Chapter 21 #3
He’s fading as I come up for air, his eyes rolling back in his head. The antidote will take several minutes to work its magic, and he’ll be weakened for weeks. It was the best I could come up with when Zemira first worked over this plan with me.
This poison is an inevitable death once ingested.
But the recovery is swift, and the consequences few.
As much as I want to kill him, I don’t actually want to hurt him.
He’s got you twisted in so many knots, you don’t even know yourself.
Cupping my palm over his eyes, I slowly close them. Maybe he’ll remember me. Maybe he won’t. But I can’t just leave without saying goodbye. “Sleep well, my lord.”
And then I steel myself and push to my feet, turning toward the doors.
Except I’m no longer alone.
“I wondered what you would do,” Falion says, leaning against them and watching me from beneath his silvery lashes.
Mistmark’s assassin.
The one I never knew about until it was too late.
I freeze in my tracks.
Of course. No wonder there were no healers. Only this faithful dog, waiting at his master’s heels to see how the game would play out.
I’ve never quite understood the bond between them.
“What I would do?” I lick away the blood. “Have you been watching me again?” I force a laugh. “The same way you watched me then? Tell me, Falion. Do you ever step out of the shadows? Or do you simply enjoy peeking through windows when nobody knows you’re there?”
There’s no sign I scored a point. He tugs one glove off as he steps forward into the light.
“I enjoyed watching you stab Malechus. I was about to cut your throat myself, except you didn’t run for the exit, you made straight for this room.
I’d smelled the poison on your breath and knew you had to have the antidote on you somewhere.
You had to take it yourself, of course, before you could paint it across your lips… .”
“Somewhat presumptuous.” I summon a small pouch of powder into my hands, curling my fingers around it even as I wave the point of my knife at him.
Look at the knife, go on…. Just focus on the knife…
. “I’ve been sipping miroire for years in order to acquire a certain immunity.
It’s my favorite. The kiss of death…. Nobody ever sees it coming, and most males are too fucking stupid to look beyond what I’m offering them. ”
“Not this one,” he whispers, and as our eyes meet, I know he’s about to repay everything I did to Mistmark that long ago summer.
I throw the pouch at him and he bats it aside, the spill of crushed bone and grave dust painting across his chest.
“You missed,” he says with a dangerous smile, before he vanishes.
“Did I?” I mutter, feeling him pop into being behind me. Dropping into a crouch, I spin and slice my knife across his thigh.
He sucks in a startled breath, but he’s a professional. He Sifts out of reach in order to regather himself, instead of coming at me again.
I straighten, pretending to wince. “That cut looks nasty. You’d better clean it before it gets infected.
Or… before the monksflower on the blade starts to work its way through your leg.
” This time, it’s my turn to smile. “I’d estimate that you have a good half minute before your leg feels like it’s on fire. ”
He growls under his breath and plucks at his shirt, where my mixture of bone and grave dust paints the fabric. “You can track me.”
“Oh, please.” I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. “My sister is a Shadow Walker. Did you think I wouldn’t have somehow accounted for someone of her skills?”
Falion’s eyes narrow. “If I’ve only got another twenty seconds, then I guess I’d best make them count, eh?”
He vanishes again.
My wards tug at me a second before he reappears to the right of me.
My knife cuts through the air, but he’s ready this time. Slamming a hand to my elbow, he blocks the blow, and then he’s angling his own knife straight toward my chest. I twist and block, but the tip slashes through my shirt.
I can’t move my fucking arm. The block he has on me is excellent, and he’s stronger than me, with a greater reach.
It’s a good thing I’m ambidextrous.
I drop the knife and catch it with my left hand, slicing a fine line of blood across his chest as he leaps back.
Free again. But not for long. Our blades duel even as our bodies slam against each other.
I throw everything I have at him, and he counters almost elegantly.
My fist meets his cupped palm. His blade retorts with a stinging swipe across my cheek, even as I drive my heel into his instep.
It’s a blur of violence, carefully choreographed by long-gone masters who taught us our trade.
And I can’t find a fucking weakness.
We break apart for a second, both aware we’ve met our match as we circle each other like panthers. It’s been a long time since I’ve come across a foe who can keep me on my toes.
I’d almost be enjoying myself if I didn’t need to get out of here in a hurry.
I glance toward the bier, and Mistmark is stirring.
Dragon’s scurvy.
I cannot let him catch me here.
“Thought you were going to show me the error of my ways?” I taunt, lunging forward. “Looks like you’re just an average assassin when your feet are grounded in reality.”
“Do you want to know the best thing about your sister?” Falion muses as he flips me over his back and nearly puts a heel through my kneecap when I land.
“What?”
Falion holds out his palm toward me, before making a twisting move with his finger. “She’s a baby compared to me. She barely even knows what she’s doing. Sifting? That’s one of the first things we learn. But when you can make the shadows themselves walk….”
Something snatches my shirt, and I’m hauled back into the gloom along the wall. Ethereal arms wrap around me, and as I grab at them, my hands go right through them.
Shadows.
He’s somehow entrapped me with shadows.
One of them hauls my wrist back, slamming my knife against the wall.
I glare at him as he stalks toward me, smirking that smirky smirk.
“Oh, you want to play dirty?” It’s never bothered me to pull my punches, but I always like to hold back until the last moment—once you show all your tricks, you’ve got nothing up your sleeve for later. But now seems to be a good moment…. “Let me show you what I can do.”
I lock onto the suit of armor in the far corner and Summon it toward me. It’s a trick I learned when I was a little girl. But instead of conjuring it into my hand, I simply yank it through the air.
Falion Sifts a second before it hits him, but he’s moving a little slower now.
The shadows dissipate, and I’m free, driving toward the ring of torches that guard the bier. Mistmark stirs, as if he can almost hear us clashing, but the only safety to be found when you’re fighting a Shadow Walker is in the light.
Shadows ripple around the ring of light, some of them forming faces.
I dance on my toes, trying to keep them all in sight, but it’s the silvery-haired assassin stalking through them that earns my full attention.
I arch my eyebrow and point mockingly at the ring of light.
Falion merely smiles.
And then the torch to my right hisses out.
I spin, just in time to see a shadowy figure pinching the wick.
My protective circle becomes a little smaller.
Cauldron’s piss.
“When we Shadow Walkers openly walked this realm, every court in the land learned to fear us.” Falion takes a step closer and a second torch sizzles out. “They used to light torches along their walls to guard them from the night, but the greatest of our kind learned not to fear the light.”
A third torch hisses, and then there’s only one last torch remaining. I back around it, knife in hand and heart in my throat.
If he plunges us into darkness, then he’ll have the upper hand—
Or… will he?
My heart skips a beat. Shadows need light to exist.
And I’m a wraith.
I was born in darkness. I hate it, but to let yourself bear such a weakness is like offering your throat to an enemy, so I trained for years with a blindfold.
It paid off. When Zemira and I were sent into our final testing, they dropped us in the mines of Wraithenghul for the first leg of the three-part challenge, and only those who managed to escape that darkened tomb were offered a chance at claiming our place among the ranks of the wraithen court.
Falion’s smile is a knife edge as he puts one foot on the step that leads to the bier.
But he doesn’t extinguish the last torch.
No, he’s counting on my fear to force me to make a preemptive strike—one he’s ready for.
This time, it’s my turn to smile back. “When your kind walked the world,” I whisper, “my kind learned not to fear the darkness.”
And then I Summon the last torch into my hand, close my eyes in preparation, and extinguish the flame with a single breath.
We’re plunged into utter darkness.
I hear his sharp inhale before I throw the torch behind him and move.
I had a moment to prepare for this. I don’t know if his head turns to track the sudden clatter the torch makes as it lands, but I’m crouching low, moving like liquid night in the sudden darkness.
I don’t have to move far. I just have to wait.
I slow my breath, my heartbeat. I let my body sink into stillness as I listen.
He’s good. He’s frozen in place too, waiting for me to make my move. I don’t know if he can Sift in this moment. Zemira needs some hint of a shadow to do it, but Falion’s already proven he’s well beyond her capabilities.
Mistmark stirs again, his breath loud in the silence of the tomb.
And I get an idea.
I reach out for his boot, trying to imagine it. I need to lock on to it first, before I can Summon it, and it’s ridiculously hard to do when I can’t see it.
But then I sense it quiver, and it tugs free of his foot, rattling across the floor toward me. Noisy enough to draw his attention.
Falion makes his move. But it’s not the one I imagined.
Instead, his skin suddenly lights up, illuminated from within just as I lunge toward him.
“Clever,” he mocks as the boot thumps into his back.