men around him were frightened. Hell, everyone was frightened. Seven bodies in one week, most unidentified. No one at the Tribunal knew what it meant but the only things Brendan could imagine were all bad.
The Tribunal itself was in upheaval, trying to keep the citizens safe when the vicious criminals of the Trinity were involved was no easy task. The Council demanded answers, and no one had them.

  He glanced over at Darius, who was silent as he watched the men around them argue. There were new lines of worry even around his sharp eyes and that was even more terrifying. Nothing frightened Darius.

  For years, Darius had been his mentor, his teacher. The wizened old man was the epitome of what the Tribunal looked for and there was nothing more dear to Brendan than following in his footsteps. Soon he hoped to move beyond his mere internship under Darius to a real position within the Tribunal. He would make his own name, and make his mentor proud.

  The buzz of the room pulled his attention back as the arguing rose again.

  “The streets are already patrolled; Indarian was killed not three feet from Aganar Station! The trains are still not running because everyone is too scared to return. We have to know what this madman is up to!” Short and slight, Ignatious pumped his fist in anger.

  A stranger Brendan didn’t know jumped to his feet, face red. “And how do you intend to divine that? We have no clue who the killer is or who is directing them!”

  “We have to do something! I say we start rounding up as many known criminals as we can and start questioning until we get some answers.” Ignatious looked around the room for support.

  “Do you have any idea how many man hours that would take? And just where do you intend to find the men? Are you proposing that we take manpower from the patrols? With a killer running wild?”

  Darius stood, drawing a hush across the room. He was tall and handsome, despite the age-lined face and close cropped gray hair. The muted robes he always wore swayed with his careful movements. Quiet and dignified, everyone listened when Darius spoke.

  “I am sure no one is proposing that we reduce the patrols. Until we know more, patrolling is the best way to ensure the safety of all. In the meantime, I believe the best course of action is to look into the identities of the bodies we have in the morgue. Now I’m sure we all have work to be done.”