He sucks in a startled breath, but he’s a professional. He Sifts out of reach in order to regather himself, instead of coming at me again.
I straighten, pretending to wince. “That cut looks nasty. You’d better clean it before it gets infected. Or… before the monksflower on the blade starts to work its way through your leg.” This time, it’s my turn to smile. “I’d estimate that you have a good half minute before your leg feels like it’s on fire.”
He growls under his breath and plucks at his shirt, where my mixture of bone and grave dust paints the fabric. “You can track me.”
“Oh, please.” I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. “My sister is a Shadow Walker. Did you think I wouldn’t have somehow accounted for someone of her skills?”
“Sister, huh?” Falion’s eyes narrow. “Ah, I thought the sweet Lady Merisel looked familiar. Well, if I’ve only got another twenty seconds, then I guess I’d best make them count, eh?”
He vanishes again.
My wards tug at me a second before he reappears to the right of me.
My knife cuts through the air, but he’s ready this time. Slamming a hand to my elbow, he blocks the blow, and then he’s angling his own knife straight toward my chest. I twist and block, but the tip slashes through my shirt.
I can’t move my fucking arm. The block he has on me is excellent, and he’s stronger than me, with a greater reach.
It’s a good thing I’m ambidextrous.
I drop the knife and catch it with my left hand, slicing a fine line of blood across his chest as he leaps back. Free again. But not for long. Our blades duel even as our bodies slam against each other. I throw everything I have at him, and he counters almost elegantly. My fist meets his cupped palm. His blade retorts with a stinging swipe across my cheek, even as I drive my heel into his instep.
It’s a blur of violence, carefully choreographed by long-gone masters who taught us our trade.
And I can’t find a fucking weakness.
We break apart for a second, both aware we’ve met our match as we circle each other like panthers. It’s been a long time since I’ve come across a foe who can keep me on my toes.
I’d almost be enjoying myself if I didn’t need to get out of here in a hurry.
I glance toward the bier, and Mistmark is stirring.
Dragon’s scurvy.
I cannot let him catch me here.
“Thought you were going to show me the error of my ways?” I taunt, lunging forward. “Looks like you’re just an average assassin when your feet are grounded in reality.”
“Do you want to know the best thing about your sister?” Falion muses as he flips me over his back and nearly puts a heel through my kneecap when I land.
“What?”
Falion holds out his palm toward me, before making a twisting move with his finger. “She’s a baby compared to me. She barely even knows what she’s doing. Sifting? That’s one of the first things we learn. But when you can make the shadows themselves walk….”
Something snatches my shirt, and I’m hauled back into the gloom along the wall. Ethereal arms wrap around me, and as I grab at them, my hands go right through them.
Shadows.
He’s somehow entrapped me with shadows.
One of them hauls my wrist back, slamming my knife against the wall.
I glare at him as he stalks toward me, smirking that smirky smirk.
“Oh, you want to play dirty?” It’s never bothered me to pull my punches, but I always like to hold back until the last moment—once you show all your tricks, you’ve got nothing up your sleeve for later. But now seems to be a good moment…. “Let me show you what I can do.”
I lock onto the suit of armor in the far corner and Summon it toward me. It’s a trick I learned when I was a little girl. But instead of conjuring it into my hand, I simply yank it through the air.
Falion Sifts a second before it hits him, but he’s moving a little slower now.
The shadows dissipate, and I’m free, driving toward the ring of torches that guard the bier. Mistmark stirs, as if he can almost hear us clashing, but the only safety to be found when you’re fighting a Shadow Walker is in the light.
Shadows ripple around the ring of light, some of them forming faces.
I dance on my toes, trying to keep them all in sight, but it’s the silvery-haired assassin stalking through them that earns my full attention.
I arch my eyebrow and point mockingly at the ring of light.
Falion merely smiles.
And then the torch to my right hisses out.
I spin, just in time to see a shadowy figure pinching the wick.
My protective circle becomes a little smaller.
Cauldron’s piss.
“When we Shadow Walkers openly walked this realm, every court in the land learned to fear us.” Falion takes a step closer and a second torch sizzles out. “They used to light torches along their walls to guard them from the night, but the greatest of our kind learned not to fear the light.”
A third torch hisses, and then there’s only one last torch remaining. I back around it, knife in hand and heart in my throat.
If he plunges us into darkness, then he’ll have the upper hand—
Or… will he?
My heart skips a beat. Shadows need light to exist.
And I’m a wraith.
I was born in darkness. I hate it, but to let yourself bear such a weakness is like offering your throat to an enemy, so I trained for years with a blindfold. It paid off. When Zemira and I were sent into our final testing, they dropped us in the mines of Wraithenghul for the first leg of the three-part challenge, and only those who managed to escape that darkened tomb were
