I might have acted the same.” After forking the last bite of omelet into my mouth, I set my silverware across my plate and relished the feel of a good meal. How long had it been since I’d eaten something that wasn’t questionable at best? Dez meant well, but he was forced to scavenge for bits like the rest of us. It didn’t always make for the freshest of ingredients.
Ozias stood and reached for my plate, stacking it on top of his. “Practice doesn’t hurt anybody. We need to prepare them for jobs. You never know when we might get another bounty like you.” His voice was light, if not a little teasing.
I shrugged. “I’m not one to go down without a fight.”
“That’s the spirit. Want to join us for training? I promise I’ll go easy on you.” Calem’s grin was pure mischief.
I hid a snort by draining the last of my coffee. He certainly had an allure about him, thanks in part to his bronzed skin, solid build, and long, golden-blond hair. Even his muted-red eyes hinted at that special hour of sunset just before the sun sank below the horizon. But appearances aside, I wasn’t ready to hop into an assassin’s bed.
“I’ll pass.”
Calem shrugged. “Your loss. I would’ve made it worth your while.”
Ozias smacked the back of his comrade’s head. “You’re relentless. C’mon, Leena. Give him a chance to lick his wounds before he takes it out on the recruits.”
Calem muttered something about “licking” beneath his breath and leaped out of the way before Ozias could slap at him again. He fled the room, his laugh still rattling through the air even after he disappeared. Ozias and I tracked back through the kitchen, where he handed off our plates to Naomi, and then he led us out into the foyer. The assassins from earlier had dispersed, leaving behind no trace of their earlier activities.
Coming to a halt, Ozias ran a thick hand over his shorn hair. “I know Calem was teasing and all, but you’re welcome to join us. It might be a tad boring, though. We’re working with newly raised assassins, and the training is more a mental grappling of sorts. Shadows don’t obey in a day.”
“What about Emelia and Iov?”
His grin kicked up on one side. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
I shook my head to hide a smile. It was too easy to feel warm around him. “I’m not sure my presence would help. I’ll find another way to keep myself busy.”
“There’s a library down that hall.” Ozias jutted his thumb over his shoulder. “If you’re into that sort of thing. Otherwise, feel free to roam.” Then, after a beat, he added, “Just be sure to stay on the grounds. You’re safe unless you try to leave.”
My stomach solidified into cement, and I managed a nod. “Got it.”
His grin returned, and he offered me a parting wave before backstepping into a flurry of shadows. Tendrils devoured his frame, and he was gone. Just like that. The double doors leading to Cruor’s front lawn taunted me in my peripheral vision, but I stalked away in the direction of the library. I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to. I needed something from these assassins, just like they needed something from me. I needed leverage without it actually being leverage, otherwise the blood wouldn’t be considered “free.”
And therein lay the problem.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I opened the doors to the library and forgot to breathe.
And I thought the dining room was large.
Vaulted ceilings with curved walnut rafters held wrought-iron chandeliers fashioned like globes, and buckets of light spilled from countless windows. A maze of shelves packed to the brim with books was laid out before me. Ladders of the same dark varnish leaned against the frames, perched on wheels for easy movement.
For the most part, it was quiet. A handful of assassins were parked in overstuffed armchairs, their noses lost in thick books. Another sat at a large oak table and was scribbling on parchment with several tomes spread open before him. My gaze bounced from head to head until I spied a bay window at the far end of the library. One with plush cushions and a view overlooking the yard behind Cruor.
It was occupied by a dark-haired man I almost didn’t recognize.
Back propped against a stack of pillows and legs stretched out before him, Noc lounged with a sizable book in his lap. One hand cradled the worn binding while long fingers toyed