Page 50 of Slayer

“I always tried to stop it,” he continues. “But Silas had his ways.” My throat goes dry and I dip my head down to the desk. I know the truth of that. They know it, too.

Orphans are brought here to be trained, just as I once was. Others come willingly. Not all survive what this place demands. “Thank you,” I say quietly, meeting his gaze.

“Now,” I continue, “as you know, there are four royals currently held in the dungeons. They stepped onto Magda. They lied, schemed, cheated our people out of coin, and they harmed a legend in the Ring.” My gaze shifts deliberately, and I wonder if I’ve already said something in biased favor of Zorren.

“Korrin. Jarek. Kova.” I gesture once. “You’ll stay. The rest of you may go.” Chairs scrape against stone as the rest rise. I watch them file out, moving like shadows slipping back into the night. When the door shuts, the room settles back into silence.

Then I turn my focus to what truly matters, training Zorren, securing my heir, and making my name known. I will shape him into something unbreakable. I will protect Magda for what comes after me. And I will remind this world exactly who it belongs to.

Chapter twenty

Royal Treason

As the days pass, I have a bed moved into my chamber. The space slowly begins to resemble something close enough to safe that I feel comfortable moving some of my personal things from my lair in the Underground.

The slayers in this academy want their master alive. I know that. They need a leader. Within these walls, I am protected, but protection is not equivalent to trust. Old instincts don’t die simply because I’m the one in command.

I sleep with a dagger clenched in my hand. Its familiar weight rests against my chest, cradled the way a child might cling to a toy, the only comfort I trust in the dark.

Jarek will train Zorren, break him down to the bone, strip away any lingering hesitations, then rebuild him stronger than before. Kova will stand as Jarek’s shadow, silent and watchful, ready to strike the moment he falters.

And Korrin will remain at the academy, digging deep, extracting every scrap of information the four royals carry about the crown and the king they follow so blindly. I want everything. Names, alliances, weaknesses, trade routes, whispers in dark halls. And most importantly, what lies beneath that castle. I have a feeling something very sinister is down there. However, I need all four of them alive enough for what I have planned for them. Korrin has a reputation of taking things too far. So I told him to get what he needs and leave them living.

Golden rays from the morning sun spill across the stone floor, creeping higher and higher until they strike me square in the eyes. I groan and reach blindly for the pillow beside me, dragging it close and burying my face into its cool side.

For a moment, I consider staying like this, indulging in the unfamiliar luxury of doing nothing. Of resting. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself that kind of mercy.

A sharp knock at the door shatters the thought. The door is locked in four different places. Even the windows are secured, each key kept close. No one enters my space without my permission.

I release a frustrated groan and flip the pillow over, fingers closing around the cold metal key hidden beneath it. I throw my cloak around my shoulders before rising, unwilling to let whoever waits beyond the door see me without that final layer of armor.

I work through each lock carefully until the final mechanism gives with a low, metallic click. I pull the door open. Thalos stands on the other side. This can’t be good.

“Good morning,” he says, hoarse and exhausted.

“Morning.” I quirk a brow and step aside. “Come in.” I gesture to the couches near the fireplace. The fire is clinging to life from the night before, the remaining embers winking like dying stars.

Thalos moves toward the heat and lowers himself into the seat closest to the hearth. Up close, the exhaustion clings to him. I remember that exhaustion. Hour after hour of stalking, waiting, and watching takes its toll. He’s been up all night keeping an eye on something. Or someone.

I take the opposite seat, a low table, the only barrier between us. “What is it?” I ask.

“There’s a client,” Thalos says quietly. “An important one. His ship docked before dawn. He’ll make his way here soon. He always does. First, he stops at Pebble’s for a drink and a woman.” Thalos leans back, his eyes never leaving mine. Judging by the nature of Thalos’s information, the client’s a regular. I wonder how many times I’ve passed him in Pebbles, and if I’d recognize his face when I saw him.

“He offers more gold than most kingdoms see in a year. But he doesn’t negotiate easily. His jobs…” He bites his lower lip and shakes his head. “They’re near impossible.”

I slowly sink back in my chair, listening. Near impossible is a strong choice of words to hear coming out the mouth of a slayer, and I trust that Thalos doesn’t say it lightly.

“He only ever spoke to Silas.” Thalos’s jaw tightens. “And if Silas decided a task was beneath him, or too costly, he’d send someone else in his place.” He exhales slowly through his nose. “About ninety percent of the time, they never came back.”

Silence falls between us, thick and uninvited. Thalos’s gaze drifts toward the tall windows as morning light spills across the stone, cutting sharply through his line of sight. For a moment, it reveals the lines on his forehead, the pins of silver hair hiding near his temples. He’s far too young for age to reveal itself the way it does. Then his eyes return to me.

“You know the one kind of job Silas never accepted?” he asks. “Anything that involved the royals.” My spine stiffens. “He never wanted them touched.” Thalos shakes his head once. “I never understood why, as that’s our direct enemy.”

Well then, I think. They don’t know he has royal blood. It looks like Silas’s little secret never even reached his most trusted allies.

His voice lowers. “But I understand you.” The embers in the hearth crack softly. “You want the throne to fall. Every slayer in this academy does. All of us. The old, the young, we hate the blood that runs in their veins.” He pauses. “Every royal deserves the blade but one.”

My eyes widen as I fail to conceal my intrigue. What does he know?