School of the Crown Assassins

29

The air was crisp as rays of evening sunshine danced across the luscious green grass. The gentle heat caressed my cheek as I walked between the gravestones, passing generations of dead assassins. I clutched two white roses and weapons through black gloves.

I stopped when I reached a grave placed a little separate from the others, the place where the highest ranking members and Alphas were buried. Etched into the stone was the name Echo Aldridge. The last time I had visited Echo's grave was during the funeral. Since then I couldn't bring myself to visit. I drowned myself in the vengeful path I went on in her name, blind to whether she was deserving or not.

Maybe, once upon a time, Echo would've been worthy. I couldn't deny that she did care at one point when we were younger, before the influence of the world drove her to be more ruthless and power hungry. I would always remember the good, younger Echo and she would forever hold a place in my heart as the friend who had gotten me through the years after my mother's imprisonment and father's death. But, I knew that Echo had lost her way somewhere along the way and turned into a monster almost identical to the Crowns. That Echo had gotten herself killed and I owed nothing to her.

Still, I held up a white rose. I pulled out a small flask filled with blood. The assassins dipped white roses in the blood of their loved one's killer and placed it at their grave. In Echo's case, the white roses were dipped in her own blood due to her supposed suicide. But now, I knew the real killer. I dipped the white rose in Chance's blood and pulled out a small, frail piece of paper.

An assassin would tie the dead one's best weapon to the rose and place it at their grave. And while Echo's gun was always her greatest physical weapon, her words were always the most destructive. She could weave them to her needs—whether it be to comfort or kill. So, I tied Echo's last note, the trick she had sent the day she was killed, around the rose's stem with a gentle white thread. The rose fluttered from my fingers and landed in front of the stone.

Maybe I shouldn't have gone to such lengths to honor her grave. I doubted she deserved it. But if I held people at such malice as her, what would that make me?

Stealing one last look at her grave, I turned and walked through the rows again. After a few minutes, I stopped in front of a grave stone with freshly laid dirt packed against the ground. I didn't have to read the name to know who was buried there.

Axe Cormac. Died May 15, 193 PD. Age 18.

I looked at the empty lot next to him. If he had a choice, Axe would've wanted Chance buried next to him, but that wasn't possible. Chance was marked a traitor and, as such, dumped from Cressida down the waterfall and into the rivers below without a ceremony. His parents were captured and questioned before being dumped with him. Trysha, however, had run and was amongst the most wanted assassins in the nation. Most believed she escaped to the East, but I wasn't so sure.

I sighed and gathered my rose. I couldn't bring myself to attend the funeral that ended half an hour ago. I dipped the rose into his blood, the blood I had hoaxed from the gatekeeper. His death had been ruled another suicide and I didn't think asking for Arielle Fortier's blood was a very good idea. I didn't collect any of his weapons and so the stem was bare as I placed the white rose tainted with blood on the fresh dirt amongst the numerous others. At least in death he had many people to mourn for him.

I stood there for a long while as the sun faded in and out between tree leaves. A tear slipped down my cheek. I let out a small dry laugh that sounded like two bricks scraping against each other as I glared at the sky. The one friend who had even cared a little was the one I had ignored all this time as I worked for a fake one. And now, the one friend who cherished friendship enough to die for it had done just that. I only paid attention to the dead one, so now all of them were dead.