The shadows of the hidden passageway within the hedges were a welcome sight. In the seclusion and murky darkness, Risens tended to as many of his wounds as he could, pounding his fist nearly bloody against the hard-packed earthen floor to distract his mind from the unrelenting pain.

  The agony still fresh, he’d triggered the hidden switch near the maze’s entrance, raising the spikes that blocked access to the disorienting maze. Soon after his return, the King’s agents would swarm over the winding passageways, scouring the dead for any signs of him.

  He knew the windStep here would be off limits to him, even if not by the King’s decree. He would haunt the twists and turns of the sprawling maze no more. The remainder of the tunnel gave him no further trouble, depositing him into the tenuous safety of the catacombs beneath the castle. Though he knew the chances of any making it to this point would have been slim—owing to the easily sprung traps throughout the path—the uncertainty over the loyalties of the assassins that had ambushed him was still unanswered.

  There were any number of groups spread throughout Windwake and Halthome alone that were dissatisfied with Lathrenon’s rule. Starvation was rampant among those without the means. The poor were becoming more destitute. Those a step above—the working class—were now feverishly clawing to keep their heads above water. Perhaps it was unfair to pin the drought that destroyed much of their food stock on the King himself, yet rumors that he had offended the gods persisted, whispered in the confidence of shadows.

  He doubted the assassins were foreign. The surrounding Kingdoms—friends and foes alike—were content to watch the realm simmer. They likely did what they could to fan the flames with words alone. Taking a direct hand in his death would be a step too far. To his credit, King Lathrenon had militarized much of the realm, marshaling a fighting force that well exceeded those of the nation-states that surrounded them.

  Risens was certain the attempt was home-grown and purposefully limited in scope. Beyond the brutal execution today, the King’s hands had, throughout his rule, remained clean of the blood of his adversaries. It was his Rightmaker who had been tasked with the death. Regicide was exceptionally difficult to plot and perpetrate in secrecy. The death of an unknown assassin, on the other hand, would bear far less scrutiny, regardless of which master he served.

  Lathrenon’s power rested in his authority and his commands. He had the weight of the militarized kingdom behind him. Risens’ strength was in cunning, stealth, and his blades.

  Considerations of who had made the attempt on his life continued to rankle him as he moved carefully through the underground. The quiet voice that whispered in his head wouldn’t release hold of the possibility that it was, in fact, the King himself who had ordered his demise.

  The level of funding and sophistication of the attackers had been startling. He stopped and pulled out the small rectangular box he’d looted from one of the dead assassins. Careful not to break the glass, he removed a pair of mageVials, one with the blue cap and another with the green. Even more carefully, he stowed them in his pocket. The King would do his investigation, and so would he.

  Reaching the portal that would grant him access back to his quarters, he dismissed the Shadows Shroud that had again saved his life. His new, true form was far more practical than expected, though the constant need to switch between it and his naked skin was becoming cumbersome. He pondered how he could gain access to the upper levels of the Roost to increase the mask’s duration as he entered the windStep to his private quarters.

  He stopped a few paces from the door, his vision resting on a specific innocuous square stone set into the in the wall opposite side of the room. Balling his hand into a fist, he hammered the side of it against the summoning stone, leaving a bloody print. Scattered conspicuously among the rock in nearly every hall, the blocks were used to summon assistance in the case of an emergency. Thankfully, he’d rarely had the need to use them.

  One strike. The primer. Activating the receiving stone on the other end with a violent buzz to announce the signal that followed.

  Two rapid beats with his hand—the coded message. Pulses of vibration and sound would announce the message—urgency, though nothing requiring a full lockdown of the castle.

  At the end of the signal, he dragged his fingernails down the stone.

  As much as he hated to call, hated who would respond, it was the only appropriate channel for the imperativeness of his report. As his duty required, Fendri would arrive with all due haste. The added emphasis—the scraping fingernails across the rock—was done purely as a means of annoyance, as he knew the sound would be insufferable to the irritating man.

  As talented as he was, Risens was honest about his limitations. The use of magic had never been a strong suit of his, driving him further into the pursuits of mastery over the bladed, short-ranged, and hand-to-hand forms of combat. How the mages had connected the disguised panels to the amulet that Fendri wore around his neck was beyond his comprehension. He was certain it was likely as foreign to him as were the correct locations to stab someone for the cleanest kill were to the mages.

  Risens didn't have long to wait. It seemed only moments after his call that Fendri’s heavy footsteps echoed through the adjoining corridor. He knew the man’s duties carried him throughout the sprawling castle complex, yet his response came as if he were waiting just around the corner, just beyond Risens’ line of sight.

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  Having not closed his door, Risens witnessed the man’s emergence from the shadowed hallway, chugging forward like a wild animal running out of control. His rampant pace slowed to a stop, his eyes narrowing into questioning slits as he noted the state of Risens' clothing—tattered and drenched with blood.

  He gasped. “What have you done?”

  Any shred of restraint faded, though the response should have been expected.

  Risens took measured steps, careful to place the small wooden box on the floor by his door without jarring its deadly cargo. He remained kneeling just beside the steward, so close he could feel the man’s hot breath. His calm, deliberate motions morphed into a furious rage as he snapped upward and snatched Fendri by the collar. Lifting him bodily off the ground, he slammed the man into the stone wall beside the door frame.

  “I have neither the time nor the patience to suffer your insults or accusations,” he growled. “Assassins were waiting for me in the hedge. You know as well as I the images that were in the tome I recovered. Perhaps it was you who laid the trap for my arrival.”

  Pinning Fendri to the wall with his uninjured forearm, he pulled one of the Raven Talons from its sheath with the other hand. With a motion that caused no little amount of pain in his shoulder, he pressed the blade’s edge against the man’s scrawny neck. Surprisingly, the insatiable yearning for bloodshed and death was absent, though the countdown began all the same. Perhaps it had been satiated by the failed ambush.

  For his part, the steward continued to surprise him with his unflappable confidence. Or was it disregard for his own life? Risens thought he saw what looked like a flash of mirth register in his eyes before they hardened, meeting his gaze.

  “You were trained, were you not? I see that you are still alive and in one piece,” Fendri droned. “Those are fancy blades. Have you resorted to robbing the dead now as well?”

  “There are seven dead assassins and a magus in the hedge maze. I’ve barred the entrance, but perhaps now would be an appropriate time to seal the area before someone stumbles onto the scene.”

  The composition and count of the dead seemed to snap Fendri from his obstinate retorts. Risens released him with a shove, re-sheathing the blade. The countdown disappeared, and he returned to the case of mageVials on the floor.

  “Did any escape?” Fendri asked.

  Risens looked up to see the indignant look the man wore as he straightened out his coat. His words, now, were far softer than the biting tone of the accusation only moments before.

  “None.”

  “What collateral damage did you leave in your wake?”

  Risens' eyes burned with anger as they narrowed into slits. Perhaps he might take up learning magic, purely so he could incinerate the man and claim honestly that he hadn’t touched him.

  “There is damage to the hedges,” Risens hissed. “But concentrated in the area of the ambush. They were well-prepared, well-organized, and well-funded. Enough to make me believe someone within these walls wanted me dead.”

  Fendri showed no emotion at the statement.

  “They knew it as a path I might use,” Risens continued. “They all wore mageEnhanced masks to disguise the sounds of their voice and ward off the effects of the poison. The mageVials were exceptionally potent, and the magus himself was far more skilled than a mere novice.”

  Fendri took a long stride away, no doubt worrying Risens might find further reason to assault him. “It seems excessive. And you presume all of this was done to stop you?”

  The steward was right to have moved away. If the cost weren’t his own life, Risens would have smashed the vials on the floor in response. Instead, he rose and thrust the wooden box hard into Fendri’s stomach. The steward grunted but clutched at the small crate as if his life depended on it.

  It did, in fact.

  “The King will want to see these.” Risens didn’t dignify the man with a response. ‘They are far more volatile than can be purchased on any shadow market in the city. These were custom-made.”

  Fendri stared at the container of deadly vials with a look of shock etched into his pompous features.

  “His Majesty will not be happy with this… interruption.”

  “And that is your problem, not mine.”

  Risens paid no mind to the fiery look leveled his way.

  After a tense moment, Fendri reverted to his standard tone. His hands remained wrapped firmly around the wooden holster. “The King will no doubt require your briefing. See the healer for your wounds and report to the council room once you’ve cleaned yourself up.”

  The look of disgust was expected, though thankfully, it also signaled his exit.

  Fendri stomped back down the hall. Just before reaching the end, Risens punched the stone summoning panel on the wall. He heard the sharp buzz from the receiving amulet worn on the steward’s necklace and the sudden gasp, yet, sadly, no explosions.

  The Shadows Shroud was a lingering concern as he made his way to the private clinic along the hall. Being limited to only an hour with his face free from the mask and the similar cooldown that followed would inevitably cause an issue at some point. Try as he might, he struggled to come up with a response that would satiate the Lathrenon’s anger should he find out.

  He considered returning to Tawny for his need, but there was no use risking another jaunt through the city streets. There was no telling which healer would respond as he slipped through the windStep into the narrow infirmary. Giving the cord a tug, he sat on the pressed white sheet. It was slippery beneath him as he removed his cloak. He winced as his hastily treated arm slid out from his shirt. Even if Tawny were to respond to his call, he was still unwilling to allow her to see the Brands that now scarred his chest.

  The other healers, both men, could be forceful with their treatments. He was aggravated enough, however, to prevent them from prodding where they were not welcome.

  His mind wandered as he waited. Which was the one with the loose lips, the one who’d betrayed the reality of his profession to Tawny? Was he still in the castle employ?

  That the betrayer still lived was a liability. The reality of the present situation only enhanced the need for a resolution. Risen knew nothing of the healers beyond their ministrations. He doubted that the one who had given away secrets of the castle had sworn off the comforts of the finer sex once his regular companion stopped responding to his summons.

  He was a danger that would need to be dealt with soon. Could he be responsible, at least in part, for the attack that had nearly cost him his life?

  Risens shifted his hand as shuffling footsteps sounded beyond the door. His fingers closed around the feather-wrapped handle of the Ravens Talon.