The Perfect Assassin

by K A Doore

  “Do you understand?” asked Yufit. “One life in exchange for another. It’s more than a fair trade—hers must be worth a hundred of yours, as bloody as your hands are.”

  … something I’ve been working toward for as long as I can remember. I’d call it my destiny, if I believed in such a thing. If I pull it off, the city will be safer. You’ll be safer. We’ll all be safer … You came along, Asaf, and I realized I wasn’t just protecting Ghadid.

  I was protecting you.

  “Yufit,” said Amastan, but the name was little more than a breath that passed between his lips. Yufit didn’t hear him.

  Menna heard. She glanced at him, eyes wide. She’d recognized Yufit’s voice, too. The glimmer of hope he hadn’t even known he’d been harboring vanished. It wasn’t a delusion.

  “How do I know you won’t withhold the antidote?” asked Tamella.

  “Unlike you, I’m not a monster,” said Yufit. “I don’t kill the innocent. Only the guilty. If your friends let me go, the girl will have the antidote within the hour. Do you understand?”

  A tense silence swallowed the rooftop. Amastan and the rest of his cousins might as well not have been there, for Yufit had eyes only for Tamella. Menna held tight to Thana, as if the girl might try to run. Waning moonlight thinned shadows and flattened faces as the moon reached its zenith. The horizon flashed and Amastan felt thunder shudder through the rooftop and the soles of his feet. Dihya and Azulay stood tight as bows, ready to be fired at Tamella’s slightest command. But blades couldn’t stop a poison.

  Tamella dropped her head. Her shoulders sagged. “I do.”

  “Drop the sword. Kneel.”

  Tamella let her sword drop to the rooftop with a clatter and knelt. Thana cried out, started forward, but Menna held her back. Yufit approached Tamella, a knife already in his hand. Amastan knew he should say something, reveal he was Asaf, rush and stop Yufit, but his body was paralyzed with indecision. Surely Tamella wouldn’t let Yufit do this, surely she wouldn’t just stay kneeling, surely she would fight back—

  Surely Yufit hadn’t actually poisoned Thana—

  Surely—

  “Tell me one thing, though,” said Tamella, speaking to the ground. “Why? Why Yanniq? Why Emet? Why Usem?”

  “You’re a plague on this city,” said Yufit. “A tumor that the drum chiefs were too weak to remove. You killed Saman and now you’re finally facing the consequences.”

  “But why?” Now Tamella did look up, and her face held no fear, only confusion. “Drum Chief Saman has been dead for years. You’re not one of her children. What could you possibly have to do with her?”

  “I am Yufit Uzbamen, son of Hennu ma Saman.”

  “Huh,” said Tamella. “I never knew Hennu had a son.”

  A name, scratched out. No—

  “Few did.”

  Yufit’s knife caught the moonlight as he stepped close to Tamella. He wound his fingers into Tamella’s braids and pulled her head back. He brought his knife to her exposed throat and—

  THUD

  Tamella jerked her head back, slamming her skull into Yufit’s chin. Yufit staggered back, his knife slicing skin, but not deep enough. Tamella rose to her feet, as smooth as a snake. Her hands twitched and knives slid from hidden sheathes at her wrists and into her waiting hands. She didn’t wait for Yufit to gather himself.

  The Serpent struck.

  Her blades bit deep, sliding up beneath his ribcage. She drew her blades out and Yufit crumpled, wheezing for air. Dihya and Azulay started forward, but Tamella raised a hand. They stopped.

  “Both of your lungs are punctured,” said Tamella. “You’ve got one, maybe two hours to live if you stay still and calm. That should be more than enough time to tell me where the antidote is. I wouldn’t recommend trying to crawl to a healer by yourself. Trust me—you won’t make it.”

  “I won’t … tell you…,” gasped Yufit.

  “Fine.” Tamella wiped her blades clean on her wrap and sheathed them. She freed a much smaller knife from her belt, this one thin as a razor and not much longer. “We can do this the hard way. I don’t really care.” She turned partially toward Menna and Amastan. “Take Thana home. She doesn’t need to see this.” She beckoned to the other two cousins. “Help me hold him down.”

  “See what?” asked Amastan, the words as hollow as his chest.

  Thana tried to step toward her mother, but Menna held her back. Thana’s expression was clouded with worry. “Please—don’t—”

  “Go. Home.” The force of Tamella’s words were enough to send Thana stumbling back.

  Dihya grabbed Yufit’s left arm and Azulay his right. They wrestled him to the rooftop as Tamella loomed over Yufit like her namesake. Menna steered Thana toward the roof’s edge, but Amastan was frozen in place.

  Yufit had killed Yanniq. Yufit had saved him from the jaani. Yufit had killed Emet. Yufit had sat with him and watched the stars come out. Yufit had killed Usem. Yufit had drawn back his tagel—

  Tamella struck. Yufit grunted in pain. A line sliced through his eyebrow and welled red. He struggled against the cousins’ grip, but they were much stronger. His breathing was quickly becoming ragged and wet. Tamella considered him, pressing the point of her blade against her fingertip.

  “Tell me where the antidote is,” said Tamella.

  But Yufit only glared.

  Amastan could see what would happen next. Yufit wasn’t going to fight back and he wasn’t going to give up the antidote. He’d make Tamella kill him first. He’d still get his revenge when Tamella was forced to watch her daughter die.

  And that would only be the beginning of his revenge. Once Drum Chief Hennu found out her son was dead—and she would—Tamella would face the Circle again. A second death, a second time Tamella had acted without a contract. This time, there would be no clemency. Not for her and not for the family.

  If Yufit died here on the rooftop tonight, then so did any chance of proving to the drum chiefs that he was behind Yanniq’s death. They wouldn’t listen to Tamella when she had blood on her hands. Amastan would fail and the family would be disbanded, if not worse.

  Unless he stopped her.

  As Menna and Thana disappeared over the roof’s edge, Amastan cautiously approached Tamella, feeling renewed pain in his leg with each step. Dihya had her back to him, but Azulay lifted his head and watched, curious. Tamella put her knee on Yufit’s chest and leaned in, slowly increasing the pressure. She reached up and slid her knife behind his ear.

  “Let’s start here, shall we?”

  Yufit glared his silent defiance.

  “There’s another way.” Amastan crossed the last few feet so that he stood within striking distance of Yufit—and Tamella. “Let me talk to him.”

  Tamella’s eyes narrowed. Her knife stayed tucked behind Yufit’s ear. But Amastan was watching Yufit. Had he recognized Amastan’s voice? Was that a flicker of recognition, or of annoyance? Yufit met his gaze with his steel-cold eyes. Why hadn’t Amastan recognized those eyes before? But this Yufit blazed with hatred and anger and a violence that the Yufit he’d known had never expressed.

  Never … except for when he’d spoken of the Serpent.

  “You know what’s at stake,” said Tamella. “It’s too late for talk. Stay back.”

  “I’m not Asaf.”

  Those weren’t the words Amastan had meant to say, but those were the ones that came tumbling out. For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Then Yufit’s calm cracked. Pain and hurt flashed across his eyes, but they were quickly crowded out by hot anger. Worse than the anger, though, was Yufit’s continued silence.

  Tamella’s gaze flicked to Amastan. “You two know each other?”

  Amastan knelt next to Dihya at Yufit’s shoulder. He felt her stiffen, but she didn’t move or let go. “Please,” said Amastan. “It doesn’t have to end this way. The Circle made their decision. Let the past be the past.”

  “You’re one of them.”

  The venom in Yufit’s tone c
ut Amastan deep. Then Yufit twisted the knife by turning his head away. Tamella’s hand tracked with his ear, but otherwise she didn’t move. Despite her protests, she was giving Amastan a chance to make his case. Amastan just had to make the best of it.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to Saman,” continued Amastan. He felt both of his cousins’ gazes heavy on him. Shame crept up his neck, warm as a fever, but he kept going. “But she conspired to start a civil war. If she hadn’t been stopped, a lot of people would’ve been hurt. Killed, even. Her hands weren’t clean.”

  Yufit stayed silent. Tamella moved her blade from his ear to his throat. The gesture communicated enough—she was done with threats. It was up to Amastan to convince Yufit with words. Otherwise …

  “I’m not Asaf,” repeated Amastan, quieter now. “My name is Amastan.”

  Tamella stiffened and she shot him a warning look. Yufit kept his gaze on Azulay’s leg, ignoring him. The wind picked up, tugging at Amastan’s tagel.

  “Killing an innocent girl won’t bring back Saman,” said Amastan. “Neither will killing the Serpent. Please.”

  “None of you are innocent.”

  Tamella hissed through her teeth. Her blade bit into his neck and blood welled up in the thin cut, trickled, fell. Yufit closed his eyes, accepting his fate. His breathing was becoming labored and there was a distinctly wet rattle to it. Dully, Amastan realized that this is what Yufit had meant when he’d talked about not coming back. On the glasshouse just last night, Yufit had told him that he planned on confronting the Serpent. He’d never intended to survive this confrontation. If only Amastan had listened.

  “Ghadid won’t be safer without Thana in it,” pressed Amastan. “Nor will it be safer without the Serpent. We keep the balance. We’re a lot like you, I think—we want Ghadid to be safe.”

  “You’re nothing like me,” spat Yufit.

  Amastan licked his lips. He felt like he was losing with every second that passed. He wasn’t good with words, he’d never tried to convince anyone before, especially not of something so important, something he’d struggled with himself. His fingers found the knot of his tagel behind his ear. He remembered the feel of Yufit’s hand there, on his skin. Warm as air. And then lips, like an inhalation before a storm.

  His fingers loosened the knot, pulled it free. His tagel dropped. Dihya jerked back as if stung. Azulay let out an audible gasp and looked away. Yufit’s gaze was dragged to his and for a moment, that hate cracked. Dissipated. Amastan no longer stared at a stranger.

  For a moment, it was going to be okay.

  Then the hate returned. Yufit squeezed his eyes shut. “I’d rather go through all the seven hells than be anything like you.”

  Tamella sighed. “You can’t reason with hate.”

  “Please,” begged Amastan, at a loss of what else to do. “Yufit—where’s the antidote?”

  Yufit didn’t open his eyes. His breathing had become even, if wetter than before. He’d accepted his fate.

  “The healers will save her,” said Tamella. She tensed and shifted her weight and Amastan knew that he was out of time.

  “Stop!” he cried. “You can’t—he’s Hennu’s son. If you kill him, the drum chiefs won’t forgive you. They won’t forgive us. It’ll be the end of the family.”

  “Maybe it’s time for the family to end,” said Tamella, her voice as cold as a winter wind.

  Amastan stared at her, unbelieving. Azulay looked uncertain, but he didn’t let go of Yufit. Dihya kept her face down, her expression hidden. Amastan couldn’t let this happen.

  He wouldn’t let this happen.

  Amastan stood. He carefully knotted his tagel back behind his ear. Then he drew his own twin blades. “No.”

  Tamella turned toward him, nothing but disdain in her posture and tone. “Go home, Amastan.”

  “No.”

  “Your part in this is done,” said Tamella. “You did your best. But sometimes your best is still not good enough. This man killed Usem. He would kill my daughter. I can’t let him live.”

  Yufit’s breath caught and his eyes opened. “Daughter?”

  And Amastan saw it, all at once. Yufit outside at the funeral. Yufit there by chance. But no—he’d been watching who’d come to Usem’s funeral. He’d seen Rema walking with Thana. Had thought Thana was her daughter. Therefore: Tamella’s niece.

  Yufit had gravely miscalculated.

  “This ends tonight,” continued Tamella. “If the Circle had acted when it was in their power to do so, we’d never be here. So no, I don’t trust them to handle this. I’d rather let things fall the way they will than allow my brother’s murderer to go free.”

  “No,” repeated Amastan. He shifted his stance, brought up his blades. “You’re wrong. Killing him won’t help anything, it’ll only make things worse. I won’t let you kill Yufit.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” said Tamella. “You can’t fight me.”

  Amastan pressed his lips tight, letting his silence be his answer.

  Tamella rolled her eyes. Then she struck. Not at Amastan—her knife cut toward Yufit’s throat. But Amastan had been waiting for this and he acted as soon as he saw her shoulders tense. He blocked her knife with his blade, turned it aside, and used the moment of her surprise and unbalance to push her away. His leg protested, but held. He put himself between her and Yufit. Now he just had two more cousins to contend with.

  Dihya was quicker. She let go of Yufit and drew her ax, then swung the flat of it at Amastan’s head. Amastan caught the head of her ax between his blades, the force of her blow making his teeth ache. He cut down, throwing Dihya off balance, then spun and forced Azulay to jump back, letting go of Yufit. Azulay unslung his machete and eyed Amastan. Between them, Yufit slumped on the ground, his breathing harsh and uneven.

  His cousins fell back, flanking him but no longer attacking. Amastan turned to find Tamella considering him. She’d picked up her sword and now held it at the ready, its tip aimed at Amastan’s heart.

  “This is your last warning,” she said. “Step aside.”

  Amastan set his feet. Ignored the pulsing pain in his thigh. Raised his weapons. “No.”

  For a moment, it felt like every other practice session they’d had. But this time when Tamella attacked, she held nothing back. Her sword swung as fast as a viper’s strike. But Amastan knew her moves, knew them well enough to dance with. So dance he did.

  He didn’t think. He moved. He sidestepped her swing, felt the breath of sliced air as her sword missed him by a finger’s width. He brought up his blades, caught the underside of her sword as she shifted, recovered. He heaved up with all of his strength, sending her stumbling back. Giving him a breath of room.

  Dihya came for him next. His cousins were still acting out their play on the rooftops, waiting their turn and fighting clean. It was more than enough against a mark. But Amastan wasn’t a mark.

  He ducked her ax and swung his shoulder into her stomach. Dihya oofed and doubled over. Amastan smacked her wrist with the butt of his blade and her fingers sprang open, dropping her ax. He kicked it across the roof, then spun, catching Azulay’s machete and deflecting it. He stepped into Azulay’s space, came so close he could smell Azulay’s clove-spiced breath.

  “Sorry,” he said, then stomped on Azulay’s bare foot with all of his weight.

  Azulay screamed, fell back. Amastan turned to face Tamella again. She’d drawn near, only to hesitate when he got too close to Azulay. Her expression was calm fury. She swung.

  Amastan dropped, rolled away. As Tamella recovered from her swing, Amastan got back to his feet. Tamella didn’t wait for him to recover. She charged. Amastan danced to the side, but his leg crumbled beneath him and then Dihya was there, her fists full of knives. One hand sliced across his fingers and he dropped a blade. Another hand grabbed his tagel and yanked his head down to meet her knee.

  His vision erupted with stars. Amastan gasped, sagged. Hands grabbed his, yanked his arms behind his back, his other blade
from his hand. Amastan didn’t struggle; he knew when it was over.

  Tamella loomed before him, her eyes twin pits of rage. The corner of her lip curled up in a snarl, but Amastan’s gaze was drawn past her. Behind, to the rooftop beyond.

  The empty rooftop beyond.

  “Too late,” said Amastan, voice rough. “He’s gone.”

  Tamella whirled around. Let out a snarl of disbelief. She threw her sword on the ground. Then she turned and struck Amastan across the face. Amastan fell, hitting his head so hard against the rooftop his ears sang. A fuzziness burst and swelled and expanded, black as ink across his vision, cold as frost across his skin. The last thing Amastan remembered seeing was the moon.

  27

  Rough hands hauled him up until he was sitting. Amastan’s eyes flew open and he stared into the face of fury. His disorientation was doubled by the fact that he was still on the rooftop, still surrounded by his cousins. Yufit was gone. How long had he been out? Seconds? Minutes?

  Hours?

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you,” said Tamella.

  Amastan blinked, his thoughts fuzzy and vague. He registered that Dihya and Azulay were still there, each armed again, waiting. Piecemeal, he remembered what had happened. Why he was on a roof. Why his head pounded. Why his thigh felt as if it were on fire.

  Thana—Tamella—Yufit. Bile rose in his throat, acrid and sharp, but he swallowed it.

  “I know who Yufit is,” said Amastan. “And I know Drum Chief Hennu is involved. I almost have the evidence to condemn her. I can bring them both to justice.”

  “Hennu,” snarled Tamella. “Of course. I should’ve realized. You can never quit the family, no matter how hard you try.”

  Amastan shook his head, uncertain if he’d heard correctly. “Hennu has something to do with our family?”

  “Hennu’s a cousin,” spat Tamella. “Was a cousin. When she married a drum chief, she had to give up that title.”

  “Why … why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why did it matter?” asked Tamella, opening one hand. “Cousins leave. A lifetime of training will never guarantee a lifetime of service. There might’ve been a time when leaving the family meant death, but that time is long past.”