A mild floral fragrance filled his nostrils and had begun to tickle at his lungs—a scent designed to mask the truth—though there was no hiding the caustic odor behind it. His return of the Shadows Shroud had surely saved his life yet again. Had he waited a second longer, it may have been too late. Even still, his head spun as the disorientation set in. The aroma was too familiar, its potency a recent stain on his memory.

  He knew the scent of the Cimmerian Calcify. His thoughts were fuzzy owing to the effects of the limited dose of poison,yet he distinctly recalled the assassins’ trap set for him in the hedge maze. Even with the limited dose he’d inhaled, the toxin had produced a surprising effect.

  Risens felt partially detached from the reality of his position—another effect of the noxious gas. He felt as if he watched himself from, viewing the scene through hazy lenses. The Cimmerian Calcify, while widely known to people who followed his line of work, was not a commonly utilized poison. The ingredients were too hard to come by and the process too costly to undertake.

  Again, like the last time, it was a curious choice among the available options. There were plenty of other readily available and far less expensive toxins that would cause paralytic or lethal effects, though, with those, it was more difficult to gauge doses that wouldn’t kill, especially when airborne means of delivery were utilized. The fact that two separate attacks in a matter of days feature the same ingredients was a coincidence even his addled mind couldn’t overlook. Whomever set this trap wanted their prey immobilized, not dead.

  Again, the thoughts turned from questions to burning rage.

  There was no way anyone could have known he would be visiting this shop. He’d not used it for years.

  Even through the fog of the drugs, the implications were wide ranging.

  The network of resources he’d relied upon, that the Kingdom had relied upon had been compromised.

  The cloud of blue tinted smoke that filled the room still hung heavy in the air as he stumbled forward, reaching for the door’s handle. A wave of panic tore through him as he pulled. It was locked.

  Instinctively he reached for the lock picks he’d just purchased. Sounds of muffled voices from outside the door gave him pause. He pressed his ear to the panel, feverishly trying to decipher the words.

  “There’s no need to rush. Let the poison run its course. The alchemic ether the magus added will cut through the protections even our masks would struggle to block out. He’ll be sleeping like a babe in minutes.”

  The confirmation was startling. Risens’s mind reeled in his confused state, taking his body back a step with it. The trap set for him in the hedges was as powerful as it was well-coordinated. In a shockingly short time, they had analysed and adapted to their failures. Seeing as how Risens had left their previous magus for dead, they had, in their employ, at least one in reserve to have altered the concoction so quickly.

  Risens knew the King wanted him dead.

  It seemed he wasn’t the only one.

  Though he couldn’t dismiss the potential that these who were attacking him had been sent by the king much as Feylen, Orio, and Korpis had.

  None were aware of the Shadows Shroud he’d worn during their first encounter, as he’d left none to tell the tale. He was certain that no one had escaped the hedge maze. He had no indication of how long the lingering mists would stay their assault, but every moment worked to his benefit. The addition of the alchemic ether, while it impacted their protections,had no effect on his.

  Time, for once, was his ally.

  Having only inhaled a small dose of the paralyzing essence, its effects were limited and were fading as quickly as they had come. He was sure he could have picked the lock. But then what? Would he storm the room without knowledge of who or how many awaited him on the other side?

  He considered the layout of the shop. In the cramped confines, there would be no room for them to swarm him with numbers. Any with ill intent would be forced to align, single-file, making his battle, at most, two to one. It was a fight he was confident he would win, though curiosity overwhelmed the fires of rage that burned inside him.

  Revenge would come later.

  Now, he wanted answers.

  Intentionally slamming himself down on the wooden stool, he slapped his arms against the wall, making as much noise as possible. Risens hoped to play the part as he worked to simulate the sound of a man falling unconscious. It wasn’t long before his ruse proved successful. Laughter filtering in from the room beyond at his feigned collapse gave an easily understood clue.

  “That was far easier than expected,” one of the voices from beyond the door said. “How long did Corvus say the CimCalwould linger? I’d prefer not to join him.”

  “Shouldn’t be long now,” a second voice chimed in.

  “Make it quick.” He recognized the gruff, deep-toned third voice. The shop keeper had played his part in this trap. “Get him out of here. His Majesty’s response won’t be kind if he finds out he was here.”

  Satisfaction arose in Risens. Regardless of whether he was afforded the chance to interrogate his would-be killers, they’d provided enough information to follow. The name Corvus struck a chord of familiarity, though he couldn’t place where he had heard it. That they only traveled with a pair of soldiers hinted at the hasty, though strategic manner of their traps. The speed with which the trap had been sprung and the assassins’ subsequent arrival was too quick for a message to have been received and a response given. They were billeted among the areas where their traps lingered.

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  Were any of his previous haunts safe any longer?

  The cloud of noxious blue smoke had settled around his shins as the sounds of footsteps echoed through the door. He could feel the individual vibrations of each of the men outside as they entered with zero regard for stealth. Internally, he shook his head at their complacency. It was a carefully laid trap, yet validation that one’s intended victim was truly incapacitated would have been advisable.

  Risens pulled the black cloth wrap up and over his nose, hiding the Shadows Shroud from view. He rarely wore the added article beyond times when the elements demanded extra protection, yet he decided it would be an apt addition to his gear moving forward.

  His wrists rested against the elongated handles of the Ravens Talons as he let them fall limp to his sides. “Fool. They come to kill you, and you pretend to slumber. Take them. We are not content with remaining idle.”

  He wanted to curse at the insatiable longing of the blades to demand their silence, yet, in part, their ambitions werealigned with his desires. He only needed one to live to extract what information he could. With his back wedged into the corner of the walls, his head slumped forward, covering the upper half of his face in the deep shadows of his newly acquired hood, he could clearly see the entrance to the room.

  As his enemies had waited for the toxin to dissipate, so too had he. Though he might have been a touch slower, he was prepared. Risens’ attention was drawn to the grating of wood against wood. Peering discretely through squinted eyes, he watched as the rectangular depression in the doorway slowly opened, revealing an unfamiliar pair of eyes staring at himfrom the hall.

  “He’s out.” The voice chuckled. “Open it.”

  The slot slammed shut with the jingle of keys. The door swung inward. A moment later, the inside of the door arrested its inswing as it bumped against his foot.

  As Risens had expected, there were only three men in the narrow hallway before him. Owing to his size, one, the shopkeeper alone could have made the corridor feel cramped without the presence of the other two. Like the assassins that had waited for him in the bends of the hedge maze, they were cloaked in black, hoods drawn with masks covering the lower halves of their faces.

  The room was small enough so that only one of the assassins could enter at a time. The man rudely squeezed past the shopkeeper to access the narrow chamber and their incapacitated prey. As soon as his body cleared the doorway, Risens straightened his leg, slamming the door behind him. The man wasn’t afforded the time to reach Risens before the Talon pierced through the soft flesh under his chin and punched through the back of his neck, straight into the wooden wall behind him. The flashing symbol of the blade in his vision increased a digit while screams of ecstasy roared through his mind with the kill.

  The light in the man’s eyes flickered out as his body gave into a silent death. Held back by his mask, the blood poured down his neck and chest instead of painting the room in a speckle of crimson with his wet cough. The commotion from outside the door hinted at the surprise caused by the slamming door, while the reality within was still hidden behind the wooden panel.

  Risens was on his feet and ready when the sliding panel scraped open. This time, it was a familiar set of eyes that greeted him. They shifted from surprise to an expression he recognized all too well—fear in the final moments before one’s death. The shopkeeper wasn’t able to react before the second Talon sliced through his eye and into his brain.

  The perpetual berating of the blades silenced as he provided them exactly what they wanted.

  The remaining killer behind the doorway cursed as he realized the tragic error in their judgment. Wrenching the blades from both dead men, Risens felt the heat of the fire in the hearth as he pushed himself against the back wall. Using it for leverage, he lunged forward, leading with his boot into the center of the door where the lock met the wall. Splintering wood peppered the hallway.

  Risens had kicked in his share of doors in his days in the service of the king and realm, yet none that carried the heft of this one. Burdened by the weight of the dead shopkeeper, an inordinate amount of force was necessary to send the mountain of a man spilling back into the room behind in a shower of split shards. In the cramped hallway, there was no escaping the large man’s uncontrolled fall as he brought down the assassin, who now tried to desperately flee the scene.

  Dropping his shoulder and ducking his head, Risens exploded through the jagged remains of the door, feeling the pull of the wood on the fibers of his new clothing. Struggling to his feet, whatever fight had filled the assassin’s intent departed as he raved down the hall.

  Risens let the Talon in his right hand fly. Releasing at an awkward angle, the throw was never meant to kill. The Talon roared with glee, rivaled only by the scream of pain that registered from the man’s lips, signaling that it had done exactly what it was intended to do. Leaping over the corpse of the colossal vendor, Risens reached the man just as he entered the main store.

  For a trained killer, he was surprised that the fight had departed him so swiftly as their careful, detailed plan failed before his eyes. He reached down to collect his spare, blood-stained dagger as he tracked the man into the opening of the room. Grabbing him by the back of his hair, he hoisted him to his feet before slamming him into the wall using his own body weight to prop him up. With a whimper, the bastard crumpled, bleeding from the knife wound to the back of his leg and his newly shattered nose.

  Risens flipped him to his back and drove him to the floor, pinning him to the ground. “Who were you sent here for?”

  The man blubbered an incoherent response before regaining some semblance of composure. His attempt to strike out with a blade he had secreted on his side was admirable, though far too predictable. Risens ended his attack by disabling his arm with a vicious slash of his Talon.

  “Yessss! More! More! More!”

  “Who?” Risens demanded, ignoring the blade, which was now making a sound that resembled a cough or gag.

  The man spat a gob of blood.“You. Rightmaker.”

  Risens grinned as the confirmation dribbled from the man’s lips. “How long have you been waiting?”

  “Just kill me,” the man said. “I will answer no—”

  Risens slashed his dagger downward, taking off the man’s ear. “You only have two of those before I begin slicing off other things.”

  The man gritted his teeth.

  Risens moved toward the other ear.

  “Fine! Fine!” the man shouted. “In shifts. A week or so. Since the execution.”

  “Myrenas?”

  The man nodded. “Yes.”

  His pitiful, racked sobs were grating, though at least his answers seemed to bear a measure of truth. Whether it would hold true would be determined later. The disarming ease with which he gave up the information prepared him for the attempt that followed.

  Again, another failed strike and another useless limb as the small blade skipped across the floor.

  “Who sent you?”

  For the first time, the icy chill of determination registered across his pain and blood-streaked face.

  “The Hunt will find you. There is no escaping.”