The Assassin's Legacy by D. Lieber

Author:D. Lieber
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: D. Lieber

I stared up at the manor from the shadows of the nearby trees, its torches casting hardly a glimmer. It was a windy night, moonless and cold. The perfect night to sneak in and take out three high-profile targets.

I didn’t know why I was sent for just a few Fae, but it was not my place to question orders, as my father kept telling me. I frowned at the thought and ignored the tension in my stomach.

Creeping closer—silent and invisible—I watched a guard pass on his rounds. After he was gone, not to return for twenty minutes, I approached the side of the manor, where the glass walls of the conservatory rattled in the wind.

At the door, I took out the gadget the Ubyzniki’s weapons master had given me. Sticking the pointed end into the keyhole, the mechanism clicked and clacked and then stopped.

I twisted the handle and clenched my teeth when it didn’t budge. I’d always preferred the tested solidness of age-old gear, trusting the sturdiness of rope and steel when my life depended on it.

Stifling a sigh, I dislodged a loose brick from a nearby planter and whacked the handle of the door off.

I was in the humid conservatory within seconds, carefully waiting and assessing where to go.

My next task was to reach the noble bedrooms. I knew where they were of course, thanks to our reconnaissance, but getting there without notice was another story.

I opted for approaching through the more official route rather than the servants’ hallways. Servants never got to rest on nights such as this, and they were more unpredictable.

The lateness of the hour meant that most everyone was abed, though storms did bring out the restlessness in people. Every creak, every swish, every thump as I crept silently through the halls and parlours of the manor, set my nerves on edge. I moved from cover to cover, never out in the open for too long.

But finally, I had to face the stairs. The wooden stairs, exquisitely carved, wound upward. They were wide, and there was no way of knowing who, or what, may be waiting around the blind corners.

Being a successful assassin comes with a certain amount of luck. As I made my way up the stairs, I was lucky, which meant my targets were not.

The half-breed’s chamber was easiest to find.

Standing outside the polished wooden door, I readjusted my grip on my shashka and took a deep breath. Then I quietly turned the doorknob and slipped inside.

And there I found my first target huddled in her bed, her pale eyes wide and reflecting the single candle on her bedside table. The little girl had wrapped her blanket around her like a cloak, the makeshift hood falling down from her dark hair.

“Did Mama send you to protect me from the storm?” she asked, her eyes fixating on my shashka as the blade flashed in the flame-light.

My heart screamed, and my chest felt like it was being crushed. She cannot be older than five.

And as my mind swirled in horror, her small voice called to me again.

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