The sting of the open hand that hammered across his face forced the food from his mouth. Risens mourned as the morsel skipped across the dirty floor, regretting its loss immediately. He’d never in his eleven years enjoyed the taste of food so fine.

  “I’ll ask you again, how many bites of meat did I take?” Vagon growled. His hand retracted, priming for its next strike.

  “Three.” Risens forced a confident tone. He pushed down on the polished wood of the surface to keep his palms flat on the table.

  “How many sips of wine?”

  “Two.” This time, he was sure of the answer—one when the meal had first been served and the second only moments earlier.

  “Wrong.”

  Risens easily blocked the hand this time as it swatted at his face. It was far too easy, far too predictable, and telegraphed. He wanted to curse as he missed the punishment’s true intent.

  Vagon swiped the plate of food from where it steamed before him. With a snarl, he tossed it across the room, shattering the porcelain and spoiling the food.

  “The luxuries of fine food so entranced you, you missed two. You were distracted enough that I could have poisoned your water, or worse, slit your throat. You are an assassin. Though you eat, you do not dine. You must eat to live, yet in this moment, you live to eat.”

  Risens had a hard time pulling his longing gaze from the steak splattered across the floor, now food for the rats.

  “As for tonight, you will go hungry.”

  ***

  Risens waited until after darkness shrouded Windwake in its embrace before he stalked from the safety of Tawny’s clinic. The evening hours had passed with a quickness that was entirely unexpected and disturbingly unwelcome.

  Marlaine had woken shortly after he and Tawny had returned from the lab and garden hidden cleverly below the floorboards. He’d studied the design, testing the pressure and even the sound of his footfalls on the false panel, surprised to find it incredibly well-engineered.

  He’d politely refused the meal that was offered and set on the small table within the meager confines of her home beyond the shop. However, the aromas proved far more enticing than even the combined lures of their Brands. What followed was an unexpected experience. It wasn’t the fear of treachery or poisoning that had fueled his initial rejection, but the bizarre familiarity of the event and his company.

  He lost interest in counting bites of food and tracking sips of wine, focusing instead on the utterly mundane experience. The meal didn’t just look or smell enticing; the flavors were well executed and delicious—roast meat, heavily drenched with thin sauce over a steaming bed of vegetables.

  Risens had forgone the protection of the mask throughout dinner, using the ever-present countdown to judge the approaching cover of darkness.

  Tawny had seen him out after he’d bid farewell to Marlaine. She had leaned in close, whispering in his ear as he made to leave. He expected it would be another entreaty. Another plea to save a life.

  “Thank you for the company, dear Raven.”

  The words had been far more shocking. Hushed and melodic was the tone of her voice, and it echoed in his ear long after he’d departed, overpowering even the low whistling of the wind.

  Perched in the deep shadows of a chimney, Risens was hidden among the peaks of one of the many angular roofs in the Learners Quarter. With a snarl and clenched fists, he worked the distraction from his mind, focusing on the task at hand.

  Beyond the attempt on his life, the evening had been formative and surprisingly enjoyable. Now, he had business to attend to—a task that required stealth and finesse beyond aggression and death. At least two groups sought his demise, and any excess noise from killing would attract more unnecessary attention.

  The Cirque of Academia was the learning hub of Windwake, possibly the entirety of Halthome, yet at present, it was nearly deserted. With the volume of learners that surrounded the central square, it would have stood to reason that some would be out at this hour, but beyond the guards shifting ominously before Excelsior’s ornate gate, the area was still.

  Despite occupying less of the square’s footprint than the other academies that adjoined it, Excelsior easily made up for its meager presence with the outsized attitudes of its inhabitants. It was the proving ground for the noble youths of Halthome. Judging by the product that normally sauntered from its gates with their heads held high, it was as if the school had been constructed exclusively to boost their overly inflated egos.

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  In a sense, like Risens’ own tutelage, it was designed to hold power over others. He had been instructed to kill with a blade, bow, and his hands, while here, they murdered with the stroke of a pen.

  He stalked through the shadows; they openly committed their crimes with impunity in the broad light of day. Oftentimes, their words were law. They stole from those without means, either judicial knowledge or finances to defend themselves, and did so wearing a genuine grin of satisfaction.

  His blades were their judgment.

  For a long, disturbing moment, he put serious consideration into seeing how much mayhem he could cause before an alarm was raised. There were hundreds of supposed learners—if they could be called that—inhabiting the halls of Excelsior with easily an equal contingent of their personal guards and servants. He would likely be doing Windwake and the rest of Halthome a favor, though he wrote the idea off quickly.

  Mother Raven had sent him to collect an item, not to kill. It was not lost on him that the command differed so strongly from those issued by the palace and crown.

  His speculative gaze rolled over the looming fence that encapsulated the complex. At over five meters high, the polished stone was exceedingly difficult to climb, its surface strewn with traps and heavily patrolled at all hours of the day and night.

  The guards manning the posts resided in two large buildings, one at each corner of the wall facing the square, separated by the Nobles Gate. Postings here were touted as one of the highest honors a soldier could receive. Many of the guards spoke of it in drastically different terms, viewing it instead as a sentence rather than a privilege. The danger was all too real and all too fickle. A single errant word or look could lead to one’s untimely demise.

  The interior was dominated by a massive, illustrious building. Each terraced level featured lush green gardens and water features, alive with vibrant pops of color from ever-blooming flowers. Privilege was strong enough to stave off the drought’s effects, as the plants were still nourished regardless of the cost. The thought turned his stomach.

  How many struggled to exist? How many crops withered and died due to the lack of water? Here was enough to irrigate fields upon fields, yet it was restricted so the pompous children could lounge in the pristine comforts of perfectly manicured gardens.

  The rear third of the enclosed complex seemed to have been created purely for the entertainment of the nobility who resided amongst the halls. It was a vast green space with a small stream that snaked through its center, forming a pool in one corner. A modest grove of tall trees peeked over the top of the wall, sprouting from fertile soil by the water’s edge. A quaint amphitheater sat quietly in the opposite corner, its entertainers having been granted a reprieve from their performances. In the center of the lush lawn, a large tent had been erected, covering dozens of tables and chairs. There were several stalls near the rear of the sprawling building, as the noble youth were encouraged to master the blade, but he doubted many took the opportunity to learn the deadly art truly. They would much rather let others do the killing in their stead. Like the King Lathrenon, it was their orders that would sentence people to death while they lounged in their luxurious estates.

  That was until the dramatic execution of Lady Myrenas.

  Risens tried to shake the memory of the brutal scene from his mind to no avail.

  He distracted himself by clocking the roving patrols as they moved across the pinnacle of the looming walls. From his studies, he knew the traps spread across the barrier’s exterior were generally noisy and deadly. Those scattered across the interior grounds were more cautiously laid and meant only to disorient. They couldn’t have some hapless youth of some haughty duke stumbling upon one during a nighttime frolic.

  He groaned as the obvious avenue of his entrance became clear. He’d hoped to avoid it, hoped to find easier access over the wall. However, there seemed to be little choice in the matter. He would be resigned to the stench of the sewers once more.

  Risens slid silently down the drainpipe into the darkness of the alley below. Working around the back of the buildings, he skirted the edge of the polished, guarded wall. The hour wasn’t exceedingly late, yet there were none about in the narrow avenues as he darted across. Any he would have met lurking among the refuse would have been up to no good.

  His nose alerted him to the proximity of the sewer before his ears picked up the sluggish gurgle of the viscous water that oozed from the wide pipe. Nobility, it seemed, had no influence over the redolence of their shite.

  Most of the various districts of Windwake had been constructed with forethought for the sewers, keeping the filth of the city creeping laggardly along beneath the streets. One of the expansive outlets emptied into a broad trough that snaked out of the district before washing its filth into the shallows of the Sea Solace. The frequent rains that had been a staple of life within the city until the drought began had served to dilute the substance with relatively fresh water. Now, it was nothing but sewage that slipped slowly through the channel. Covered in the pervasive stench of the fish market, it merely added another layer to the depth of stench that hung in the air.

  Here in the Learners Quarter, all the structures near the sewer exit were strategically positioned away from the wide spout. Not surprisingly, none had any desire to gaze upon such a putrid sight, nor risk leaving any rear-facing windows open in fear that the winds might change and blow the aromas into their houses or places of business.

  Risens swung his feet over the edge of the narrow railing that prevented the careless from unwittingly toppling into the fetid stream. He’d used the sewers to sneak through the city on countless occasions. His purposes were discreet, and he was thankful for the narrow walkway built along the edge of each for the workers who were forced to maintain the ducts. He could think of no job more foul.

  There was no gate blocking anyone foolish enough from entering the stone drain, though further in, he knew he’d find more obstacles to hinder his progress.

  In a careful crouch, he slunk along the slick pathway, deftly leaping over the seemingly random openings that trickled their waste into the main channel.

  As the fullness of the odor hit him, he wondered if the mask could be augmented to block the awful stench.