“Everyone out,” I order sternly, sending the soldiers scattering before my eyes fall onto the older man. He’s not a soldier anymore, not at his age, but he’s been charged with keeping this place equipped and organized, though I see he’s sorely lacking on the latter.
“Fetch Hood.”
The man’s brows lift in surprise, but he quickly leaves to do as I bid. I pace around the building while I wait, lip turning up in a grimace at the state of my shoes from the disgusting floor. I should have that man whipped for his severe lack of care at his duty.
Several minutes later, the door opens again and Hood steps into the room. I don’t need to see his face to know it’s him—the thick cloak and hood he always wears is telling enough. He never goes without it, face always shadowed beneath the cowl of material.
Even so, I can see the two-toned skin, both brown and pale, showing on his chin and neck. Vitiligo, they call it, a condition of the skin that leaches color in patches.
Some of the soldiers mock him, call him Cowhide, but the man never speaks, never snaps. He was wasted as a soldier for Fulke. It was lucky that I read some of the soldiers’ reports and realized his potential.
I’m going to put that potential to the test.
“Hood,” I say in greeting as he stops a few feet away, hand clasped around his wrist in a soldier’s stance.
While his skin abnormalities may have made him a mocked outsider, his muteness ensured it. It took years for Fulke to realize that the man had magic.
I look at his cloaked form, eyes running over the patches on his hands as if I can somehow see why power chose to run through his veins.
Magic, strong magic, isn’t as common as it once was in Orea. Without any more fae to mix with, it’s slowly petering out of our world. It’s held mostly in the royal lines, but that’s only due to carefully arranged unions.
But the man in front of me is one who slipped through the cracks, who went unnoticed for too long. Just a common, albeit skilled, foot soldier. His secret was discovered only after a particularly bad fight, seven against one, and he disappeared in plain sight.
Luckily for me, Fulke kept good notes.
“I have a job for you.”
Hood waits, unspeaking, just as I knew he would. Through the weeks of observing him, he hasn’t spoken once. I view his silence as another asset.
“The cold queen has become a problem. I want you to take care of her for me.”
Part of me is disappointed in Malina. I thought she’d be smarter than this, though I anticipated that she might react this way. Her bold refusal sits creased in my palm, her letter sealing her own fate.
That was the only chance I was willing to give her, and she just threw it away because she overestimated her own importance. With her pathetic scheming to try to keep Sixth, with her refusal to claim an heir, she’s now become ineffectual.
Expendable.
“How quickly does your magic work?” I ask curiously as I walk closer.
In answer, he settles his arms at his sides, lifting his head slightly to reveal the patch around his mouth and nose as his eyelids drop closed in concentration.
The change happens slowly, like a roiling cloud high in the sky. His form builds and billows before it becomes a dark, translucent wisp inside the cover of smoke.
The man is stock-still silence and churning shadows.
I hum in approval at his wraithlike form, at the magic of a hidden phantom who can disappear into his own umbra and bend the light around him to make him disappear. I put my hand out to test these strange shadows, but my fingers pass right through, feeling nothing but cold smoke.
Fascinating. Effective. Perfect magic to put to use as an assassin.
Dropping my hand, I watch as Hood reappears, shadow and light coalescing around him until his body is solid and visible once more.
“I want you to leave tonight,” I tell him. “Don’t fail me.”
Hood dips his chin in agreement at the order and then turns and slips away, leaving just as silently as he entered.
Malina will be sorry she ever refused me. I’m going to ruin her feeble efforts at holding my kingdom, and then, my shadow will extinguish her.
Chapter 14
AUREN
“You missed a spot on the floor, Auren.”
I turn my head to look and see where Midas is indicating. My tired eyes land on a spot on the marble, gilded veins now running throughout every polished tile.
With weighted steps, I pad across the room to the offensive spot that didn’t take. Beneath my bare feet, I will some of my gold to trickle through my heels and toes, but it’s sluggish, drying up, my arches aching like someone’s nails digging into the strained muscles.