The Atrium Empire.

  It wraps around the giant spring-fed lake at the center of the world like a ribcage protecting a vital organ: The Heart.

  I wear my hood over my head to guard from the sun, but the alley offers some shade, and a constant breeze whips off the lake, a blessing of relief from the heat.

  Ulfgar’s tongue has flopped out of his head as he mimics a beast of burden the locals use. Its short four legs rise out of large flag feet, and large fatty lumps spread out across its back like overburdened backpacks. It has large, flat, hairless ears that flap like fans. Its fat black tongue contrasts with Ulfgar’s, but leave it to him to find a kindred spirit in any place he is.

  Workers draw buckets from a small river, one of many that eventually converge to form the Vein downstream. They mix water with clay in molds to create bricks, then pile them up for transport to construction sites elsewhere.

  Out of the corner of my eye, as inconspicuously as possible while a giant zerker slobbers over himself, I study our quarry’s home: a massive stone ziggurat towers next to the waters of the Heart. Guards patrol on several of the rock platforms. Beautiful statues of creatures, amalgamations of animals, stand guard. They are likely golems, like Brick, ready to spring to life at the first sign of assault.

  Speaking of, we left Brick outside the city. There’s no reason to bring it here. Not yet, anyway. I still have a piece of it in a pouch on my belt. Though I have yet to try to cast a spell from it, I can feel the magic brimming off of my hip.

  “What do you think, brother?” Ulfgar asks. He has lost interest in his friend.

  “Suicide.” A daytime assault would see us both buried in a sandy pit, or burned, or fed to some desert dragon, whatever punishment is appropriate for failed assassins here.

  “It will be tough to kill a god, but we knew that when we signed the contract,” Ulfgar says.

  “There are no gods. Just the Light and the Dark.”

  The Queen of the Atrium Empire has declared herself the sole source of the Light for the world. A prism through which its power filters. The priests of Light that exist would beg to differ, but she has purged the Empire of them. Our client is likely a high priest somewhere.

  Or one of her children is seeking the throne.

  It matters not to me.

  “You’re the secret etlab champion. What do you think?” I ask Ulfgar. Not every plan needs to come from me.

  “A night assault. Bear form.”

  It might work. We could make it inside and strike down our target. But could we leave alive? Unlikely.

  “Let’s see what the night defenses look like. What else?”

  “Deliver Brick as a gift. Then control it at night. Crush her in her dreams.”

  A strong option. But it would end with Brick's destruction. With a timeline of almost two years still, it didn’t make sense to lose an ally like that, even if it wasn’t technically alive.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I like it,” I say. “Let’s see if we can find another opportunity before we commit to that one.”

  The days are long, and the sun meanders through the sky. As we wait for night in the alley like two cutthroats, an older woman stops near us.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone from down the Vein,” she says. “And one with hair of fire, too.”

  A small bit of my hair has found its way down the side of my face. It’s not ideal to expose an identifiable trait like that while on a mission like this. I tuck it away.

  “Are you all here to see the ceremony?” she asks.

  “No. What ceremony is that?” Ulfgar answers.

  “The Queen’s second son has come of age. They will bring him down to the Heart, where she will baptize him in the Light.”

  “I’ve never heard of this,” I say.

  “Baptize in the light? How is that possible?” Ulfgar asks.

  “It’s amazing. The whole Heart turns into a warm glow. It’s amazing to see the Queen’s power. Her oldest son is such a brute, but we are all so excited to see Prince Solas become a young man. He seems so kind but strong.”

  The woman departs, giving us the Queen’s blessing.

  “Aw, Zane. I didn’t know we were going to be killing someone’s mom. I wouldn’t want anyone to do that to mine.”

  Ulfgar. Drug-fueled zerker. Ender of many lives.

  Also: momma’s boy.

  “She’s killed hundreds of priests of light. She’s not some quilt-knitting baby kisser.”

  “Yeah, I know. But still.”

  We are two hawks in our nest.

  Ulfgar and I wait atop a building, with our plan ready.

  A row of twenty arrows is laid out along the waist-high wall that runs across the roof. When the Queen comes into view, I’m going to fire nonstop with the hopes that one hits our quarry. Success or not, Ulfgar and I will bear form and escape back to a wooden raft waiting in the Vein, and abscond back to the ocean.

  But fate has a way of laughing at one's plans.

  Dark clouds billow in the distance like a giant smith has pumped smoke out of gargantuan bellows. The winds carry them to us.

  “It never rains here,” Ulfgar says.

  Within an hour, the storm is overhead, and fat raindrops careen from the sky.

  “You’ll never hit her in these conditions,” Ulfgar says.

  He’s right. Wind? I can handle that. But this isn't natural rain. It’s heavy, thick sheets of water, swirling like a solid curtain. It would strip the fletching off an arrow before it flew ten yards.

  “Plan B, brother. We’ll join the crowd and use our bear forms if the opportunity arises. If not, we’ll wait for another chance.”

  Ulfgar nods.

  I gather up the arrows, and water drips from the feathers and into my quiver.

  Despite the weather, the crowd is thick, nearly shoulder to shoulder, waiting for their Queen. Ulfgar shoves through them like a barge through an ocean swell, and I follow him through his wake.

  “Sir,” a female voice says.

  Before I can turn, fingers clamp onto my forearm like a vice.

  I am overwhelmed, not by the grip, but by the magic. I have never felt anything so strong. The strength of it puts an immediate twinge in my stomach, like everything in my entire body wants to turn inside out. Each of her fingers emanates magic into me like venom, pulsating, itching. I want to die and live forever at the same time.

  She is my height. Dark eyes peer out from beneath a hood, widening like big saucers. She senses it too.

  The word comes up from the depths of my mind, unbidden, uncontrollable, like a reflex. Not just me, but the universe itself demands to

  Vashar.

  The raindrops stop in mid-fall. Suspended like beads hanging on invisible strings from the clouds. Ulfgar freezes midstride, his foot hanging just above the ground. The crowd is still.

  I blink. Then, so does she.

  We are the only things not stuck in time.

  And before I can blink a second time, her dagger is slicing through the suspended raindrops, parting the water like a curtain, headed straight for my throat.