Embers of Analon (The Emberborn #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

On a Knife’s Edge

Every night I went out looking for coin, but also for calm. Picking locks made my mind go truly quiet, the only time I felt in control. Precision was my anchor. Danger reminded me I was still alive.

As I walked down the darkened alley, my fingers instinctively went to the locket around my neck, the metal worn smooth where I had rubbed it a thousand times, all to find a little peace.

From the outside, the Charred Snake seemed similar to countless other taverns in the sprawling Wharf District of Analon: siding in desperate need of repair, cracked windows, and the stink of booze, bile, and piss wafting through the air.

A typical rowdy tavern bustling with life.

Teon, a large man with a bushy brown beard and a steely demeanor, guarded the door. As I approached, he waved me in.

“Garrick’s expecting you,” he said in a gravelly voice, gesturing toward the door in the back of the tavern.

I nodded with a tight smile, then entered.

Sailors and fishermen with mugs of ale, cider, and other spirits were everywhere, sitting at long tables in front of a roaring fire in various stages of drunkenness. Despite it being early summer, the night air still had a chill.

Several women and men catcalled as I wove through the crowd. Something about my slender build, dark hair, and sun-warmed skin seemed to invite it. But I ignored them all and continued on my way. I wasn’t immune to flattery, but I wanted a man who did more than sit around in a tavern getting drunk.

“Little fun for a silver?” one man slurred while reaching for my crotch.

I swatted his hand away as I passed. “Fresh out of coin.”

“No,” the man said with a drunken smile, chin resting on his mug of ale. “I mean I’ll give you a silver.”

I held back a laugh. At least he was close to my age, and he wasn’t half bad-looking—he had pretty eyes, anyway. Losing myself to temptation had an appeal, but it might loosen what held me steady, and I wasn’t sure I could regain my control.

“Another time,” I said.

He made an exaggerated frown fueled by too much ale, but his disappointment melted away when a man set a new tankard in front of him.

I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the rest of their lewd remarks. At the back door, I knocked three times in quick succession, followed by two slower knocks. A booming voice came from inside. “Come in!”

The small back room had few furnishings except for a large wooden desk in the middle, where my friend Garrick sat in a chair that creaked under the weight of his substantial frame.

“Ah, Cassian!” he said with a grin that pulled at the scar on his cheek, pale against his dark skin. “How’s my best man? Ready to celebrate, I see!”

I sighed. “Do you have a job for me or not?”

He laughed. “Cas,” he scolded playfully, “if you don’t get drunk and sack up with some lad on your twenty-first birthday, then when in all the hells will you?”

I shook my head and waved him off. “Let’s get on with it.”

“Very well,” Garrick grumbled as he rooted through the papers on his desk. “You’ll like this one. Nasty bloke. Practically begging to be separated from his coin.”

“Nastier the better.” Of course, I took the jobs for the coin, but a large part of the appeal was exacting vengeance on those who had earned it. And if I had a personal connection to them, so much the better.

Garrick smiled as he found what he was looking for. “Aha! Thank dust.” He handed me a parchment with a rough sketch of a floor plan and some notes scrawled in the margins. “Here’s what we got from the kitchen maid.”

I scanned the map and the notes, locking them in my memory. The home was three stories tall and obnoxiously large, but straightforward paths led to the safe from various windows. “And you’re sure this is accurate?”

“The maid has no love for this family, that’s for damn sure. They threw her out on the streets last month for slapping The Butcher across the face when he tried to get under her skirt,” he said.

The Butcher. The name hit me like a punch. This connection was almost too personal.

Garrick continued, “Poor lass barely escaped with her life. But I would have paid gold to see the look on Orlik’s face!”

Orlik “The Butcher” Leonom was the king’s top lieutenant, well known throughout the land for carrying out the Crown’s cruel edicts with ruthless efficiency. And I had personal experience with that.

“That man is a bastard all around,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt.

Garrick looked up with concern in his eyes. “Stay focused, Cas. Remember the job.”

“I will,” I said, shoving my rage down deep. But if I were to run into The Butcher, it might take all my effort not to go out in a blaze of bloody vengeance. I fumbled for the locket around my neck as my sister Elena flashed in my mind. There was more than just myself to consider.

I breathed deeply. My heart rate slowed. A calm descended over me.

I dropped the map on Garrick’s desk, spun around, and headed for the door. “Be back soon.”

“You don’t want the map?” Garrick asked.

“Don’t need it,” I replied without looking back.

Elaborate homes with ornate facades flickered in the torchlight.

The cobbled path was pristine, not a stone missing or a single piece of trash strewn about.

Even the damn alleyways of the Garden District were better maintained than the major roads of the Wharf District. The rich and privileged demanded it.

Slipping around shadowed corners, I made my way down the alley.

Anything less than utter silence was a failure.

A single misstep, and a dog would bark. A moment too long in the torchlight, and the guards would sound the alarm.

At best, I’d ruin the job. The worst case was a trip to the Pyrehold prison—almost worse than death, if the rumors were to be believed.

I scanned the buildings for the family crest of my latest mark.

I soon spotted it: two torches danced in the gentle evening breeze, illuminating the profile of a lion’s head engraved on the stone wall, gilded in gold—a symbol of respect and fear in the city of Analon.

To me, it evoked only disgust and fury. So much rot hidden behind such a pristine exterior was hard to fathom.

I closed my eyes and fought down the rage that threatened to spill out.

Tonight it would only serve to distract me.

Refocused, I scanned the back of the building. Most of the windows were too exposed, but a third-story window with a generous ledge was shrouded in shadows. The climb would be easy, no more than thirty feet, but it would leave me vulnerable to prying eyes. Speed was critical.

To most, the wall looked sheer and flawless, but the minor imperfections in the mortar would serve as my toeholds, and the subtle cracks in the stone blocks were all my fingers needed to find purchase. In five beats of my heart and two kicks, I was on the ledge.

I paused in the shadows. No barking dogs, no rush of footsteps, no shouts of alarm.

I gave the window’s handle a quick tug and—locked, of course.

But a lock was only a suggestion, and one I chose to ignore.

I pulled a thin metal tool from my pouch and slid it into the gap between the windows.

With a snap of my wrist, the latch disengaged, and I slipped inside the house without a sound.

Everything was exactly as the map had specified.

As I crept down a passage in the darkness, I couldn’t help but wonder which of the doors led to the personal chambers of Orlik Leonom.

It could be over so quickly with a simple slash to his throat—a fitting end, given my parents’ deaths.

The memory flashed in my mind, an image so horrible that it had left a permanent stain, discoloring everything.

I clutched my locket so tightly that it nearly drew blood.

The faint echo of footsteps down the hallway brought me back to the present. I choked down my rage and slipped into a shadowed alcove, taking deep breaths, slowing my heart.

But mixed in with the clatter of boots on stone was another sound: the soft pads and clacking nails of a beast on four legs. This complicated things.

The clacking grew louder. I felt it in the soles of my feet before I heard the sniff. Hiding from humans was easy, but a dog?

I thumbed through the vials on my belt, slipping one out.

A quick twist of the vial’s cap revealed a light purple liquid—a concoction of my own making.

A single drop would be enough to cover my scent, even from a canine’s superior sense of smell.

With the slightest flick of my wrist, a splash of liquid dropped onto the stone at my feet, followed by a fleeting puff of smoke.

I waited in the shadows, melting into the stone wall behind me, as the figures approached.

An enormous man dressed in a guard’s uniform appeared from the far end of the hall, carrying a flickering candle.

Nearly as broad as he was tall and carrying a sword at his hip, he walked alongside a gigantic beast that looked to be half dog and half wolf, with massive jaws that could rip me apart in a heartbeat. I held my breath.

The pair walked past the alcove. Just beyond it, the wolf-dog paused, stopping to sniff. My heart pounded so loudly in my head that it was hard to believe they couldn’t hear it.

“What is it, boy?” the man whispered to the dog while peering into the darkness feet from where I stood.

The dog whimpered, raising its snout and sniffing some more. Wound up like a spring, I got ready to sprint for my life. Escaping would take all of my speed and skill.

The dog huffed, almost a sigh, and sniffed again. Then he padded away, apparently satisfied, tugging his master along.

Only when they turned the far corner of the hallway did I dare to breathe. I uncoiled, releasing the tension in my limbs. Dust, that was close.