Luminous

18 - Double Heist

While Hadrian made merry in the courtyard and great hall, up in the tower where the music and chatter didn't reach, a young man lay on a lavish bed, bathed in the full moon's light, deep asleep.

Cast in shadow, the heavy wooden door opened and closed on its own. A draft fluttered the curtains around the four-poster. The victim-to-be didn't stir.

A figure clad head to toe in black edged into the moonlight. He crept one step at a time, slow, precise and feather-light, to the edge of the bed. His eyes fixed upon his target; he unsheathed a curved dagger and lowered it to his victim's exposed neck.

The blade jittered above the young man's pulsing jugular vein; the assassin's hand trembled, a moment of hesitance that would spell failure.

A blinding flash of moonlight on metal. A sword reached from the shadows, its tip stopping just short of the assassin's neck, as his free arm was pinned to his back.

The sleeping victim snatched the assassin's wrist and twisted. The dagger dropped to the silk blankets. A crack, a sizzle, then a matchhead bloomed into fire. Its flame was transferred to a candle on a stand, flooding the area with a halo of light.

Coris tightened his grip on the assassin's thin arm, his eyes cold as his voice.

"Who sent you?"

The assassin remained silent, dark green eyes downcast. Coris pressed his sword to her neck—she didn't have the lump of an Adam's Apple. The knowledge didn't stop him from twisting her arm further.

"I won't ask thrice. Who. Sent. You?"

The woman met his gaze, eyes watering with pain, but refused to utter a word. Coris nodded, and Christopher moved in to unmask her. In his grasp, the assassin's arm twitched. Metallic jangling rang from her belt—

WHUMP!

A muffled explosion followed by billowing, dark gray smoke snuffed out their candle and blotted out the moonlight. Particles of fine sand flew into their eyes, blinding them. By the time Coris, Simon and Christopher finished coughing, stumbling and rubbing their eyeballs, the assassin was gone.

"Fyr!" Simon swore. He kicked away the blankets as Christopher relit the candle, "Coris, I'm so sorry. I've failed you."

Coris shook his head and waved it aside, sheathing his sword. He wiped the dust from his tunic and held his blackened thumb and forefinger before his eyes, rubbing them together to feel its texture.

The dark gray dust was fine, oily as silk, sparkling like ground diamond. He recognized it. As a little boy, he'd sat by her side on the banks of the crystal-clear rapids, kicking his feet in the healing gray sand as they debated the secrets of the three lands.

"Sand from the Graye River. Our old friend strikes again." He whispered as pallor consumed his gaunt cheeks, then a sudden realization sent a chill down his spine. His eyes widened,

"Get to the feast! They must know Arinel's betrayed them now!"

Coris dashed towards the door, his confused friends hurrying in his wake.

"Coris, she'll be fine! Zier's with her!" Simon called over the clatter of their footsteps echoing around the spiral stairwell, picking his way over the legs of snoring guards. Hulking Christopher struggled to keep up with Coris's lightweight, nimble frame.

"You don't think—Is it possible she's still—Was that Agnes?" He panted. Coris's heart lurched. He pushed aside the irrational hope it brought,

"Those weren't Agnes's eyes. And no, it's not possible. Agnes is gone. How many times do I have to repeat this?" He snapped.