Chapter 1

Chapter

One

ALYX

H e’s going to die, which is a shame since the robe he is wearing is of good quality and will soon be ruined by bloodstains. I watch as they circle him, their gleaming knives poised and ready to attack. Sucking the remaining meat from the chicken bone, I take shelter from the rain on a wooden barrel hidden under the awning on the back of the blacksmith’s, one arm pressed against my knee and the other holding my precious food.

The sky is a muddy grey as the heavens pour down their frustration, turning the hard clay dirt of the Lowers into a slippery, muddy mess. The robed male slips in it now, not quite falling before barely managing to stay upright. His eyes, a bright cerulean blue that we don’t tend to see in the Lowers, dart between his attackers as they circle him.

The fool. He should have known better than to head down the alleys back here. I’m safe because they know who I am. They don’t bother trying to assault me, but even the people from the Lowers avoid alleys such as this for this exact reason—the bandits who hide and wait for their next meal.

They are lazy mongrels if you ask me.

While some of our work may share a few similarities, they use half the effort my family and I employ. They just lie in wait and attack, without planning or a perfect escape. What they do doesn’t require skill. They just kill and pillage—the heathens. Where is the sense of justice or pride in their work? They have none, and that’s the difference between us.

We may have the same ultimate task, which is stealing from the rich, but they give us thieves and assassins a bad name. Honestly, I don’t know why we haven’t done anything about them.

The Daggers have a clear code, however, and it isn’t my job to intervene.

Even if I jump in and save him now, I would only be painting a target on my own back. The cloaked fool wandered down here, and he will pay for it with his life. From where I’m sitting, his face is concealed behind a silk face mask, his head covered by the cloak’s dark hood that falls luxuriously down to his booted feet, the fabric clean and rich. He’s taller than most of the seven bandits surrounding him. Compared to his simple yet clearly high-quality robe, they are practically in rags. Their once white shirts are now tattered and stained brown, and their pants fair no better. All are male, some of them boasting scars from their previous attacks, and one is even missing an eye. They range in ages, from barely past their fifteenth name day to as old as to their fortieth, yet they all have the hard glint in their eyes that everyone in the Lowers has.

They are determined and angry. It’s what keeps us all alive and surviving in this shithole when most others would die—like the noble who was foolish enough to come here alone.

Dropping the empty bone to the ground for the strays, I sit back and sling one mud-stained leg over the other. The sleek black cotton of my suit keeps me warm as the chilly wind blows in from the mountains in the north. My hood is down, as is my face guard since I was eating. Thanks to my outer cloak, all of the weapons hanging from my hips, arms, and thighs are concealed, but my bright orange hair is hard to hide, even with my hood up, and it ends up hanging down to my waist in wet curls. Despite being in the shadows, I have no doubt that my green eyes are sparkling, taking in every detail.

I’m like a beacon in the night, yet they pay me no mind, too entranced by their prey.

“I want no trouble,” the man in the cloak calls, his voice calm and his accent eloquent. His soft, clean palms are held up in a signal of peace. I want to laugh at the absurdity of it, especially when paired with how well spoken he is. He’s definitely a noble; it’s in the lilt of his voice. The knowledge of his own worth gives him an air of pompous self-righteousness, as though he is better than everyone else.

“Well, that’s a shame because we do,” one of the older men retorts, brandishing a rusty knife. It might look tarnished, but it’s wicked enough to gut the noble. He’s clearly the leader, and although short and skinny, he carries an air of authority that would quickly put you right. It’s not his stature or attitude that would make you think twice about crossing this man, but his cruel, dark eyes—the eyes of a killer.

I know the look well, and it’s an easy one for me to recognise—after all, I carry the same look in mine.

“Here, take this and leave,” the rich stranger commands, his voice ringing out as if he’s truly expecting them to listen, throwing down a ring of coins like candy thrown to children on summer solstice. We all watch them sink into the muddy ground, tarnishing the polished gold, and I can’t fight my smirk.

What a fool. All he’s succeeded in doing is showing his foe where he keeps his money, which makes him an even easier target than he was previously.

“Oh, we will.” The leader grins, menace sparkling in his dark eyes. “That and more.”

With an unspoken signal, they attack as one, leaping forward to catch their prey by surprise.

The nobleman is fast for a stumbler, the name we’ve given to the upper classes on account of the slow way they all seem to move, never in a hurry to get anywhere. Jumping back, he dodges the initial swinging blades, but he’s hopelessly outnumbered against them and has no weapon. My interest is piqued by the stranger, and as I watch, one of the attackers slices through his robe. What a waste. Blood blooms from the cut on his arm, seeming to awaken something in the noble. His bright eyes narrow in anger, and he grits his teeth and smashes his head into the bandits, surprising all of us.

This one has fire, which is unusual for someone from higher families.

Call it boredom or intuition, but I feel compelled to do something. Sighing, I stand and bark, “Enough. Leave him.”

Throwing my outer cloak back, I meet all their surprised gazes as I pull out my sword. “Or go through me. Either way, I don’t care which option you pick.”

“You’re protecting noble scum,” one spits, clearly able to tell that I’m one of them, yet also not recognising who I am.

I arch a brow at him and notice that another hurries over to the leader. “That’s Alyx,” he murmurs, but he’s not quiet enough so that no one else hears.

Rookie mistake. Now everyone knows, and the atmosphere shifts. Fear flashes in some of their eyes, but not the leader’s. Sure, I’m almost positive that I see fear in his expression, but it’s quickly covered up by the pure disgust he shoots my way. His men all look to him now, and he knows he’s going to have to do something to assert his authority.

Everything is on a carefully balanced scale here, including his tentative leadership. One wrong move and it will fall, and he knows that.

Scowling, he pins me with a sour glare. “Then she should know better than to protect a stumbler.”

“It’s true, he’s a stumbler, but I said enough. Walk away,” I command, swinging my sword with an effortless flick of my wrist to show them I mean what I say. “Or don’t. It’s been a while since I had a good stretch.”

Males like him can’t resist the challenge, and I knew that if I got involved, I’d be fighting at least one of them. They are bandits, they don’t care about right or wrong, and now they have a chance to prove they are stronger than an assassin, one of the great Daggers.

Grinning widely and showing me teeth as rotten as his soul, he chuckles. “Let’s put the rumours of the great assassin to the test, shall we?” the leader sneers, the nobleman forgotten. “Get her.”

“It’s your death.” I shrug nonchalantly, adrenaline flooding my body as I prepare for what I do best and duck the first two males coming at me. With a spin, I slice and bring my sword up to block an incoming knife. One howls as he stumbles away with a cut across his neck thanks to my quick movements—he didn’t even see it coming. Smirking at the one with his knife pressed to my sword, I throw my head into his, taking him by surprise and knocking him backward just as arms wrap around me from behind. When they lift me into the air, I use the momentum and flip us, landing on my knees in the mud before pushing up and slicing with my blade.

It’s a warning shot. The man’s shirt flutters away as he watches me, wide-eyed, before I turn and see another running towards me with a war cry. Jumping to my feet, I sprint towards him, only to throw myself to my knees in the mud, bend backwards, and slide through his open legs. Coming up behind him, I bring the pommel of my sword down on his head before he even has a chance to realise what’s happened. He crumples onto the wet, slick ground as I race to the nearest wooden wall. Running up it, I use my momentum to flip over the man chasing me, landing behind him. They aren’t about to stop, and they certainly aren’t just trying to injure me. These are kill shots, so I give up warning them. Wrapping an arm over his shoulder, I use my other arm to swipe my sword across his neck. He has a split second to realise what happened as he turns, attempting to cover the killing blow with his hands. I knock him to the ground with a kick to die like the dog he is.

Swinging my sword, the bloody tip bright in the darkness, I face the remaining bunch. “Still want to play?” I call mockingly as I move my legs into a defensive position and gesture for them to come at me with my free hand. They race at me at once, and I grip my sword with both hands. That’s the problem with these bandits: they don’t know how to work as a unit or coordinate their attacks.

As I meet the first of them, my sword hits his blade and snaps it. When the broken metal flings up into the air, catching the light as it reaches its peak and begins to fall again, I bring my leg up and kick. My timing is perfect and hits the shard where I wanted, and I watch as it flies towards one of the other men. It buries in his chest with a satisfying thud before he falls back.

The nobleman grabs for one of the men coming towards me, but I slam the flat of my sword into him and spin, kicking his chest until he stumbles back into the mud with a grunt. “Don’t get in my way,” I snap. “Stay down.” I quickly fling myself back into the fray.

I make quick work of the two that circle me. Feinting left and then diving at the one on the right, I run him through with my sword so he falls hard, blood seeping through his hands as he attempts to hold his guts inside his body. Turning to the other, I leap into the air and slice down, watching his head fall from his body and roll through the mud towards the final bandit. It’s poetic, really, and way too easy for me. I’m not even out of breath. I would have thought they would be harder to kill when this is their job.

I grin at the leader as his nostrils flare, dirt sprayed across his face and body. I feel it dripping down me as well, coating my body and hair, and I’m sure that along with blood, it’s even smeared along my face. Fighting in the dirt is always messy and my favourite type, since I was never allowed to before.

“Come on then.” My tone is impatient, but I’m relishing the chance to do this. However, he glances at the nobleman one last time before turning and hightailing it out of the alley.

Rolling my eyes, I sigh at his cowardice and slide the hilt of a dagger into my palm. I flick my wrist, watching the blade sail through the air, feeling grimly amused as it hits the fleeing man so hard it pins his body to the side of a wooden house. As I stroll over, I notice that one of the earlier men I incapacitated is trying to get to his feet. Bringing my sword down with a casual movement, I end his life. When I reach the now dead leader of the bandits, I press my knee to his body and pluck my dagger free. Wiping it on his pants, I slide it back into place before grabbing the coins in the leather pouch at his hip and shoving them into my pocket. I remove my knee and step back to avoid being hit by the body as it falls to the ground, now that it’s no longer being held up.

Turning back, I see at least one of the bandits has fled, but the others lie in broken parts around the nobleman, who is watching me with wide eyes.

I stroll back over to him, and he kneels there, watching me. His once pristine cloak is covered in mud, the arm cut away and barely hanging on by a few threads.

“Thank you,” the man says, reaching up for me like I will help him to his feet.

I crouch instead, using the tip of my bloody blade to lift the golden, shiny chain from his neck, holding it between us as I meet his blue eyes surrounded by long lashes. “You are a fool for wearing such things here.” I cut the chain away and catch the chunk of warm gold in my waiting hand. “My fee for saving you,” I say by way of explanation and pocket it. Standing, I tug my hood up and prepare to leave. “Go home, rich man, where you belong. I will not save you a second time, you moron.”