Chapter 1
A Trail of Shadows
Beneath the cloak of darkness, Bast Blackblade found liberation, his footsteps silent against the city’s quiet streets as he navigated the labyrinthine alleys and hidden passages that crisscrossed Arithia’s heart.
Killing was not a choice for Bast. It was a necessity. And Bast excelled at it more than anyone else in the realm. Everyone except Emperor Oxon’s Black Guard, who could hunt and kill without question or emotion at their emperor’s command.
For the last two weeks, Bast Blackblade observed his mark, making note of the man’s habits and the guard shifts he kept around him, as well as where those guards were posted at any given time. Bast studied the sprawling mansion for weaknesses and potential traps. Rarely did he ever get caught in a trap laid around a mark for protection, and he was not about to make that mistake with this one. Not with the payment he would receive upon completing the task.
A fine mist blanketed Arithia tonight, making the lights across the city glow like wide orbs ringed by thin halos of mirrored light. The city was always beautiful in the dead of night when people were bedded down, taverns were closed, and a tranquil peace settled over the streets. It was a far cry from what Bast encountered in the light of day.
Bast embraced his magic, pulling cautiously from the well within. Shadows shifted around him, eagerly forming his own guard of darkness. No one understood shadows like he did, the way those shadows hummed their seductive song in the dark. They climbed along his limbs and brought that inner calm he would need for the task ahead.
Once satisfied with the protection the night offered, Bast shifted his black sword along his back and found his grip on the outer wall of the mansion. Then he climbed soundlessly, sticking to the path he carefully selected. A neighboring mansion with tall towers cast long, high shadows along this section of wall. His magic had little work to do to keep him invisible to the eye.
Still, his shadows sang to him, sustaining the mesmerizing calm that accompanied them. He left a trail of his shadows in his wake for a quick emergency exit.
Bast reached the mansion rooftop in less than a minute. He crouched in the darkness, surveying the ground and walls, seeking any potential threats.
He had climbed this wall a few days ago when scouting the best route to Lord Corinth’s balcony. None of the guards noticed him moving in the shadows that night, but he had spotted a pair of guards patrolling the perimeter wall, as well as the mansion courtyard. When he had reached Lord Corinth’s balcony that night, he had observed the movements in the courtyard, the best route down to the stone railing, and how to slip in without a sound.
What he hadn’t expected to find a few nights ago on that scouting mission had been Lady Corinth changing for bed… alone. Bast had enjoyed watching her change and had allowed his gaze to slide along the supple curves of her body.
The couple was young for their position, and from what Bast learned, they had only married two years ago. She and Lord Corinth had no children yet, though not for lack of trying, Bast knew. He heard and occasionally caught glimpses of those attempts as he scouted for this job. Once he finished the job tonight, the line would die with Lord Corinth. No doubt that was why he was hired. Someone was making a power play for Lord Corinth’s control over Arithian textiles—and possibly his stunning wife. Not that Bast could blame any man for desiring Lady Corinth and that dark, smooth skin.
Bast was glad she wouldn’t be present tonight. Killing her would be a tragedy.
Once the pair of guards rounded the wall and disappeared from his path, Bast continued along the rooftop, keeping a low profile and using the shadows to his advantage.
As he neared his drop point over the balcony, Bast spotted the single rooftop guard he had expected. He waited until the guard turned his back to peer out at the courtyard and the lord’s balcony below. Then, Bast slipped into the shadow of the chimney near the guard. How many nights did this guard have to listen to the Corinths ravishing one another while he stood watch on the roof? He wouldn’t see anything from here, but those sounds had drifted up here when the couple had grown heated.
As Bast pressed his back into the chimney shadows, he reached out with those same shadows, his magic trilling in delight. The guard’s mouth opened in a cry as the darkness wrapped around his throat and cut off his ability to make a sound. The guard reached up with both hands, scratching at the strangling arm as if he could pull it away. But his fingers met his own skin as his face turned red.
Bast crept forward as the shadows hummed for him alone. The guard slipped from consciousness. Bast caught the guard before he could pitch forward into the courtyard and he dragged the guard back toward the chimney, laying him face-down as he tied the guard’s arms behind his back and connected the rope to his ankles. The guard would wake with a headache, unable to call for help or come after Bast.
Bast’s patron would probably prefer if everyone in Bast’s path died, but the payout—as generous as it was—didn’t warrant unnecessary killing. Bast might be a killer, but not without cause. As long as this guard didn’t see him or pose a threat to him, Bast saw no reason to kill him for doing his job. And a sucky job, at that, to be stuck on this rooftop on a misty night.
With the guard dispatched for at least an hour, Bast trailed his shadows again, then crept toward the edge of the roof and peered into the courtyard. The guards below continued their usual path. Bast would need to wait for them to venture around the corner if he wanted to slip in and out without notice.
As he waited, Bast crouched on the rooftop and gazed out over the city. Tonight offered the optimal window of opportunity. With his wife visiting their country estate with her sister, Lord Ned Corinth would be alone. That also meant her absence would lead to depleted guard shifts.
Lord Ned Corinth’s mansion nestled beside the Great River, barely a stone’s throw from the Assembly House—a sign of the young lord’s power and influence in the kingdom, if nothing else was.
In the moon’s silvery glow, the city transformed. Its spires cast long shadows across cobblestone streets. Arithia stood as the radiant jewel within the crown of Novavito. Its breathtaking spires and opulent mansions kissed the heavens. Each edifice whispered tales of a bygone era.
Waterfalls born from the bosom of the lush green Aryth Mountains that enveloped Arithia cascaded in a symphony. The Great River, a shimmering ribbon of life, pulsed through the very soul of Arithia, a liquid lifeline connecting the peaks of the palace to the grandeur of the Assembly House before spilling out into the southern ocean. Where the ocean met land, waves caressed sandy beaches.
To the casual observer, Arithia shimmered, its beauty unfurling like a lover’s embrace. Crisp white buildings adorned with verdant foliage spilling from windowsills and climbing towers stood as monuments to the harmonious coexistence of nature and civilization.
For Bast Blackblade, the night held a promise of freedom, a respite from the suffocating embrace of daylight’s expectations. He found solace in the embrace of darkness. For beneath the veil of night, Arithia revealed a different beauty—a beauty born of whispered secrets and clandestine rendezvous that served him well in his work. This city, like all others, prospered on the backs of the less fortunate, and the royal family had done little in the past century to initiate change.
The guards below disappeared and Bast moved into action. In seconds, he descended the storm drain that sloped down from Lord Ned Corinth’s balcony roof. Bast’s black boots touched the pristine white stone without a sound. He listened for three beats to the sounds from beyond the open balcony doors as he left a trace of his shadows in place once more.
Only the occasional, soft snore of Lord Corinth broached the silence. The lamps had been extinguished some time ago. Bast hopped off the rail, casting a glance over his shoulder to the courtyard.
Nothing.
With a shake of his shoulders, his magic stirred off the water clinging to his black oiled cloak and boots. He had no intention of leaving incriminating footprints behind.
The instructions were explicit. Lady Corinth was to be spared—the very reason he had waited until she left for the country. No one was to see him go in or out. No traces could be left behind. He would have to wait three days after completing the job before he could collect his final payment—so serious was his patron that no hints be left behind. If he screwed up, he wouldn’t be able to collect his money.
This kind of killing would raise suspicions. Whoever hired Blackblade wanted people to know this was personal. Such specific instructions for how to kill only indicated something personal. Quick and sure. A dagger straight to the heart.
Bast hugged his shadows around him like a second skin before stepping inside on silent feet. Lord Corinth didn’t stir, didn’t stop his soft snoring.
Lord Corinth lay in bed with his limbs sprawled out and most of the blankets kicked off, likely because of the humidity in the air. Only a thin sheet covered his bare body, twisted around his lower half. Ned Corinth was in good shape for a lord—probably because he was still so young. The more these lords aged, the less fit they became, used to their life of lazy entitlement.
Bast crept toward the bed, avoiding the path of any lights from beyond the open balcony doors. The last thing he needed was Lord Corinth startled awake and calling for his guards because Bast’s form passed through the light.
He paused beside the bed, and a blade slipped silently into his hand from the sheath along his armguard. Bast drew in a steadying breath, reveling in the song of his shadows in his own soul. Then he slammed the knife true to the mark.
Lord Corinth’s eyes shot wide. His mouth opened. In that final moment, Lord Ned Corinth’s gaze met Bast’s and his eyes widened. Then they glazed over in death.
Bast carefully withdrew his knife, wiping it on the blanket before slipping it into his sheath.
He had no need to steal a token of evidence that the job had been completed. By morning, news of Ned Corinth’s death would be on everyone’s lips.
With a gentle tug on his shadows, Bast Blackblade disappeared from the lord’s bed-chamber, sliding along the trail of shadows he had carefully left when he entered the grounds.
In less than a minute, he strolled away from the walls of the mansion precisely where he had entered.
No alarms sounded.
No calls rang out.
No one had any clue Lord Ned Corinth was dead.
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