Chapter 3 #2
“Huntyr!” A firm grip on my shoulders, shaking me, rips me from the nightmare. I’m already reaching for the blade on my hip, the instinct to protect myself strong even as I sleep, when Tyla slams her hand down on mine. “It’s only me.”
I gasp, working to steady my breathing and make sense of my surroundings. It was just a dream.
Just a dream of the most horrific memory of my life.
“You were whimpering,” Tyla explains, sadness shimmering in her eyes as she squeezes my hand tight. It’s still trembling.
I can still feel the blood on my fingertips, hear the remnants of the storm that night. I exhale sharply, rolling onto my side to face her, attempting to ground myself in her warmth. “It was just a nightmare.”
“Was it about—?”
“Yes.” My voice is sharp and tense, my mind still whirling from the memories of my past.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing through a wave of nausea. No. No, I do not want to talk about the night the Fae murdered my father. I do not want to talk about the night that changed me from the nobleman’s daughter to the assassin's apprentice.
“Not tonight.”
She doesn’t press. She never does.
Since the day that I told her of my background, she’s always understood that the pain of that night isn’t something I ever like to acknowledge. She lets me ignore it, allows me that escape, and I love her all the more for it.
She curls closer to me, tucking her head beneath my chin. The feeling of her breath in a steady rhythm against my skin centers me in the present. I let myself breathe her in. Let myself forget that awful dream and that awful night.
“Go wash up,” Tyla tells me when my heart rate has finally slowed. “Flannigan dropped off your presents earlier. I suspect Kristona wants you to wear them tonight.”
My ears perk up at the word presents, and I launch myself off the bed to the sound of Tyla’s giggles.
The gifts are stacked on our small dining table, each box ostentatiously wrapped in pastel colors, ribbons and bows piled atop the delicate paper.
I pull a card from beneath the largest bow and read it aloud.
“My dearest Huntyr, please do us the honor of pretending to be a lady by wearing these fine fashions this evening.”
Tyla’s cackling laughter echoes through the apartment, and I shoot her a glare over my shoulder. Kristona and his ever-present sarcasm.
“And if, for any reason, you’re considering skipping this evening’s festivities, please know these gifts are only a preview to a very special surprise.”
I frown, rereading the last line. Kristona has celebrated my birthday every year since he found me alone in my room the night I turned seven, sobbing uncontrollably. He knows how much I love these parties. I would never miss it, so why the sudden emphasis on my attendance?
Carefully, I untie the ribbon and lift the lid of the largest box. Inside is a gown of shimmering silver fabric, folded with precision. I pull it free, momentarily surprised by its weight, captivated by the way it catches the light. The bodice is scattered with crystals, sparkling like stardust.
Tyla gasps, sitting up straighter to get a better look. “It’s beautiful!”
I can only stare. This isn’t the pale blue dress I reserved at Maxine’s.
“It’s a surprise,” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away from it.
My second surprise of the evening comes when I step outside my apartment and find a coach waiting for me, its lacquered frame gleaming in the evening light. The driver greets me with a bow so deep I almost stumble backward. Without a word, he opens the door and gestures for me to enter.
I hesitate for a moment before gathering the heavy folds of silver fabric around me and climbing inside, settling onto a velveteen seat.
The fabric is softer than anything I’ve touched before.
With a gentle lurch, the coach quickly pulls away, and I find myself staring at the city lights through the small window, my mind still reeling from the gown, the jewelry, and now the carriage.
This is too much.
Suspiciously too much.
I had suspected Kristona might plan something special for my twentieth summer since this birthday marks my year of maturity. Ballgowns and horse-drawn carriages, though? A custom-made sword, I had thought. Maybe a towering cake.
Kristona doesn’t spend money frivolously.
He doesn’t do anything frivolously.
And this gown, with its shimmering embroidery, surely costs more than all the birthday gifts he’s given me over the years combined. The trinkets in the other boxes, a diamond bracelet, silk gloves, and heeled slippers—were also oddly expensive.
Appreciated, yes, but what use did an assassin have for diamonds?
What is he getting at?
The coach rolls to a stop, and the driver quickly rounds the front and opens the door, offering his hand to help me down.
I eye it for a moment before hiking up my skirts and hopping down with a flourish.
Entirely unladylike. He looks momentarily scandalized, so I simply wink and stride up the pathway to Kristona’s house, the cool night air biting against my flushed skin.
There’s no music, no laughter echoing from the house, none of the vibrant energy that usually fills his home during my birthday party.
Kristona opens the door before I can knock, his eyes sweeping over the gown with a warm smile. He pulls me into a tight embrace. “You look lovely, my dear.”
“You look exactly the same as you did several hours ago,” I mutter, half-smirking as I scan over his usual attire, an ivory shirt loosely tucked into trousers, hair as uncombed as ever.
He chuckles and drapes an arm over my shoulders, guiding me inside. “I thought we’d do things a bit differently this year.”
I gesture at the gown, my voice dry. “Clearly.”
Inside, the familiar faces of Kristona’s other acolytes greet me, each of them dressed in their usual worn leather and dark fabrics. No one else is remotely as formal as Kristona requested I be.
I stop in my tracks, pulling away from him. “Alright, that’s it, what’s going on here?”
His eyes flick toward my right hand, where my fingers twitch instinctively. “How many weapons did you manage to hide under that gown, my dear?”
“Six.” I list them without hesitation: “A small knife between my breasts, two throwing stars in the bodice, a blade in each boot, and a dagger strapped to my thigh."
A grin spreads across his face slowly before he nods approvingly. “That’s my girl.”
“Sit down, Huntyr,” Flannigan calls from his spot by the wall, pushing off to greet me with a grin and a kiss on each cheek. “No one’s killing anyone tonight, especially not the birthday girl.”
Flannigan was only a few years older than I when Kristona took me in, still just a boy, but now he’s a man in his own right. And a formidable assassin at that. When I refused to be Kristona’s successor, no one was surprised that Flannigan stepped in to take on the role.
Truthfully, he’s far better suited to the politics of being head of the League of Assassins than I am.
Flannigan guides me to my seat at the head of the table, next to Kristona, and I find myself surrounded by familiar faces.
Evora and Althea, the mercenary twins always wearing matching smirks, sit across from me.
To my right are Christof and Jacobi, the orphaned brothers Kristona took in after their parents’ deaths.
“Tabitha, Chylan, and Brayden send their regards,” Kristona says as we settle in. “But tonight is about you.”
With a nod, he motions to the staff, who begin bringing out platters of my favorite dishes: smoked meats, roasted potatoes, candied fruits, lemon tarts, and even a bowl of Kristona’s prized caramel toffees.
My companions immediately start filling their plates, quiet conversations beginning, but I remain still.
Something is wrong.
Why insist that I come tonight, knowing I’d be here regardless?
Why send me this extravagant dress, only to be in a room with others dressed so casually?
Why cancel my favorite party for a dinner with the closest members of our circle?
I rub my temples, trying to ease the tension building behind my eyes.
Just then, a knock echoes through the house.
“Ah, our special guest has arrived,” Kristona says, standing.
“Guest?” I look around at the familiar faces, frowning. I thought I was supposed to be the guest of honor. “Who else are we expecting?”
Flannigan exchanges a glance with Kristona, then stands to answer the door.
“Well, as much as I wanted this night to be all about you, my dear, business waits for no one,” Kristona quips, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.
I feel a flash of irritation. “You’re turning my birthday dinner into a business meeting?”
Before he can respond, Flannigan returns with a tall, lanky man in tow.
The stranger’s crimson velvet doublet, embroidered with golden thread, catches the light as he enters the room.
His polished boots echo against the floorboards.
A jeweled dagger hangs from his finely tooled belt, more an ornament than a weapon.
Kristona greets him with a warm handshake. “Mr. Dunklee, I’m glad you could join us.”
I raise an eyebrow, a million more questions firing in my mind as I recognize the name.
“A lord?” I whisper, leaning towards Flannigan.
He smirks at me but says nothing.
Mr. Dunklee takes his seat at the far end of the table, unfolding a parchment from his inner pocket as he settles in. “I received the contract this morning. I’m ready to proceed.”
A heavy sigh escapes me. “Did this really need to happen tonight?”
I’m not usually one to stand in the way of earnings or good business practices, but why do this now?
Kristona only smiles, gesturing for Flannigan to bring me the parchment. “It did, my dear, because this contract isn’t with me. It’s with you.”
The world suddenly freezes, completely thrown off its typical axis for a brief moment in time.
I blink, taken aback. “With me?”
Kristona nods, his eyes gleaming. “It’s time, Huntyr.”
I open the parchment, frowning at the unfamiliar weight of it in my hands.
No one in Kristona’s employ ever takes their own contracts.
We work under his name… always. Kristona handles all of the business arrangements.
He writes every contract. He deals with the clients.
We deal with the kills. That’s the rule. That’s how it’s always worked.
Even Flannigan has never taken a job on his own.
I stare down at the parchment in my hands, unable to make sense of Kristona’s scheming.
Mr. Dunklee’s voice breaks the silence, his eyes locking onto mine as he speaks softly but firmly. “I want you to kill the Fae prince.”