Shadows and Secrets (The Fatebreaker Trilogy #1)

Chapter 1

Huntyr

If I had a gold coin for every man who’s begged me for mercy, I could retire to a vineyard and drink myself to death in luxury.

But, alas, life is cruel, and I remain tragically underfunded.

Instead of lounging in a sprawling countryside estate, I’m here, in some nobleman’s overly perfumed manor. I pick at the dirt under my nails as Cristoff Angerella Marsten tries, and fails, to escape his own assassination.

One thing I’ve learned through the years is that if you’re going to kill someone, you should at least understand who you’re killing.

And I do understand Cristoff, or Froggy as I’ve affectionately nicknamed him.

Shortly after I was given the contract on his life, I noticed the way his smile spreads just a little too far and looks a little too slimy.

I’ve spent weeks following him in and out of dingy brothels and gambling dens.

I know which business partners he’s screwed over, which nobles he’s blackmailed, and which women he’s hurt.

I even know he likes his wine watered down.

Frankly, that might be the most offensive thing about him.

The point is, Froggy and I have been in a one-sided relationship for quite some time now. But tonight, it all comes to a final, bloody end.

He hobbles forward, one hand dragging along the tacky wallpaper of his manor house, leaving a streak of blood over the delicate painted roses.

“Please,” he sobs, voice high-pitched and frantic. “You have the wrong man!”

I let out a slow, dramatic sigh, twirling my knife between my fingers. “Froggy, we’ve been over this. I don't have the wrong man. You, however, are a man who made all the wrong choices.”

His mouth opens, presumably to protest, but his leg finally gives out, and he collapses onto the marble floor with a thud. I cluck my tongue, leaning sideways.

“Honestly? I have to admit that I’m impressed. I didn’t think you’d make it this far after I broke your ankle.”

The first time I broke my ankle at just eight summers old, I spent a week crying in bed and demanding Kristona bring me every sweet in the market. It was the worst pain my young mind could imagine.

Granted, I’ve experienced far worse pain since then: punches, cuts, broken bones, and even a few nasty bashes to the head.

For Froggy, though, this is probably the first time anyone has ever hit him, let alone broken a bone. So, you know, good for him for putting on a decent show in his final moments.

I step forward, planting my boot firmly between his shoulder blades. “Unfortunately,” I continue, “this is where we part ways.”

“Please,” he chokes out, voice hoarse with desperation. “I can pay you.”

I roll my eyes, feeling the weight of irritation settle on my shoulders. They always say that. “With what, exactly? The money you stole from Kristona Roschoff?”

He stiffens, spine going rigid.

Out of all Froggy’s crimes, that was his riskiest. Only a true idiot would steal from Kristona Roschoff, the most infamous assassin in all the Mortal Kingdoms. Just his name alone is enough to send nobles into a cold sweat.

Froggy’s gaze flicks to my neck, locking onto the tattoo branded there, visible from where I pulled my hair up. KR. The initials that mark me as one of Kristona’s acolytes.

And that’s when it happens. That final moment of clarity. The sudden acceptance of what’s about to happen.

His lips part, and he stammers, “You’re…her, aren’t you?”

Ah. My reputation precedes me.

“I—I’m sorry,” he sighs, resignation ringing in the air.

His shoulders sag, his breathing turns ragged. And he finally stops fighting, he stops pleading.

That’s the thing about death: you can’t beg your way out of it.

My blade flashes.

And it’s over.

Kristona is waiting for me in his study when I return to deliver Froggy’s seal ring as proof of the kill. He barely looks up from the wooden desk as I drop into the velveteen chair across from him, plopping the ring onto the polished mahogany surface between us.

“Huntyr,” he greets me dryly. “Nice of you to clean yourself off before stomping in here.”

My boots still carry traces of mud from the slum streets, but at least the blood has dried. I glance down at my knuckles, where it crusts and clings to my skin. Gross.

Kristona puts on a good show of ignoring me, focusing on the paperwork in front of him, but I don’t miss the way his eyes quickly scan over me, assessing for any injuries.

Even after all this time, after I’ve made a name for myself that inspires nearly as much fear as his does, he still worries for me.

It’s sweet.

“You’d think the worst part of being an assassin would be the guilt,” I muse. “Or the constant brushes with death, or the complete destruction of any semblance of a normal sleep schedule.”

Okay, that last one is pretty bad. I, like any other girl, rely on my beauty sleep, but you can’t really skulk around hunting your prey in broad daylight.

Kristona peers at me over the contract he’s reading. The old man has long since stopped getting his own hands dirty. He tells his clients it’s because he’s spent his life building enough capital and training enough acolytes that he can now retire in comfort.

But I know the truth. Once the wrinkles started settling in around his eyes and his hair started turning grey, his hands began to tremble. Soon afterward, he’d taken me to dinner and told me he would soon need me to step up and run his empire when his mind was no longer fit to be in charge.

I’d thrown a plate at his head.

I’ve already lost one father, I won’t lose him too.

So he can sit here in this elaborate manor if it makes him feel better, but I refuse to let him give in to old age that easily.

“Please,” he says, voice laced with sarcasm, “do enlighten me on what the worst part is.”

I grin. No matter how many times I bait him into these conversations, he never fails to indulge me.

For fifteen years this has been our dynamic. I had been the youngest child he’d ever taken in as an acolyte, but I suspect my dark hair and blue eyes reminded him of the daughter he lost all those years ago. The daughter whose murder gave birth to the deadliest assassin in the Mortal Kingdoms.

He’d stepped into the role of my father and I’d stepped into the role of his daughter, both of us filling those gaping voids that had been carved into us against our will.

“It’s the blood,” I say, glancing at the dried stains under my nails. “It gets everywhere. And no matter how hard you scrub, it never fully comes out of your clothes. Half my earnings go to replacing my wardrobe.”

Kristona picks up the ring, turning it between his fingers before tucking it into the top drawer of his desk, where he keeps all his other mementos: other rings, hair ribbons, letter openers. The list goes on.

Then he neatly folds the contract and tucks that away into another drawer.

“I’ve already sent Flannigan to pick up a new dress for you to wear tonight.” He sighs, catching onto what I’m not-so-subtly hinting at.

I smile victoriously as I stand, moving around the desk to press a light kiss to his cheek. “Good, I put one on reserve at Maxine’s last week. The blacksmith is also fashioning a new axe for me if you want to have Flannigan stop there as well.”

Kristona leans into my touch briefly before pulling away. “You could at least pretend to be surprised.”

I gasp, placing a hand dramatically over my heart. “Of course I’m surprised, Kristona. Your generosity always astounds me.”

He rolls his eyes, gesturing toward the door with a dismissive wave. “Out. I have work to do. I’ll see you this evening.”

“You could take the day off, you know,” I tease, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. “It’s a holiday, after all.”

He glares as I reach for a caramel toffee from the bowl perched atop a stack of papers.

“Stop that!” He swats at my hand as I grab another, the first already melting on my tongue. “It’s not a holiday.”

“It should be,” I retort playfully. “Everyone in the Ever Realm should celebrate the birth of the Huntress.”

He chuckles softly, before resting his full attention on me, hazel eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “As much as I love you, Huntyr, I somehow doubt the Fae are celebrating your birthday, my dear.”

I bristle at the mention of those immortal monsters across the sea, the ones who slipped into my house so many years ago and murdered my father while I slept in the next room.

No, the Fae aren’t celebrating my birthday.

And I certainly don’t want them to.

The Fae are the reason I took up this line of work in the first place. That night, when I’d fled onto the streets, I’d sworn to myself that I would make the Fae King pay for what his people had done to me, to all of the Mortal Kingdoms.

Shortly afterwards, Kristona caught me trying to pick his pocket and told me who he was, expecting me to turn and run.

I didn’t.

I looked him in the eye and told him I wanted him to teach me how to kill a Fae.

And here we are all these years later.

Kristona watches me carefully, his eyes searching my face. I wonder if his comment about the Fae was a slip of the tongue or if he intended to provoke me and see if my hatred for them still burns as fiercely as before.

“Well.” There’s a sudden touch of venom lining my words. “They’re not invited to my party anyway.”

He tilts his head slightly, as if weighing his next words, then nods in acknowledgment. “Very well. Go wash up. I have important people coming tonight, and I can’t have my guest of honor looking like she just crawled off a battlefield.”

I wink at him as I move toward the door. “Isn’t that exactly how you want your guests to see your acolytes?”

“You, my dear, are different from the rest.”

Don’t I know it.

Itake the long way back to my apartment, dipping in and out of shops along the cobbled streets of Soria. Normally, I prefer walking along the shoreline where the stench of the city isn’t as overpowering, but today I have errands, so I’m stuck with the city’s rot.