Cast in Secrets and Shadow

by Andrea Robertson

  She slipped out of the slumbering wizard’s chamber into the second-floor hallway. No assassin worth their salt couldn’t move silently, and Dagger glided down the stairs without so much as a scrape of her shoe against marble.

  The first thing she noticed about the main hall of the temple was that the walls were moving. Dagger was usually unperturbed by even the strangest sights, but something about the glossy, shivering surfaces on either side of her made her skin crawl and her stomach clench. Making a mental note that under no circumstances should she touch said walls, Dagger made her way along the hall, keeping to the shadows, until she found the entry to the bowels of the temple. Here she encountered the first obstacle to remove: two guards.

  She made a quick assessment, determining these were brutes of the banal sort and not endowed with any supernatural abilities that might complicate things. Dropping into a crouch, she withdrew a pebble from her pocket. Dagger tossed it into the shadows at her back. The small stone clinked and skittered across the ebony marble floor.

  The guards snapped to attention, heads swiveling toward the sound.

  “I’ll check it out,” one of them grunted.

  He lumbered toward the pebble, quickly swallowed by darkness.

  When he was within Dagger’s reach, she rose up like a spirit at his back. One arm wrapped around his body, plunging a needle into his thigh, while her other hand clapped over his mouth. The paralyzing agent that coated the needle worked in a matter of seconds. Dagger braced herself against the man’s considerable weight and slowly eased him to the floor.

  The second guard called out to his companion. Failing to get a reply, the man came into the shadows looking for him. In moments, he was on the floor, too.

  Gliding noiselessly down the spiral staircase, Dagger stopped when she stood outside the single cell in the dungeon’s upper reaches. She took her time surveying the figure curled on the cot within. Even balled up as he was, she could see he was tall, but very thin. His tightly coiled body suggested fear, as if he expected to be struck.

  “Prince Eamon.”

  He bolted upright with a gasp of alarm, blinking into the dark. “Who’s there?”

  “A visitor.” She sidled up to his cell, knowing that in the dim light she was little more than a shadow to him.

  The prince swung his feet around, resting them on the floor and sitting at his full height. The change in his posture was a study in contrasts. He no longer looked like a terrified prisoner; instead, he appeared weary. Beaten down, but not broken.

  “I’m going to ask you some questions,” Dagger said. “You will answer them.”

  Eamon didn’t reply. He simply watched her.

  “I could make this a much less pleasant conversation.” She drew one of her namesakes.

  Eamon eyed the blade, then seemed to decide something. “You’re not going to torture me. You’re here to either kill me or extract information, and if it’s the latter, torture isn’t Zenar’s style. If he believes I have more to tell him, he’d want to get the information himself.”

  His confidence threw her off balance. She’d thought the princeling would cower at the sight of the blade. His steady resolve was a surprise. She hadn’t believed he had any steel in his spine. Whatever fears he battled in his dreams, he wasn’t willing to show them here.

  “But maybe that means you weren’t sent by Zenar.” He frowned. “Then who . . .”

  Even in the dim light, she could see him blanch.

  “My sister?” His voice came out as a creaky whisper.

  Dagger made a show of inspecting her blade. “I don’t discuss clients.”

  His eyes wandered to her weapon, and the first hint of fear flickered over his features. “Or the Resistance.” He paused, gazing at the dagger. “They’d want me dead. And I deserve it.”

  His words gave her pause. Something about the boy’s innocence, his naked admissions of his own faults, moved her in a way no target’s pleading for mercy ever had.

  Eamon didn’t speak for several moments. He stood up and crossed the cell until he stood just beyond her reach.

  “Zenar filled my head with stories about the empire’s greatness, the inevitability of its dominance. I believed the stories because I wanted to. It was easier to believe than question.”

  With a sigh, he bent his head. “But the children . . . they change everything.”

  Though his words flared through her like lightning, Dagger masked her interest.

  Eamon continued, “I don’t know what’s happening to them, but it must be terrible.”

  His gaze floated to the spiral of stairs descending past his cell. “That’s where they’re taken. Down into the dark.”

  He fell silent and stared into shadows. When he turned back, Dagger was gone.

  * * *

  It hadn’t been her intention to make her way into the man’s bed.

  Commander Liran was supposedly an ally, and part of Dagger’s assignment was to report to him what she’d discerned about Prince Eamon as well as return to Garet with any new intelligence the man had to offer. Dagger usually would have shown her flair for drama by sitting at his desk and striking a match, knowing the sound would wake him. Or she could perch on his windowsill, letting her shadow fall over him before making a noise that was quiet but enough to rouse him from sleep.

  She’d been pleased to discover that the commander of the Vokkan armies had enough sense to lock his window. But no locks could resist Dagger’s manipulation. Upon seeing the commander stretched out on his bed, however, his long body composed of corded muscle and marked by interesting scars, she had changed her mind. As she approached the bedside, she took note that Commander Liran wasn’t one of those officers who hid in vaunted halls giving orders while his men bled and died in the field. No, this man fought side by side with his soldiers. The hard, carved strength of his body and the marks left by blades and burns attested to that.

  So why had this warrior turned against his father, forsaking all the benefits he must reap from being the son of Emperor Fauld? Dagger was surprised by how much she wanted his explanation. She was viciously curious to know exactly who he was—this imperial warrior turned agent of the Resistance.

  Dagger rested one knee on the edge of the bed, not yet letting any of her weight sink into the mattress. In an instant her arms were seized and she was on her back, pinned to the bed by the commander’s very impressive arms.

  “Who are you?” He spoke through clenched teeth.

  She almost laughed, having expected this, but was still oddly gratified that he hadn’t disappointed her by failing to notice someone had entered his bedchamber. But laughing would give him time to make her actually vulnerable.

  Instead, her arms slithered from his grip—his strength no match for her litheness. Strong men had the easily exploited fault of assuming a smaller person, particularly a woman, would flounder at any display of dominance. Dagger had honed the skills to prevent that from happening.

  Upon triggering a spring at her wrist, a slim blade darted out like a striking snake. It barely grazed Liran’s flesh, certainly not enough to break the skin, but he froze, eyes widening. Her blade was positioned for a thrust to his heart.

  Dagger smiled as she watched him swallow.

  “You should let me do the talking,” she said sweetly. “Now move.”

  * * *

  Liran stared down at the woman beneath him. She was slight in figure and dressed head to toe in black but for the strand of pale-blond hair that had escaped the wrapping around her head and neck.

  She was disturbingly calm and dangerously quick. He’d been sure he was in control of the situation when she’d slipped out of his grasp as easily as if his skin had been an oil slick.

  She pressed him back, forcing him off the bed then backing him up into a wall.

  “I’m a friend,” she said, despite all evide
nce to the contrary.

  Her voice fascinated him; it was like the purring of a cat. “If we’re friends I’d appreciate you putting that away.”

  Her tone became matter-of-fact. “We have much to discuss. And I’d prefer to do it in a more peaceful way, though probably not as much as you would.”

  “Probably not.”

  Her blade stayed exactly where it was.

  “Unfortunately,” she continued, “I cannot alter our current relationship until you’ve answered a question.”

  He cleared his throat before speaking again. “What’s the question?”

  Her smile was suddenly as sharp as her blade. “Why are there children being held captive beneath the Temple of Vokk?”

  If Liran’s body had already been rigid, now it turned to stone. By Vokk’s hunger, he only had one answer to give her. If she didn’t believe him, this would go very badly. As much as he hated to admit it, more likely for him than her.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How can that be?” She added the tiniest pressure with the blade, and Liran grimaced.

  “I only recently discovered it was happening,” Liran told her, each word carrying an edge of strain. Eamon’s revelation that Zenar had imprisoned children in the bowels of the temple had shocked and sickened him. He’d sworn to himself that he would uncover the reasons for their abduction and put a stop to it, but he didn’t know how or when he’d find a way to do so. Maybe this stranger could help him. Her skills were impressive.

  He’d never been compromised like this. Never made this vulnerable. He did not like it, but he couldn’t stop himself from marveling that she’d accomplished the feat.

  He continued, “Prior to that, I had no idea they were here, and I still don’t know why. But I’m certain it’s nothing good, as I’m certain my brother, Zenar, is behind it. It must be stopped.”

  He watched her jaw working. “The ArchWizard is behind the kidnappings.”

  Liran nodded.

  Another question. “How did you find out?”

  She hadn’t cut him, or even nicked him. He hoped that was a good sign.

  “Prince Eamon asked the same question you did,” Liran answered. “That was the first I’d heard of any children in the temple.”

  She spent a long time searching his eyes. It felt like she was reaching inside him, and he was finding it difficult to breathe. And, impossibly, that had nothing to do with the position of her blade.

  Tilting her head, she smiled again. “My assessment was the same.”

  Liran heard a soft snick, and suddenly the pressure of the blade was gone.

  A breath of relief surged out of his lungs.

  She walked away, settling on the edge of his bed. “I’m called Dagger.”

  “That’s a little on the nose, isn’t it?” he said with a flat smile. It occurred to him that he should arm himself, but the situation had improved a great deal, and he surmised that going for a weapon would not be in his interest at the moment.

  Dagger shrugged in reply.

  Liran dragged the chair at his small writing table to face her and sat down. “Why are you here, Dagger? Other than to prove you could kill me.”

  “I was just teasing, Commander.” She had the audacity to laugh. “Come now, don’t be cross.”

  Her behavior astonished him. He couldn’t puzzle her out, and he resented the way it made her fascinating.

  “I came here on assignment from our mutual friends.”

  So she was with the Resistance. Interesting.

  “Eamon presents a possible threat,” Dagger continued. “I’m here to assess whether that threat needs to be removed.”

  “You’re an assassin,” Liran murmured, his blood going cold. As far as he knew, he’d never met an assassin before, and he held an inherent distrust of the profession. As a soldier, he believed if killing had to be done it should occur on the field of battle, not in the shadows wrapped in secrecy and deception.

  She rolled her eyes. “And you’re one of those.”

  “I don’t follow.” He was fairly sure he’d just been insulted.

  “Noble and narrow-minded enough not to see that stomping across fields and swinging swords will not solve particular types of problems that cannot be ignored,” she sighed. “People like me are the solution to said problems.”

  Liran didn’t reply, but his mouth set in a grim line.

  She sighed, and he was shocked when she reached out to pat his cheek. “I’m sure you’ll come around.”

  “I will do no—”

  “I’ve determined,” she cut him off, “that Eamon isn’t a threat. In fact, he could be an asset, but only if he decides he doesn’t deserve to die. More specifically, if he decides that he could help his sister by helping the Resistance.”

  He frowned at her. “That’s no simple task.”

  “No,” she agreed. Then she took his hand in hers and pressed it over her heart. His own lurched in reply. “But I believe in you.”

  She fluttered her lashes mockingly, and he pulled his hand back, but not quickly enough to keep the sensation of her curves pressing into his fingertips from burning into them.

  “Why does it fall to me to recruit Prince Eamon?” Liran muttered.

  “I would think that’s obvious,” Dagger replied. “You’re here.”

  Liran scoffed. “I command armies. I don’t comfort children with broken hearts.”

  “I’d wager you’ve never tried the latter,” she said.

  “No, but—”

  “If you’re terrible at it, we’ll find another way.” She had an infuriating habit of interrupting him. “But for the moment, you’ll do.”

  Liran leaned toward her. He couldn’t help himself. In the dim light he couldn’t tell what color her eyes were, and he was embarrassingly desirous to know.

  Dagger watched him, her lips curving in a languid smile. Liran’s hands balled into fists.

  Vokk spare me, I’m dying to touch her.

  He was certain he’d lose fingers for it if he dared.

  She leaned toward him, bringing their faces very close. “Do you have anything to share with me?”

  He could not be drawn to her this way. She was an assassin. He despised assassins. As he tried to focus on her repellant profession instead of what he craved, it struck him that Dagger wasn’t necessarily part of the Resistance. More likely, she was part of the Below.

  And he absolutely did have information she needed. When he straightened, his posture stiffening, her eyes narrowed.

  “The Below has been compromised,” he told her. “The Low King of Sola has sold the others out to the empire. There will be raids, arrests . . .”

  She drew a sharp breath. “You’re certain?”

  The mask of cool indifference she wore slipped for a moment, revealing stark fear. If true, the news was disastrous.

  “I’m doing what I can to slow up the imperial response,” he continued. “But if I interfere too much it will compromise my position here, and my ability to retain a connection with the Resistance.”

  “I understand.” She nodded slowly. “I must go. If the Below has a traitor, it could ruin everything. If they know Lucket’s plans . . .”

  She stood, turning away.

  “Will you come back?” He wished he didn’t care what her answer was.

  Dagger didn’t reply at first, but she looked at him.

  “I have to report back what I’ve learned here,” Dagger finally said. “That will take some time.” She paused, a smile curving one corner of her mouth. “But you’ll see me again.”

  He had to stop himself from demanding, When?

  “For progress reports,” she added.

  Liran’s chest burned at his foolishness. The sooner this woman—this assassin—was out of his life, the better.

 
But Dagger was leaning toward him again. “And . . . because I like you,” she said softly. She sounded as surprised as he felt. But that didn’t stop her from brushing her lips over his.

  “Yes, Commander,” she whispered, breathless. “I like you very much.”

  Before Liran could respond, she was across the room and through the window, vanishing into the night.

  23

  The noise alone shook Ara to the core. A sea of people moved through the market, crowds that surged and fell back like the swells of the ocean. Shouts, laughter, hawking, braying, trilling, grunting, screeching all came together as the music of the Great Market. It took her breath away.

  She once again sat beside Teth. Her mind kept returning to her conversation with Nimhea. Ara knew she needed to talk to him, but she dreaded it. She didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Her feelings were wrapped up in fear and doubt.

  The volatility of her emotions was only exacerbated by the intimidating task ahead. Somewhere in this chaos and din was a secret shrine to Nava. Only there could they find—or so they hoped—the location of Nava’s hidden site, where the next Loresmith trial would take place. And they had to do it quickly. The sooner they were away from the Great Market, the better Ara would feel.

  While Lucket’s plan for their group to pose as merchants was sound, Teth alone was accustomed to disguises and hiding his identity. The rest of them were rank amateurs, and there was no guarantee that they could successfully evade notice of the many imperial soldiers who patrolled the marketplace. The entire scheme set Ara’s teeth on edge.

  Teth kept up calls of reassurance to the horses as the wagon fought its way along crisscrossing paths. The packhorses recruited to draw the wagon proved they were made of sturdy stuff, keeping calm despite the frequency of people darting in front of them and loud, alarming sounds.

  Joar and Lahvja had the more difficult task, each leading a pair of riding mounts. These four horses were much more skittish, given to prancing and spooking amid the chaos. Ara worried that in the raging river of people, carts, and animals, they’d be separated, and she kept a careful eye on her friends and their troublesome charges.