Page 5 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

The relief hits so hard my knees actually buckle. I slide down the wall.

Protection.

Thank fuck it’s not assassination or murder. I keep reading, desperate for details.

Subject: Lord Gerailt Clayborne, second son of House Clayborne from Aelfheim.

Aelfheim.

It’s the same elven kingdom where Shade is heading. The Claybornes are one of the wealthiest noble houses in Aelfheim with fingers in the silk trade and harvest.

Threat Assessment: High.

Recent attempts on subject’s life by unknown parties. Previous protection detail deceased.

That’s not encouraging. Still, it’s protection. I’ll be keeping someone alive instead of taking a life.

This is my last chance. Protect this lordling for fifty days and I’m clear. My failures will be erased. Maybe then I can figure out what comes next once my standing is restored. I look at the assignment again.

Lord Gerailt Clayborne.

They call him Garrett in the shorthand notes at the bottom. Some nickname, probably. The nobility loves their pet names.

I have only a few hours before dawn to pack whatever I can carry.

Shit.

My cell is seven floors up from the sanctum. The climb is murder on my bad knee, the one that never healed right after one of the guild’s punishments. A dwarf lord shattered it with a warhammer three winters back and it has only gotten worse since then. Each step sends a dull ache radiating up my leg. My boots echo in the narrow stairwell alongside the steady drip of water that’s worn a groove in the stone.

I pass other assassins on the way up. Rooster descends with his gaudy bird mask catching what little light filters through the grime-covered windows. Fresh scalps hang from his belt, still dripping blood that leaves a trail on the stairs. I press myself against the wall to let him pass. He clicks his tongue at me.

“Walking dead,” he whispers. The Asterdust on his breath is sweet and chemical, making my nose burn.

Catnip lounges in an alcove on the fifth floor. Her mask is a delicate thing of flowers and thorns that doesn’t match the cruelty in her eyes. She’s cleaning her nails with a dagger, humming something that sounds like a lullaby. There’s blood on her robe.

“Heard you got a protection job,” she says without looking up. “How boring. I was hoping to watch you fail something more interesting.”

By the time I reach my cell, my chest is tight. The pollution is worse up here. I can taste the chemicals in the air, feel them coating my lungs like tar. Another gift of my wolf lineage. I experience the poison more intensely but it takes longer to kill me. A cruel joke.

My cell is exactly as I left it this morning. The narrow cot dominates one wall with its mattress reeking of mold. Everything I own fits into the trunk sitting beneath the grimy window on the opposite wall.

I open it and sort through the contents. Three sets of leather armor, carefully maintained despite their age. My weapons rest beneath them. I select two daggers, a short sword, throwing knives, and a garrote wire. They’re the tools of my trade, each one intimate with death.

At the bottom of the trunk lies the only thing that truly matters.

I pull the small pouch out carefully. Inside are three silver canines, filed sharp and capped in precious metal. They’re all that remains of my grandfather. He was a pure-blooded wolf and could shift between forms like breathing, something I never inherited. The elf blood from my father saw to that.

I barely remember my parents. They were both killed when I was too young to understand what death meant. My grandfather took me in after that, raised me in the Slagtown Quarter among the Sylverin pack.

“You need to watch him.”

Kitty stands in my doorway. I hadn’t heard her approach. She’s the only one in the guild who can still surprise me.

Her face is soft and youthful. But she’s Dunethar like Rowan, so her real age is anyone’s guess. She could be twenty or two hundred. Tonight her feline mask hangs from her belt instead of covering her face.

“You mean Shade?” I ask.

Kitty steps into the room, closing the door behind her. “Didn’t Rowan tell you?”