Chapter Twenty-Nine
Analleia
Changing was a matter of fluid movements.
I discarded my feathered mask, pulling a dark one made of cloth from an inner pocket and securing it behind my head.
The outer layer of the bodice was removed, my assassin’s garb layered underneath.
I discarded my skirt in favor of the black leggings underneath and swung a thin cloak around my shoulders.
I reentered the ball a different person, careful to avoid running into Valeris again.
Even though my appearance had changed, I sensed he could pick me out in the crowd if given the opportunity.
The masked ball was in full swing, the merriment only increasing as many of the guests grew more intoxicated with liquor.
I hoped Wylan Athello had made an appearance by now, and after a few minutes of searching I found him.
I made small talk with those around me, keeping my eyes peeled for whenever the man would leave.
It took more than an hour. An hour of watching him and making sure Valeris or his bodyguard didn’t enter the room. I never caught sight of the latter.
The guests filtered out as the night stretched on, thinning out the crowd and making it harder to stay incognito. Wylan broke apart from the group he had been conversing with, but he wasn’t heading toward the royal chambers. I tailed him as he wended his way through the palace. The privy, perhaps?
I cut through a parallel corridor, trying to get ahead of him.
I planned on using the Hrakka powder, what we should have used in the first place, but Hrakka powder required getting the target alone where we wouldn’t be interrupted.
I secured a black scarf around my nose, leaving only my blue eyes exposed, but my hood hid them and my hair, pulled up to conceal them in the shadows.
I stopped before the privy, leaning against the wall and bending over, pretending I was on the verge of throwing up.
Footsteps approached from behind, and I moved the Hrakka powder into my gloved palm.
My heart hammered, and I took several measured breaths, forcing myself to keep calm.
Blowing the powder in his face and retrieving the ring would be the easy part.
Making sure no one else entered the corridor during that time was the unpredictable element.
I also had to time it just right, but I had done this before. I could do it again. In and out.
I heard a slight pause in his steps, as if he were analyzing me.
He was almost there. I made a gagging sound and waited until he was right next to me before spinning, lifting my hand up and blowing the Hrakka powder directly into his face.
I stepped back, a small twinge of relief running through me as I waited for the drug to take effect.
Waited for him to fall to his knees before hitting the floor unconscious.
He shook his head, wiped the powder from his face, then sneezed. His eyes met mine. Black. Violent. Angry.
Fear wrapped its spindly fingers around my throat, squeezing.
No.
Hrakka powder infected everyone. It was infused with enchantment—
Realization struck me with such power it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.
Wylan Athello could detect enchantment.
But he couldn’t just detect it.
He was immune to it.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
The blow from his fist sent me flying to the ground, throwing stars across my vision. I ejected the knife in my fingerless glove, lurching to my feet and grasping for my bearings with my distorted vision. He had gotten the advantage over me once.
I wouldn’t let it happen again.
His fist flew again and I parried it, kicking him backward.
He struck again, unfazed. I deflected, snatching a sheathed knife with my other hand and darting in and out, trying to get a hit in.
Strike. Parry. Miss. Repeat. He was quick.
And smart. And strong. That drove me as I fought against him.
I couldn’t let him venture close enough to get a hold on me.
We weren’t built the same, and I wasn’t stupid enough to think I could beat him with brute force.
But I was smaller. Faster. More cunning. I had to keep him moving.
I slashed out with my knives. Deflected each of his blows with my forearms. Kicked at his shins.
His side. His groin. One of his blows broke through my barrier and hit my jaw.
I tasted blood in my mouth. I lunged to the side, jumping off the wall and shoving into his shoulder, knocking him back.
His leg came around, slamming me flat on my back, but even as I couldn’t breathe I rolled out of the way.
A knife slammed into the stone where my chest had just been.
I kicked his knee sideways, getting a grunt of pain from him, but I didn’t have a good angle to do enough damage. The blood from the hit on my face soaked through my mask.
You’re better than this, Analleia.
I didn’t spend endless brutal hours training in the tower to be outdone by the brother of the king.
I leapt to my feet. Struck again. I heaved for breath as I struggled to stay ahead of him, but I couldn’t get anywhere.
Couldn’t gain the upper hand. If I had known he would be this difficult I would have brought Desmond.
I moved faster. More determined. Doubled back.
Struck, but he deflected it. I maneuvered myself to outwit him again and again, but it was almost like—
He anticipated every single one of my movements. Knew exactly how and where I was going to strike next.
I altered my maneuvers, diversifying my plan of attack. He anticipated those actions too. Without blinking. Without effort.
He’d been trained for this. He’d—
I wrenched myself back, putting enough space between us to elicit a respite.
“Who trained you?” I demanded, making my voice low and menacing, unrecognizable.
A cruel smile traveled along his lips. “I could ask you the same thing.”
I stared at him. If he had trained in the tower, I would have known. I would have been warned. The headmistress kept careful tabs on all of her trained assassins. He had to have been trained by someone else, but their ways were equal to if not better than ours.
“But you didn’t.” I threw a knife past his left ear, distracting him as I darted forward, tackling him and pinning him to the ground, throwing a punch before I reached for the ring on his right hand.
The second I touched it an invisible barrier shoved me back with so much force I flew into the stone wall, the impact forcing the air from my lungs.
He snatched one of my discarded knives from the floor. “At least I know who you work for now. You can let her know that as long as I live, she will never get this ring.”
I gasped for breath, my strength drained.
My pulse pounded, my body aching. I darted in again, but I was too slow.
He deflected my knife with his own, sending mine clattering down the floor of the corridor.
His other hand came up and the knife pierced through the flesh on the right side of my abdomen, sinking to the hilt.
I gargled as pain burst through me, blinded me.
I wrenched away from the impact and stumbled into the wall. Pain. Everywhere.
I pressed a hand to the wound in my side. Blood gushed through my fingers. Soaked through my clothes. Dripped onto the floor. Athello stalked forward like a predator cornering its prey, knowing it had won.
“I think it’s time to remove that mask now.”
He watched only my face, paying no attention as I positioned the heel of my boot against the toe of the other. He drew closer, reaching for my hood. I clicked the boots together, activating the knife that shot out from beneath the toe of my boot and sank into his flesh above the ankle.
Too bad it hadn’t hit an artery.
He doubled over with a guttural yell and I snatched my knife free from his hand, shoving him onto the floor.
He was speaking, but I couldn’t understand him.
The only thing I could focus on was getting away, my hands and body sticky with blood, my energy draining.
I couldn’t fight him anymore with this wound.
He would win, and when he found out who I was this whole operation would be over.
I staggered to the nearest window, straddling the ledge to climb down, but there was no strength left to hold me.
I toppled over, falling. Falling through air.
Through nothing, as if in slow motion. I hit the ground a story below, my legs taking the brunt of the blow and crumpling beneath me, the rest of my body slamming into the ground.
The impact snatched the breath from my lungs for the second time in what felt like minutes.
Blood pumped through my veins, leaked from my wound, urged me with every pulse to get up.
To escape. To flee. He would be coming for me.
I cried out as I forced myself to stand.
Blood splattered all the way down the front of my clothes.
I was cold, so cold, finally registering that it was raining.
It pelted against my skin, stinging my eyes.
I leaned against the wall for support, leaving a bloody handprint behind that the rain quickly washed away. The bleeding. I needed to stop it or it would lead a trail right to me.
An airiness infiltrated my head, my thoughts growing fuzzy. I removed my cloak, wrapping the fabric around my midsection as tightly as possible, then securing my belt around it. Tears streamed down my face as I bit my tongue to keep from crying out at the pain.
My feet sought purchase as I fumbled my way out of the dark courtyard, disappearing into the mist of the rain. I clung to the shadows, nearly pitching forward every time I moved.
Athello would have gone for guards. They would be looking for me.
The colors of my vision distorted. I didn’t know if the tourniquet was working, but it held me together. Kept me going even as adrenaline pushed me.
Even if I could escape the palace grounds, I might not make it, might not—
I had to stop and hide from sentries several times before I made it to the part of the wall where the rope was hanging beneath the ivy.
I took a deep breath, bracing for the pain I was about to endure.
I tasted blood on the inside of my mouth a I bit my cheek, making my way to the top of the wall and sliding down the other side.
I lost my grip on the rope, barely catching myself before hitting the ground again.
The back of the inn loomed before me. I couldn’t go through the lobby. I could be seen; someone could identify me as injured and Athello’s attacker would be traced back to me. There was also a great chance of me passing out on the stairs, but I had to get to our room.
That was all I could think about.
I stared up at our window on the sixth floor. My only hope was to reach Nadiyah and Desmond inside. If they could stop the bleeding, they might be able to save me.
I wiped my blood-slick hands on my leggings. I could do this. I had completed one of the assassin’s tests in training when I was delirious with a high fever, barely able to stand. I could do this.
I started my trek up, the rain lightening to a drizzle as if having sympathy for me.
My feet and hands sought for all of the familiar footholds, my limbs shaking, half my body curled in around my wound to keep it from stretching.
Tears poured down my face from the pain as I pushed upward.
My vision blackened at the edges, threatening to go out completely.
My left fingers slipped off their hold and I whimpered.
If I fell from this height, I would die.
But it didn’t matter.
I would die either way.
My strength was gone, my muscles weak. The movement only made my wound bleed more, only made me fade faster.
I made it one story, and then another. I couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t rest. The window to our room drew closer and closer.
I forced myself to push for the last few feet, wanting to cry out for Desmond and Nadiyah.
Every motion was pure agony. Pure terror.
I reached the ledge, hooking my arm over the top and hauling the rest of my body inside. I toppled to the ground, my strength evaporating. I needed help. Needed reprieve. I was still alive. Maybe that meant the knife hadn’t punctured anything vital. Maybe I would live.
I struggled to breathe, my body feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. Turning my head felt like rolling a boulder, but the view didn’t provide me with what I wanted. Darkness shrouded the room, the only noise the night air and pattering of the rain filtering in through the window.
Desmond and Nadiyah were gone.
Panic.
Fear.
I no longer had the energy to cry.
I forced myself to stay strong. There were bandages in my room.
If I could stop the bleeding, I could fix this.
I tried to flip my body over so I could crawl, but it did not obey.
My hand returned to the cloth above my wound, slick with blood.
Thinking was too difficult. Maybe it would be better to sleep.
Something in the back of my mind tried to tell me that it was wrong, but sleep sounded good, and the blackness around the corners of my vision expanded, enclosing my entire world in darkness.