The Binder's Game (The Sighted Assassin Book 1) Read online

Damn.

  I flicked the dart I had in hand without checking to see which one. It hit the only visible part of the person on the rooftop that I could see: the hand. A soft grunt told me the dart hit its target.

  “We need to move,” I told Talia.

  She pushed her knife into the man’s throat, drawing a bead of blood. “Who is it?” she demanded.

  The man shook his head. “Just hired to hold you here, nothing more—”

  She jabbed the knife into his throat, and blood spilled over her hand.

  I heard the sound of a crossbow firing before I saw the bolt come streaking toward her.

  There were times my Sight failed me. This was not one.

  To my eyes, the bolt moved clearly. Not slowly, at least, that’s not how it seemed to me, but I could track the movement and knew with certainty that it would hit Talia in the head.

  I flipped a knife toward the bolt, hoping my aim was true. I didn’t practice with knives the same way I did with darts, but the technique was similar. The ability to hit whatever I intended with darts wasn’t something I had been born into, not like my Sight, but forced practice had honed that skill until it was second nature.

  Talia jerked as the knife came toward her, and dropped at the same time. That had been the risk. Had she moved too far to the right, I would hit her with the knife. But she was incredibly skilled, and the knife whistled past her, colliding with the bolt before it could hit.

  I searched for the archer but saw no sign of him. His angle would be much better than mine, and I didn’t like my chances exposed on the ground like we were.

  “Can you climb?” I asked her.

  Her quick frown told me how foolish that question was to even ask.

  With a leap, I reached the overhang of the roof. I was born of Elaeavn, gifted with Sight, but like all my people, I had enhanced speed and strength. When I reached the lip of the roof, I flipped up and onto it, pulling myself up and rolling.

  I’d expected the rough slate to tear at my cloak and slow me. I hadn’t expected the seven men attacking me as soon as I reached the roof.

  Two darts went flying, hitting their targets.

  I rolled, keeping my head down, and barreled into one of the men, knocking him from the roof. He screamed.

  A sword whistled toward me and I kicked, catching the flat of the blade with my boot and sending the man spinning. With another dart, I caught the man, and he fell.

  That left three remaining.

  As I rolled to a stop, I saw that two of the men had crossbows aimed at me. The third had a short sword.

  And all I had were my darts.

  I might be fast, but would I be fast enough to catch the two men with crossbows while stopping the man with the sword at the same time?

  I didn’t think I could.

  The man with the sword—the leader, I realized—nodded. The ends of the crossbows came up slightly, enough indicate that they would fire. I had two darts in one hand and none in the other.

  With a quick flick, I sent the darts in my palm at the men. Had I more time, I would have been able to position the darts in a way that would have caught both of them. As it was, only one struck its target. The other sailed wide, but close enough that its intended target ducked, pulling his aim as he did. The bolt flew wide.

  The man with the sword advanced on me, and I managed to reach my knees as the sword swung at my head. I didn’t even have a chance to raise my hands.

  In that moment, I knew that I would die.

  Talia appeared, flying across the rooftops as if born to them, her knives crossed and catching the sword between them. She pressed upward, parrying the sword away, and kicked the man in the stomach.

  I leaned to the side and sent my last dart at the man with the crossbow. He dropped and rolled from the roof, landing on the ground below with a thud.

  Then I lay there, breathing heavily. Twelve men. Not that I hadn’t faced that many before, but usually I had preparations in place to even the odds. Had Talia not been here to help, I wouldn’t have survived.

  Then again, had Talia not been here, I wouldn’t have been in this situation.

  At least this time, the mess was not of my making.

  I made it to my knees in time to see Talia casually slipping her knives away after wiping them clean on one of the dead men’s shirt. She glanced over at me, her face unreadable, but the way her eyes went distant and her brow furrowed told me that she wasn’t sure how to respond.

  That, at least, made me feel better than anything else. She had seemed far too willing to abandon the friendship I thought we both valued. And maybe she hadn’t been quite as willing as I had thought.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “That’s all you have for me?” I asked.

  She stood and surveyed the rooftops, squinting as she did. I doubted that she had my Sight, but she had been trained by Carth, and I knew that Carth had other abilities, different than those of my people. She had a way of moving silently and had managed to surprise even me. And she was as strong and quick as me. How much of those abilities did Talia share?

  I would never have questioned that before, would never have thought that my friend Talia could be anything more than she let on, but then I’d learned what role she played with Carth, even as I still didn’t know the full extent of what Carth did in Eban.

  “That’s all I can have,” she said softly.

  I sighed, shaking my head at Talia. “That’s not good enough.”

  “Now you say that?” she asked. “After all the time I tried…”

  “You never tried,” I said. “Only implied.”

  She smiled and turned toward me. Moonlight reflected off exposed skin of her low-cut dress, drawing my eye. “And they are different?”

  “What is this about?” I asked her.

  “I would say you’re flirting with me,” she started, “but that’s not the Galen I know.”

  “Talia…”

  “I don’t know,” she said. The troubled way she did told me that she wasn’t sure what this was about, and that bothered her. In the line of work she was in, it should bother her.

  “Come on, then,” I said, reaching for her hand. “We should get you back to…”

  “The Brite Pot.” She took my hand. I hadn’t been sure that she would.

  “Then let’s get you back.” She had questions, and so did I. Maybe we could find the answers together.

  20

  The Brite Pot was much like most other taverns in this part of Eban, if a little cleaner. That was Talia’s influence, I was certain. On nights like tonight, festival nights when most of the city came out, the Brite Pot was even busier than usual.

  One of the serving girls noticed us entering and cleared a table in a corner. Doing so required her to move a group of men sitting at the table, but she managed that with a smile and a playful bat at wandering hands. She caught Talia’s eyes and nodded.

  The table gave us the opportunity to look out over the entirety of the tavern without anyone on either side. We only had to worry about the nearest table, and they were boisterous, loud, and clearly drunk. They wouldn’t notice anything happening around them.

  As we took our seats, the girl brought us each a mug of ale and then left.

  “They’re all well trained,” I noted.

  Talia smiled and touched the scarf around her neck. “We all are.”

  The scarf covered the long scar from the night she’d nearly died in the street. Had it not been for the blood I’d given her, she would have died, but I hadn’t been willing to lose my friend then. Or now, it seemed. With everything that had happened between us, the fact that Talia had allowed her mistress to use me, I still hadn’t hesitated to help her when it came down to it.

  And I would do it again if needed. For Talia, I would do anything, it seemed.

  I would have to think about what that meant another time.

  The twinkle in Talia’s eyes told me that she already had made up her mind what it meant. S
he reached across the table and touched my hand, more familiar with me than we’d ever allowed ourselves to be.

  “You only notice that now?”

  “You know that’s not what I—”

  She patted my hands and pulled hers back. “I know.”

  “Was this about Carth?” I asked.

  She tipped back her ale and took a long drink. Then she sighed, setting it back on the table. “These days, isn’t it always about Carth?”

  “I don’t remember the same intensity before,” I said. Sending twelve for Talia seemed excessive, but then, I hadn’t really seen what she was fully capable of doing yet. For all I knew, a dozen might be underestimating her. With Carth, I had the feeling that a dozen men wouldn’t be enough to capture her…

  “You were to meet with her, weren’t you?” I asked.

  Her jaw clenched slightly, telling me that I had been right.

  “Someone found out,” I noted.

  “It seems that way.”

  “Maybe they’re tired of Carth using them.”

  “Do you really think you’ve been used?” Talia asked. She took another drink, her eyes darting around the tavern.

  I shifted in my seat. Something bothered her, but she didn’t say what it was. More than the attack when she was supposed to meet Carth.

  As I slid around the seat, I realized that there were two fewer women than when we first came in. Both servers, and both no longer in the main hall. They could be in the kitchen, but on a busy night like this, I doubted that would be the case.

  A clatter came from the kitchen.

  Talia started to stand, and this time I placed my hand on her arm. She looked over at me, heat in her eyes, and I shook my head. “Let me check.”

  “This isn’t your fight, Galen,” she said.

  “No? I think you brought me in when you used me.”

  “I didn’t use you.”

  “You only let Carth do that,” I said.

  Talia nodded to the lute player near the hearth. He began dancing through the tavern, as if she had signaled him to move. Maybe she had. I didn’t think a lute player would be much good if there was something else going on.

  “We’ll check together,” Talia said.

  I nodded in a tight smile.

  We both got up, and I made my way to the kitchen. In all the time that I’d been coming to the Brite Pot, I’d never been into the kitchens. That just wasn’t something that you did when you came to taverns, especially in this part of Eban and with a woman like Talia running the place. I could imagine that had I tried, she would have found some way to guide me away, steering me so that I didn’t even know that I was rerouted.

  Now she followed me.

  My pouch had another ten darts, but none were tipped in toxin, so they were about as good to me as if I were to throw the hard rolls Talia served. The five knives strapped around my waist would be a bit more useful, but then, I didn’t like the idea of wasting them. Darts were easier to replace than knives, especially given the quality of steel I liked in my blades.

  The inside of the kitchen was much like I imagined. Heat blasted me as soon as I opened the door, and with it came a mixture of smells, both savory and sweet. A massive stove lined one wall. Pots boiled noisily on top of it. A row of barrels behind the door smelled of the ale Talia served.

  There was no one here.

  “Where are your cooks?” I asked.

  Talia shook her head. “Only one working tonight.” She shrugged. “It’s Landing Festival. No one is here for the food, Galen.” Her knives appeared in her hands again and she stalked forward carefully, moving with a deadly sort of grace.

  Talia always moved in a way that I would categorize as seductive, swaying as she walked. It was much the way most of the women in the Brite Pot did, drawing attention to their bodies, when their hands and minds were really to be feared. It was how they managed to be so successful, and how they managed to keep the Binders secret for as long as they had.

  I stepped forward, around the barrels, and found a woman with a knife in her chest. I recognized her as Isabelle, one of the cooks who had always been friendly with me. Not in the overly friendly way that many of Talia’s woman had, but the kind of friendly that told me she had a kind heart.

  Talia reached for the knife, but I caught her hand. “Careful. Might be poisoned.”

  I checked the Isabelle’s pulse and found it thready. With the placement of the knife, there wasn’t much that could be done for her, but I would try.

  “See if there’s anyone else in here,” I said.

  I peeled back Isabelle’s bodice, exposing her large breasts. The knife penetrated the side of her chest, and I wrapped my hand in the remnants of her bodice as I pulled it out, shoving my thumb into the wound. Blood pulsed under my thumb.

  How close had the knife been to her heart?

  Close enough that she bled as she did, but not so close that she was already dead. Pressure and the right type of paste could seal the wound. Had we been in my home—or the healer I had once trained with—I would have everything that I needed. But this was a kitchen. What could I find here that could be used?

  Maybe nothing.

  Talia reappeared. “There’s no one else.”

  “The others?” I frowned, staring at the dying woman.

  “In the tavern. They’re fine.”

  They were for now, but there had been a reason for this attack. We only had to come up with the reason why.

  “I need…” I started, thinking of what might work. “Telis leaves, camogine, and…” I couldn’t think of anything else. I could use the coxberry paste I had. “A bowl,” I said.

  Talia touched my shoulder. “Galen—”

  “No. I have to try,” I said.

  “Galen,” she said again.

  I shook my head. “You need to hurry or we’ll lose her.”

  “It’s too late, Galen.”

  I realized that she was right. Blood had spurted around my thumb, staining the remains of the bodice and pooling on the floor around Isabelle. The pressure beneath my thumb had eased, and the pulsing within her chest stopped as well.

  With a frustrated sigh, I ran my hand over her eyes, closing them.

  “Why would she have been attacked?” I asked. “Why in the kitchen?”

  Talia shook her head. “I don’t know—”

  She cut off and threw one of her knives over my shoulder.

  A man tumbled down a hidden stair, landing on the floor near my feet.

  I grabbed the knife out of his chest and dropped low, scanning the area around us. No one else moved.

  “Who’s upstairs?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing more than the usual.”

  I grunted. “The usual. I’m guessing there’s something more than the usual upstairs.”

  I took the stairs two at a time and reached the top landing. I’d never stayed in the inn attached to the Brite Pot before, never having the need, but knew that Talia kept the rooms clean and well aired. It was better for repeat business, I suspected.

  The hall was empty.

  But shadows shifted at the end of the hall, moving through a trail of light that made it under the bottom of a door. I ran down the hall and reached the door. Pausing with my hand on the handle, I looked back to see Talia next to me, two knives in hand. She’d grabbed another from somewhere, or possibly even kept them on her.

  “Did you rent to anyone here?” I asked.

  “These are short-term rentals only,” she said. “Longer term is the next floor.”

  I snorted. Short term. That mean they were for the prostitutes. Secrets would come from here; that was how the Binders managed to gather as much information as they did.

  Listening a moment, I kicked the door open.

  After finding Talia attacked, and then Isabelle, I feared finding another woman. There were people I knew here, not necessarily friends, but women I didn’t want to see hurt.

  There was nothing but an empty roo
m, a cool breeze fluttering through the open window.

  I scrambled to the window and saw boots flying across the rooftops

  “Stay here,” I suggested.

  Talia grabbed at my sleeve. “Don’t, Galen. If they were willing to attack me and come through my tavern, you know what they’re capable of doing.”

  “That’s my concern,” I said, grabbing the edge of the window frame and shooting myself out the window. “I don’t know what they’re capable of.”

  And, considering how Carth had used me, and how Orly had used me, it was time for me to understand what else might be out there.

  I chased the figure across the rooftops.

  They ran quickly and disappeared over the slope of a distant building. Whoever I followed either knew the city well or didn’t care and ran as if they did.

  As I ran, jumping from building to building, I prepared more darts. When I’d first begun learning to use darts in this profession, back when learning from Isander, one of the tests he’d asked of me was a demonstration of my ability to reload darts while moving. At the time, I thought him cruel to require it, but then there were many ways that Isander was cruel. He had forced me to practice over and over, repeating the process until I no longer needed to pay much attention as I worked.

  By the time I reached the roofline where I’d last seen the man, I had another dozen darts ready.

  I palmed half of them, able to do so with the darts that Carth had given me.

  My darts were small and made of a milled wood, usually oak to take advantage of the weight and the balance that provided for the needle on the end. I had learned to make darts as part of my training and usually used modified reeds for the tips, filing the ends to a sharp point.

  What Carth provided when she restocked my supplies had been a lighter wood, but no less balanced. The darts were exquisite, but required a different touch to throw. I’d spent the last week practicing with them, throwing them thousands of times until I felt comfortable with the different weight and could predictably toss them.

  Surprisingly, they flew farther than my usual darts. Some of that was the weight, but some, I wondered, was the shape of the dart. They had stiff fletching at the end, different than what I used. If I could find her supplier, I might simply try to buy more of these.